The Creative South: Buddhist and Hindu Art in Mediaeval Maritime Asia, volume 2 9789814951524

Table of contents :
Contents
Chapter 1 Introduction: Volume 2: Odisha and Java
Part I FROM ODISHA TO JAVA
Chapter 2 Saviour ‘at the Time of Death’: Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites
Chapter 3 Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia: Epigraphic and Iconographic Evidence from Odisha and Java (8th–11th century)
Part II JAVA AND ITS TRANSLOCAL ECHOES
Chapter 4 The Scheme of Borobudur
Chapter 5 Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko: Its Possible Function and Association with the Mediaeval Sri Lankan Monastery at Anurādhapura
Chapter 6 The Conqueror of the Three Worlds: The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains
Chapter 7 The Social Context of the Central Javanese Temples of Kalasan and Prambanan (8th–9th Century CE)
Chapter 8 Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan
Chapter 9 Hydro-architectonic Conceptualizations in Central Javanese, Khmer, and South Indian Religious Architecture: The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water
Chapter 10 New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java
THE CONTRIBUTORS
Index

Citation preview

The ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute (formerly Institute of Southeast Asian Studies) is an autonomous organization established in 1968. It is a regional centre dedicated to the study of socio-political, security, and economic trends and developments in Southeast Asia and its wider geostrategic and economic environment. The Institute’s research programmes are grouped under Regional Economic Studies (RES), Regional Strategic and Political Studies (RSPS), and Regional Social and Cultural Studies (RSCS). The Institute is also home to the ASEAN Studies Centre (ASC), the Singapore APEC Study Centre, and the Temasek History Research Centre (THRC). ISEAS Publishing, an established academic press, has issued more than 2,000 books and journals. It is the largest scholarly publisher of research about Southeast Asia from within the region. ISEAS Publishing works with many other academic and trade publishers and distributors to disseminate important research and analyses from and about Southeast Asia to the rest of the world.

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First published in Singapore in 2022 by ISEAS Publishing ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute 30 Heng Mui Keng Terrace Singapore 119614 E-mail: [email protected] Website: http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. © 2022 ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute The responsibility for facts and opinions in this publication rests exclusively with the authors and their interpretations do not necessarily reflect the views or the policy of the publishers or their supporters. ISEAS Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Name(s): Acri, Andrea, 1981-, editor. | Sharrock, Peter D., editor. Title: The creative south : Buddhist and Hindu art in mediaeval maritime Asia / edited by Andrea Acri and Peter Sharrock. Description: S ingapore : ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: ISBN 978-981-4951-48-7 (soft cover ; Volume 1) | ISBN 978-981-4951-49-4 (pdf ; Volume 1) | ISBN 978-981-4951-51-7 (soft cover ; Volume 2) | ISBN 978-981-4951-52-4 (pdf ; Volume 2) Subjects: L  CSH: Art, Medieval—Asia—History. | Buddhist art—Asia—History. | Hindu art—Asia— History. Classification: LCC N8191 A8C91 Cover design by Lee Meng Hui Index compiled by Raffaie Nahar Typeset by International Typesetters Pte Ltd Printed in Singapore by Markono Print Media Pte Ltd

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Dedicated to the memory of Yury Khokhlov and Roy E. Jordaan

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ContENTs

1. Introduction: Volume 2: Odisha and Java Andrea Acri and Peter Sharrock

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PART I: FROM ODISHA TO JAVA 2. Saviour ‘at the Time of Death’: Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First  Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites Sonali Dhingra

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3. Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia: Epigraphic and  Iconographic Evidence from Odisha and Java (8th–11th Century) Umakanta Mishra

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PART II: JAVA AND ITS TRANSLOCAL ECHOES 4. The Scheme of Borobudur Hudaya Kandahjaya

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5. Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko: Its Possible Function and Association with  the Mediaeval Sri Lankan Monastery at Anurādhapura Saran Suebsantiwongse

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6. The Conqueror of the Three Worlds: The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied  Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains Michel Gauvain

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7. The Social Context of the Central Javanese Temples of Kalasan and Prambanan  (8th–9th Century CE) Mimi Savitri

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Contents

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8. Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan Roy E. Jordaan

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9.

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Hydro-architectonic Conceptualizations in Central Javanese, Khmer,  and South Indian Religious Architecture: The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water Jeffrey Sundberg

10. New Archaeological Data from Mount Penanggungan, East Java Hadi Sidomulyo

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The Contributors246 Index248

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Chapter 1

Introduction Volume 2: Odisha and Java A n dr e a Acr i a n d Peter Sh a r rock

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his edited volume is the second of two forming an anthology that programmatically reconsiders the creative contribution of the littoral and insular regions of Maritime Asia to shaping new paradigms in the Buddhist and Hindu art and architecture of the mediaeval Asian world. Both volumes, inscribing themselves in the same intellectual trajectory of the edited volume Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons published by ISEAS (Acri 2016), bring together new interdisciplinary research that contributes to a new sense of the historical role of Maritime Asia. Overall, they aim to recalibrate the importance of these innovations in art and architecture, thereby highlighting the cultural creativity of the monsoon-influenced southern rim of the Asian landmass. They also make a case for the importance of comparatively studying those phenomena from the prism of intra-Asian connections, taking into account circulatory dynamics while remaining anchored to the disciplinary traditions specializing on the various regions that constitute the rich cultural mosaic of Maritime Asia. Most of the proposed studies stem from papers presented in two summer programmes held in East Java in 2016 (co-organized by the SOAS Southeast Asia Art Academic Programme [SAAAP] and the Nalanda-Sriwijaya Centre of ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute) and in Central Java in 2017 (co-organized by the SOAS SAAAP and Universitas Gadjah Mada).1 These scholarly gath-

erings aimed at rediscovering the influence of the Buddhist and Hindu paradigms of mediaeval kingdoms adjoining the maritime trade route. With contributions from leading local and international scholars, the anthology expands on themes of innovation and transfer in the unique monuments, icons, and rituals developed in South India and Sri Lanka, Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula, Java, and the Khmer and Cam domains that strongly impacted Buddhist and Hindu art, architecture, and religious culture in India, Nepal, Tibet, and China, and incite to deeper explorations. Having discussed the intellectual framework informing this collective body of work in the Introduction to Volume One (Acri and Sharrock 2022), containing nine studies mainly dealing with intra-Asian transfers2 and mainland Southeast Asia,3 we will now summarize the nine studies contained in this volume, mainly covering the regions of Odisha and Java. Part I, ‘From Odisha to Java’, consists of two chapters focusing on the eastern Indian littoral state of Odisha and its longstanding overseas maritime links with insular Southeast Asia and Java in particular. Chapter 2, ‘Saviour “at the Time of Death”: Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites’, by Sonali Dhingra focuses on the Bodhisattva Amoghapāśa as an important cultic figure at several contemporaneous eastern Indian Buddhist establishments in Bihar and Odisha. Highlighting the popularity of

1. Both programmes were generously (co-)funded by the Alphawood Foundation in Chicago. The Alphawood Foundation has also significantly contributed to the funding of the present publication.

2. By Iain Sinclair; Yury Khokhlov; and Peter Sharrock. 3. By Jinah Kim; Swati Chemburkar; Shivani Kapoor, Swati Chemburkar, Andrea Acri, Olivier Cunin; Mya Chau; Mai Bùi Diệu Linh; and Trần Kỳ Phương.

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Andrea Acri and Peter Sharrock

this Bodhisattva over a large part of the Buddhist proposes an enhanced solution to this problem by world, the author suggests that the likely reason analysing the monument’s shape and layout in the behind the widespread relevance of Amoghapāśa’s light of meaningful numerological patterns in the cult was his specific role associated with death and context of Buddhist doctrine. It includes a brief afterlife. Focusing on extant sculpture recovered survey of previous interpretations, and a detailed from archaeological sites in Odisha, particular- discussion of the author’s hypothesis on the basis ly Ratnagiri, as well as textual records, she dis- of relevant Sanskrit and Old Javanese texts as well cusses the devotional and cultic significance of as inscriptions matching the symbolic and iconoAmoghapāśa as a ‘saviour at the time of death’, graphical features of the Javanese monument. suggesting that through a fresh interpretation of Another study devoted to Central Javanese the relevance and meaning of his defining attrib- Buddhist architecture is Chapter 5, ‘Candi Pemute, the pāśa, we can understand the association bakaran at Ratu Boko: Its Possible Function and of Amoghapāśa with death, saving the dead at Association with the Mediaeval Sri Lankan Monasdeathbed, and post-mortem rites in India and tery at Anurādhapura’, by Saran Suebsantiwongse. across Asia between the 8th and 10th centuries. It proposes a new interpretation of the square, Chapter 3, ‘Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas two-terraced platform with a deep hole at the in Maritime Asia: Epigraphic and Iconographic centre found just steps away from the entrance Evidence from Odisha and Java (8th–11th Century)’ to the second enclosure on the north side of the by Umakanta Misra deals with the eastward spread Ratu Boko complex. The purpose of this strucof Esoteric Buddhist Tantra, of which architectural ture, now known as Candi Pembakaran, remains and sculptural maṇḍalas were a constitutive part, unclear, and opinions range from its former from the Indian subcontinent to other regions use as a crematorium to a sacrificial fire pit. A of Maritime Asia. This study explores the devel- fragment of inscription unearthed near the enopment of maṇḍalas based on Caryā- and Yo- trance of the second enclosure, revealing that the ga-tantras in the architectural and iconographic complex was modelled after the Abhayagirivihāra programmes of the Buddhist sites of Ratnagiri, in Anurādhapura (Sri Lanka), the existence of a Udayagiri, and Lalitagiri, situated in Odisha. In sacred Bodhi shrine at Abhayagirivihāra, and the the first part, it argues that Odisha emerged as shape and location of the structure near a water an early centre of Esoteric Buddhism, presenting source, all suggest that the structure at Ratu Boko epigraphic, sculptural, and architectural evidence might have had the same function, owing to the of maṇḍalas that Buddhist monks transmitted fact that the Bodhi shrine is one of the three parts to Southeast and East Asia. In the second part, it of a typical Buddhist monastery. highlights similarities between the Odishan archiChapter 6, ‘The Conqueror of the Three tectural and art historical remains and analogous Worlds: The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied monuments and objects from Buddhist sites of Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains’, by Michel Gauvain investigates the difCentral Java. The remaining seven chapters of Volume Two fusion and nature of the cult of Trailokyavijaya in are presented in Part II, ‘Java and its Translocal Java. This wrathful manifestation of Vajrapāṇi, also Echoes’, entirely devoted to Javanese instantia- called Vajrahūṃkāra and sometimes described as tions of Buddhist and Hindu art and architecture a transformation of Vajrasattva (and thus identical studied from a comparative perspective that locate in essence with the Buddha Mahāvairocana), or as the island at the centre of the vibrant traffic of an emanation of the Buddha Akṣobhya, belongs religious ideas, practices, and artistic styles that to a category of beings who have been defined as characterized mediaeval Maritime Asia. Chapter ‘wrathful destroyers of obstacles’ (krodha-vigh4, ‘The Scheme of Borobudur’, by Hudaya Kan- nāntaka), a class of esoteric deities whose task dahjaya builds on previous work on the meaning is not merely the protection of the devotees or of the Central Javanese Buddhist monument, and the intimidation of recalcitrant beings, but also

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Introduction: Volume 2: Odisha and Java the removal of external and internal hindrances and the transmutation of ignorance into wisdom. While the cult of the deity spanned almost the entire Asian continent over many centuries, it appears to have received considerable popularity in Java in the 8th–11th centuries. Chapter 7, ‘The Social Context of the Central Javanese Temples of Kalasan and Prambanan (8th–9th Century CE)’, by Mimi Savitri explores the issues of how the Buddhist temple of Kalasan and the Hindu complex of Prambanan were initiated, executed, and maintained. Building on the realization that art historians have often focused on the aesthetic and religious aspects of Javanese temple complexes, the author notes that they have often neglected the social contexts of the Javanese communities in the creation and maintenance of such sanctuaries, as well as their social life. The chapter combines research on the archaeological and architectural features with an analysis of Old Javanese inscriptions related to the temples in order to cast light on the social dynamics of the period in which the temples were built and flourished. The remaining three chapters focus on the Hindu art and architecture of Central and East Java. The posthumously published Chapter 8, ‘Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan’, by the late Roy Jordaan deals with Sītā as depicted in the Rāmāyaṇa bas-reliefs on the inner side of the balustrade wall enclosing the ambulatories of the three main shrines of the temple complex of Prambanan. One of the riddles that Sītā presents us with at this temple site is her background, that is to say her birth and parentage. This matter appears to be particularly relevant for the interpretation of the twelfth bas-relief scene on the Brahmā temple that shows Rāvaṇa’s corpse surrounded by a few women. Perusal of the literature shows that in numerous post-Vālmīki tellings Sītā is represented as the daughter of Rāvaṇa with his main consort Mandodarī. Although in India, the land of origin of the Rāma-story, this idea is not completely unknown, this representation is best known among widely separated peoples in regions like Tibet, Khotan (Turkmenistan), much of mainland Southeast Asia, as well as Java. This

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fact also highlights the innovative character of the ‘periphery’. Chapter 9, ‘Hydro-architectonic Conceptualizations in Central Javanese, Khmer, and South Indian Religious Architecture: The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga (1,000 liṅgas) Mechanism for the Consecration of Water’, by Jeffrey Sundberg argues that the Prambanan Śaiva temple complex served principally as a site for the production of large quantities of consecrated water by flowing over a towering erect statue of Śiva mounted on a praṇāla. Building on the thesis of Roy Jordaan that the entire inner courtyard of Candi Loro Jonggrang was intermittently flooded to create a giant tīrtha at the sacred site, the author brings new evidence from the temple complex itself as well as sites in Cambodia (i.e. the ‘purification sculptures’ carved into the rocky beds of the natural river at Kbal Spean) and Sri Lanka. The writer proposes that the curious ribbed and spike-tipped bulbous finials that ascend the monuments spires are in fact liṅgas, of which there are approximately 1,000 at Prambanan. The flutings on these finials, which direct monsoon rains into huge makara-gargoyle spouts that pour water into the courtyard, thus appear to depict in architectural form a giant liṅga and the Descent of the Ganges myth. The scale of this vast and elegant holy water production monument was unrivalled in premodern Asia and counts among the original conceptual reformulations of Indic ideas undertaken by the Javanese. The collection is closed by Chapter 10, ‘New Archaeological Data from Mount Penanggungan, East Java’ by Hadi Sidomulyo, which presents a comprehensive survey of the plethora of archaeological sites located on Mount Penanggungan, a five-peaked extinct volcano lying in the province of East Java near the city of Surabaya. This mountain, which came to be identified with the sacred five-peaked Mahāmeru of Hindu and Buddhist tradition, was regarded by the Javanese as a locus of supreme sanctity, and was located in the proximity of the former Majapahit capital. The chapter describes the remains that were first surveyed by early Dutch and Indonesian archaeologists, then documents the extraordinary wealth of additional

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sites discovered in recent years, contextualizing them against the background of East Javanese history and epigraphic and textual sources of the Majapahit period.

References

Acri, Andrea (ed.). 2016. Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters,

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Texts, Icons. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Acri, Andrea and Peter Sharrock. 2022. ‘Introduction. Volume 1: Intra-Asian Transfers and Mainland Southeast Asia’, in Andrea Acri and Peter Sharrock (eds.), The Creative South: Buddhist and Hindu Art in Mediaeval Maritime Asia. Volume One, pp. 1–6. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute.

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part I FROM ODISHA TO JAVA

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Chapter 2

Saviour ‘at the Time of Death’: Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites Sonali Dhingr a

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n the late first millennium, bodhisattva Amoghapāśa (literally, ‘whose noose is unfailing’),1 a special appearance of Avalokiteśvara, was an important cultic figure at several contemporaneous Eastern Indian Buddhist establishments in Bihar and Odisha.2 At the same time, as surviving visual as well as textual evidence suggests, this bodhisattva was favoured over a large part of the Buddhist world in Japan, China, Southeast Asia, and Nepal.3 After the first millennium, the cult of this bodhisattva continued to gain greater popularity during later centuries in areas where Buddhism flourished. It is clear that sculpture representing bodhisattva Amoghapāśa was considered to have immense cultic efficacy across the Buddhist world. Why did this particular aspect of bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara gain distinctive eminence at Buddhist sites across Asia during the mediaeval period? The likely reason behind the widespread relevance of Amoghapāśa’s cult was his general role as a protector, along with his specific role associated with death and the afterlife. Janice Leoshko (1985: 135) briefly made an insightful suggestion regarding Amoghapāśa’s funerary function at Gayā (Bihar, India). Nancy Tingley (2006: 76), too, pointed to the possible mortuary associations of 1. Meisezahl (1967: 462) interprets amogha as ‘efficacious’. 2. See Leoshko 1985; Hock 1987; Gail 2001; Donaldson (2001: 200–205); Bautze-Picron (2014: 107–114). Pia Brancaccio (2011: 143) noted one unique two-armed Avalokiteśvara, holding a pāśa, in the circa 6th century excavation at Cave 2 Aurangabad. 3. Meisezahl 1962, 1967; Pal 1966–1967; Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988; Tingley [Hock] 2006; Wong 2007; Reichle 2007; Guy 2014; Griffiths 2014; Sinclair 2022.

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this bodhisattva at Ratnagiri (Jajpur district) in Odisha. Focusing on extant sculpture recovered from archaeological sites in Odisha, particularly Ratnagiri, as well as textual records, this chapter will discuss the devotional and cultic significance4 of Amoghapāśa as a ‘saviour at the time of death’. While attending to the perceived role of this bodhisattva in early mediaeval South Asia, I will consider the physical locations of the large-scale stone sculptures of Amoghapāśa discovered at Ratnagiri, Odisha, and explore the development of this imagery within Indic iconography and funerary ritual. I will suggest that through a fresh interpretation of the relevance and meaning of his defining attribute, the pāśa, we can understand the association of Amoghapāśa with death-related rituals in India between the 8th and early 10th centuries. Amoghapāśa was associated with extending lifespans, saving the dead at deathbed and post-mortem rites, making his worship prevalent amongst Buddhist communities across Asia.

amoghapāśa images in india and beyond The last quarter of the first millennium was a time of active patronage and expansion of Buddhist temple as well as monastic and pilgrimage sites in Eastern India (Leoshko 1988; Proser 2010).5 4. For a recent discussion of the devotional and cultic aspects of Buddhist images from eastern India, see Bautze-Picron 2016: 165. 5. For pilgrimage to Buddhist sites see Leoshko 1988 and Proser 2010.

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Sculptural productions at Buddhist sites became increasingly varied and larger in scale for devotional purposes. Amoghapāśa images were made in the local artistic idiom at Gayā, Bodhgayā, Kurkihar, and Nālandā in Bihar, and further southeast in Ratnagiri and Udayagiri in the coastal state of Odisha.6 As others have noted (Donaldson 2001: 202; Wong 2007: 151), when comparing Amoghapāśa sculptures of different provenance yet belonging to the same period we find a wide discrepancy in standard iconographic features such as the number of arms, attributes, and members of his retinue. Also, despite his popularity across Indian sites, it is interesting to note that Amoghapāśa is absent from the codified Esoteric Buddhist manuals of the 12th century—the Sādhanamālā and the Niṣpannayogāvalī.7 The iconography of Amoghapāśa images dating to the same time-period within the Indian subcontinent is also inconsistent. For instance, the Nālandā set of noose-wielding Amoghapāśa is usually twelve-armed, the Kurkihar-Bodhgayā set is six-armed, while sculptures from Odisha are almost always four-armed.8 These deviations raise interesting questions regarding the transmission of iconographic types and decision-making at specific locales. Based on a detailed study of Amoghapāśa iconography from Odisha and its comparison with counterparts from Bihar, Thomas Donaldson (2001: 202) concluded that ‘local traditions’ probably influenced ‘textual prescriptions’. We can 6. Since the 5th century, Gayā (Gayā district, Bihar) is a site associated with śrāddha or ancestral rite ceremonies, and was considered to be a place of pan-Indian importance. Abundant images dating between the 8th through 12th centuries are enshrined in the Vishnupad Temple, built in the 18th century (Asher 1988: 74). Avalokiteśvara’s universally compassionate cultic figure and his specific popularity in Bihar, especially at sites near Gayā—particularly at Pretaśila, located north of the city—has also been noted by BautzePicron (2005: 414; see fn. 2 in particular for references discussing Amoghapāśa images at these sites in eastern India). 7. For examples of Amoghapāśa from Nālandā, Bodhgayā, and Kurkihar, see Leoshko 1985 and Bautze-Picron 2014: 410–411, 416, 418. On the dissonance between Buddhist images and text, see Leoshko 1985 and Bautze-Picron 1989. 8. With the exception of two examples noted by Donaldson (2001: 208).

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hypothesize that the regional and local variations in the envisioning of Amoghapāśa images may point to the varying degrees of acceptance of the newly introduced multi-armed convention, which becomes a popular way of depicting esoteric or tantric deities subsequently. We may also surmise that the incongruence in iconography suggests a period of local inventions of potent imageries of cultic deities during the late first millennium. Lastly, the 8th to 10th centuries may also be understood as an incipient period of localized ‘visions’, more clearly articulated in the Esoteric Buddhist iconography of the 12th and 13th centuries (Kim 2014a). Surviving material evidence indicates the existence of a shared body of knowledge and practice around the cultic efficacy of this bodhisattva along the maritime corridors in the southern rim of Asia (Reichle 2007; Guy 2014: 250–260 and 2018; Sinclair 2022). Several metal images of Amoghapāśa were commissioned in Central Java during the 8th and 9th centuries but seemed to end abruptly by the 10th century (Reichle 2007: 108).9 One stone image of Amoghapāśa dated to the circa 11th century was found in Bali, and we see a definite resurgence of the cult of Amoghapāśa with royal associations at Candi Jago (East Java) and Sumatra in the 13th century (ibid.: 110–111, 85–90). Sinclair (2022) makes a case for an origin of that icon from Śrīvijaya via a shared textual source or the possibility of travelling metal images, ritual specialists, and artists. While focusing mainly on sculptures from Bihar and Bengal dating to the Pāla period, scholars have argued that after the 10th century, artistic ties between Northeastern India and Java became weaker. Images from the coastal state of Odisha, however, remain conspicuously under-utilized in discussions on Amoghapāśa. Unlike Odisha’s fourarmed examples, all identifiable Javanese imagery of Amoghapāśa is usually eight-armed in the 8th and 9th centuries (Reichle 2007: 108–109).10 At 9. For metal images of Amoghapāśa, see the discussion in Reichle 2007: 108, and n. 54 for further references. 10. Nancy Tingley (2006: 69) has suggested that some of the four-armed Avalokiteśvara reliefs from 9th-century Borobodur, Central Java, may be identified as Amoghapāśa. While the correspondence with the four-armed examples

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Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites first glance, investigating the parallels between Amoghapāśa images from Odisha with those from elsewhere in Maritime Asia does not show any clear parallels. Yet, some subtle similarities exist. Despite the discrepancy in the number of arms in examples from Odisha (four-armed examples) and Java (eight-armed examples), Donaldson observed that the alignment of attributes in surviving Amoghapāśa appears to correspond with the eight-armed textual form rather than either the four or six-armed textual forms (Donaldson 2001: 201–203, 208). To elaborate, we see that artists in Odisha favoured the same placement of objects in the hands of the bodhisattva—i.e., the varada-mudrā and lasso in the right hands and the kamaṇḍalu and lotus in the left hands (ibid.: 203). The triḍaṇḍī, pustaka, triśūla, and the abhaya-mudrā, often present in Javanese eight-armed forms, are absent in Amoghapāśa images from Odisha. Moreover, the abhaya-mudrā is altogether missing from bodhisattva imagery in Odisha, pointing to a systematized local convention. Even though they are temporally distant, it is instructive to note that stone sculptures of Amoghapāśa from Odisha and Java have a formally close stylistic relationship. Only a few scholars have directed attention to this issue.11 On comparing a circa mid-9th century Amoghapāśa from Ratnagiri (Fig. 2.1) with its more famous 13th-century Candi Jago counterpart (Fig. 2.2), we can notice a few similarities. Both sculptures are made in an over-human scale. They equally retain a simple overall aesthetic characterized by plain back-slabs and oval haloes. The Candi Jago sculpture has borne much damage—its head is now lost, and many hands and implements are today missing. of Avalokiteśvara from Odisha is intriguing, the absence of the pāśa makes the identification uncertain. 11. Ghosh (1933) and Williams (2007) made investigations into art historical connections between India and Indonesia. Willetts (1963: 18–19) also made the important suggestion that Odisha, located at the border of the Bay of Bengal, was culturally and artistically related to maritime networks. Willetts further argues that in spite of patronage ties between Nālandā and Java, and the discovery of Nālandā bronzes in Java, on formal, stylistic and technical grounds, art from Odisha is linked to the temples of Prambanan and Borobodur.

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But we can notice that the bodies of both bodhisattvas are soft and pliable, and their elegant hands tenderly hold on to their attributes in a similar fashion. Furthermore, the analogous arrangement of the pāśa in the right hands of the bodhisattva in both cases is also noteworthy. Finally, this similarity is emphasized even further if we compare the paleography of Nāgarī-script Sanskrit inscriptions on the plain back-slabs of the Candi Jago sculptures with the copper plate grants issues by the Ganga ruler Narasiṃhadeva (śaka 1217) (Kim 2019; Kinney et al. 2003: 116). At any rate, the conceptual connection between Amoghapāśa and death rituals, as others have pointed out, clearly remained important in both regions. A significant difference between Amoghapāśa sculpture from India and elsewhere is the involvement of royal patronage. While in

Fig. 2.1: Amoghapāśa, c. mid-9th century. Khondalite. Ratnagiri, Odisha, India. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

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century, were discovered at Ratnagiri (Mitra 1981; Patnaik and Kar 2005) (Fig. 2.3).12 From the size of these sculptures, it seems reasonable to infer that Amoghapāśa was not a deity popular for quiet and personal contemplation, as very few small-scale images of his—for instance, in metal—have been recovered from any site in Eastern India.13 We can also see that in terms of sheer numbers and stature, no other deity received equal attention from artists and patrons at Ratnagiri.14 The earliest Amoghapāśa image produced at Ratnagiri dates to the 8th century and measures an impressive 1.9 metres in height, despite a broken top (Fig. 2.4; see infra). Over the next two centuries, well over-lifesized steles representing this bodhisattva were repeatedly commissioned, especially at Ratnagiri (Fig. 2.3).15 The concentration of visually commanding sculptures of this bodhisattva exclusively at Ratnagiri in Odisha denotes the increasing prominence of Amoghapāśa’s worship at this locale. In addition to commissioning increasingly imposing images of Amoghapāśa, ritual specialists added inscriptions on their reverse and to the

Fig. 2.2: Amoghapāśa Lokeśvara, ca. 1268–1280. Candi Jago, Tumpung, East Java. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2016.

China, Japan, and East Java Amoghapāśa was associated with courtly commissions, in India we do not have evidence of a direct relationship of this cult with the ruling elite. In the following section, I will turn my attention to the visual evidence of the worship of Amoghapāśa from the Eastern Indian Buddhist establishment of Ratnagiri. cultic associations of amoghapāśa images at ratnagiri, odisha While the iconographic aspects of Buddhist images from Odisha have been explored in detail by scholars, their cultic status as illuminated by the physical and formal aspects have not been considered. A sub-set of at least seven over-life sized bodhisattva steles representing Amoghapāśa in a standing posture, dating between ca. 8th and 10th

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12. For detailed descriptions, see Mitra (1981: 439–453) and Hock (1987: 70–89). We can assume that a fragmentary bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara with Tārā and Hayagrīva must have originally been another four-armed Amoghapāśa from Ratnagiri (making the total seven). See Mitra 1981: 45–51 for a description of this image and its find-spot. 13. I was able to find only one twelve-armed metal Avalokiteśvara, accompanied by Tārā and Bhṛkuṭī, probably dating to the circa late 9th–10th century from Bihar, now in the collection of the Newark Museum (Acc. No. 86.308). 14. We can notice the significance of this bodhisattva for the Buddhist community at Ratnagiri when we see that his sculptures were made in larger numbers and proportions than any other cultic deity commissioned at this site. In terms of other over-life size cultic sculptures at Ratnagiri, we find two Mañjuśrī sculptures (ca. 9th century), one Mahākaruṇā (ca. late 9th century) and two Tārā in Aṣṭamahābhaya form (belonging to the 9th and 11th centuries). For distribution of iconographic types which reveals the importance of Amoghapāśa at Ratnagiri, see Behrendt 2020 and Dhingra 2021. 15. At Ratnagiri, a new standing Amoghapāśa image, larger and slightly different from the late 8th-century one was commissioned between ca. 8th and early 10th centuries. All images measure between 1.905 and 2.438 metres in height.

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Fig. 2.3: Chronology of Amoghapāśa images in Odisha, c. late 8th to early 10th centuries. *indicates approximate measurements; border indicates inscribed images. Khondalite. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

Fig.2.4: Amoghapāśa, c. late 8th-century Ratnagiri, Odisha, India. Ratnagiri Site Museum, Khondalite. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

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back slabs. These texts serve as another important indicator of the cultic status of Amoghapāśa images from Ratnagiri. Chronological analysis of sculptures from Odisha based on style suggests that the practice of inscribing Amoghapāśa sculptures with the Pratītyasamutpāda gāthā, the dharma relic, and dhāraṇī inscriptions became common sometime around the mid-9th century.16 In the group of standing Amoghapāśa sculptures from Ratnagiri, three late-9th to 10th century examples, among the tallest in the corpus, are inscribed (Fig. 2.3: see images marked with a yellow border). One of these, datable roughly to the tail-end of the 9th century or early 10th century, is etched with the Buddhist formula and a long dhāraṇī inscription on its reverse; two others in the sequence only contain the ye dharma verse on the halo around the head of the bodhisattva (Mitra 1981: 448–449; Patnaik and Kar 2005: 271). Unfortunately, the longer dhāraṇī text was damaged when found (Mitra 1981: 441–442). Though several well-executed examples of Amoghapāśa sculptures exist from Odisha, it is curious that no example of the Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī (other than possibly the above noted Amoghapāśa from Ratnagiri with a long inscription on its reverse) is known from Odisha. The Sanskrit text of the spell entitled Amoghapāśahṛdaya was widely circulated. It was translated into Chinese by 587 CE, and again by Xuanzang (659 CE), the (late) Bodhiruci (?–727 CE), Amoghavajra (704–774 CE), and *Dānapāla/Shihu (982–1012 CE).17 Arlo Griffiths (2014) has identified an abbreviated version of the Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī from Indonesia and dated it to the circa 9th century. This extract was written on a gold foil and was rediscovered 16. On the Buddhist creed, see Boucher 1991; for a study of the material and religious meanings of inscriptions on artistic remains, see Kim 2014b. For a survey of dhāraṇī inscriptions from Odisha, see Mishra 2016. For a detailed study of the term dhāraṇī, see Davidson 2009. For the Indonesian context see Griffiths 2014, who observes that dhāraṇī inscriptions from a variety of contexts in Indonesia seem to cluster around the 9th–10th centuries. 17. Ronald M. Davidson (2014) has examined the Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī and other related texts with an eye towards how these materials were formulated and presented.

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in a temple context on Bali.18 The text includes only the quintessential mantra—one that appears at the end of the Dunhuang and Japanese manuscripts discussed above—, which functioned as a substitute, according to Griffiths, for the whole. Furthermore, discussing this Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī, Griffiths (ibid.: 185) also observes how the Amoghapāśahṛdaya text puts much emphasis on its circulation but not necessarily on its being written down. As Gregory Schopen (2005 [1976]: 36) noted, a spot on the earth associated with this text was believed to become blessed, honoured, and shielded by the gods. While there is no known surviving Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī text from Odisha, given the popularity of Amoghapāśa’s images at specific moments, one wonders if the image can be considered a visual trace of this powerful dhāraṇī, which sanctified the site wherever it appeared. We may also suggest that the frequently reevaluated iconographic features of Amoghapāśa, as I will discuss below, reflect a conscious artistic strategy for imparting a special status to Amoghapāśa sculptures at Ratnagiri. The earliest Amoghapāśa stele at Ratnagiri, dated to circa the 8th century, shows a standing, four-armed slightly corpulent Avalokiteśvara, flanked by Tārā and Bhṛkuṭī seated frontally on lotus pedestals (Fig. 2.4). We can notice that he holds his main attribute, the lasso, in his upper left hand, somewhat wedged next to the full-blown lotus (padma) held by the hand next to it (Fig. 2.5). The top right hand holds a rosary (akṣamālā), and the primary right hand is in a benevolent gesture of varada or boon-giving. The placement of the lasso (pāśa) next to the full-blown lotus appears to have derived from Amoghapāśa images discovered at Kurkihar in Bihar (Donaldson 2001: 205, 264). This similarity in the iconographic arrangement of attributes may indicate the existence of contacts between those two roughly contemporaneous monastic centres. However, it is significant to note that the next generation of artists at Ratnagiri, as we will see below, chose to alter the iconographic placement of the attributes of the bodhisattva. 18. This gold foil was found at Pura Pegulingan on Bali, when the temple was being disassembled for reconstruction (Griffiths 2014: 183).

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Fig. 2.5: Top left hand of Amoghapāśa wielding the lasso, c. 8th century, Ratnagiri, Odisha. (Detail of Figure 2.4.) Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

Known for the unique portrayal of an oversized and theatrical Hayagrīva figure, a circa mid-9th century Amoghapāśa image from Ratnagiri is considered to be the most finely carved among all the images of this bodhisattva in Odisha (Fig. 2.1). He is bordered on either side by luscious stalks of beautifully delineated, full-blown lotuses. Relaxed in tribhaṅga posture, his lower right hand rests elegantly on a lotus-cushion as he dispenses boons. His corresponding left hand is placed lovingly on the head of his four-armed accomplice, Hayagrīva—who, holding a noose, closely mirrors the role of his sire. The bodhisattva wields his important attributes in his upper two arms. Closer looking reveals that he is shown simultaneously holding two objects in the upper right hand, a feature unique to Amoghapāśa in Odisha. A rosary

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dangles between the index finger and the thumb, while his primary feature, the clearly articulated noose, casually held between the index and middle fingers, gently hovers above. Also, the bodhisattva is shown tightly clutching his other main feature, the water-flask of the wandering ascetic (kamaṇḍalu) in his upper left hand—another quintessential stylistic feature of bodhisattva crafted in the Odisha tradition. In all following examples from Odisha, the bodhisattva holds his principal attribute, the noose, in his upper right hand rather than the upper left hand. This artistic innovation brings symmetry and balance to the composition. The placement of the lasso in the deity’s right hand (rather than the left) brings the central defining feature of Amoghapāśa, the lasso, into sharper visual focus. It is also worth pointing out that the lasso or noose, depicted with realistic detail, conveys the texture and materiality of a rope (Fig. 2.6). In examples from Odisha, carved against a plain back slab, the physicality of the rope stands out. The lasso is not hanging limply but is mid-air as if approaching the onlooker. All these features make a pointed gesture towards amplifying the dynamism of the bodhisattva and communicating his extraordinary powers as a cultic saviour. Furthermore, in all following examples of Amoghapāśa from Ratnagiri, his significant role as the bearer and giver of the sacred water to pretas (hungry ghosts) is bolstered by the artistic choice of prominently depicting the water-flask as a counterpart to the lasso in his upper left hand. Despite these slight stylistic changes, the overall consistency of the iconographical conventions of Amoghapāśa images recovered at Odisha’s main Buddhist sites shows that through the 9th century the artistic practice became deliberated and organized, thus giving a cohesive quality to the sculptures made in this regional tradition. I now turn to a discussion of the import of the lasso, a unique attribute that will remain a distinct marker of this bodhisattva. The exact significance of the lasso wielded by Amoghapāśa is unclear. Perhaps, for this reason, scholars have interpreted the lasso variously as a weapon used for ‘binding the enemies of Buddhism’, thereby

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Fig. 2.6: Details of pāśa from Amoghapāśa steles, Ratnagiri, and Udayagiri 1. Images are dated between c. late 8th and early 10th centuries. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

suggesting an aggressive role for Amoghapāśa, or ‘to lead all beings to enlightenment’, which implies a solely soteriological significance (Guy 2014: 251; Pal 1966: 238; Wong 2007: 151). However, the above interpretations do not take into account the mundane needs of the Buddhist community and the ‘instrumental role’ of Buddhism that scholars have emphasized (Kim and Lewis 2019; Lewis 1989, 2000; Mishra 2009), nor do they consider the material aspects of surviving stone sculptures. Amoghapāśa’s images from Odisha were made in colossal scale, had a strong physical presence at Ratnagiri, and visually highlighted the lasso. As surviving art historical evidence dating to the late first millennium suggests, these images were part of a mature Mahāyāna milieu. Prompted by the physical and visual features of Amoghapāśa stone stele at Ratnagiri, I would offer a new interpretation of the deeper symbolic meaning of his main attribute. I suggest that the lasso may be understood to signify the cultic aspect of Amoghapāśa that can effortlessly haul devotees out of a painful bodily condition at the time of death.19 The Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī sheds additional light on Amoghapāśa’s powers. It illuminates Amoghapāśa’s role as a reliever of pain, giver of a beautiful body, and arbitrator that could

prolong life and provide a fortunate rebirth. While Amoghapāśa is associated mainly with salvation, a significant concern in this text is the bodhisattva’s ability to assuage the fears and bodily discomforts of a diseased devotee. The author(s) give a long list of physical ailments affecting almost all parts of the body: ‘fevers’ of several kinds and durations, soreness and pains (‘sore eyes’ or ‘lips’ or ‘tongue’, pain in different parts of the body such as the ears and teeth), and skin ailments (‘black leprosy’, ‘white leprosy’, ‘boils’). All these illnesses may be cured by chanting Amoghapāśa’s prayer ‘only once’. Besides, mental states of unease, such as a ‘bad dream’, could also be addressed by the bodhisattva’s prayer (Meisezahl 1962: 291). Appended to these are other generalized problems: ‘killing, imprisoning, flogging or defaming’, loss of wealth, fire, prisons, witches, evil spirits, and thieves, many of which are reminiscent of the repertoire of Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara or the ‘Eight Great Fears Saviour’. Additionally, the text claims over twenty other boons, namely freeing the devotee from bodily disease, the bestowal of a smooth, handsome, and slender body, and the prolongation of life. Then, the text points explicitly to the fears of ailing or dying devotees, and their faith in the efficacy of bodhisattva Amoghapāśa. After listing the twenty generic boons, it proceeds to describe 19. Since in addition to ‘lasso’ another meaning of the the eight Dharmas that provide an insight into the Sanskrit term pāśa, especially in the Śaiva Siddhānta traruminations of an entire community of devotees, dition, is ‘bond’ (Acharya 2014), I wonder whether this and their perception of Amoghapāśa’s powerful attribute may represent a Buddhist appropriation of the mediations into their mundane human lives. By Śaiva concepts of ‘cattle’ or ‘bound soul’ (paśu), i.e. convey the image of the bodhisattva drawing the devotee out of the clearly describing the physical states of the human cycle of rebirths in addition to difficult worldly conditions.

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Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites body at the deathbed, the text highlights the faith in Amoghapāśa for assistance during that crucial moment. Fasting and repeating Amoghapāśa’s Hṛdaya only seven times was regarded as a powerful means to soothe the anguish associated with the fear of bodily pain and death. The Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī makes a final promise. It states that ‘At the hour of death, the bodhisattva, Mahāsattva, Saint Avalokiteśvara will appear to him in the shape of a monk.’ The votary, born in a Buddhakṣetra in the future, will have a desirable afterlife. Thus, while announcing the bodhisattva’s specific role, this woefully matter-of-fact text ends on a happy note (Meisezahl 1962: 293–294). Here, we may draw an interesting parallel between the above-described manifestation of Amoghapāśa at the ‘hour of death’ and the cult of Jizō (Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva). Raigō, translated as the ‘the welcoming descent’, became a common feature in text and imagery in the Heian and Kamakura periods in Japan. While this concept was popular in Buddhist Pure Land milieus in Japan, scholars have found no Indian antecedents for it (Horton 2008: 31). An important aspect of the idea of raigō in its fully developed form was the descent of Amidā accompanied by bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara and other attendants to greet those at the deathbed and escort them to the Pure Land. A popular ritual in Japan included the practice of holding threads connected to an image of the Buddha on one’s deathbed (ibid.: 41). Though we have no surviving evidence of this practice in India, the popularity of Amoghapāśa images in devotional contexts during the mediaeval period suggests that the practice of turning to this bodhisattva to mitigate fears at the time of death might have been carried out in Buddhist communities in the subcontinent. Returning to the contents of the Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī, we can notice that the text significantly expands on Avalokiteśvara’s associations with deliverance, old age, and salvation of sentient beings. This quality of the bodhisattva was already introduced in the Gaṇḍavyūha sūtra, and significantly expanded in the Kāraṇḍavyūha sūtra (Studholme 2002: 50) in which he is a central figure. I would suggest that Amoghapāśa’s particular iconographic attribute—from which he derives

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his very name—, the pāśa, makes conceptual sense for having the symbolic power to reach out to lift and transport suffering beings from perils. This aspect is closely related to the early forms of Avalokiteśvara and is found in the Kāraṇḍavyūha of the 5th century, where reciting his name is said to free beings from ‘old age, death, disease and lamentation’ (ibid.: 16). As surviving sculptures indicate, Avalokiteśvara’s role as Amoghapāśa seems to have solidified by circa 8th-century Eastern India. In essence, he appears to have been a general alleviator of all troubles and an exclusive saviour at the time of death. Next, we will turn to the broader religious milieu in which Amoghapāśa’s iconography developed in India.

iconographic precedents and multi-religious indic landscape The appearance of Amoghapāśa in the 8th century is an important development in Indic iconography. This invention may be interpreted within the trajectory of the development of Avalokiteśvara’s iconography. The idea of Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara, widely established at Western Deccan Buddhist sites such as Kanheri, Ajanta, Ellora, and Aurangabad, came to be associated with Tārā in Odisha.20 On the other hand, Avalokiteśvara appears in different manifestations, such as Amoghapāśa, with specific cultic associations that were current in that geographical space. My study identifies a historical pattern in the transformation of this bodhisattva’s iconography from the well-established cultic form of Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara at the monasteries and temples of Western Deccan into Amoghapāśa, which became popular in large portions of Eastern India. Prayers associated with Amoghapāśa, as shown above, subsume the earlier eight great perils associated with Avalokiteśvara. Among the panoply of available iconographic attributes to be given to a compassionate bodhisat20. My larger study on Buddhist sculpture from Odisha highlights this pattern (Dhingra 2021). For examples of Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara, see Bautze-Picron 2004: 256–257. For Aṣṭamahābhaya Tārā, see Ghosh 1980.

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tva figure, the noose appears to be a curious yet 2001: 73–77, Gopinatha Rao 1971 [1914]: 159). In telling choice. It is significant for being the first Odisha, Yama appears as a dikpāla (guardian of dynamically active attribute that was given to the eight directions) of the south, for instance, at Avalokiteśvara. His two essential characteristics, the early 7th- or 8th-century Paraśurāmeśvara the lotus and water-flask, remained his constant temple in Bhubaneshwar and the 11th-century iconographic markers. An aggressive weapon like Rājarānī temple in its vicinity. While Amoghapāśa the lasso, on the other hand, appears to be more and Yama share the same iconographic attribute, in line with the strand of esoteric imagery that they appear to have differing connotations: one was developing by the 8th–9th century. Perhaps benevolent and the other not. Further, while stele because of this attribute, Amoghapāśa is all too representing Amoghapāśa in Odisha were made casually given an ‘esoteric’ appellation, without as objects central to cultic devotion, Yama images any close consideration of the actual practice as- appear as part of a codified set of protectors at sociated with him in India.21 His images emerged Hindu temples.23 at a particular moment in Buddhist history—at In the same vein, Amoghapāśa’s origin may the juncture between mature Mahāyāna and Va- be better understood in relation to contemporary jrayāna Buddhism. In the South Asian context, Indic ritual. In addition to the transformation of Amoghapāśa was more in line with Mahāyāna ideas across geographic spaces, another significant Buddhist practices, which share some common influence on the conception of Avalokiteśvara as elements, such as the incorporation of dhāraṇīs, Amoghapāśa may be the contemporary popularwith what scholars often characterize as tantric ity of the ‘Hindu’ funerary cult. Janice Leoshko Buddhist practice. (1985: 33) has suggested that Amoghapāśa images Amoghapāśa sculptures produced in Eastern appeared first in and around Gayā, a pilgrimage India were also a product of an environment rife site for Hindus, specifically associated with funerwith iconographic inventions in all Indic religious ary practices at least since the 8th century. Gail traditions.22 The attribute was closely associated (2001: 161–166) has suggested that Gayā was the with the Hindu god Yama or Kāla, who used the ‘source of inspiration’ for Amoghapāśa images in lasso, sometimes forcefully, to bind and take away Odisha. Scholars working on funerary connections mortals at the time of death (Wessels-Mevissen of later Javanese Amoghapāśa statuary from Candi Jago accept Leoshko’s argument that Amoghapāśa was invented as a Buddhist version of the ‘Hindu’ ancestral rites and ceremonies of śrāddha due to 21. Nancy Hock (1987: 89) discusses the significance of the compassionate bodhisattva theme at Ratnagiri, a site Avalokiteśvara’s general association with the allevishe characterizes as ‘Mantrayānic’. On the basis of extant ation of suffering of all beings, and of his particular imagery at Ratnagiri, Linrothe (1999: 55–56), following aspect as the saviour at the ‘hour of death’ (Reichle Schopen’s textual studies (2005, Chapter 12 [1985]), charac2007: 104–105; Guy 2018: 219). terizes much of what is happening at this site in the 7th and Recent scholarship has successfully demon8th century as ‘a minority development within the range of strated a close connection between Buddhist and orthodox Mahāyāna ritual’ and not ‘tantric’. Images were not open to a select few; rather, they were available to a large non-Buddhist cultic and funerary practices. For audience. Robert Linrothe’s three-partite model based on instance, when discussing practices of ‘Śaiva-Śākta’ the ‘wrathful deity’ motif emphasizes the overlay between and ‘Tantric Buddhists’, Alexis Sanderson (2009: different phases in Esoteric Buddhist imagery between the 124–129) argues that rituals developed in ‘Man6th and the 12th centuries, and cautions against ascribing ‘esoteric’ too casually to Buddhist material from South Asia. trayāna’—a contested term in the development of Buddhism—closely mirror Śaiva examples, The same point is stressed by Bautze-Picron (2005: 418) in the context of bodhisattva images belonging to the period having been modelled on them. Sanderson further between the 8th and 10th centuries. argues for the adoption of the funeral rites of the 22. In a detailed study on Buddhism in Odisha, Umakanta Mishra (2009) makes the significant point of placing developments in Buddhism within the larger multireligious landscape.

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23. For a detailed study on Hindu temples in Odisha, see Donaldson 1985.

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amoghapāśa and funerary rites at ratnagiri (9th–10th centuries) The physical location of the large-scale cultic sculptures of bodhisattva Amoghapāśa in Odisha can be better contextualized by considering rockcut examples from cave temples in the Western Deccan as a precedent. Amoghapāśa images from Eastern India, as already noted above, should be placed in the lineage of popular cultic images of Avalokiteśvara, such as the Aṣṭamahābhaya icons from the Western Deccan. Between the 5th and 7th centuries, Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara gained increasing significance for local trading communities at Ajanta, Ellora, Aurangabad, and Kanheri (Brancaccio 2011: 160–164). Being placed in easily accessible spots, they were prominent in the overall iconographic programme. At Aurangabad, an Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara image is placed notably on a wall directly to the left of the leading portal to the main shrine of Cave 7 (circa 7th century) (Fig. 2.7). Similarly, now loose sculptures at Ratnagiri were positioned at accessible shrine-temples rather than in dark inner chambers of the monastery and were open for the viewing of a wide range of people (Fig. 2.8). Amoghapāśa images were not only made in sizeable proportions but were also of superior quality, 24. On this theme, see Schopen 1997 [1987], Chapter 7; and 2005 [1994], Chapter 14.

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suggesting lavish patronage and accessibility to a large audience. By the 9th–10th centuries, the Buddhist site of Ratnagiri was a dense amalgam of various archaeological and artistic remains. It was divided into two distinct areas—the monastic spaces (Monastery 1 and 2), and the stūpa area at the top of the hill (Fig. 2.9). The unstructured and unplanned intervening space between the main stūpa and the monasteries (where temples are marked in Fig. 2.9) appears to have been the focus of intense image worship and other rituals.25 Debala Mitra noted structural foundations and architectural remnants in brick and stone of at least eight temples.26 Some with in situ images were uncovered in the mounds excavated in front of Monastery 2, whereas the area in front of Monastery 1 still remains unexposed. Early accounts of the site indicate that many more such temples must have existed.27 Mitra (1981: 103–104, 287, 311–312, 323–324, 341–342) dates the temples between the 9th and mid-10th century or so. Given the information at our disposal it is difficult to relate them sequentially, but it is clear that many of these temples were built adjacent to each other. In spite of their unplanned appearance, the huddled together nature of these templeshrines indicates that the builders were concerned that they had limited available space at the hilltop at Ratnagiri. After Debala Mitra’s archaeological work (1958–1961), another series of small-scale excavations was carried out at Ratnagiri in 1998, 1999, and 2004 (Patnaik and Kar 2005). Conservation of the decaying Mahākāla temple and an investigation of its foundations incidentally revealed that it was built over extensive Buddhist vestiges 25. See Reichle 2016 for a study of the rituals at Ratnagiri, particularly in the precincts of Monastery 1. 26. For detailed discussions of the layout of the stūpa, monastery, and temples at Ratnagiri, see Dhingra 2021. Temples became a feature of South Asian archaeological sites between the 7th and 12th centuries, see Chakrabarti 1995: 200. 27. Accounts of the site suggest that architectural members and mounds were disturbed and reused by villagers. The sculptures found were presumably relocated under the Banyan grove, where Mitra reportedly found them in the late 1950s, see Mukerjee 1957: 15–19.

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Fig. 2.7: Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara, Aurangabad, c. 7th century. Photo: Jinah Kim.

Fig. 2.8: Relocated sculptures of Amoghapāśa, Monastery 1. Khondalite. Ratnagiri, Odisha, India. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

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Fig. 2.9: Site Plan, Ratnagiri Hill adapted and updated from Mitra 1981: 6. Drawn by Mariana Souto.

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dating between the 9th and 12th centuries.28 Archaeologists differ in their opinion on the date of this temple, but it is clear that it was erected over earlier layers.29 Excavation beneath and around the Mahākāla temple brought to light other important structural and artistic vestiges from the Buddhist period of the site. The Mahākāla temple was directly built over a very large brick stūpa. Three other brick-built shrines, facing East, were found. Most importantly, the excavators found a sizable, north-facing square brick-built shrine (internally measuring 2.40 m) west of the brick stūpa, which housed a colossal Amoghapāśa (2.52 × 1.23 × 0.52 m) (Fig. 2.10). Only stone foundations in the form of intersecting blocks that might have served to install the Amoghapāśa image are now traceable. A one-line inscription around its head suggests that this cult image was consecrated upon installation (Patnaik and Kar 2005: 271).30 Based on this inscription and stylistically, this image may be dated to the later part of the 9th century. On the basis of the above evidence, we can conclude that the dislocated Amoghapāśa sculptures from Ratnagiri were installed in temple-shrines located around the monasteries and main stūpa.31 It is also important to highlight that Amoghapāśa images have been discovered at sites where an abundance of small mortuary remains in the form of miniature stone stūpas have been excavated.32 28. Originally located in the shrine-and-stūpa area in front of Monastery 2, this temple was dismantled and moved to the Western slope of the hill (Patnaik and Kar 2005: 270). 29. Patnaik and Kar (2005) propose a 15th or 16th century date, while Mitra (1958) dates the temple to the 12th century or earlier based on the style of the main enshrined deity. 30. Unfortunately, this inscription was unreadable due to the accretions on the stone surface of the sculpture. Patnaik and Kar (2005: 271) note that it is the ye dharma verse. 31. Many of these sculptures have been moved to the porch and courtyard of Monastery 1. Another sculpture was moved to the Ratnagiri Site Museum (based on my fieldnotes from 2017). Similarly, a tall Amoghapāśa image discovered at Udayagiri, though devoid of architectural context, still stands to the north of a monastery at Udayagiri 1 (Bandyopadhyay 2004: 73–74). 32. Amoghapāśa images appear almost simultaneously with funerary deposits at Ratnagiri, Bodhgayā, and

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Fig. 2.10: Amoghapāśa, mid-to-late 9th century, Ratnagiri, Odisha, India. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

At Ratnagiri and Bodhgayā, archaeologists have documented the significant presence of votive stūpas near the main stūpa and all over the site.33 It is important to note that in addition to the area southwest to the main stūpa, miniature stūpas were also deposited next to the temples in front of Monastery 2.34 About six hundred remained at the site by Debala Mitra’s excavations in 1958–1961, while several were removed and re-used in village homes. Bénisti (1981) noted the thematic content Nālandā, beginning in the 8th century. Kurkihar (BautzePicron 2014; Pal 1988) is not yet excavated but also has a large number of votive stūpas all around, the majority of which have been moved from their original settings. 33. See Mitra 1981: 27. Mitra notes that at Ratnagiri the majority of small stūpas were dedicated between the 9th and 13th century. 34. See Mitra 1981: CCLVIII, CCLXI, CCLXIV–VI.

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Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites of these stūpas at Ratnagiri and Bodhgayā and outlined their stylistic characteristics. Mitra (1981: 108–138) notes the preponderance of a variety of deities in the niches of the stūpas at Ratnagiri. The most popular for depiction is two-armed seated Tārā, followed by Avalokiteśvara, the Buddha, and also deities of the Vajrayāna pantheon. Scholars have debated the functions of kula stūpas.35 The motivation behind the making of small stūpas was first understood to be for ‘accumulation of merit’; other scholars understood them as ‘souvenirs’. As previously noted, Schopen has convincingly shown that Buddhists disposed of their dead at stūpa sites. These places were akin to Hindu tīrthas (pilgrimage sites) for being conglomerates of pilgrims addressing the same concerns of respectfully and appropriately disposing of cremated ashes of their family members. Following Gregory Schopen’s seminal work, at least some ‘votive’ stūpas are understood to be vestiges of actual mortuary remains (Lawson 1988). At Ratnagiri, the small stūpas were monolithic and portable, with sockets as a provision to house objects such as metal images and charred human remains.36 Some stūpas may have been merely votive, with images carved in their niches and did not contain human remains. Unfinished examples suggest that miniature stūpas were likely manufactured at an on-site workshop (Mitra 1981: 27–32, 109; Plates LIX and LX). It certainly appears that mortuary rituals and memorialization constituted an essential aspect of what people were doing across Buddhist sacred sites of the 8th through the 12th centuries. For instance, Hiram Woodward (1990) had identified the 10th–11th century as the moment when the scene of the ‘gift of honey’ by a monkey became a common theme in artistic programmes of miniature stūpas at Bodhgayā. As he demonstrates, this is the penultimate event before parinirvāṇa and has a significant conceptual connection to the event of the death of the Buddha. In some post35. The Chinese monk Yijing, in his Record of The Buddhist Religion as Practiced in India and the Malay Archipelago, first called them kula (‘family, clan’), and the name seems to have come to denote ‘a stūpa for the dead’ (see Schopen 1997 [1987]: 120). 36. See Mitra, cited in Schopen (1997 [1987]: 120, n. 29).

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9th century structural examples from Ratnagiri we find carefully chosen excerpts from dhāraṇī texts specifically relating to death and rebirth deposited in them (Schopen 1997 [1987]: 121–122). With this link between the iconographic theme and life-event in mind, and on the basis of my field research, I further support the funerary association of Amoghapāśa by considering the archaeological contexts in which his images have been discovered. At Odisha’s Buddhist sites, Amoghapāśa’s images survive near material vestiges relating to the performance of death rituals, and the majority of the surviving evidence clusters around the 9th and 10th centuries (Schopen 2005 [1994]: 356). The archaeological context of the recently exhumed Amoghapāśa image (Fig. 2.11) also reveals its cultic uses. Archaeologists remarked that a set of fifty-two ‘votive stūpas’—both monolithic and structural—were arranged in four rows in a north-south configuration. It appears as though the towering Amoghapāśa sculpture, still on-site today, looks over the clusters of small kula stūpas that commemorate the many dead. Finally, archaeologists found several ritual objects, coterminous in date with the Avalokiteśvara image and the stūpas. These include earthen lamps, vases, and handīs (pots), which were used in the worship of this image between the 9th and 12th centuries (Patnaik and Kar 2005: 273–274). It may be hypothesized that funerary rituals involving Amoghapāśa came up in the vicinity of Gayā, the pilgrimage spot for Hindus, and spread along particular Buddhist networks in parts of Eastern India. We can also look to the south of Odisha for precedents in mortuary rituals at Buddhist sites. Situated along the southeastern part of India’s eastern coast, in today’s Andhra Pradesh, Buddhist settlements, such as Thotlakonda and Bavikonda, date from the early historic period to the 3rd century CE; other sites, such as Salihundam, had a more extended history, up until the early mediaeval period. Buddhist sites in the Andhra hills, as Lars Fogelin (2006: 7) argues, consisted of ‘mortuary landscapes’ in the form of cairns and boulders as well as small stone-carved stūpas. These sites are similar in material and form to finds from Odishan sites dating to a slightly later period, such as Langudi and Ratnagiri. This sug-

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Fig. 2.11: Excavated Amoghapāśa amidst kula stūpas, area in front of Monastery 2 (facing North). Khondalite. Ratnagiri, Odisha, India. Photo: Sonali Dhingra, 2017.

gests the long-established role of Buddhist monks in providing funerary services to the communities that used the site. The popularity of the cult of Amoghapāśa, datable to the late 8th century on the basis of the extant stone sculpture, may be an additional element, centred on image-worship, of this phenomenon, which was widespread in Buddhist practice by the 7th century (DeCaroli 2015: 143–145). The frequent production and popularity of large-scale cultic statues of Amoghapāśa in the late first millennium may indicate that the Buddhist clergy conducted mortuary rites for the laity. The saṅgha’s association with the satiating of hungry ghosts (preta) and performance of ancestral rites, as Robert DeCaroli notes, goes back to the early centuries of the Common Era. Additionally, based on a study of early Pali texts, DeCaroli (2004: 97) argues that Buddhist monks were considered to be ‘funerary experts… adept at helping the departed’.

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His suggestion about the pragmatism of the saṅgha and its connection with the practical problems of Buddhist lay followers appears to be plausible. On the basis of the archaeological record at Ratnagiri, we can imagine a great deal of flexibility and pragmatism in the performance of funeral rites. These rituals perhaps could even be performed sometime after the actual death of the person. As noted above, unfinished examples suggest that monolithic stone stūpas were carved on-site at Ratnagiri, making the performance of the ritual quite convenient for a visiting pilgrim. One last piece of information from Ratnagiri suggests the performance of rituals by visitors, due to a protracted death valence for this locality, perhaps owing to the association of this site with Amoghapāśa’s cult. A stele inscribed in Gauḍiya, dated to around the 12th century or later, was found fixed firmly into the ground in a prominent position on site, beside the external peripheral

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Amoghapāśa’s Cultic Role in Late First Millennium Odishan Buddhist Sites wall of the eastern side of Monastery 1 (Mitra 1981: 212–215).37 The inscription, in four verses, talks of the gift of paddy on behalf of a deceased person, identified as Maṅgalarāja, ‘who was greatly afraid of the future life’. By making this grant, it was wished that the ‘gate of hell may be kept well unopened’ for him. The donor, a ‘scion of his family’, appears to have made this gift for Maṅgalarāja’s salvation (mukti). A curse towards anyone who disrupted the grant ends the inscription. Though damaged, the inscription suggests that gifts of paddy per hala (a measure of land) were customarily made, presumably to the saṅgha to avert a grim afterlife in hell. Perhaps, the specification that this timely gift can ‘stop his entry into hell’ suggests that the donors came to Ratnagiri to carry out a funerary or memorial ritual for a kin member. This inscription is a valuable clue to the function of the establishment, its inhabitants, and the devotional images discovered here. The above fits in well with what we learn from Gregory Schopen’s discussions of the Buddhist doctrine of ‘transference of merit’, where devotees could perform rituals on behalf of their parents and loved ones, both dead and alive.38 The agglomeration of Buddhists to perform certain specific rituals around particular images at pilgrimage sites, such as Ratnagiri, must have been part of the business of running a Buddhist establishment. We may conclude that Amoghapāśa’s images as objects central to these rituals must have, in turn, attracted substantial patronage in the form of tangible goods and monetary donations for monastic institutions, and would also have ensured the prosperity and prestige of a Buddhist establishment, which was one of the major concerns of the monastic community.

conclusion This chapter has identified particular aspects of the cultic usage of colossal Amoghapāśa images and has animated the contexts of their viewership during the late first millennium in Odisha. 37. The inscriptions were deciphered by D.C. Sircar. 38. See Schopen 1997 [1985], Chapter 2.

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Textual accounts, both generally concerned with the elevation of bodhisattva cults and more concerned explicitly with prayers to Amoghapāśa, helped to illuminate the broad-based appeal of this bodhisattva for the Buddhist community and his particularized role for a few generations of Indian Buddhists. By coordinating and mapping Amoghapāśa images with votive stūpas chronologically and archeologically, I have suggested that the worship of Amoghapāśa as the saviour at the time of death may have been performed in tandem with the deposition of bodily remains of the dead in small stūpas. Through this bodhisattva, which had a wide appeal across Buddhist Asia in the mediaeval period, we can see the interactions between communities from regions as far apart as Odisha, Java, and Japan, as they shared special reverence for Amoghapāśa and practised death-related rituals for ancestors.

References

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Proser, Adriana (ed.). 2010. Pilgrimage and Buddhist Art. New York: Asia Society/New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Reichle, Natasha. 2007. Violence and Serenity: Late Buddhist Sculpture from Indonesia. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. . 2016. ‘Imagery, Ritual and Ideology at the Mahavihara at Ratnagiri’, in Andrea Acri (ed.), Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, pp. 211–236. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Sanderson, Alexis. 2009. ‘The Śaiva Age’, in Singo Einoo (ed.), Genesis and Development of Tantrism, pp. 41–350. Tokyo: Institute of Oriental Culture, University of Tokyo. Schopen, Gregory. 1997. Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks: Collected Papers on the Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Texts of Monastic Buddhism in India. Studies in the Buddhist Traditions. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. . 2005. Figments and Fragments of Mahāyāna Buddhism in India: More Collected Papers. Studies in the Buddhist Traditions. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Sinclair, Iain. 2022. ‘From Melayu to Thamel and Back: The Transmigration of the EightArmed Amoghapāśa’, in Andrea Acri and Peter Sharrock (eds.), The Creative South: Buddhist and Hindu Art in Mediaeval Maritime Asia, Volume One, pp. 9–65. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute.

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Studholme, Alexander. 2002. The Origins of Om Manipadme Hum: A Study of Kāraṇḍavyūha Sūtra. Albany: State University of New York Press. Tingley [Hock], Nancy. 2006. ‘Avalokiteśvara in Javanese Context: Gaṇḍavyūha, Kūṭāgāra, and Amoghapāśa’, The Journal of the Walters Art Museum 64/65: 65–80. Wessels-Mevissen, Corinna. 2001. The Gods of the Directions in Ancient India: Origin and Early Development in Art and Literature (until c. 1000 A.D.). Monographien Zur Indischen Archäologie, Kunst Und Philologie, Bd. 14. Berlin: Reimer. Willetts, William. 1963. ‘Ratnagiri, an Eighth Century Buddhist Monastic Foundation’, Oriental Art 9: 15–21. Williams, Joanna. 2007. ‘The Bird of Hariti: Some Questions about the Buddhist Iconography of Orissa and Java’, in K.S. Behera (ed.), KalingaIndonesian Cultural Relations, pp. 247–250. Bhubaneshwar: Orissan Institute of Maritime and South East Asian Studies, Department of Culture, Government of Orissa. Wong, Dorothy. 2007. ‘The Case of Amoghapāśa’, Journal of Inner Asian Art and Archaeology 2: 151–158. Woodward, Hiram W. Jr. 1990. ‘The Life of the Buddha in the Pāla Monastic Environment’, Journal of the Walters Art Gallery 48: 13–27.

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Chapter 3

Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia: Epigraphic and Iconographic Evidence from Odisha and Java (8th–11th century) Umakanta Mishra

T

introduction

he eastward spread of Esoteric Buddhist Tantra, of which architectural and sculptural maṇḍalas1 were a constitutive part, from the Indian subcontinent to other regions of Maritime Asia was a defining feature of the Indic Middle Ages. Starting from the 7th century CE, Esoteric Buddhism began to develop iconographic programmes based on maṇḍalic themes in which the Pañcatathāgata system, with Vairocana or Akṣobhya at the centre, as well as bodhisattvas and other divinities, were arranged in particular alignments. This chapter explores the development of maṇḍalas based on Caryā- and Yoga-tantras in the architectural and iconographic programmes of Buddhist sites in Ratnagiri, Udayagiri, and Lalitagiri, situated in what is now the eastern littoral state of Odisha in India. In the first part, it argues that Odisha emerged as an early centre of Esoteric Buddhism, presenting epigraphic, sculptural, and architectural evidence of maṇḍalas that Buddhist monks transmitted to Southeast and East Asia. In the second part, it highlights similarities between the Odishan architectural and art historical remains and analogous monuments and objects from the Buddhist sites of Central Java, which were also based on the Caryā- and Yoga-tantras.

1. Maṇḍalas involve meditative visualization of hosts of supernormal beings in particular geometrical arrangements for the purpose of mundane and soteriological goals (Skt. siddhi).

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part i: odisha as an early centre of esoteric buddhism The Identification of Odisha as Uḍḍiyāna/ Oḍḍiyāna Before starting my exploration of Esoteric Buddhism in Maritime Asia with special reference to Odisha, a discussion of the issue of the identification of Uḍḍiyāna/Oḍḍiyāna is in order. Uḍḍiyāna/ Oḍḍiyāna, which the Tibetan accounts regard as an important centre of Esoteric Buddhism, has variously been associated with the Swat Valley in Northwestern India or Southeastern India (Odisha, Tamil Nadu). The Gaṇeśa image inscription found in Gadrez (near Swat) and its reading by scholars, such as Ronald Davidson (2002: 209), led many to assert in unequivocal terms that Oḍḍiyāna is the Swat valley, and Sanderson (2007: 265–67) has gathered further evidence from Sanskrit texts supporting this identification.2 However, as argued by Sahu (1958: 147), the words Oḍa, Oḍra, Uḍra, Oḍiviśa and Oḍiyāna are all used as variants of Uḍḍiyāna in both Tibetan and Sanskrit texts: for instance, in the Sādhanamālā (12th century CE), Uḍḍiyāna is also spelled as Oḍrayāna (Odisha), while in the Kālikā Purāṇa (c. 11th–12th century) it is spelled either Uḍḍiyāna or Oḍra (van Kooij 2. Sanderson (2007: 266) states that ‘the evidence offered for these counter-theories [locating Uḍḍiyāna in regions different than the Northeastern part of the Indian subcontinent] is negligible and they have been able to multiply only because of the apparent lack of references to the location of Uḍḍiyāna in known Sanskrit sources.’

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1972: 170–171). In the light of analogous textual evidence, the tantric seat of Oḍḍiyāna has been identified with Odisha by Donaldson (2001: 8–16), and as Kāñcī in Tamil Nadu by Lokesh Chandra (1995: 174). Oḍḍiyāna is also associated with Śambhāla. According to the 18th-century Tibetan text Pag Sam Jon Zang, Uḍḍiyāna is divided into two kingdoms: Śambhāla, where Indrabhūti ruled, and Laṅkāpurī, where Jalendra ruled. Jalendra’s son married Lakṣmīṅkarā, Indrabhūti’s sister. This account seems to associate Oḍḍiyāna with Odisha, as Laṅkāpurī may be identified as an ancient toponym of that region. The Mahada Copper Plates issued by the Somavaṃśī Prince Someśvaradeva (10th century CE) reveal that the prince was ruling over Paścima Laṅkā (Western Laṅkā) on the bank of the Citrotpalā river (Mahānadī), which is identified with Sonepur (Epigraphia Indica XII 1913–14: 237–242). The goddess Lankeśvarī, referred to in some of the Sādhanas of the Sādhanamālā, is still regarded as the presiding deity of the territory of Sonepur on the bank of the Mahānadī, and is worshipped today in the bed of the river on a low rock, called Lankeśvarī. Sahu (1958) prefers to identify Śambhāla with Samabalpur and Laṅkā with Sonepur. That Odisha/Oḍrayāna/Oḍīvīsa was a major centre of Guhyasamāja teachings, and Esoteric Buddhism in general, may be inferred from two references in Tibetan sources. According to Tāranātha (Chattopadhyaya 2010 [1980]: 289), Pito, sent to Śambhāla by Vajrapāṇi, brought many Tantras with him, which he taught to the students at Ratnagiri vihāra (Sahu 1958: 148). In the Blue Annals it is stated in connection with the search for the Kālacakratantra by ācārya Celuka (Tsi-lu-pa) that the ācārya had read it in the vihāra of Ratnagiri (Rin chen ri bo), which had been left undamaged by the Turuṣkas (Roerich 1959 II: 755). Celuka’s connection with Odisha and Ratnagiri vihāra is stated in other Tibetan texts as well (Mitra 1981 I: 18). It now seems appropriate to discuss some further instances of the historical memory of Odisha in Tibetan sources, and in particular the identity of King Viśukalpa of the southern country, who is introduced in the 15th-century Tibetan chronicle Blue Annals as being in the line of successors of the Guhyasamājatantra from Indrabhūti

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of Oḍḍiyāna, an early adept of the Guhyasamāja.3 The text states the following with regard to the introduction of the Guhyasamāja to Tibet: The adepts of the (Guhya) samāja agree that the Guhyasamājatantra had been preached by the Munīndra himself, following a request of Indrabhūti, the great king of Oḍḍīyāna, at the time when Buddha had manifested in Oḍḍīyāna and initiated (the king). Thereupon the king and his retinue practised the Tantra by means of prapañca-caryā (spros-spyod) and became initiates (Vidyādhara—one who has attained spiritual realisation or siddhi, grub-pa), and the country of Oḍḍīyāna became deserted. After that a yoginī, who had descended from the realm of the Nāgas, heard it (i.e. the Tantra) from (king) Indrabhūti and taught it to king Viśukalpa of the Southern country. The Mahā-brāhmaṇa Saraha heard it from him... (Blue Annals, ed. Roerich 1959 I: 359).

As The Blue Annals refer to the transmission of the Guhyasamāja from Indrabhūti through the Nāgas to Viśukalpa, one is tempted to assume that Oḍḍiyāna and the southern country were nearby, and not situated at the opposite corners of the Indian subcontinent, as other Tibetan sources would seem to believe. King Viśukalpa also figures in an early 17th century account by Tāranātha in connection with the Guhyasamāja and its transmission. Tāranātha states, ‘In the account of the ārya-s of the Guhyasamāja, *Visukalpa, the king of *Oḍiviśa, is to be taken as a contemporary of king *Candana-pāla’ (Chattopadhyaya 2010 [1980]: 104). Tāranātha describes Viśukalpa as a member of the Guhyasamāja tradition, which corroborates The Blue Annals’ account; however, he calls him a king of Oḍiviśa rather than of the southern country, as The Blue Annals do. The Blue Annals refer to the transmission of the Guhyasamāja from Indrabhūti to Saraha, a paradigmatic siddha, also known as Rāhulabhadra. The author of the 18th century Tibetan text Pag Sam Jon Zang (Dass 1908: xxvi) 3. His son, the Guru Padmasambhava, introduced Buddhism to Tibet. A later Indrabhūti, credited with the authorship of the Jñānasiddhi and the Sahajasiddhi, is known from the Bstan ’gyur collection (Davidson 2002: 45–83).

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia describes Saraha as an adept of both Buddhism and brahmanical religions, who flourished during the reign of Candanapāla. Since Candanapāla was referred to by Tāranātha as a contemporary of King Viśukalpa of Oḍiviśa, Saraha may have been a contemporary of Viśukalpa. Saraha’s time is traced to the 7th century CE (633 CE) by Benoytosh Bhattacharyya (1980: 66), while Indrabhūti is ascribed to the early 8th century, even though the Blue Annals place Indrabhūti first in the order of siddhas. This confusion in the order of siddhas and their chronology are largely due to different Tibetan masters subscribing to their own traditions.4 The difficulty in developing an exact chronology of the siddhas caused Guenther to state that ‘although the historicity of Saraha cannot be doubted, the elusiveness of the man is matched by that of his teaching’ (Guenther 1969: 12–13). Given that there were possibly various ‘doubles’ for such famous (Esoteric) Buddhist masters as Indrabhūti and Nāgārjuna, Saraha can be tentatively date to around the 8th or 9th century. According to the author of the Pag Sam Jon Zang, Saraha visited Odisha, where he learnt Mantrayāna from one Covesa Kalpa (Bhattacharyya 1928 II: XLIV). The fact that the Middle Indo-Aryan language of the dohākośa of many Siddhācāryas, including that of Saraha, has striking lexical and other grammatical similarities with Oḍia language (Kar 1989) suggests another association between Saraha and Odisha. A local oral tradition associated with the Buddhist sites of Ratnagiri, Lalitagiri, and Udayagiri attributes to King Vaśukalpa of the Keśarī dynasty the construction of those establishments. The Keśarī dynasty of the Odishan tradition has been identified with the Somavaṃśis, who came to coastal Odisha from Upper Mahānadī valley of Dakṣiṇa Kośala and united the two subregions of Odisha in the 9th–10th century. It would thus seem that Vaśukalpa known from local legends can now tentatively be identified 4. For instance, Tāranātha, the Pag Sam Jon Zang and the Blue Annals start with Padmavajra, Anaṅgavajra, Indrabhūti etc., in that order, while Kazi Dawa-Samdup (1987), in his introduction to the Cakrasaṃvara Tantra, gives a different lineage, starting with Saraha, Nāgārjuna, Śabaripa, etc.

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with the Viśukalpa of the Guhyasamāja tradition mentioned in the Blue Annals and Tāranātha’s chronicle as belonging to Odisha. In the light of the above, it does not seem far-fetched to hypothesize that the Nāgas referred to by the Blue Annals as the intermediaries in the transmission of the Guhyasamāja from Indrabhūti to Viśukalpa and Saraha may be the ‘historical’ Nāgakula kings who ruled over some parts of central and northern Odisha from the 6th century CE, as is known from the Asanpat inscriptions of Śatrubhañja (Tripathy 1997 I: 171–172). King Śatrubhañja mentioned in the Asanpat inscription (paleographically dated to the 6th century) traces his lineage to Nāgakula and describes his donation to a Buddhist establishment. Further, a 10th–11th century step-well inscription in the Buddhist site of Udayagiri describes Rāṇaka Vajranāga as the endower of the well, thereby attesting to the Nāga rule in Odisha (Mishra 2018: 69–94; Donaldson 2001: 24).

Maṇḍalas in Esoteric Buddhism: Early Evidence from Odisha Buddhist esotericism involved the employment of many ritual technologies like mantras, maṇḍalas, and abhiṣeka (‘consecration’). The development of maṇḍala-based religious and iconographic programmes constitutes an important element in the Buddhist landscapes of Maritime Asia. Starting from the late 7th century CE, Buddhism in various regions of Maritime Asia began to develop esoteric iconographic programmes in stūpas based on the maṇḍalic arrangement in which the Pañcatathāgatas, bodhisattvas, and other divinities were shown in particular alignments. Scholars like Bernet Kempers (1933) and, more recently, Sharrock (2016), Sundberg (2003, 2011), Acri (2016), and others highlight the role of South India, Nālandā, and Sri Lanka’s Abhayagiri Vihāra as important centres in the spread of maṇḍalas across Maritime Asia on the basis of epigraphic and archaeological evidence as well as Chinese Buddhist records. The following section explores the architectural and iconographic programmes of maṇḍalas in the Buddhist ‘diamond triangle’ sites of Ratnagiri, Udayagiri, and Lalitagiri of Odisha.

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Garbhadhātu- and Vajradhātu-Maṇḍalas of the Mahāvairocanābhisambodhisūtra (MVS) and Sarvatathāgatatattvasaṅgraha (STTS) Two early important texts that formed the basis of the Buddhist maṇḍalas and Esoteric Buddhism in India (7th–8th century CE), China, and Japan were the MVS and STTS. In the MVS, Vairocana is represented as Abhisambodhi (totally enlightened) whereas in the STTS, Vairocana is considered as sarvavid (omniscient). The MVS, a mūla-tantra composed in the 7th century CE and consolidated over time into a Yogatantra text, is a seminal work in the history of Esoteric Buddhism, offering one of the first fully developed expositions of this current. In India and Tibet, this scripture came to be classified as a Caryātantra, or ‘Practice Tantra’—corresponding to the second category of what was later to become in Tibet the standard fourfold classification of Buddhist Tantras—, only to be eventually superseded to a large degree by the STTS in the 8th century CE. The STTS does not explain concepts; rather, it is concerned with providing the rules for the maṇḍalic rites: how to draw maṇḍalas, how to carry out rituals of initiation into these maṇḍalas (abhiṣeka), etc. It also describes the powers resulting from the performance of these ritual actions. The twin texts of the MVS and the STTS deal with the visualization of deities in a maṇḍala. The Garbhadhātu maṇḍala (The Womb Realm) is based on the MVS. There are two versions of Garbhadhātu maṇḍala: one by Amoghavajra (which is the most popular), and one by Śubhākarasiṃha. The name of the maṇḍala derives from chapter 2 of the sūtra, where it is said that Mahāvairocana revealed the maṇḍalas’ secret teachings to his disciple Vajrasattva from his ‘womb of compassion’. In the Garbha maṇḍala, the alignment of the Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and other divinities is arranged around the Buddha Vairocana in the central position (pericarp) in the eight-petalled lotus surrounded by other deities, placed in the points of the compass, namely Ratnaketu in the east, Saṃkusumitarāja in the south, Amitābha in the west, and Duṇḍibhinirghoṣa in the north. The four bodhisattvas in the intermediate petals are Samantabhadra (SE), Mañjuśrī (SW), Maitreya (NW),

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and Lokeśvara (NE). The bodhisattvas represented in the outer circles are Mañjuśrī (E), Viṣkambhin (S), Ᾱkāśagarbha (W), and Kṣitigarbha (N). While Vairocana is mostly represented in the wheel-turning-mudrā, in Shingon Buddhism he is shown in meditation-mudrā. In the Vajradhātu maṇḍala, Vairocana occupies the centre of the eight-petalled lotus while Akṣobhya is assigned the seat in the east, Amitābha in the west, Amoghasiddhi in the north, and Ratnasambhava in the south (Snodgrass 1988 I, fig. 306).

Buddhist Masters and the Circulation of Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia The Chinese Tang period text Song gaoseng zhuan, compiled by Zanning (919–1001 CE), gives the biography of many Indian Buddhist monks who took Buddhism to China (Chou 1945). Three prominent monks in the transmission of the MVS and the STTS to China were Vajrabodhi (671–741 CE), his disciple Amoghavajra (704–774 CE), and Śubhākarasiṃha. Vajrabodhi’s Chinese disciple, Lu Xiang, left a biography of his master and Amoghavajra, who was one of the celebrated Buddhist monks in the Tang Court. While Amoghavajra and Vajrabodhi have received scholarly attentions in recent times, there is a lack of detailed studies on Śubhākarasiṃha (Sundberg 2011: 129; Goble 2019). Śubhākarasiṃha (Shanwuwei, 637–735 CE) was an influential and well-travelled monk: he went to China, made a commentary on the MVS, a text dealing with the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala, and a manuscript of the same bearing his signature was brought to Japan by Doji (Hakeda 1972: 19). According to the Taishō Tripiṭaka, Śubhākarasiṃha was a native of Central India (most likely Chhatishgarh and Panduvaṃśī) whose royal ancestors, on account of internal problems, moved to Oḍra and ruled over it. However, he became a novice at the age of 13 and travelled towards a monastery near the sea (most likely Ratnagiri), where he obtained the Saddharmapuṇḍarīkasūtra. He then visited many countries, travelling by ship. He came to Veṇuvana vihāra of Nālandā, becoming a disciple of Dharmagupta. Dharmagupta imparted to him dhāraṇīs, yoga, and the three secrets of words, speech and mind.

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia Then he wandered in many parts of India and, on the instruction of his preceptor Dharmagupta, left for China via Kashmir, Swat, and Tibet, finally arriving in China in 712/716 CE at the invitation of the Chinese emperor. Among the texts that he brought to China were the MVS, which he himself (or Yixing, under his direction) translated into Chinese in 725 CE. It is significant to mention that Odisha was regarded by Hodge (2005: 19–20) as having played a possible role in the composition of this text, and that the images of Vairocanābhisambodhi are concentrated in Odisha (Tanaka 2018: 108). The MVS survives in early Japanese copies, known as the Gobushinkan (Yamamoto 1990). Śubhākarasiṃha also made an iconographic copybook in his own hand of the maṇḍala deities of the STTS. Both the STTS and Gobushinkan emphasize the importance of Mahāvairocana and the interrelated Mahākaruṇāgarbhodbhava- and Vajradhātu-maṇḍalas. These two maṇḍalas form the basis of Japanese Shingon Buddhism and, according to Japanese legends, were transmitted by Mahāvairocana to Vajrasattva, who kept them for several hundred years within an iron stūpa in South India until they were recovered by Nāgārjuna (Snodgrass 1988 I: 111–119). Śubhākarasiṃha is also credited to have translated into Chinese the manual Uṣṇīṣavijayādhāraṇī, the Sanskrit version of which made way to Japan. The recital of this dhāraṇī twenty-one times was advised for most purposes in Śubhākarasiṃha’s manual (T 19.373b–375b) and was adopted by the Tang Emperor Daizong from Amoghavajra (Chou 1945: 322).5

Influence of the MVS & STTS on the Iconographic Programmes of the Buddhist Sites of Odisha There is iconographic and epigraphic evidence of the influence of the MVS and the STTS in the religious programmes of the Buddhist sites of Odisha. 5. Several other texts were translated by Śubhākarasiṃha, including the Ᾱryasubāhuparipṛcchānāmatantra (T 18 895), the Susiddhikaramahātantrasādhanopāyikapaṭala (T 18 896), the Essentials of Meditation (T 917 18.942b–46a), the Method for Reciting the Dhāraṇī of Bodhisattva Ākāśagarbha, Whose Unsurpassed Mind Can Fulfill All Requests (T 1145; Pinte 2011: 339–361), etc.

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The growing importance of ācāryas in the new ritual context of Vajrayāna in Odisha is evident from both epigraphic and sculptural vestiges. The Khaḍipadā Avalokiteśvara image inscription (9th century) refers to the donor, Rāhularuci, as mahāmaṇḍalācārya and paramaguru (Ghosh 1941–1942: 247–248). The former title seems to be a dignity conferred on Rāhularuci. The twin title suggests that Rāhularuci was quite adept in the maṇḍala rituals of Esoteric Buddhism, and that he was a paramaguru who initiated students into the world of maṇḍala rituals. Similarly, a sculptural representation of the five Tathāgatas with an inscription on its pedestal in Siddhamātṛkā script of 8th century CE, now in the Jagannath temple Complex in Jajpur town, was installed by a Buddhist ācārya (Mishra and Acharya 2016). This inscription too attests to the appearance of Esoteric Buddhist preceptors in Odisha by the 8th century. Buddhist remains attesting iconographical and architectural evidence of maṇḍalas in Odisha are strewn throughout the state, but the main concentration is in the Assia group of hills in the undivided Cuttack district. Archaeological excavations and surveys have revealed more than 100 sites, and the sites of Ratnagiri, Lalitagiri, and Udayagiri contain the most substantial presence of Esoteric Buddhist features (Mitra 1981–1983; Patnaik 2017; Trivedi 2011). As has been noted in the previous section, two important texts carried by Śubhākarasiṃha, Vajrabodhi and Amoghavajra to China are the MVS and the STTS. The Abhisambodhi Vairocana image of Lalitagiri (Fig. 3.1) is inscribed with a mantra on the back slab that reads namaḥ samantabuddhānām aḥ vīra (line 1) hūṃ khaṃ (line 2) (Sawa 1982: 9). This mantra appears in chapter six of the MVS (Giebel 2005). On palaeographical grounds, the inscription can be dated to the early 8th century CE, that is, around the same time of the transmission of the MVS and STTS to China by Śubhākarasiṃha, Vajrabodhi, and Amoghavajra. We do not know whether this image of Abhisambodhi Vairocana, found in the Hatikhol area of the village (Patnaik 2017), formed part of a larger iconographic programme based on the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala. The Lalitagiri site contains images of two other Buddhas in bhūmisparśa-mudrā, the one flanked

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Umakanta Mishra (dated to the 10th century) CE has been identified as a Garbhadhātu maṇḍala-stūpa by Donaldson (2001: 120). In the outer niches of the Udayagiri stūpa four Tathāgata Buddhas have been represented. They have been identified as Vairocana flanked by Mañjuśrī on the right and Kṣitigarbha on the left in the north, Akṣobhya flanked by Maitreya in the dexter and Sarvanivāraṇaviṣkambhin on the sinister facing east, Amitābha flanked by Lokeśvara on the right and Vajrapāṇi on the left facing west, and Ratnasambhava flanked on two sides by Samantabhadra on the right in the south (Donaldson 2001: 121; Mishra 2009). This alignment of the bodhisattvas has close affinities with the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala of the MVS. Vairocana, as described in Śubhākarasiṃha’s version of the text, is without ornamentation, except for a jewel in the coiffure. Table 3.1 represents the iconographic alignments of the Tathāgatas and bodhisattvas in the Udayagiri stūpa near Monastery 1.

Vajradhātu maṇḍala: Icongraphic evidence from Ratnagiri Fig. 3.1: Abhisaṁbodhi Vairocana with the mantra namaḥ samantabuddhānām aḥ vīra hūṃ khaṃ engraved on its backslab, Lalitagiri, early 8th century. (Photo: author)

by Avalokiteśvara and Mañjuśrī, the other by Avalokiteśvara and Maitreya (Fig. 3.2). These can be iconographically dated to the early 8th century CE—that is, the same period of the Abhisambodhi Vairocana image—, and are compatible with a Garbhadhātu maṇḍala alignment. Many freestanding life-sized eight bodhisattva images dated to the early 9th century CE were also found, suggesting a possible maṇḍalic, early Mantranaya alignment of these Mahāyāna deities (Donaldson 1995; Patnaik 2017). Another piece of evidence associated with the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala comes from the stūpa of Udayagiri I area, which can be dated to the 9th century CE (Fig. 3.3). The excavation of this area in 1986 revealed a maṇḍala-arranged stūpa with four Buddhas in the four cardinal directions flanked by two boddhisattvas each. The Udayagiri Mahāstūpa

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In the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala, which is part of the MVS, Vairocana is represented as Abhisambodhi (totally enlightened) and, therefore, he appears without any ornament, as in the Lalitagiri image and the Udayagiri mahāstūpa. In contrast, the STTS, which is a Yogatantra, represents Vairocana as an omniscient and universal emperor. While Udayagiri contains evidence of both the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala of the MVS and the Vajradhātu maṇḍala of the STTS, Ratnagiri only shows evidence of the Vajradhātu maṇḍala. The Museum in the Collectorate compound of Jajpur contains two images from Ratnagiri—one of Akṣobhya and the other of Amitābha, each surrounded by four bodhisattvas (Fig. 3.4). Akṣobhya is surrounded by Vajrasattva on the lower right, as known from the vajra and possibly the bell; Vajrarāja on the upper right, who holds his aṅkuśa (goad); Vajrarāga on the lower left, dispensing arrow from the bow; and Vajrasādhu on the top left, who holds a vajra. In the Amitābha image, the bodhisattva on the lower left is holding a sword and can be identified as Vajratīkṣṇa on the basis of the STTS (Lokesh Chandra and Snellgrove 1981a: 19).

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Fig. 3.2: Akṣobhya flanked by two bodhisattvas, possibly as part of a larger maṇḍala iconographic programme in the Caityagṛha area of Lalitagiri, early 8th century. (Photo: author)

Fig. 3.3: Udayagiri Mahāstūpa, 9th–10th century. (Photo: author)

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Umakanta Mishra

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Table 3.1: Alignment of Buddhas and bodhisattvas in the stūpa of Udayagiri, Odisha (9th–10th century), modelled on the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala. (Photos: author) Buddhas

Photos

Vairocana is flanked by Mañjuśrī on the right and Kṣitigarbha on the left. Mañjuśrī has a book on an utpala. Kṣitigarbha holds a kalaśa with kalpavṛkṣa rather than a lotus or jewel as prescribed in the text.

Amitābha is flanked by Avalokiteśvra on the right and Vajrapāṇi on the left. The former holds a lotus and the latter holds a vajra on their respective left hand.

Ratnasambhava is flanked by Samantabhadra and Ᾱkāśagarbha. Samantabhadra holds a sword while Ᾱkāśagarbha holds a jewel on a lotus.

Akṣobhya is flanked by Maitreya on the right and Sarvanivāraṇaviṣkambhin on the left. The former holds a nāgakeśara flower rather than a kuṇḍika (pot), while the latter holds a jewel, in conformity with the text.

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maṇḍala in the iconographic programmes of the Buddhist site of Ratnagiri around the 9th century CE. Another piece of evidence of the influence of the STTS on the iconographic programmes in Udayagiri is the image of Vajradhātu-Vairocana found to the right of the door jamb of the shrine chamber of monastery 1 at Udayagiri (Fig. 3.5). Here Vairocana facing north wears a kirīṭi crown, is rich in ornamentation with hair cascading down on his shoulders, and displays the bodhyaṅgī-mudrā. The bodhyangī-mudrā or mudrā of six elements signifies the union of the five knowledges of the Tathāgatas into a single enlightenment, whereby the index finger of the left hand is clasped by the five fingers of the right hand, referred to as the ‘knowledge-fist mudrā’. In the Vajradhātu maṇḍala of the STTS, a goddess is located in each intermediate directions in the strips outside the central chapel, namely, Vajradhūpā, Vajrapuṣpā, Vajralokā, and

Fig. 3.4: (lower right) Amitābha surrounded by Vajratīkṣṇā, Vajrahetu, Vajradharma, Vajrabhāṣa and Akṣobhya surrounded by Vajrasattva, as known from the vajra and possibly the bell; (upper right) Vajrarāja holding his aṅkuśa (goad); (lower left) Vajrarāga dispensing arrow from the bow; Vajrasādhu from Ratnagiri (now in Jajpur Collectorate Museum), 9th–10th century. (Photo: author)

The bodhisattva on the upper left corresponds to Vajrahetu, whose two hands are clenched in front of his chest, where he holds a circular object. The bodhisattva on the lower right is not recognizable, while the one on the upper right could possibly be Vajradharma. Another Amitābha image surrounded by four bodhisattvas (as in the above) was found at Ratnagiri, indicating the possibility of another set of Vajradhātu maṇḍala configuration there (Donaldson 2001: 126). Huntington (1981: Fig. 5) identifies the presence of a similar Vajradhātu maṇḍala at Cave 6 at Aurangabad. Thus, the presence of these twin images of Akṣobhya and Amitābha clearly indicate the influence of the STTS and its associated Vajradhātu

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Fig. 3.5: Vairocana as sarvavid surrounded by deified Vajradhūpā, Vajragandhā, Vajrapuṣpā, and Vajramālā, Udayagiri, 9th century. (Photo: author)

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Vajragandhā, seated in vajraparyaṅkāsana and holding their corresponding attribute(s) in one or both hands (see Tanaka 2018: 137). Vajradhūpā (SE, on the right corner of the pedestal), corresponding to Akṣobhya, offers incense (dhūpa) and thus holds an incense-stick; Vajrapuṣpā (SW, on the upper right corner of the backslab), corresponding to Ratnasamhbhava, offers flowers (puṣpa) and thus carries a garland of flowers; Vajradīpā (NW, upper left corner of the backslab), corresponding to Amitābha, offers a lamp (dīpa) and thus holds a torch; and Vajragandhā (NE, on the left corner of the pedestal), corresponding to Amoghasiddhi, offers sandal-powder or perfume (gandha) and holds a sandalpot of powdered-incense (Maṅḍala no. 19 of Niṣpannayogāvalī 56). In this representation of Vairocana at Udayagiri Monastery 1, one can notice a distinct ideological shift: whereas in the stūpa-maṇḍala of Udayagiri and in the Lalitagiri image he is represented without ornaments and crown, thus symbolizing the enlightenment of Vairocana as in the MVS, the rich ornamentation, kirīṭi jewelled crown, and bodhyaṅgī-mudrā of this image represent Vairocana as a universal emperor, as in the STTS tradition. Temple 4 of Ratnagiri contains an iconographic programme based on the Pradīpoddyotananāmaṭīkā, a commentary written by Candrakīrti in the 9th century on the Guhyasamāja (Wayman 1977: 341). Temple 4 contains the sculptures identifiable as the three yogins described in the nidāna. These practitioners represent the stages in the yoga of the Guhyasamāja and can be related to Body, Speech, and Mind and the Vajra, Padma, and Tathāgata families (i.e., the trikula). Temple 4 is a tiny building, in which only one or two persons can enter simultaneously. But inside it one encounters three life-sized images: as one enters, one can see Vajradhara or Vajrasattva (belonging to the Vajra family) to the left, Vajradharma (belonging to the Padma family) to the right, and a figure in samādhi-mudrā facing the entrance, identified as Dharmaśaṅkhasamādhi Mañjuśrī by the excavator (Mitra 1983 II: Pls. CCXXXVIII, CCXXXIX, CCXLa). Vajradharma largely approximates to the description of the deity in the Sādhanamālā, except for the fact that the

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Ratnagiri image does not sit on a peacock. Five Tathāgatas adorn his crown with Amitābha in the centre, supporting the view that he is a yogic form of Buddha Amitābha. He opens a lotus bud in his hands. The deity is surrounded by four female figures, most likely four prajñās. The Ratnagiri bodhisattva sits in full lotus posture with his right hand holding a vajra against the chest, and his left hand holding a ghaṇṭa (bell) on his hip. The sculpture is incomplete, which is quite odd in view of the fact that it is inside a shrine chamber. Debala Mitra (1981–1983 II: 290–292) explains this as having been caused by the poor quality of the stone. Unfinished Vajrasattva images were also found in Sarnath and, perhaps, Borobudur (Williams 1986: 103). Nancy Hock, using Wayman’s work based on the Pradīpoddyotana, interprets these unfinished images as a deliberate attempt on the part of the Ratnagiri and Borobudur religious ideologues to represent the ‘arcane body, which, upon the completion of the Stage of Generation, becomes an illusory body in the stage of Completion’ (Hock 1987: 140). Wayman (1977: 156–173) equates Vajradharma with the Diamond of Speech and Vajrasattva with the Diamond of Mind. The same can be equated with the daśabhūmi (ten stages), with Vajrasattva representing the tenth bodhisattva stage which is equated with the illusory body. This would provide a doctrinal explanation for the unfinished Buddha image of Borodbdur and the bodhisattva of Temple 4 of Ratnagiri. The third image (Fig. 3.6) in Temple 4 can be identified with a yogic form of Vairocana, who is in samādhimudrā, and who might represent the Diamond Body of the Guhyasamāja. Mahāvairocanābhisambodhi is flanked by seated images of Avalokiteśvara and Vajrapāṇi. According to Tanaka (2018: 110), this iconographic arrangement in Temple 4 is explained in the Prajñāpāramitānayasūtra and also coincides with the main deity of the Lotus family in the Garbha maṇḍala. It must be noted that the group of three bodhisattvas—Avalokiteśvara, Mañjuśrī, and Vajrapāṇi, arranged in the three families system of Padma (Vajradharma with Amitābha family), Vajra (Vajradhara/Vajrasattva with Akṣobhya family), and Tathāgata (Yogins of Vairocana/Mañjuśrī)—remains important in the

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Fig. 3.6: Yogin of Vairocana/Dharmaśaṅkhasandhi Mañjuśrī of Temple 4 at Ratnagiri, 9th–10th century. (Photo: author)

iconography of the site even though the Guhyasamāja knows five families.6

From Vairocana to Akṣobhya Maṇḍala and from Yogatantra to Yogottaratantra

37

dominated maṇḍalas starts to appear from the late 9th century CE in Udayagiri and Ratnagiri. In the Niṣpannayogāvalī of Paṇḍita Abhyākaragupta of Vikramaśīla Mahāvihāra, dating to the 10th century CE, Akṣobhya is surrounded in the third circle by eight bodhisattvas: Maitreya and Kṣitigarbha in the east, Vajrapāṇi and Khagarbha in the south, Lokeśvara and Mañjughoṣa in the west, and Sarvanivāraṇaviṣkambhin and Samantabhadra in the north (Bhattacharyya 1972 : 36). In chapter 2 of the visualization of deities in the Guhyasamāja, Akṣobhya is described as the supreme god (bhagavān) with alternate names such as Vajradhara and Mahāvajradhara (Bhattacharyya 1967: Ch 2). In the pentadic classification of the Buddha families of Vajrayāna, Akṣobhya belongs to the Vajra family; thus, with the emergence of Akṣobhya as the bhagavān, Ratnagiri and Udayagiri made a transition to the Yogottaratantra tradition. In Ratnagiri and Udayagiri there are many sculptural maṇḍalas of eight bodhisattvas flanking Akṣobhya instead of the Buddha or Vairocana, as in the iconographical pattern associated with earlier Esoteric Buddhist scriptures. In the Ratnagiri image Akṣobhya is flanked by Maitreya, Lokeśvara, Kṣitigarbha on the dexter and on the sinister by Khagarbha, Vajrapāṇi, Mañjuśrī, and Sarvanivāraṇaviṣkambhin (Fig. 3.7). Thus, the iconographic representations at Ratnagiri and Udayagiri closely correspond to the alignment of the maṇḍalas in the Niṣpannayogāvalī and the Guhyasamāja, where the highest god is described as Vajradhara, also corresponding to Vajrasattva and Akṣobhya.

Starting from the 9th century, the concept of Vairocana as an omniscient universal emperor, Yoganiruttaratantras/Yoginītantras (late 10th as in the Yogatantra text STTS, gave way to century CE) at Ratnagiri an Akṣobhya-dominated maṇḍala as prescribed in the Yogottarantra texts, such as the Guhyasa- While the iconographic programme in Udayagiri māja, where that deity holds a central posi- ended with Yogottaratantras, and in Lalitagiri, tion. Evidence of the presence of Akṣobhya- which contains the earliest Buddhist images, the iconographic programme did not go beyond the MVS and STTS, from the late 10th century Rat6. In the Kәlurak inscription from Central Java, nagiri emerged as an important centre of YoganMañjuśrī (as Mañjughoṣa) is identified as the central iruttaratantras/Yoginītantras, and textual sources deity. Both the icon of Temple 4 at Ratnagiri (Mañjuśrī/ mentioned it in association with Kālacakrayāna. Dharmaśaṅkhasamādhi, belonging to the Vairocana family) and the Javanese inscription may suggest a shared This is also suggested by the manuscript evidence identification between Mañjuśrī and Vairocana in both of the only surviving initiation manual of the areas (see below, p. 45).

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Umakanta Mishra

Fig. 3.7: (right) Akṣobhya surrounded by eight bodhisattvas, Udayagiri; (left) Akṣobhya surrounded by eight bodhisattvas, Ratnagiri. (Photo: author)

Saṃvara cycle, the Saṃvarodayānāmamaṇḍalopāyikā, which was written by Bhūvācārya at Ratnagiri before 1054 CE (Szántó 2019: 280). The iconographic programme in Ratnagiri also began to develop deities such as Heruka, Saṃvara, Vajravārāhī, Trailokyavijaya, Vajrahuṃkāra Yamāntaka, Hayagrīva, Mahākāla, Aparājitā, as well as ḍākinīs and yoginīs (Hock 1987; Donaldson 2001: 415–419; Mitra 1978: 86–87; Linrothe 1999). There are four representations of Heruka in Ratnagiri and none of them is found with his Prajñā, i.e. Vajravārāhī or Nairatmyā, as described in the Hevajratantra. However, the Sādhanamālā (Sādhanas 241, 242, 244, 245; Bhattacharyya 1925) and the Niṣpannayogāvalī (Bhattacharyya 1972) represent Heruka singly without his Prajñā, while Hevajra is always represented with his Prajñā in the He-

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vajratantra and the Cakrasaṃvaratantra. Both Hevajra and Heruka are emanations of Akṣobhya and can be considered as an extension of Akṣobhya of the Yogottaratantras (Fig. 3.8: Heruka image of Ratnagiri). Some of these wrathful deities, including Heruka, are represented as trampling on brahmanical deities such as Bhairava and Kālarātrī. Scholars like Debala Mitra have interpreted such representation as evidence of growing animosities between brahmanical religions and Buddhism (Mitra 1978: 84–87). On the other hand, Sanderson argues that the liturgical text of Yoganiruttaratantras, such as the Hevajra and Cakrasaṃvara, and their principal deities exhibit clear signs of incorporation of Tantric Śaiva elements into Tantric Buddhism (Sanderson 2009: 145–156).

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia

Fig. 3.8: Heruka, Ratnagiri, 10th century. (Photo: author)

Circulation of Dhāraṇīs and Maṇḍalas: Epigraphic Evidence from Odisha and Maritime Asia Esoteric Buddhism circulated in maritime and continental Asia from the 7th century CE. Evidence suggests that during the early mediaeval period Buddhist Tantra received patronage by many royal dynasties, such as the Bhauma-Karas in Odisha, the Pālas in Eastern India, the Early Second Lambakaṇṇas in Sri Lanka (with King Aggabodhi and King Sena), the Śailendras in Java, the Tangs in China, etc. A major driving force behind the adoption of Buddhist Tantra were the rituals offered by Buddhist masters for the protection and prosperity of the king and the kingdom, the subjugation of external and internal enemies, and the pacification of evil influences. The patronage of Mantrayāna by the political elites poses the question of the relation between the state and Esoteric Buddhism, which is also mirrored by the relation-

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39

ship between the former and the Tantric Śaivism of the Mantramārga. The belief in the magical power of esoteric Tantras and icons supposedly prompted rulers of Maritime Asia to patronize monks and undertake architectural projects based on the ideology of Caryā- and Yoga-tantras.7 This intimate relationship is also suggested by the fact that Mantrayāna employed terms such as maṇḍala, abhiṣeka, rājādhirāja, mantrin, etc. that were borrowed from the political lexicon of the day. Maṇḍalas and dhāraṇīs circulated in the wider Maritime Asian world, and one finds numerous instances of those ‘cosmopolitan’ dhāraṇīs in the Buddhist sites of Odisha: for example, instances of the Bodhigarbhālaṃkāralakṣadhāraṇī, attested in Ratnagiri and Udayagiri, are also found in Paharpur, Nālandā, Bodhgayā, Abhayagiri in Sri Lanka, and Java (Schopen 2005: 306; Chandawimala 2008, 2013; Tanaka 2014; Griffiths 2014: 161–164). One finds a close counterpart of the dhāraṇī slabs found in the Abhayagiri monastery of Sri Lanka with the dhāraṇī slab now kept at the Odisha State Museum. Schopen (2005: 306) has identified dhāraṇīs nos. iv and v of the Abhayagiri as quotations from the Ᾱryasarvatathāgatādhiṣṭhānahṛdayaguhyadhātukaraṇḍamudrānāmadhāraṇīmahāyānasūtra. This sutra is not available in Sanskrit, but in its Tibetan versions. According to the introduction of the Tibetan version, the text was composed in the 8th–9th centuries CE by Vidyākaradeva. The text says thus, ‘O Vajrapāṇi, if someone made a copy of this text and puts it into a stūpa that stūpa would become a stūpa of the relics of the essence of vajra of all Tathāgatas … It would become a stūpa of ninety-nine millions of Tathāgatas as numerous as the seeds of sesame’ (ibid.). The last section of this dhāraṇī-sūtra also bears similarities with the dhāraṇī on the slab kept at the Odisha State Museum. The last section of this dhāraṇī states that anyone who ‘constructs a caitya after having written this dhāraṇī and throw it inside by the construction of that single caitya, a lakh 7. For example, Shomu (724–749 CE) commissioned the installation of a gilt image of Vairocana at Todaji temple at Nara whose rays would help save the polity. Empress Hu (reign period 684–705 CE) commissioned a statue of Vairocana at Feng-xian temple at Longmen in 672 CE for similar purposes.

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Umakanta Mishra

of Tathāgata-caitya will have been constructed by him’ (Ghosh 1941: 171–174). Out of the eight dhāraṇī slabs from Abhayagirivihāra, nos. vi and vii bear texts extrapolated from the STTS. While Schopen has identified dhāraṇī inscriptions nos. iv and v in the light of the Peking and Tibetan Kanjur collection, Thero Rangama Chandawimala, who has studied traces of tantric practices in Sri Lanka, has discovered that dhāraṇīs nos. vi and vii were taken from the STTS, and that the said dhāraṇī invokes Vairocana as well as the deified Pūjopakaraṇas (deified forms of instruments of worship such as flower, lamp, etc.), which also surround the Udayagiri Vairocana figure (Chandawimala 2008, 2013). Chandiwimala’s reading is reproduced below, along with the parallel from the STTS.

Dhāraṇī Slab No. 7 of Abhayagiri

It is worth pointing out that the invocation of Vairocana in the dhāraṇī slab of Abhayagiri mentioning dhūpa, puṣpa, dīpa and gandha may find a visual correspondence in the four deified pūjopakaraṇas of the Mahāvairocana image of Udayagiri in Monastery 1 (see Fig. 3.5), thereby attesting to a possible influence of the Sri Lankan version of the dhāraṇī on the making of the icon. The above suggests that the circulation of this dhāraṇī based on the STTS in Odisha and Sri Lanka needs to be located in the context of the emergence of Abhayagiri as an important centre of Esoteric Buddhism. A slight variation of the Bodhigarbhālaṃkāralakṣadhāraṇī, also in circulation in the Buddhist world of Tibet, China, and Japan in the early mediaeval period, was found at

Emanation of deities from Samādhi, Ch. 2 of the

Vajraguhyavajramaṇḍalavidhivistara of the STTS

(Lokesh Chandra 1981: 35)

Oṃ guhya sarvva [sattva] vajrī hūṃ// Oṃ guhya ratna vajrī hūṃ// Oṃ guhya dharma vajrī hūṃ// Oṃ guhya dharma [karma] vajrī hūṃ//

Oṃ guhya-sattvavajrī hūṃ Oṃ guhya-ratnavajrī hūṃ Oṃ guhya-dharma vajrī hūṃ Oṃ guhya karma-vajrī hūṃ

Oṃ vajra guhya ratī pūjā samaye sarvva pūjā pravartaya hūṃ// oṃ vajra guhya pūjābhiṣeka pūjā samaye sarvva pūjā pravartaya hūṃ// oṃ vajra guhya dhātu[gītā]pūjāsamaye sarvva pūjā pravartaya hūṃ // oṃ vajra guhya nṛtya pūjā samaye sarvva pūjā pravartaya hūṃ

Oṃ vajra guhya-ratī-pūjā-samaye sarvva--pūjām pravartaya hūṃ// oṃ vajraguhyābhiṣeka-pūjāsamaye sarvapūjāṃ pravartaya hūṃ// oṃ vajra-guhyagītapūjāsamaye sarvapūjāṃ pravartaya hūṃ // oṃ vajraguhyanṛtyapūjāsamaye sarvapūjāṃ pravartaya hūṃ

oṃ vajra dhūpa hūṃ oṃ vajra puṣpa hūṃ oṃ vajra dīpa hūṃ oṃ vajra gandha hūṃ

[cf. Ch. 6, Trailokavijayamahāmaṇḍala]8

oṃ vajra taila, [?] hūṃ oṃ vajra… hūṃ oṃ vajra… hūṃ

8. Oṃ vajradhūpapūjā-spharaṇa-samaye huṃphaṭ || Oṃ vajrapuṣpapūjā-spharaṇasamaye huṃphaṭ || (STTS 885) Oṃ vajrālokapūjā-spharaṇasamaye huṃphaṭ || Oṃ vajragandhapūjā-spharaṇasamaye huṃphaṭ || (STTS 886)

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia Udayagiri (Slab Inscription No. 27 in 21 lines, from Udayagiri II Report). This has been identified as being similar to the Ᾱryasarvatathāgatādhiṣṭhānahṛdayaguhyadhātukaraṇḍamudrānāmadhāraṇī by Tanaka (2014: 151–161; cf. Trivedi 2011: 253; Mishra 2016: 72–81).

part ii: esoteric buddhism in central java Having discussed the influence of early Esoteric Buddhist texts such as the MVS and the STTS on the architecture, iconography, and epigraphy of Odishan sites, as well as further Yoganiruttaratantric developments at Ratnagiri, I shall now turn to Central Java. This section will form a case study comparing and contrasting parallel developments in both areas, in the wider context of an interconnected mediaeval Buddhist ecumene in Maritime Asia. The work by Sundberg on Abhayagiri in Sri Lanka and the Abhayagiri monastery referred to in the Ratu Boko inscription of 792 CE has uncovered the fascinating religious and architectural connections between the two locales, and highlighted the role played by Vajrabodhi in the transmission of Esoteric Buddhist practices and texts from South India and Sri Lanka to Java and then to China (Sundberg 2011, 2015, 2016). The Śailendra dynasty of Central Java lavishly sponsored monumental Buddhist architecture. The evidence of various mantras and dhāraṇīs, the esoteric manuals Saṅ Hyaṅ Kamahāyānan Mantranaya and Saṅ Hyaṅ Kamahāyānikan Advayasādhana, the biography of Bianhong in Kūkai’s account (Woodward 2009; Sinclair 2016), as well as monumental architecture of various temples, attest to the fact that Esoteric Buddhism had substantive presence in Java from the 8th to the 10th century CE. Mendut, Sewu, Plaosan and Borobudur did not evolve with higher order Tantras, but Esoteric Buddhism continued in Central and Eastern Java from the 11th century onwards, as suggested by the findings of the Surocolo and Nganjuk bronzes, and the evolution of the Śiva-Buddha cult under King Kṛtanagara of Siṅhasāri (r. 1268–1292) and its continuation well into the Majapahit period.

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While at Aurangabad, Ellora, Odisha, and the cruciform Buddhist site of Antichak and Paharpur the Indian architects did not attempt to replicate in their complete forms the Buddhist maṇḍalas in their constructions, in Central Java grand and elaborate attempts were made to give maṇḍalas massive physical form in masonry (Huntington 1981; Malandra 1985). Rather than being passive recipients of Esoteric Buddhism from eastern or southern India, the Javanese builders demonstrated their ingenuity by giving grand form and local idioms to textual representations in stone. Forming a three-dimensional stepped pyramid of five terraces at Borobudur, the architects inserted 120 narrative reliefs based on the Lalitavistara onto the walls of Borobudur. A series of 460 bas relief in 2nd, 3rd and 4th galleries of the monument depicting Sudhana’s journey with Samantabhadra, drawn from the Gaṇḍavyūha and the Bhadracarī, is then wrapped around the upper square terraces approaching enlightenment. Although some scholars, including Klokke (1995) and Fontein (2012), have contested the view that the monument was meant to represent a maṇḍala, they remain a minority; an authoritative opinion on the stūpa side (as well as of a general, non-tantric maṇḍala) is that by Snellgrove (1996). Given that all these analyses have some merit, it seems safe to assume that Borobudur incorporates elements from different architectural forms, being in some ways a stūpa, in some ways a maṇḍala, and in some ways something else (see below).9 By comparison with the Indian subcontinent (such as, for example, at Kesariya), the central Javanese architects were markedly more successful in giving the maṇḍala concept a concrete physical form. The architectural, artistic, and textual evidence underscores that Central Java was an active centre of esotericism in Maritime Asia, and experimented with its own form of Esoteric Buddhism. Elaborate structures replicating textual maṇḍalas, their decoration with other popular Buddhist narratives, home shrines,

9. For a discussion of the architectural form of the monument as responding to the need for both vertical and horizontal planning, see Hudaya Kandahjaya’s chapter in this volume.

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and the burial of gold foils with mantras in the foundations of the religious structures attest to the functionally autonomous form of Buddhism that developed in Java.

The MVS’s and STTS’s influence on Javanese Art and Architecture: Mendut, Sewu, and Borobudur Mendut One of the earliest temples reflecting a maṇḍala design in Central Javanese architecture is Candi Mendut, which according to Bosch (1961), Singhal (1991), Lokesh Chandra (1995), and Long (2003) is based on the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala. With the entrance oriented towards north-west, the central cella contains Śākyamuni/Vairocana,

Vajrapāṇi and Avalokiteśvara, representing the trikula system, i.e. Tathāgata-, Vajra- and Padma-kulas. The trikula system is also encountered in the central cella of Monastery 1 at Ratnagiri in Odisha, although the Tathāgata there sits in bhūmisparśa-mudrā and is flanked by Vajrapāṇi and Avalokiteśvara. The Tathāgata in bhūmisparśa-mudrā can be identified with Akṣobhya, who belongs to the Vajra family. Vajrapāṇi also belongs to the Vajra family while Avalokiteśvara belongs to the Padma family. The arrangement found at Ratnagiri indicates that, even though it represents the trikula, it was most likely part of an Akṣobhya maṇḍala. The iconographic arrangement of bodhisattvas on the exterior wall of the Mendut temple is as follows:

Table 3.2: Bodhisattvas in the MVS and Mendut. (Photos courtesy www.photodharma.net) MVS

Candi Mendut

Mudrā and symbols

Mañjughoṣa (E)

Vajrapāṇi (SE façade, left panel)

r.h.: holding a vajra l.h.: holding a pot

Kṣitigarbha (N)

Kṣitigarbha (SE façade, right panel)

r.h.: broken l.h.: cintāmaṇi

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Photos

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia Ᾱkāśagarbha (W)

Ᾱkāśagarbha (NW façade, left panel)

r.h.: lowered vitarkamudrā l.h.: cintāmaṇi on lotus

Avalokiteśvara (NE)

Avalokiteśvara (NW façade, right panel)

r.h.: broken l.h.: broken

Sarvanivāraṇaviṣkambhin (S)

Sarvanivāraṇaviṣkambhin (NE façade, left panel)

r.h.: varada-mudrā l.h.: three stubs

Maitreya (NW)

Maitreya (NE façade, right panel)

r.h.: varada-mudrā l.h.: nāgakeśara

Samantabhadra (SE)

Samantabhadra (SW façade, left panel)

r.h.: varada-mudrā l.h.: sword

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44 Mañjuśrī (SW)

Umakanta Mishra Mañjuśrī (SW façade, right panel)

Sewu (Fig. 3.9) Candi Sewu, Borobudur, and Plaosan are three grand Javanese Buddhist monuments giving physical form to the Vajradhātu maṇḍala (Bosch 1961: 111; Lokesh Chandra 1995: 22–31). Candi Sewu has a cruciform ground plan and four stairs in the four directions. The central cella is surrounded by four sanctuaries, one of which leads into the cella from

Fig. 3.9: Plan of Candi Sewu temple and frontal view of the main shrine. (Photo: author)

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the east. It has 240 subsidiary sanctuaries. The five cella chambers appear to be dedicated to the five Tathāgatas, as in the Vajradhātu maṇḍala, with Vairocana/Mañjughoṣa/Mañjuvajra at the centre. The 25 deities that accompany the five Tathāgatas were kept in the five chambers with four pūjādevīs at the four corners of the building and eight pūjāand saṅgraha-devīs housed in the medium chapel. The four rows of 240 subsidiary shrines housed 960 Buddhas, apparently making it the abode of the Thousand Buddhas of the Bhadrakalpa (Lokesh Chandra 1995: 22–31). The contrast with Indian counterparts is striking. For instance, the execution of a Vajradhātu maṇḍala in Sewu is in sharp contrast to Ratnagiri, where Buddhas are surrounded by four attendant deities in groups of four. No Indian structure (even though the complexes of Paharpur, Antichak and Maināmatī have cruciform plans) was built as the abode of the Thousand Buddhas of the Bhadrakalpa. The Mañjuśrīgṛha inscription, found in the Sewu complex and most likely issued by Panaraban, is dated 792 CE, the same year as the Ratu Boko inscription. Scholars have assumed that this Mañjuśrīgṛha is identifiable with Candi Sewu (van Lohuizen-de Leeuw 1981: 19–20). The Kәlurak inscription (782 CE) refers to the deity as Mañjughoṣa, while the Mañjuśrīgṛha inscription, found at the northern gate of Sewu during restoration, refers to the chapel of Mañjuśrī, suggesting a possible enlargement of the original temple in 792 CE. In the Dharmadhātuvāgīśvara maṇḍala of the Niṣpannayogāvalī (Maṇḍala no. 21), Mañjughoṣa is the central deity and is conceptualized as the ultimate substance. It is to this form of Mañjuśrī, i.e. Dharmadhātu Vāgīśvara,

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia that the most common sacred object after a caitya, i.e. dharmadhātu, is dedicated in Nepal. Sylvain Lévi in the context of Nepal records that if a vajra is kept on the top of dharmadhātu, it is called vajradhātu, which is dedicated to Vairocana (Lévi 1905 II: 19). The Temple 4 Ratnagiri image, which has been identified as Dharmaśaṅkhasamādhi, has been regarded as belonging to the Vairocana family. Mallman (1975) observes that some sort of unification between Mañjuśrī and Vairocana took place in Esoteric Buddhism in early mediaeval India, when various forms of Mañjuśrī, such as Mañjuvajra and Mañjughosa, were identified with Vairocana and his extension Vajrasattva (cf. Harrington 2002: 346). Mañjuvajra is identified with Vairocana in Mañjuvajra maṇḍala (nos. 1 and 20); Mañjughoṣa is identified with Vajrasattva in Dharmadhātuvāgīśvara maṇḍala (no. 21), and with Vairocana in the Durgatipariśodhana (Maṇḍala no. 22) of the Niṣpannayogāvalī.

Borobudur (Fig. 3.10) Borobudur (prob. late 8th–early 9th century) is the most important Buddhist monument in Central Java, and has been subject to many interpretations (Krom 1927; Moens 1951; Lokesh Chandra 1980; Miksic 1990; Kandahjaya, this volume). It has long since been noted that the architectural and narrative arrangement of the bas-reliefs was inspired by the Gaṇḍavyūha-Bhadracarī—a manuscript of which was sent to China in 795 by the king of Odisha (Fontein 2012: 14). Boeles (1985:

Fig. 3.10: Model of the Borobodur at the site museum. (Photo: author)

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12) suggested that the key to the meaning of the terraces and the system of Buddhas of Borobudur is to be found in the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka-sūtra, or Lotus Sūtra. Countering the view that Borobudur is a Vajradhātu maṇḍala, Marijke Klokke (1995) stated that if it was a maṇḍala, why do the niches in the fourth gallery contain Buddha in vitarka-mudrā? Highlighting the multivalence of Borobudur and the possible textual basis of its architectural and narrative plan, viz. the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka-sūtra, the Laṅkāvatāra-sūtra, Vairocana-based texts such as the STTS, and the Sarvadurgatipariśodhanatantra, Huntington (1994) argues that the overarching meaning of the monument intends to demonstrate the absolute universality of Buddhadharma as defined in the Avataṃsakasūtra. On the Borobudur maṇḍala-stūpa 432 Buddhas face the four cardinal directions. Sixty-four Buddhas on the fourth gallery all sit in vitarka-mudrā and face all four directions. Above them, on circular terraces at the summit, 72 Buddhas sit in Dharmacakrapravartana-mudrā inside latticed stūpas. As in the Vajradhātu maṇḍala, Borobudur has Akṣobhya in the east, Amitābha in the west, Amoghasiddhi in the north, and Ratnasambhava in the south set on the first three galleries. On the fourth gallery, the Buddhas displaying vitarka-mudrā may be identifiable as Śākyamuni (Fig. 3.11), who is called Sarvārthasiddhi in the STTS. That text states that Samantabhadra (defined as mind of enlightenment and as residing in the heart of all Tathāgatas) approached Sarvārthasiddhi (Siddhārtha) and taught him the five final stages of enlightenment, after which he attained Buddhahood. He was then consecrated as Vajradhātu/Vairocana. At the fourth of these stages, the bodhisattva was given the vajra- name of Vajdradhātu. After that, all the Buddhas moved to Vajramaṇiratnaśikhara-kūṭāgāra on the top of Mt Meru, the summit centre of the cosmos, where they blessed the Vajradhātu/Vairocana Tathāgata

10. Line 13, śloka 5 of the Plaosan inscription refers to twenty Jinas along with their sons residing in the temple (viṃśatīha virājante jinā jinasutānvitāḥ; Sarkar 1971: 48 [x]; de Casparis 1956 II: 175ff.).

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dharmacakra-mudrā would represent the kūṭāgāra of Mt Meru. Kazuko Ishii (1991) represented this in these terms: Vairocana pervades all space. Vajradhātu can be identified with Vairocana at the beginning of subsection 2 of STTS; then Tathāgata Vairocana, having obtained the hṛdaya (heart) of Sarvatathāgata Samantabhadra, was initiated in the abhiṣeka of mahāmaṇiratna emerging from the ākāśa (space) of Sarvatathāgatas (paragraph 34 of the STTS). The kūṭāgāra is decorated with vajra, maṇi, and ratna, thus the square and rhombic motif of the bell-shaped latticed pattern of the upper terrace of Borobudur would represent that ornamentation (Ishii 1991: 155).

Plaosan (Fig. 3.12)

Fig. 3.11: Buddha in vitarka mudrā in the fourth gallery identified with Śākyamunī Sarvārthasiddhi. (Photo courtesy Swati Chemburkar)

as sarvatathāgata enthroned on the siṃhāsana facing in all directions: There, he is joined by the Buddhas who head the other four Buddha families: Akṣobhya, Ratnasambhava, Lokeśvrarāja (Amitābha), and Amoghasiddhi. After further blessing themselves as all Tathāgatas, Vairocana enters meditative stabilization and emits the essence-mantra ‘Vajrasattva’ from his heart, through which Vajrasattva, the first of the sixteen Bodhisattva residents of the Vajradhātu Great maṇḍala, is emanated. (Weinberger 2003: 73)

This STTS passage seems compatible with the view that Borobudur presents the four Tathāgatas in the niches of the three lower galleries, and Śākyamuni (Sarvārthasiddhi) becoming Vajradhātu/ Vairocana Tathāgata on all sides of the fourth gallery. The summit of Borobudur with circles of latticed stūpas containing 72 icons of Vairocana in

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Plaosan Lor and Plaosan Kidul are considered one complex. Plaosan Lor is located in the North and Plaosan Kidul in the South. Plaosan Lor consists of two main temples and an open maṇḍapa. Plaosan Lor has only male deities, while Plaosan Kidul has only female deities. The temples have upper and lower levels and are divided into three chambers. On the lower level, two life-size bodhisattvas flank an empty pedestal in each of the three chambers in each temple. The original may have had one Buddha seated on the now empty pedestal, possibly flanked by eight bodhisattvas, as in the iconographic programmes of Odisha. This could have been replicated in both Plaosan sanctuaries if the middle pedestal in the first chamber was for a Tathāgata, with three bodhisattvas in the next two chambers. However, the configuration could also have been

Fig. 3.12: Plaosan Lor shrine complex. (Photo: author)

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia three Buddhas and six bodhisattvas in each temple. The Plaosan inscription indeed refers to 20 Jinas, so if there were three Buddhas and six bodhisattvas in the lower level, the upper level may have hosted Vairocana, Akṣobhya, and ten bodhisattvas, thereby completing the 32 deities of the Vajradhātu maṇḍala.10 Lokesh Chandra sees the Lor complex as representing the Vajradhātu maṇḍala, while the Kidul complex, with only female figures, he calls a dhāraṇī-maṇḍala (Lokesh Chandra 1995: 167). More recently, Naoko Ito (2019) tried to identify various bodhisattvas of the north and south temples of Lor complex and found 89 deities in total. He points out that bodhisattva statues in the south and north room hold objects identical to those held by statues of Kṣitigarbha and Samantabhadra at Udayagiri, leading him to identify those icons as Kṣitigarbha and Samantabhadra, respectively (Ito 2019: 1207); further, he argues that the iconographical origin of the Mendut statues can be traced back to the caves of Ellora in West India and Udayagiri (ibid.: 1208; cf. Revire 2017). While the Plaosan inscription of Dharmottuṅgadeva/Panaraban is dated to 784 CE, many short inscriptions of the time of Rakai Garung were found in the subsidiary shrines, which were added to the main temple in the second half of 9th century CE (de Casparis 1958). Moreover, the Plaosan Lor excavation uncovered a silver and gold foil containing the Bodhigarbhālaṅkāralakṣadhāraṇī and the Sarvadurgatipariśodhanadhāraṇī, plus the ‘Sūtra of the Great Dhāraṇī for Extinguishing the Five Heinous Sins’ (pañcānantaryāṇi) (Griffiths 2014: 162–164). It is important to note that the Bodhigarbhālaṅkāralakṣadhāraṇī was in widespread use in Odisha, Nālandā, Paharpur, Abhayagiri, and other places in Maritime Asia (Dikshit 1938; Schopen 2005; Mishra 2016).

Esoteric Buddhist Bronzes from East Java Śaiva ascendancy became apparent in Central Java in the 9th century with the Prambanan complex. However, Esoteric Buddhist maṇḍalas remained popular in the religious landscape of Central and Eastern Java, as suggested by the Surocolo and Nganjuk bronzes (prob. 10th–11th century) , respectively. In the Surocolo bronzes, Vajrasattva is the central deity, surrounded by 16 goddesses, viz.: four

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vajriṇīs, namely Rāgavajriṇī (66c), Kelikilavajriṇī, Manojavajriṇī, Mānavajriṇī; four pūjopakaraṇa deities, namely Puṣpā, Dīpā, Dhūpā, Gandhā; then Vajralāsyā, Vajramālā, Vajragītā and Vajranṛtyā in the outer enclosure corners of the maṇḍala, as well as the Gatekeepers Vajrānkuśī, Vajrasphoṭā, Vajrapāśī, and Vajraghaṇṭā. A Vajrasattva image from Surocolo could also be thought of as part of a maṇḍala in which the central deity, Vajradhara is regarded as a form of Vajrasattva (Maṇḍala no. 3, Niṣpannayogāvalī 37) (Bosch 1961; Lokesh Chandra 1995: 108–120). Other statues of the Surocolo hoard belong to another group, which Lokesh Chandra identifies as part of a Hevajra-related maṇḍala including the goddesses Gaurī (66P), Caurī (66N), Vetālī (66Q), Vaṃśā (66G), Vīṇā (66K), Mukundā (66H), Murajā (66J), Hayāsyā (66 M) and Sūkarāsyā (66 L) (Maṇḍala no. 5, Niṣpannayogāvalī 40). In fact, the Ṣaṭsāhasrikāhevajraṭīkā, a commentary on the Hevajratantra, relates that the great bliss (mahāsukha) is Vajrasattva, who is Hevajra (Shendge 2004: 163). However, it appears that between Yogatantras like the STTS and Yoginītantras like the Cakrasaṃvara and Hevajra there were intermediate Tantras, known as Yogottaratantra, such as Sarvabuddhasamāyogaḍākinījālaśaṃvara, which spread through Southeast Asia and China and may have also inspired the maṇḍala arrangements found in East Java (Szántó and Griffiths 2015). The Nganjuk bronzes have been regarded as part of the Vajradhātukarma maṇḍala (rather than of mahā-maṇḍala) where Vairocana is four faced and not surrounded by four goddesses (Singhal in Lokesh Chandra 1995: 97–109).

conclusion This chapter has argued that Odisha emerged as an early centre of Esoteric Buddhism that hosted monks and masters at the complexes of Ratnagiri, Udayagiri, and Lalitagiri. These sites developed iconographic programmes based on esoteric maṇḍalas. Lalitagiri holds the earliest epigraphic citation from the MVS along with an Abhisambodhi Vairocana statue and, at the same time, attests to iconographic evidence of the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala and Vajradhātu maṇḍala, as well as of substantive use of the Bodhigarbhā-

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laṅkāralakṣadhāraṇī, which Śubhākarasiṃha may have transmitted to China. Thus, Odisha appears to have played a role as one of the major nodes for the circulation of the Esoteric dhāraṇīs and maṇḍalas that flourished in other areas of Maritime Asia, including Java. The cumulative architectural evidence of Mendut, Sewu, Borobudur, and Plaosan, as well as contemporaneous textual and art historical remains, suggests that key texts such as the MVS and STTS were also at the basis of the esoteric doctrinal configuration of Buddhism in Central and East Java from the 8th to the 11th century. Javanese Esoteric Buddhism however developed autonomously into a unique and grand Buddhist maṇḍala architecture that offered more faithful representations in stone of the key texts than it was ever achieved in Odisha and other areas of the Indian subcontinent. Furthermore, whereas the iconographic programmes in Central Java ended with Caryā- and Yoga-tantras, Ratnagiri further developed a programme based on the Anuttarayogatantras, which also found an expression in later East Javanese sites.

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Payne (eds.), Esoteric Buddhism and the Tantras in East Asia, pp. 339–341. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Revire, Nicolas. 2017. ‘From Gandhāra to Java? A Comparative Study of Bhadrāsana Buddhas and their Related Bodhisattva Attendants in South and Southeast Asia’, in Anna L. Dallapiccola and Anila Verghese (eds.), India and Southeast Asia: Cultural Discourses, pp. 279–304. Mumbai: K.R. Cama Oriental Institute. Roerich, George N. 1959. The Blue Annals (2 parts). Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers. Sahu, Nabin Kumar. 1958. Buddhism in Orissa. Bhubaneswar: Utkal University. Sanderson, Alexis. 2007. ‘The Śaiva Exegesis of Kashmir’, in Dominic Goodall and André Padoux (eds.), Mélanges tantriques à la mémoire d’Hélène Brunner / Tantric Studies in Memory of Hélène Brunner, pp. 231–442. Pondicherry: Institut français d’Indologie / École française d’Extrême-Orient. . 2009. ‘The Śaiva Age: The Rise and Dominance of Śaivism during the Early Medieval Period’, in Shingo Einoo (ed.), Genesis and Development of Tantrism, pp. 41–349. Tokyo: Institute of Oriental Culture, University of Tokyo. Sarkar, Himansu Bhusan. 1971. Corpus of the Inscriptions of Java (Corpus Inscriptionum Javanicarum), up to 928 AD, 2 vols. Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay. Sawa, Ryūken 佐和隆研. 1982. Mikkyō bijutsu no genzō: Indo Orissa chihō no bukkyō iseki 密教美 術の原 像 インド・オリッサ地方の仏教遺蹟 [Prototypes of esoteric Buddhist art: Buddhist sites in Orissa]. Kyoto: Hōzōkan. Schopen, Gregory. 2005. Figments and Fragments of Mahāyāna Buddhism in India. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Sharrock, Peter. 2016. ‘Seeds of Vajrabodhi: Buddhist Ritual Bronzes from Java and Khorat’, in Andrea Acri (ed.), Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, pp. 237–252. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Shendge, Malati J. (ed.). Ṣaṭsāhasrikā-Hevajra-ṭīkā: A critical edition. Delhi: Pratibha Prakashan.

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Circulation of Buddhist Maṇḍalas in Maritime Asia Sinclair, Ian. 2016. ‘Coronation and Liberation According to a Javanese Monk in China: Bianhong’s Manual on the abhiṣeka of a cakravartin’, in Andrea Acri (ed.), Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, pp. 29–66. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Singhal, Sudarshana Devi. 1991. ‘Candi Mendut and the Mahāvairocana-Sūtra’, in Lokesh Chandra (ed.), Art and Culture of South-East Asia, pp. 373–384. New Delhi: International Academy of Indian Culture and Aditya Prakashan. Snellgrove, David. 1996. ‘Borobudur: Stūpa or Maṇḍala?’, East and West 46/3–4: 477–483. Snodgrass, Adrian. 1988. The Matrix and Diamond World Maṇḍalas in Shingon Buddhism, 2 vols. Delhi: International Academy of Indian Culture. Sundberg, Jeffrey R. 2003. ‘A Buddhist Mantra Recovered from the Ratubaka Plateau’, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 159: 163–188. . (In collaboration with Rolf W. Giebel). 2011. ‘The Life of the Tang Court Monk Vajrabodhi as Chronicled by Lü Xiang (呂向): South Indian and Śrī Laṅkān Antecedents to the Arrival of the Buddhist Vairayāna in Eighth-Century Java and China’, Pacific World: Journal of the Institute of Buddhist Studies, Third Series 13: 129–222. . 2015. ‘The Abhayagirivihāra’s Pāṃśukūlika Monks in Second Lambakaṇṇa Śrī Laṅkā and Śailendra Java: The Flowering and Fall of a Cardinal Center of Influence in Early Esoteric Buddhism’, Pacific World: Journal of the Institute of Buddhist Studies, Third Series 16: 49–185. . 2016. ‘Mid-9th-Century Adversity for Sinhalese Esoteric Buddhist Exemplars in Java: Lord Kumbhayoni and the “Rag-wearer” Paṁsukūlika Monks of the Abhayagirivihāra’, in Andrea Acri (ed.), Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, pp. 349–380. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Szántó, Péter-Dániel. 2019. ‘Minor Vajrayāna texts V: The Gaṇacakravidhi attributed to

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Ratnākaraśānti’, in Nina Mirnig, Marion Rastelli, and Vincent Eltschinger (eds.), Tantric Communities in Context, pp. 275–314. Wien: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Szántó, Péter-Dániel and Arlo Griffiths. 2015. ‘Sarvabuddhasamāyogaḍākinījālaśaṃvara’, in Jonathan A. Silk, Oskar von Hinüber, and Vincent Eltschinger (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Buddhism, Vol. 1, pp. 988–1009. Leiden: Brill. Tanaka, Kimiaki. 2014. オリッサ州ウダヤギリII出 土の石刻陀羅尼について [A Newly Identified Dhāraṇī-sūtra from Udayagiri II], The Memoirs of Institute for Advanced Studies on Asia 166: 124(161)–34(151). . 2018. An Illustrated History of the Maṇḍala: From its Genesis to Kālacakratantra. Boston: Wisdom Publications. Tripathy, Snigdha. 1997. Inscriptions of Orissa (c. Fifth-Eighth Centuries AD), vol. I. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers. Trivedi, P.K. 2011. Further Excavations at Udayagiri-2, Odisha (2001-03) (Memoirs of the Archaeological Survey of India 104). Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India. Van Kooij, Karel R. 1972. Worship of the Goddess According to the Kālikā Purāṇa. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Wayman, Alex. 1977. Yoga of the Guyhasamājatantra: The Arcane Lore of Forty Verses. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers. Weinberger, Steven N. 2003. The Significance of Yoga Tantra and the Compendium of Principles (Tattvasaṃgraha Tantra) within Tantric Buddhism in India and Tibet. PhD dissertation, University of Virginia. Williams, Joana. 1986. ‘Unfinished Images’, India International Centre Quarterly 13/1: 90–105. Woodward, Hiram. 2009. ‘Bianhong, Mastermind of Borobudur?’, Pacific World: Journal of Institute of Buddhist Studies, Third Series 11: 25–60. Yamamoto, C. 1990. Mahāvairocana-sūtra (tr). Delhi: International Academy of Indian Culture.

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part II JAVA AND ITS TRANSLOCAL ECHOES

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Chapter 4

The Scheme of Borobudur1 H u daya K a n da h jaya 1

B

introduction

orobudur sits right in the centre of the island of Java. When it was rediscovered in 1814, this magnificent temple was buried in the jungle, and Java at that time was under the British rule. Attempts to solve the mysteries of Borobudur started soon thereafter. In 1927 Krom listed nearly 300 publications related to Borobudur studies already in print.2 Toward the end of the 20th century this number has grown to over 500.3 Study after study has attempted to reveal the monument’s origin, meaning, or function. And yet, from these studies and at least from the time Borobudur undergone the first major restoration (1907–1911), it has also become clear that we do not have any lucid historical data beyond what is left of the structure itself. This has not only hampered any attempts to understand Borobudur as a whole, but also led to more and more controversies. One can see the debate developing over time and through many eminent scholars’ contributions to Borobudur studies.4

1. This chapter is an update of my views expounded in various previous publications (Kandahjaya 1995, 1998, 2004, 2009, 2016). I draw relevant passages from those and integrate them to form a synthesis in this publication. 2. See Krom 1927 II: 333–351. 3. The number 500 was mentioned in Satyawati Suleiman 1983: 7. The same number was referred to by the late Prof. Soekmono in his Foreword to Kandahjaya 1995 (ibid.: xvi). 4. A synthesis of such debates was produced at two international Borobudur conferences: one at the University of Michigan in 1974 and another in Kyoto in 1980. Both were programmed during the period when Borobudur was undergoing the second major restoration. Diverging

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Divergences are quite healthy and fairly common in scholarship when they lead us to enhance our understanding of the subject matter. But when we examine how these divergences have arisen and developed in Borobudur studies, the result is not very encouraging. We find some alarming indications that raise even more substantial questions about the processes with which studies on Borobudur have been carried out. Perhaps it suffices to say for the moment that, facing such a vicious circle, no one needs to wonder any longer why the current state of knowledge of Borobudur is so confusing. At least, when the word ‘mystery’ in Borobudur studies presents itself,5 one may now realize that after almost two centuries from the rediscovery of Borobudur the word is more likely an expression of desperation than wonder. Until recently there has been no solid answer to many fundamental problems of Borobudur: no clear explanation or consensus on what Borobudur is, why the builders built it, not even about the meaning of its name. As such, despite the long history of Borobudur studies, there has been so far no indication that we are getting closer to attaining the goal of an improved understanding of opinions about Borobudur suggested by specialists were fully exposed and recorded in conference proceedings: see Gomez and Woodward 1981 and Executive Committee for the International Symposium on Chandi Borobudur 1981. The most recent publications on Borobudur include Voûte and Long 2008, Woodward 2009, Gifford 2011, and Fontein 2012. 5. See Bernet Kempers 1976 (being the English translation of Borobudur: Mysteriegebeuren in steen, verval en restauratie, Oudjavaans volksleven, 1974); Miksic 1999.

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the monument. Instead, in spite of much scholarly effort, previous studies on Borobudur have in fact generated many more complications than answers. At this point, as both the knowledge of Borobudur and the approach leading to the attainment of such knowledge seems to be in flux, we are led not only to enter into a very complex dilemma but also to find the best way out of this predicament. While no conclusive support for any particular interpretation is to be found yet, the state of affairs of the field invites us to seriously reflect on some lingering issues. Not only have inconclusive sets of data or suppositions and questionable inferences crept into the research process, whether deliberately or not, but they have also often taken on a life of their own and caused further misinformation, which in due course would just lay additional veils rather than augmenting our knowledge on Borobudur. For this reason, rather than making up or relying on one’s own projection, we should pay more attention to the actual data available to us. The evidence could be in situ and in the near contemporary or related materials. In addition, we ought to be reminded from the start that Borobudur was not born out of nothing. It was not built simplistically, or haphazardly, but systematically and in a harmonious and well-balanced manner. To think otherwise will surely undermine the complexity and the grandeur of Borobudur itself. Thus, the assumption would be that it must have been designed by architects equipped with high expertise. They must have composed it through a proper concept and a grand plan, which in turn governed its construction. Along this line of thinking, it is probably still also within the realm of possibility that we would be able to capture its meaning if we were able to expose the underlying idea behind the creation of Borobudur that impelled and inspired the sponsors, the architects, and the users of that time. Instead of projecting our own ideas into Borobudur, we should try to let Borobudur and other related evidence reveal their own valuable information. Relying on our own imagination rather than Borobudur’s own data will lead us astray instead of helping us understand the monument properly. Thus, a more fruitful approach would be to first understand the factors that enabled the Javanese to build the monument at its

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site. This can be done by examining relevant events surrounding the construction of Borobudur.6 Then, when all available evidence is allowed to manifest its concealed information, chances are we will get closer to uncovering the intended scheme. Still, even if it is not an easy task, a promising approach would be to reverse engineer the whole structure, so as to grasp not just the architects’ know-how but, more importantly, the fundamental concepts that inspired the monument. Following that approach, this study will revisit a number of important but often underappreciated aspects of Borobudur.

original scheme The first solid evidence related to the original scheme of Borobudur probably lies in the report by Ijzerman, Chairman of the Archaeological Society in Yogyakarta. In 1885 Ijzerman discovered the hidden foot underneath the broad base terrace of the structure (Der Kinderen 1886a: 156; 1886c: 160–162; Ijzerman 1886: 261–268). On the wall of this hidden foot a series of 160 panels of reliefs and some inscriptions were found. In 1890–1891, van Kinsbergen’s student, Kassian Cephas, took photographs of those reliefs (Groeneveldt 1891: 100–101). Then, the hidden foot was covered again with the stones that originally encased it. Based on these photographs, scholars were able to investigate a number of short inscriptions engraved on some of the panels. These allowed them to determine the date and the execution of the reliefs. On paleographic grounds, scholars believed that Borobudur was built in between 750 and 850. Reigning in Central Java in that period was the Śailendra Dynasty, which scholars believed to have adhered to Buddhism. 6. Since Borobudur lies in the interchange between South Asia and East Asia, where Buddhism passed through via the sea-routes, maritime Buddhist transmission must be examined to help unravel the sources, people, and historical events that made the construction of the monument possible. A detailed study on this issue is Kandahjaya 2016; studies reevalauting the significance of maritime transmission of Buddhism and the pivotal role of insular Southeast Asia in the Buddhist world are Kandahjaya 2004 and Acri 2018a, 2018b.

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The Scheme of Borobudur The concealment of the lower level of Borobudur has puzzled scholars. Theories abound, and according to Jan Fontein (1989: 79) these can be divided into two main groups. The first argues that the change was dictated by real or imagined structural requirements. These theories suggest that expansion in the lower level was needed to strengthen the foundation of the construction in order to prevent the monument from collapsing (Dumarçay 1985: 41). The second group opposed this argument, considering that the construction of the processional path was a deliberate act meant to convey a profound symbolism. The hidden foot was not the only place where Borobudur was obviously modified during its construction. In between 1907 and 1911, while running the first major restoration project to safeguard the monument, van Erp discovered that there was an unfinished large lotus pedestal on the top of the square platform underneath the circular terraces, a modification on the first balustrade, and stone fragments of the umbrella pinnacle of the main stūpa. The discovery of this pedestal led scholars to believe that a larger stūpa was originally designed to crown Borobudur (Pott 1909: 2–8; Chihara 1996: 114–116), even though there was no clear explanation as to why this idea was eventually abandoned. Whatever the aim of these architectural changes might have been, one thing is obvious: the process of determining the configuration of Borobudur must also take into account these modifications. Recently, one scholar has done exactly this: Daigoro Chihara. Benefitting from his involvement in the second major restoration of Borobudur in the 1970s and 1980s, Chihara employed newly obtained data on the architectural changes, which prompted him to suggest that those were meant both to alleviate structural problems as well as to boost the monument’s symbolism. In this way, he simultaneously proposed an enhanced solution to the problem of the meaning of Borobudur, concluding that it must have been multifold (Chihara 1981: 144; 1996: 112122; cf. Miksic 1999). To support this conclusion, he suggested the existence of an underlying concept of multiplicity and uniformity beneath the construction of Borobudur. However, the difficulty with his view is that he, too, was convinced that ‘it was

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obvious that Borobudur was not the product of one consistent plan from beginning to end’ (Chihara 1981: 136). Thus, despite his insightful suggestion, Chihara failed to provide sufficient evidence for the link between the concept of the monument’s multiplicity and uniformity on the one hand and its inconsistent and evolving planning on the other. Also, when Chihara attempted to adopt the structural requirement argument to explain the enclosure of the original foot of Borobudur, he supported it by presenting an additional discovery, namely the slippage in the northern side of the first floor. Still, the overall reasoning of this argument is unsatisfactory. First, looking at a photograph taken in the 1900s, it may be appreciated that the wall of Borobudur was not only subsiding, but was also breaking up from the top.7 If this was what happened in the early days, even from a technical perspective, the added foot would certainly not have been able to correct this structural problem. Second, if a structural failure was the reason for the enclosure, then it is only natural to expect that the builders would keep to a minimum the load pressing on the first floor. However, this was not the case. Instead of minimizing the load, we know that the first balustrade was greatly expanded (Krom 1927 I: 28–29; Bernet Kempers 1981: 96). Third, the argument clearly does not seriously take into account the fact that the hidden foot contains some reliefs that were not only unfinished (e.g., panel O-41) but also deliberately obliterated (e.g., panel O-51). Thus, the modification must have been caused by factors arising from beyond the civil engineering realm. In the meantime, since it was determined that Borobudur had already started to deteriorate just a decade after its first major restoration, the Indonesian government asked UNESCO for help in 1955 and again in 1967. With international aid, and in the hope of sustaining the existence of Borobudur for many years to come, the second major reconstruction effort took place from 1973 to 1983. 7. See Krom and van Erp 1920–1931: portfolios; Bernet Kempers 1976: 188; Executive Committee for the International Symposium on Chandi Borobudur 1981: 9, 13, 25–26; UNESCO 2005: 86, 102–103, 126, 128, 130, 132.

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During that period, a team of archaeologists dug up new artifacts from the Borobudur yard. Thousands of stūpikās and a couple of inscriptions written on metal plates were unearthed. The team published their valuable discoveries in reports (Boechari 1982; Boechari and Ongkodharma 1982; Hariani Santiko 1975: 68–76). One report written by prominent Indonesian epigraphist Boechari described a series of excavations, their locations, and their findings, including a transcription of the famous lead-bronze plate inscription. A preliminary attempt to read the inscription indicated that its contents and style looked like those of a dhāraṇī. The second report discussed the thousands of clay stūpikās dug out from the yard. Boechari conjectured that these stūpikās were produced in the second half of the 9th century, while the lead-bronze plate was dated to one to two decades earlier. The new findings are significant as they provide us with a new opportunity to understand the reason why the builders made such a drastic change. As far as the lead-bronze plate is concerned, recent research has confirmed that it contains a dhāraṇī, which actually finds a parallel in a Balinese stuti (hymn of praise) entitled Navakampa, or ‘The Ninefold Tremble’.8 This dhāraṇī, which has been identified by Griffiths (2014) as the Mahāraudranāmahṛdaya (‘The Greatly Ferocious Spell’), invokes a fierce form of Vajrapāṇi (Caṇḍavajrapāṇi as Mahāyakṣasenāpati). One line can be reconstructed as namo bhagavato mahāvajradharasya. This phrase indicates that the Buddhists of Borobudur knew the term vajradhara. This information reminds us of a site for the Vajradhara school (Old Javanese: kabajradharan) named Buḍur in the Deśavarṇana/ Nāgarakṛtāgama (Canto 77.1, Robson 1995: 180), an Old Javanese text dated to the 14th century. Scholars dispute whether Buḍur refers to Borobudur. Those rejecting any link between Borobudur and Tantric Buddhism find reasons to dissociate the monument and the place name. But on the basis of the available evidence, it would be unreasonable 8. I first reported this in Kandahjaya 2009. In modern Bali, the Navakampa is recited in a death ritual, as well as in daily rituals. Perhaps it is reminiscent of an older rite performed at Borobudur. For a thorough study on this lead-bronze inscription, see Griffiths 2014.

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to surmise that the Buddhist architects and users of Borobudur did not know the concept of vajradhara.9 Therefore, the association with a site for the Vajradhara school named Buḍur found in the Deśavarṇana could be taken as the survival of an earlier historical link between the monument and a form of Mantranaya/Vajrayāna Buddhism that was practised in Central Java, and that continued in East Java up to the end of the Hindu-Buddhist period on the island. As for the miniature stūpas, it must be noted that they are inscribed with an abbreviated form of the formula oṃ ye te svāhā in Old Javanese script (Boechari 1982: 93), indicating that the Javanese builders and users of Borobudur were familiar with the concept of dharmakāya-caitya (a caitya of the Dharma body), and particularly with caityavandana (worship of caitya) (Tucci 1988: 27–29; Li 2000: 138). Yijing states that producing and offering a miniature stūpa is believed to generate merit (Li 2000: 108, 137–138). Familiarity with a dharmakāya-caitya implies that the constructed stūpa does not necessarily contain relics (Tucci 1988: vii, 24). In the light of the above, one may surmise that the Javanese must have understood that by building such stūpa (or caitya, as these terms are often interchangeable) they would renew the preaching of the Dharma, gain merit and accumulate knowledge, grasp the law of causation, and have the vision of the Buddha (Tucci 1988: 28–32). The material findings described above can be matched with evidence from the monument itself. A pair of short inscriptions on the wall above the panel O-124 at the Borobudur hidden foot, depicting the Karmavibhaṅgasūtra, are obviously related to the practice of worshipping a caitya. The short inscriptions are caityavandana (worship of caitya) and suvarṇavarṇa (golden colour) (Der Kinderen 1886b: 27–28). The panel below this pair starts with a display of eight persons in the act of worshipping a caitya and then the reward section under suvarṇavarṇa shows a distinguished person sitting on a platform attended by a group of five 9. Additional evidence that was found near Borobudur in 1970 was a 1.9 cm bronze vajra. See Bernet Kempers 1976: 16 and UNESCO 2005: 150.

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The Scheme of Borobudur ordinary persons. Sylvain Lévi (1931: 4) was the first to identify the following passage of the Karmavibhaṅgasūtra as being related to the phrase and depiction of caityavandana: Which are the ten benefits to be derived from the worshipping of the sanctuaries of the Tathāgata? The answer is: One becometh beautiful; fair-voiced; persuasive of speech; when entering an assembly, one winneth the goodwill of that assembly; one becometh beloved of gods and men; one becometh an important person; one associateth with important persons; one associateth with the Buddhas and with the Disciples of the Buddhas; one gaineth a great position; one is reborn in Heaven; one will quickly attain Parinirvāṇa.

The phrase suvarṇavarṇa is found in the verse that follows the above (Lévi 1931: 5; 1932: 38): By means of a steambath and an ointment of orpiment, And by the gift of an umbrella, I have acquired this gold-coloured complexion.

Above and beyond Lévi’s discovery, the significance of the whole panel including its inscriptions is enormous as it connects well with those thousands of miniature stūpas unearthed from the Borobudur yard. For this reason, considering the inscription of caityavandana, the thousands of miniature stūpas, and naturally Borobudur itself, we can be virtually certain that, in addition to an advanced level of doctrinal understanding, the architects of Borobudur must also have had access to manuals for stūpa or caitya construction. A number of scholars have investigated and documented some Buddhist scriptures which prescribe a set of techniques for building a stūpa (Tucci 1988: 13–21; Roth 1980; Dorjee 1996: 1–21).10 According to their examination, a stūpa structurally comprises of two main components: (1) the (lion) throne, which is often missed in the production of stūpa tsa-tsa, and (2) the stūpa proper (Tucci 1988: 15–17; Dorjee 1996: 61). The stūpa proper comprises mainly eight 10. There are additional resources, e.g., Bénisti (1960); see also Maurer (2005), which unfortunately I have not been able to consult before this chapter was finalized.

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parts: (1) a base of ten virtues (Tib. dge-ba bcu; Skt. daśa kuśala) at the bottom with a shape following the steps above the base; (2) a flight of steps which are square, circular, or polygonal in shape; (3) a base for the dome; (4) the dome; (5) the harmika in rectangular or polygonal form; (6) the spire; (7) the wheels; and (8) the umbrella (Tucci 1988: 40–43; Dorjee 1996: 61–71). If we compare and tabulate the structure of Borobudur with the structure of a stūpa proper, we find more correspondences than differences (see Table 4.1).

changes to the original scheme From the comparison in Table 4.1, it is clear that if it were not for the changes at the base and at the top, Borobudur would have perfectly fit the structure of a stūpa. While this brings us back to the same old question as to why the architects made such changes, a better understanding of the eight different types of stūpas would seem to lead us to a possible answer, especially when we recall that the dominant set of miniature stūpas from Borobudur yard has a more elongated aṇḍa with eight subsidiary stūpikās around it. Those eight types are of two categories: (1) four commemorating essential moments of his earthly life, and (2) four commemorating some of his most famous miracles (Tucci 1988: 24). These eight stand in contrast with the initial four commemorating the Buddha’s life as recommended by the Karmavibhaṅgasūtra (Lévi 1932: 82–83). This divergence suggests that the original idea was to construct Borobudur to commemorate just the first four. Each one in this series of eight stūpas has some specific features, usually on its steps, which then differentiate one from another. A comparison between the features of these eight stūpas and Borobudur is shown in Table 4.2. From this table we can appreciate that, except for the octagonal shape in the stūpa of Reconciliation, most of the main features of the eight stūpas are remarkably in harmony with prominent features of Borobudur. Also, except for two types of stūpas, i.e. those of Victor and Parinirvāṇa, all the remaining stūpas have four steps, and this feature can be related to the four polygonal platforms or altars at Borobudur. The 108 niches and the four doors of the

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Hudaya Kandahjaya Table 4.1: A stūpa proper vis-à-vis Borobudur

Structure of a Stūpa

Symbolic Meaning

Borobudur

Umbrella

Great compassion (mahākaruṇā)

(Three umbrellas were installed by van Erp for experiment in 1910 and subsequently removed)

Wheels

Ten knowledge-powers (daśa jñāna-balāni)

(Nine wheels were installed by van Erp for experiment in 1910 and subsequently removed)

Spire (yaṣṭi)

Ten knowledges (daśa jñānāni)

(The spire for the abandoned original main stūpa is unknown); now the octagonal spire of the main stūpa

Harmikā/droṇa

Eightfold path (aṣṭāṅga-mārga)

(The harmikā for the abandoned original main stūpa is unknown); now the quadrangular harmikā of the main stūpa

The dome (kumbha/aṇḍa)

Seven factors of enlightenment (sapta bodhyaṅgāni)

(The dome for the abandoned original main stūpa is unknown); now the dome of the main stūpa

The base of the dome (kumbha sandhī/kaṇṭhaka)

Five powers (pañca balāni)

The base of the dome for the abandoned original main stupa, now hidden underneath the first circular terrace

The steps (cataśro vedyaḥ, caturthā jaṅghā vedī): 4

Five faculties (pañcendriyāni)

4th platform or altar in polygonal shape

(tṛtīyā vedī): 3

Four spiritual powers (catvāri ṛddhipādā)

3rd platform or altar in polygonal shape

(dvitīyā vedī): 2

Four renunciations (catvāri prahāṇāni)

2nd platform or altar in polygonal shape

(ādhāra vedī): 1

Four awareness (catvāri smṛtyupasthāna)

1st platform or altar in polygonal shape

The base of ten virtues

Ten virtues (daśa kuśala)

Hidden foot with reliefs from the scripture on ten good and bad deeds (the Karmavibhaṅgasūtra)

stūpa of Preaching correspond neatly to the 108 niches and four doors at each side of Borobudur (Tucci 1988: 128, 142). The bell-shaped dome of the stūpa of Parinirvāṇa matches the bell-shaped dome of the main stūpa of the monument. The ladders demanded by the stūpa of Descent from Trayastriṃśa and the reliefs demanded by this stūpa as well as by the Grand Miracle are all present at Borobudur. Should there be no expanded base, even the requirement for a base of ten virtues is fulfilled by the now hidden foot of the construction, along with reliefs from the scripture on ten good and bad deeds (the Karmavibhaṅgasūtra). But the most fascinating feature in this list is perhaps the

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stipulation of having three circular steps for the stūpa of Victor, which at Borobudur are not located where they are supposed to be but on top of the four polygonal platforms or altars. There is also an exclusive requirement for the stūpa of Parinirvāṇa, which at Borobudur is again fulfilled uniquely by placing the whole solid bell-shaped stūpa on top of the third circular terrace. Nonetheless, it is specifically from the last two requirements that we can perceive the architects’ need to change the top of Borobudur as well as their desire to conform to all specifications at once. In other words, on the basis of these correspondences, it is likely that by creating such changes and organization the

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The Scheme of Borobudur

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Table 4.2: Eight stūpas vis-à-vis Borobudur Type of Stūpa

Site

Main Features

Borobudur

1

Birth (Heap of Lotuses)

Kapilavastu

Four (or seven) steps with lotuses

Four polygonal platforms or altars

2

Enlightenment

Nairañjanā-Magadha

Square; four steps above a base of ten virtues

Four polygonal platforms or altars above the hidden foot with reliefs from the scripture on ten good and bad deeds (the Karmavibhaṅgasūtra)

3

Preaching (Many Doors)

Vārāṇasī

108 niches; four doors in four sides are four truths

108 niches each in four sides

4

Grand Miracle

Jetavana-Śrāvastī

Square; four steps and reliefs in four sides

Four polygonal platforms or altars and reliefs

5

Descent from Trayastriṃśa

Kānyakubja-Sāṃkāśya

Ladders; four (or eight steps) and reliefs

Four polygonal platforms or altars; stairs in four sides and reliefs

6

Reconciliation

Rājagṛha

Octagonal; four steps

Four polygonal platforms or altars

7

Victor (Meditation on Life)

Vaiśālī

Three circular steps

Three circular terraces

8

Parinirvāṇa

Kuśinagara

Bell-shaped dome without steps

Bell-shaped dome of the main stūpa

architects seem to have intended to make Borobudur to integrate all the major features and thereby represent all the eight stūpas.

assignment of numbers Van Erp must have noticed the numerical arrangement of Borobudur during the restoration. He did tabulate the arithmetical progression of the number of the Buddha statues from the lower to the top storeys (Krom and van Erp 1931 II: 463). But it was Stutterheim (1956: 50, 59–61) who addressed this phenomenon for the first time, although he did not seem to find the exact reason behind it. Indeed, the scholarship of his time was not yet aware of the calculation and planning methods for setting up a maṇḍala prescribed by Vajrabuddhi (aka Vajrabodhi) and his disciple Amoghavajra, who might have met in Java before or at the time of Borobudur’s construction (Sundberg and Giebel 2011: 151–153). Vajrabuddhi’s description on how to construct a Vajradhātu maṇḍala is based on his interpretation of the Vajraśekharasūtra (Snodgrass 1988:

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572–575, 579–585). He explains that this maṇḍala has rectangular and circular shapes. The rectangular shape is for marking the boundaries of the maṇḍala. The circular shape defines the vajra circle and the five buddha-circles. In this maṇḍala, the radius of the central buddha-circle is one third of the radius of the vajra circle, and the size of the other four buddha-circles is the same as the central one. These four other circles are placed tangentially to the central circle in the four cardinal directions. Finally, eight vajra lines are to be drawn tangentially to these four circles. In addition, Vajrabuddhi also describes the overall size of the maṇḍala and the number of bhagavats to be placed in it. For a master (ācārya) of great and awesome virtue, the size of the maṇḍala is about three feet. The size of the maṇḍala created for a Jambudvīpa king or a wheel-turning king, however, is one yojana. By having these different sizes, the ācārya, as the creator of the maṇḍala, has options to choose from (see Li 2000: 79). Likewise, the creator is presented with a variety of options to select when it comes to the number of the bhagavats, that is, either 37 or 108.

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Looking at all sides of Borobudur there are 108 Buddha statues in niches on each side facing each cardinal direction. Also, the outline of the horizontal layout or the shape of all polygonal platforms on rectangular terraces resembles the shape of the vajra lines as described by Vajrabuddhi. As such, it is likely that the architects of Borobudur utilized Vajrabuddhi’s manual from the start for the horizontal planning, in addition to the stūpa construction manual for the vertical planning. This becomes clearer when the changes on the upper part of Borobudur are taken into account, as the outline of the original plan would never fit Vajrabuddhi’s manual. On the other hand, it is also from these changes that we can sense another possible influence on the masterplan of Borobudur, namely from Bianhong, a Javanese monk who went to China to study Esoteric Buddhism under Huiguo, himself a disciple of Amoghavajra. Bianhong’s whereabouts after his master died in 806 CE are not completely known. While Sinclair (2016: 29–66) has argued that he might never have left China, I suspect that, as already surmised earlier (Kandahjaya 1995: 82–83; 1998: 189; 2004:107–108; Woodward 2009), the assignment of numbers at Borobudur might have come through Bianhong, who went to

China to grasp the complementary part of the Vajradhātu maṇḍala, i.e., the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala. The distribution of the 504 Buddha statues and 1460 panels of reliefs at Borobudur would seem to follow an arithmetical calculation prescribed by Amoghavajra in a construction manual for laying out a Garbhadhātu maṇḍala. The construction of a Garbhadhātu maṇḍala following Amoghavajra’s interpretation of the Mahāvairocanābhisambodhisūtra starts with a gridwork of three by three (Snodgrass 1988: 175– 178; Hodge 2003: 104; Giebel 2005: 31). This gridwork of three by three is a depiction of the three mysteries of the body, mind, and speech and they correspond to the three qualities of Mahāvairocana, i.e., meditation, knowledge, and compassion. Since the gridwork shows the innumerable mysteries of Mahāvairocana, we can further subdivide each square by three to create a nine-by-nine gridwork. Afterward, a layering process takes place. The nineby-nine gridwork now consists of three layers and one central square (see Fig. 4.1). In this maṇḍala construction, the central square becomes known as the central mansion. From this central mansion out, the three layers of Borobudur comprise the first, second, and third layers of the

Fig. 4.1: Amoghavajra’s odd-number gridwork for creating a Garbhadhātu maṇḍala. 3 × 3 gridwork: 3 mysteries (body, speech, mind) and 3 qualities (meditation, knowledge, compassion) of Mahāvairocana

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The Scheme of Borobudur gridwork for drawing the maṇḍala. The first layer consists of 16 squares, the second of 24 squares, and the third of 32 squares. These numbers are exactly the same as the numbers of the perforated stūpas above the three circular terraces on top of Borobudur. If we continue to apply this procedure by subdividing further the nine-by-nine gridwork by three to create a 27-by-27 gridwork, and then we also apply the layering process, we would then obtain an interesting set of numbers representing the squares on the six outer layers: starting from the inner one, we would get 64, 72, 80, 88, 96, and 104 squares (see Fig. 4.2). If we examine these numbers, we note two remarkable facts. First, except for the numbers 80 and 96, the remaining ones are exactly the same as the numbers of buddha statues sitting on top

63

of the fifth, fourth, third, and first balustrades of Borobudur. Second, the total of these numbers is 504. This total is exactly the same as the number of all finished buddha statues found in Borobudur (see Table 4.3). Moreover, we would obtain similar results when we apply the same procedure to compute the distribution of panels of reliefs carved at Borobudur. This arithmetical calculation becomes vital when we take into consideration the fact that, as mentioned earlier, the construction of Borobudur has undergone several modifications. While inserting the circular terraces and the main stūpa above the top polygonal altar, the architects ingeniously represented in the monument the numbers from the gridwork of a Garbhadhātu maṇḍala. The diameter of the main stūpa is also made one third of the

Fig. 4.2: 27-by-27 gridwork applied to the Borobudur

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Hudaya Kandahjaya Table 4.3: Odd-number gridwork for the numerical series of the buddha images

diameter of the first circular terrace in accordance with the procedure for constructing a Vajradhātu maṇḍala. This means that the builders deliberately attempted to include measures obtained from the geometrical and arithmetical computations into their building scheme. In other words, in addition to the Vajradhātu maṇḍala, the construction of a Garbhadhātu maṇḍala based on the interpretation of the Mahāvairocanābhisambodhisūtra was likely one of the underlying plans that inspired the construction of Borobudur. From this realization it necessarily follows that those geometrical models and arithmetical calculations were transmitted to Central Java either by Amoghavajra when he stopped by Java on the way to Sri Lanka or perhaps by Bianhong, considering the fact that he studied the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala under Huiguo, and that his calculations might have helped the builders to draw the final design of Borobudur.

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stūpa-prāsāda A reference to the region of the Indian subcontinent that was frequently visited by the Buddha is reflected by a phrase in verse 13 of the Kayumvuṅan inscription, which describes the buddha-temple (jinamandiraṃ) that I identify with Borobudur as being ‘similar to the famous Veṇuvana’ (śrīmadveṇuvanābhikhyam). Veṇuvana, a forested area near Rājgir (rājagṛha) in present-day Bihar (ancient Magadha), was the first royal donation to be granted to Buddha Gautama in the year after he attained full enlightenment. Later this gift became a precedent for establishing a ruling for the monks in accepting similar donations. The Apadāna Commentary explains the extraordinary quality of the offering of Veṇuvana. When King Bimbisāra poured water onto the Buddha’s palms in the ceremony for the endowment of Veṇuvana,

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The Scheme of Borobudur the water fell to the ground and the earth shook. This was the only park donation in Jambudvīpa that was accompanied by an earthquake.11 Furthermore, the Avadānakalpalatā composed by Kṣemendra12 continued the tradition of admiring the gift of Veṇuvana. He emphasized that the bequest of Veṇuvana caused jealousy among the contemporaneous six tīrthikas, who felt being outrivaled and deprived of provisions.13 More importantly, this rivalry was the underlying rationale for the great miracles occurring at the gate of Śrāvastī, where Śākyamuni displayed the illustrious double miracle of producing flames from the upper part of the body and a stream of water from the lower, and vice versa, also from the right side of his body and from the left (Pali yamakapātihāriya, Skt. yamakaprātihārya). A substantial number of accounts asserting the significance of miraculous events in the life of Śākyamuni are also found in a number of sūtras, such as the Lalitavistara and the Gaṇḍavyūha. Both of these sūtras are thoroughly depicted at Borobudur and must have been incorporated into its narrative programme for a good reason. Some concepts pertinent for the study of the monument are discussed below. The Lalitavistara narrates at length the life story of Śākyamuni up to his turning of the Dharma wheel. The absence of an account of the Buddha’s 11. Apadāna-Aṭṭhakathā (1998: 97): tasmiṃ ārāme paṭiggahiteyeva ‘buddhasāsanassa mūlāni otiṇṇānī’ ti mahāpathavī kampi. Jambudīpatalasmiñhi ṭhapetvā veḷuvanaṃ aññaṃ mahāpathaviṃ kampetvā gahitasenāsanaṃ nāma natthi. The English translation for this text is available from tipitaka.wikia.com and https://www.wisdomlib. org/buddhism/book/apadana-commentary-atthakatha. 12. The Kashmirian Kṣemendra flourished in the 11th century, and is therefore later than the Borobudur. However, my point here is simply to highlight the importance of this episode in the Buddhist tradition, both before and after the date of Borobudur. 13. Vaidya (1959): pure rājagṛhābhikhye bimbirāseṇa bhūbhujā / pūjyamānaṃ jina dṛṣṭvā sthitaṃ veṇuvanāśrame // 13.2 … bimbisāro narapatir mūrkhatāpakṣapātavān / anyaṃ vrajāmo bhūpālam iti te samacintayan // 13.13. An English translation of chapter 13 on prātihārya can be found in Dās (1897: 17–20), while Black (1997) provides an English translation of the Tibetan abridgement of Kṣemendra’s Bodhisattvāvadānakalpalatā.

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passing away cogently intensifies a doctrinal position that elevates Śākyamuni to divine status. In a similar way, the title of the text seems to suggest an eternal cosmic play. This is the story that the architects of Borobudur picked to be carved extensively and elegantly on the first gallery wall. The divine birth narrative draws our attention. Looking at the Lalitavistara reliefs of the birth story, Krom (1927: 112) rightly noticed the double wall—instead of triple—of the kūṭāgāra in which the bodhisattva dwelled while descending from the Tuṣita heaven and entering his mother’s womb. Assuming that the text consulted by the architects was similar to the form in which it has been transmitted to us, and acknowledging their mastery of the details reported in the text, the discrepancy seems to be intentional rather than accidental. The whole structure of the monument would represent, as it were, the absent third wall of the kūṭāgāra depicted in the relief. In fact, there are compelling reasons to believe that Borobudur represents the Javanese image of the kūṭāgāra of Śākyamuni, which carries with it many unusual properties and also interchangeable terms, such as garbha (‘womb’) or śrīgarbha (‘illustrious womb’), ratnavyūha (‘jeweled sanctum’), and caitya (‘shrine’). The fact that the Gaṇḍavyūha reliefs occupy a large portion of the Borobudur walls is well known—indeed, the complete narrative of the Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra in 460 panels of reliefs is the only one in the world. This sūtra starts with the Buddha staying at the kūṭāgāra in the Jeta Grove in the park of Anāthapiṇḍada, in Śrāvastī. Scrutinizing the site at which the whole Gaṇḍavyūha narrative was set reveals precious information. The sūtra specifically states that the kūṭāgāra, not just the Jeta Grove, is the site at which all started. While the initial setting appears to be historical, the events narrated in the text soon become increasingly ahistorical and cosmological in character. When it records the bodhisattvas in attendance, the sūtra systematically arranges 152 names in fifteen categories. Most of the categories are grouped by tens, except for the category of eyes (netra), which includes twelve names. Ten out of fifteen categories create five pairs of categories—each of these pairs has a synonymic category (see Table 4.4).

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Table 4.4: Categories of bodhisattvas’ names Group #

Number of bodhisattvas

Number of bodhisattvas

Subtotals

Meaning

1.

10

-uttarajñānī

-buddhī

10

20

supra-knowledge, or intelligence

2.

10

-dhvaja

-ketu

10

20

banner

3.

9

-tejā

-prabhā

11

20

light

4.

10

-garbha

10

womb

5.

12

-netra

12

eyes

6.

10

-mukuṭa

-cūḍa

10

20

crown, or crest

-svara

10

Bodhisattvas’ Ending names

7.

10

-ghoṣa

20

voice, or sound

8.

10

-udgata

10

come out

9.

10

-śrī

10

auspicious

10

-indrarāja

10. Subtotals

101

The importance of the eyes becomes clear in subsequent events, when the bodhisattvas alone are able to witness the Buddha’s spiritual power manifested in this very kūṭāgāra. This seems to have been the rationale for the Javanese architects to take the events narrated at the beginning of the sūtra seriously, as the scene is depicted in the first two panels introducing the series of Gaṇḍavyūha reliefs (Panels II1 and II2). In support of this view there is the fact that other depictions of the Gaṇḍavyūha elsewhere in Asia jump to the beginning of Sudhana’s pilgrimage and miss out the introductory part altogether.14 As the narrative shifts to Sudhana’s pilgrimage, it must be noted that, according to Qobad Afshar (1981), the places visited by Sudhana as he circled the Indian subcontinent (Jambudvīpa) form a circumambulating programme in which the pilgrim proceeds southward from one kalyāṇamitra to the next, going deeper into the human realm, until reaching Magadha in the centre and entering into 14. Chinese as well as Tibetan Gaṇḍavyūha paintings start with the meeting of Sudhana with Mañjuṣrī (see Lokesh Chandra 1975; Klimburg-Salter 1998: 120–121; Li n.d.; Steinkellner 1995). At Borobudur, the meeting with Mañjuśrī is on Panel II16; the first 15 panels show the introductory part.

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51

10

Lord

152

Total

Maitreya’s kūṭāgāra, which at this point is identical to the magnificently adorned abode of Vairocana or the universal cosmos (vairocanavyūhālaṅkāragarbhamahākūṭāgāra). The mention of Maitreya’s kūṭāgāra in the Tuṣita heaven brings to mind the story relating to the kūṭāgāra of Śākyamuni as told in the Lalitavistara. As we compare this and other features, it becomes clear that to some extent the Gaṇḍavyūha and the Lalitavistara have many parallels and are thereby closely correlated. These correlations suggest that the Gaṇḍavyūha could be conceived as a generalized Lalitavistara, while the Bhadracarī is the summary of all of them. This enforces the idea of an eternal cosmic play, especially when we also take into account the Jātakas and the Avadānas, which make up all the texts that the architects of Borobudur selected to be immortalized on the Borobudur walls. Thus, it appears that the rationale underlying the selection of the episodes depicted in the reliefs was the conduct of the bodhisattva or the Buddha, including their related sacred sites and objects worthy of worship. This consideration must have been well known at that time since the composer of the Kayumvuṅan inscription employed the phrase ‘Buddha’s conduct’ (vuddhacarita) in composing verse 4

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The Scheme of Borobudur

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to graciously honour the religious demeanour of at the gate of Śrāvastī, under which Śākyamuni performed the double miracle (Pali yamakapātiPrincess Prāmodavarddhanī. Some insights that may be relevant to the hāriya; Skt. yamakaprātihārya). The word gaṇḍa used in the meaning of ‘(tree) study of Borobudur come from the very titles of the Lalitavistara and Gaṇḍavyūha. Unlike the trunk’ is very well attested in the Divyāvadāna. Lalitavistara (‘The Play in Full’ or ‘Detailed Nar- It appears in compounds, such as mūlagaṇḍaparation of the Sport [of the Buddha]’), the meaning trapuṣpaphala (Vaidya 1999: 63, 68, 130, 215, 413, of the title Gaṇḍavyūha is far from clear, especially 428). This compound enumerates in an orderly when the Chinese counterparts of Gaṇḍavyūha fashion the components of a tree from the bottom and Buddhāvataṃsaka are alternative titles, not to the tip: ‘root, trunk, leaf, flower, fruit’. As such, direct translations, as is obvious from the following when the Gaṇḍavyūha records nānābodhigaṇḍavyūhān (Vaidya 1960: 214), the word gaṇḍa in this comparison (Table 4.5). A search for the meaning of gaṇḍa exposes two compound most likely has the same meaning, so interesting senses, i.e., ‘stalk’ (‘trunk’) and ‘goitre’, that nānābodhigaṇḍavyūhān are the ‘various which are interrelated by way of being the interstice ornamented trunks of (trees of) enlightenment’. between two knots. Further, Gaṇḍa is the name of But, given that the compilers did not bother to the gardener serving Prasenajit, the king of Kauśala. include nānābodhi or bodhi in the title, it might He offered a mango to the Buddha. The mango just be the case that a broader meaning is intendseed produced the mango tree (Pali gaṇḍamba) ed. The trunks might include other trees under

Table 4.5: The Avataṃsakasūtra 60 Fascicles

80 Fascicles

40 Fascicles

No.  Taishō  Korean

T 278 K 79

T 279 K 80

T 293 K 1262

Title  Sanskrit

(Buddha)avataṃsakasūtra

(Buddha)avataṃsakasūtra

Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra

 Chinese

Dafangguang fohuayan jing 大方廣佛華嚴經

Dafangguang fohuayan jing 大方廣佛華嚴經

Dafangguang fohuayan jing 大方廣佛華嚴經

 Tibetan

Sangs-rgyas phal-po-che shes-bya-ba shin-tu-rgyas-pa-chen-po-gyi mdo

Sangs-rgyas phal-po-che shes-bya-bashin-tu-rgyas-pa-chen-po-gyi-mdo

Buddhabhadra

Śikṣānanda

Prajña

Begun on the 10th day, 3rd month, 14th year of I Hsi (義煕), Eastern Chin dynasty (東晉) (April 30th, 418 CE) and finished on the 28th day, 12th month, 2nd year of Yung Ch’u (永初), Liu Sung dynasty (劉宋) (February 5th, 422 CE) in Tao-ch’ang Monastery (道場寺), Yang-chou (楊州).

Begun in 695 in Biankongsi (遍空寺), Tung-tu (東都), and finished on the 8th day, 10th month, 2nd year of Sheng Li (聖歷), Tang dynasty (唐) (November 5th, 699 CE) in Fo-shou-chi Monastery (佛授記寺), Lo-yang (洛陽).

Offered to the emperor of the Tang dynasty (唐) on March 16th, 798 CE.

Translation  Translator  Date

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Hudaya Kandahjaya

which Buddha’s miraculous events occurred; thus, Gaṇḍavyūha could also mean ‘detailed explanation or description of (tree) trunk (miraculous events)’. This meaning of gaṇḍavyūha still shares the miraculous context in which the compound buddhāvataṃsaka is found in the Divyāvadāna (Vaidya 1999: 257–258). Now, it turns out that buddhāvataṃsaka may have two meanings, depending on how one interprets this compound. One is ‘the garland of the Buddha’ (Rhi 1991: 305). The second is ‘the garland of buddhas’ (Susumu 2007: 90). Of these two meanings, the one most clearly manifested at Borobudur is ‘garland of buddhas’. But, then, as both titles—Gaṇḍavyūha and Buddhāvataṃsaka—turn out to arise from the great miracle in Śrāvasti, this clearly shows the weight of this event. Now, considering the portrayal of kūṭāgāra in the Lalitavistara, which is considered comparable to the circular terraces of Borobudur, it is worth noting that this text mentions the compound kūṭāgāra-prāsāda at least six times in various contexts. Then, if we recall that the Lalitavistara interchanges a caitya with a kūṭāgāra, and in front when discussing a stūpa construction a caitya is interchangeable with a stūpa, we may come to an understanding through a process of substitution that the phrase kūṭāgāra-prāsāda could and might have eventually been transformed into stūpa-prāsāda. The latter is a term that I have thus far not found recorded anywhere else except in the Saṅ Hyaṅ Kamahāyānikan Advayasādhana, which declares: ‘This body inside and outside is a stūpa-prāsāda’ (Kats 1910: 53). All background stories on miraculous events mentioned above and the spiritual power glorified in them might have truly captivated the Javanese masterminds of Borobudur. This fascination perhaps could also explain the use of the word amitavala (infinite power) in the Kayumvuṅan inscription to portray the quality of the Hero abiding on the lofty mountain (uttuṅgaśailasthaśūro), who in turn may protect suffering beings. At the same time, it is possible that the description could also mean that the power was regarded as being embedded not only in the main deity but also in the whole structure—the stūpa-prāsāda.

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the lord of all virtues The notion of spiritual power embedded in the stūpa-prāsāda just mentioned may be associated with the name Śrīghananātha in verse 11 of the Kayumvuṅan inscription. In Sanskrit, the word ghana possesses a wide range of meanings, viz. ‘a striker’, ‘solid, dense’, ‘complete’, ‘a multitude’, ‘a cloud’, and ‘the cube of a number’ (Monier-Williams 2005 [1899]: 376). The word Śrīghana is a well-attested epithet of the Buddha (or a buddha), as well as exalted monks, in Buddhist literature and epigraphy in both South and Southeast Asia (see Skilling 2004). Even so, its occurrence in the Old Javanese inscription could be significant, as this name appears—as Śirighana, or Śrīghana—in the first verse 1 of chapter 24 (Trapuṣa-bhallika) of the Lalitavistara—a scripture that is represented prominently on the reliefs carved on the Borobudur walls. The verse is as follows: ‘I praise the feet of Śrī Ghana, overspread with a thousand-spoke chariot-wheel, which, having the radiance like the glowing countless-petaled lotuses, are continually rubbed by the tiaras of the gods.’15 The same verse attests the usage of the word ara, being a spoke of a wheel. The word ara appears in verse 8 of the Kayumvuṅan inscription. Assuming that the Chinese translators of the Lalitavistara encountered the epithet Śirighana in the Sanskrit manuscripts they were translating, their translations as fo (Buddha, 佛)16 or shizun (Bhagavat or the Blessed One, 世尊)17 confirm that this epithet refers to the Buddha. But it is equally imperative to note that translators of the

15. Vaidya 1958: 269. The Sanskrit verse runs as follows: rathacaraṇanicitacaraṇā daśaśatārajalajakamaladalatejā / suramukuṭaghṛṣṭacaraṇā vande caraṇau śirighanasya // 1. The Chinese translation by Divākara (T 187, Fangguang-dazhuangyan-jing 方廣大莊嚴經) has it as follows: 世尊足有千輻輪 猶如蓮華甚清淨 恒為諸天寶冠接 是故我 今稽首禮 (T 187 599b27–28). 16. T 186, Puyao-jing 普曜經: 常奉行諸行 悅寂句威力 使魔失徑路 自投稽首佛 (T 186 525a3–4). Comparing this

passage with T 187 in the previous note, I have the impression that Dharmarakṣa might have had a slightly different recension. 17. See note 15.

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The Scheme of Borobudur Samādhirājasūtra18 rendered the same term as ‘the assembly of all merit and virtue’ (gongde ju, 功德聚), that is the Buddha, or ‘a stūpa as symbol of Buddha’.19 Still, on the other hand, gongde ju 功德聚 can come not only from Śrī Ghana, but also from the Sanskrit guṇagaṇa20 (‘multitude of virtues’) and saṃbhāra (usually ‘assembly of merits and knowledge’).21 Some passages in the Lalitavistara22 and the Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra23 corroborate this identification. 18. Wogihara 1979: 1356. Vaidya 1961, verse 106 in chapter 35, ‘Supuṣpacandra’: hā suvratā kṣāntitapodhanāḍhyā hā rūpadākṣiṇyaguṇair upetā / hā niṣkuhā śrīghana niṣprapañcā kuha prayāto ’si vihāya mā tvam // 106; verse 2 in chapter 36, ‘Śīlaskandhanirdeśa’: tasmāt samagrā bhavatha aduṣṭacittāḥ sarve ca bhogā satata manāpakārī / dṛṣṭvā ca buddhān śirighana aprameyān bodhiṃ spṛśitvā bhaviṣyatha dharmasvāmī // 2. 19. Soothill and Hodous 1977: 168. 20. Hirakawa 1997: 200. 21. The Lalitavistara expounds a somewhat detailed and elaborate understanding of the Buddhist concept of saṃbhāra. As already noted by some lexicographers, the Lalitavistara shows two more saṃbhāras, i.e., śamathasaṃbhāra (accumulations of tranquility) and vidarśanāsaṃbhāra (accumulations of insight), in addition to the usual puṇya-saṃbhāra (accumulations of merits) and jñāna-saṃbhāra (accumulations of knowledge); see, e.g., Monier-Williams 2005 [1899]: 1179, and Edgerton 1970: 580; on p. 487 Edgerton indicates that vidarśanā is a synonym for vipaśyanā. All of these four saṃbhāras are members of the 108 doors into the light of the dharma (dharmālokamukha). But the Lalitavistara does not stop there: it also indicates that saṃbhāra may include other kinds of excellent attributes. In chapter 27, ‘Nigama’, the compiler lists eight kinds of saṃbhāras, including the four just mentioned. These eight are: accumulations of charity (dāna-saṃbhāra), morality (śīla-saṃbhāra), sacred word (śruta-saṃbhāra), tranquility (śamatha-saṃbhāra), insight (vidarśanā-saṃbhāra), merits (puṇya-saṃbhāra), knowledge (jñāna-saṃbhāra), and great compassion (mahākaruṇā-saṃbhāra). 22. At least two passages: (1) in chapter 2, ‘Samutsāha’: guṇagaṇavimalasarasisujātasya (the Chinese translation in T 187 540b09 is 譬如蓮華出於功德廣大池中, a bit different from the expected gongde ju 功德聚); (2) in chapter 15, ‘Abhiniṣkramaṇa’: hā mama anantakīrte śatapuṇyasamudgatā vimalapuṇyadharā / hā mama anantavarṇā guṇagaṇapratimaṇḍitā ṛṣigaṇaprītikarā // 130. 23. There are at least two instances in the Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra where saṃbhāra is translated as gongde ju 功德聚. Chapter 36, ‘Pramuditanayanajagadvirocanā’, verse 92: tataḥ saṃbhūtaḥ praṇidhimeghaḥ sarvajagatsukhapravaṇagarbhaḥ / saṃbhārasaṃbhava anantā mārgasamudranayānugataś ca // 92; chapter 42, ‘Sutejomaṇḍalaratiśrī’, lines

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While there is no direct proof that the Javanese team that was responsible for the design of Borobudur took the meaning of guṇagaṇa and saṃbhāra in the same way the Chinese translation team did, there is circumstantial evidence indicating that both communities of Buddhist intellectuals were inspired by the same conceptual world based on such sources as the Lalitavistara and the Gaṇḍavyūha, and possibly others as well, like the Samādhirājasūtra, and both might have shared similar interpretations. Furthermore, we might even envisage a direct influence of Prajña,24 who translated the Gaṇḍavyūha into Chinese. We also know that the Javanese were aware of the notion of an assembly of merits and knowledge. In addition to the sūtras that are depicted at Borobudur, the Kayumvuṅan inscription includes the concept of saṃbhāra in verse 3. Moreover, the word Bhūmisaṃbhāra—attested in the Tri Tәpusan inscription dated to 842 CE—was associated by de Casparis (1950: 167) with Borobudur, though many scholars vehemently rejected the idea due to its speculative character. However, the Caityavibhaṅgavinayoddhṛtasūtra attributed to Śāntigarbha states that a stūpa is called ‘the accumulation’ (bsags pa) because it represents the essences to be accumulated (Dorjee 1996: 117, 121). Also, if we take into account the way the compound bhūmisaṃbhāra is used in the Gaṇḍavyūha—by which the composer of the Tri Tәpusan inscription might have been inspired—, we see that this compound is not being used in connection with the word bhūdhara but with the grounds of Tathāgata (tathāgatabhūmi, from the longer compound tathāgatabhūmisaṃbhārajñānāni in chapter 15, Indriyeśvara, 11–12: etat pramukhair buddhakṣetraparamāṇurajaḥ samair bodhicittāṅgasaṃbhārair abhiniṣpannaḥ sa bodhisattvo jāto bhavati tathāgatakule. 24. I have demonstrated that Prajña’s version of the Bhadracarī was likely the one depicted at Borobudur (Kandahjaya 2004), and consequently the same for the Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra. Besides, either the Javanese monk Bianhong brought back a copy of Prajña’s Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra, or Prajña himself provided a copy while staying in Java. Before arriving at Canton in 780, Prajña visited the islands of the South Seas: Pachow (1958: 19) says that he ‘traveled extensively in the South Seas’, while White (2005: 425) says that he spent twenty-two years in the South Seas. Thus, Java is not excluded from the possible places where he stayed.

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of the Gaṇḍavyūha).25 Therefore, if we put aside certain details of de Casparis’ argument that cause a vulnerable link and instead apply a more comprehensive understanding of the concept of saṃbhāra as shown above, de Casparis’ intuition, associating the name Bhūmisambhāra with Borobudur, may be right after all. In any event, the Sanskrit compound guṇagaṇa is especially remarkable. Verse 15 of the Kayumvuṅan inscription attests this as a compound together with the word Sugata to describe the vihāra being consecrated (sugataguṇagaṇa). Via the Chinese translations of the Lalitavistara as well as the Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra discussed above, we are able to recapture the composer’s idea and perceive the profound relationship between the name Śrī Ghananātha (in verse 11) and the vihāra of multitude of virtues of the Sugata in the Kayumvuṅan inscription, or for that matter between this name and Borobudur. This relationship becomes even more astounding when we realize that among the meanings of the Sanskrit word ghana in the name Śrī Ghananātha there is that of ‘the cube of a number’. This meaning becomes relevant if we associate it with the cube of three (33 which is equal to 27) represented in Amoghavajra’s grid formula for the construction of the Garbhadhātu maṇḍala (Kandahjaya 1995: 28–30, 38–40). In view of the above, the link between the meaning of ghana and the selection of a grid of 27 × 27 become suddenly clearer, and can also be associated with the findings, in the Borobudur’s surroundings, of clay miniature stūpas with eight smaller stūpas attached to the aṇḍa discussed earlier, which lead us to recognize the numinous entrenched in the kūṭāgāra, tree, or stūpa. In other words, according to this principle, there is a metaphysical aspect attached to the physical kūṭāgāra, tree, or stūpa. In the case of Borobudur, chances are that the architects additionally expressed this metaphysical aspect by taking 216 grids off the grid of 27 × 27 to create the invisible 108 Buddha statues, each for the nadir and zenith of Borobudur. In this way, the 25. The phrase is found in chapter 15, ‘Indriyeśvara’: tathāgatabhūmisaṃbhārajñānāni. Chinese translations are as follows: T 278 704c09: 此如來地; T 279 350c19: 此人 應入一切智地; T 293 704b10: 此人應入如來智地.

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architects of Borobudur also represented the name Śrī Ghananātha mathematically and geometrically by entirely applying all the grids created by the ghana of three to the assignment of Buddha statues at Borobudur (see Table 4.3).

conclusion The evidence presented in this study allows us to marvel at not only the architects’ scheme and their conception of Borobudur as a stūpa-prāsāda, but also at the origin of the name ‘Borobudur’, namely, ‘an excellent Buddha image’ (varabuddharūpa). As such, we may interpret the structure and symbolism of the entire structure—precisely as prescribed in the texts—as a representation of the Buddha, including examples of his conduct (buddhacarita) as well as symbols of his teachings to attain supreme and full enlightenment. All this is for one to revere, internalize, and acquire.

Primary Sources Apadāna Commentary: see Apadāna-Aṭṭhakathā. Avadāna-kalpalatā: see Vaidya 1959. Divyāvadāna: see Vaidya 1999. Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra: see Vaidya 1960. Lalitavistara: see Vaidya 1958. Mahāvairocanābhisambodhisūtra: see Giebel 2005; Hodge 2003. Samādhirājasūtra: see Vaidya 1961. Saṅ Hyaṅ Kamahāyānikan (Mantranaya and Advayasādhana): see Kats 1910.

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The Scheme of Borobudur Apadāna-Aṭṭhakathā. 1998. Dhammagiri-PāliGanthamālā-64. Dhammagiri, Igatpuri: Vipassana Research Institute. Bénisti, Mireille. 1960. ‘Étude sur le stûpa dans l’Inde ancienne’, Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 50/1: 37–116. Bernet Kempers, August J. 1976. Ageless Borobudur: Buddhist Mystery in Stone, Decay and Restoration, Mendut and Pawon, Folklife in Ancient Java. Wassenaar: Servire. . 1981. ‘The Reliefs and the Buddhist Texts’, in Proceedings of the International Symposium on Chandi Borobudur, pp. 92–105. Tokyo: Executive Committee for the International Symposium on Chandi Borobudur. Black, Deborah. 1997. Leaves of the Heaven Tree. Berkeley: Dharma Publishing. Boechari. 1982. ‘Preliminary Report on Some Archaeological Finds around the Borobudur Temple’, in Seri CC No. 5: Reports and Documents of the Consultative Committee for the Safeguarding of Borobudur, 5th Meeting, April 1976. Borobudur: Proyek Pelita Pemugaran Candi Borobudur, Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan. Boechari, Wiwin Djuwita and H. Ongkodharma. 1982. ‘Report on Clay Votive Stūpas from the Borobudur Site’, in Seri CC No. 8: Reports and Documents of the Consultative Committee for the Safeguarding of Borobudur, 8th Meeting, April 1979. Borobudur: Proyek Pelita Pemugaran Candi Borobudur, Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan. de Casparis, Johannes G. 1950. Prasasti Indonesia I: Inscripties uit de Çailendra-tijd. Bandung: A.C. Nix & Co. Chihara, Daigoro. 1981. ‘The Symbolic Meaning of Chandi Borobudur’, in Proceedings of the International Symposium on Chandi Borobudur, pp. 136–144. Tokyo: Executive Committee for the International Symposium on Chandi Borobudur. . 1996. Hindu-Buddhist Architecture in Southeast Asia. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Dās, Bhūṣaṇa Çandra. 1897. ‘Story of Prātihāryya’, Journal of the Buddhist Text and Anthropological Society 5/3: 17–20.

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The Scheme of Borobudur Roth, Gustav. 1980. ‘Symbolism of the Buddhist Stūpa’, in Anna L. Dallapiccola and Stephanie Zingel-Avé Lallemant, The Stūpa: Its Religious, Historical and Architectural Significance, pp. 182–209. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. Satyawati Suleiman. 1983. ‘Chandi Borobudur: Historical and Cultural Background’, Mitra Budaya Journal 1. Sharma, Parmananda. 1990. Śāntideva’s Bodhicharyāvatāra. Vols. 1 and 2. New Delhi: Aditya Prakashan. Sinclair, Iain. 2016. ‘Coronation and Liberation According to a Javanese Monk in China: Bianhong’s Manual on the abhiṣeka of a cakravartin’, in Andrea Acri (ed.), Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, pp. 29–66. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Skilling, Peter. 2004. ‘Random Jottings on Śrīghana: An Epithet of the Buddha’, Annual Report of the International Research Institute for Advanced Buddhology at Soka University for the Academic Year 2003, ARIRIAB VII, pp. 147–158. Tokyo: The International Research Institute for Advanced Buddhology, Soka University. Skorupski, Tadeusz. 2002. Kriyāsaṃgraha: Compendium of Buddhist Rituals, An Abridged Version. Tring, UK: The Institute of Buddhist Studies. Slametmulyana. 1979. Nagarakretagama dan Tafsir Sejarahnya. Jakarta: Bhratara Karya Aksara. Snodgrass, Adrian. 1988. The Matrix and Diamond World Mandalas in Shingon Buddhism. New Delhi: Aditya Prakashan. Soothill, William E. and Lewis Hodous. 1977. A Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. [Reprint; 1st edition Kegan Paul, 1937] Steinkellner, Ernst. 1995. Sudhana’s Miraculous Journey in the Temple of Ta Pho. Roma: Istituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente. Stutterheim, Willem F. 1956. ‘Chaṇḍi Barabuḍur: Name, Form & Meaning’, in F.D.K. Bosch,

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Studies in Indonesian Archaelogy, pp. 3–90. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Sundberg, Jeffrey R. and Rolf W. Giebel. 2011. ‘The Life of the Tang Court Monk Vajrabodhi as Chronicled by Lü Xiang (呂向): South Indian and Śrī Laṅkān Antecedents to the Arrival of the Buddhist Vajrayāna in Eighth-Century Java and China’, Pacific World: Journal of the Institute of Buddhist Studies, Third Series 13: 129–222. Susumu, Ōtake. 2007. ‘On the Origin and Early Development of the Buddhāvataṃsaka-sūtra’, in Imre Hamar (ed.), Reflecting Mirrors: Perspectives on Huayan Buddhism, pp. 87–108. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Tucci, Giuseppe. 1988. Stupa: Art, Architectonics and Symbolism. New Delhi: Aditya Prakashan. UNESCO. 2005. The Restoration of Borobudur. Paris: UNESCO. Vaidya, P.L. 1958. Lalita-Vistara. Darbhanga: Mithila Institute. . 1959. Avadāna-kalpalatā. 2 vols. Darbhanga: Mithila Institute. . 1960. Gaṇḍavyūha Sūtram. Darbhanga: Mithila Institute. . 1961. Samādhirājasūtra. Darbhanga: Mithila Institute. . 1999. Divyāvadānam. Darbhanga: Mithila Institute. Voûte, Caesar and Mark Long. 2008. Borobudur: Pyramid of the cosmic Buddha. New Delhi: D.K. Printworld. White, Kenneth R. 2005. The Role of Bodhicitta in Buddhist Enlightenment Including a Translation into English of Bodhicitta-śāstra, Benkemmitsu-nikyōron, and Sammaya-kaijo. New York: The Edwin Mellen Press. Wogihara, Unrai. 1979. Sanskrit-Chinese-Japanese Dictionary. Tokyo: Suzuki Research Foundation. Woodward, Hiram W. Jr. 2009. ‘Bianhong, Mastermind of Borobudur’, Pacific World: Journal of the Institute of Buddhist Studies, Third Series 11: 25–60.

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Chapter 5

Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko: Its Possible Function and Association with the Mediaeval Sri Lankan Monastery at Anurādhapura Sa r a n Su ebsa n ti wongse introduction Measuring 26 by 26 metres and situated on the northwestern side of the Ratu Boko complex, a square, two-terraced platform with a deep hole at the centre can be found just steps away from the entrance to the second enclosure. The structure is known locally as Candi Pembakaran, which literally means ‘Temple of Ash’ due to the fact that it was believed to be a crematorium or a sacrificial fire pit as ashes were said to have been found on the structure. However, its actual purpose remains unclear. The fragment of an inscription unearthed near the entrance to the second enclosure reveals that the complex was modelled after the Abhayagirivihāra in Anurādhapura, Sri Lanka. The renowned Dutch epigraphist Johannes G. de Casparis (1961: 245) observed that it is ‘either a more or less exact replica of the Ceylonese monastery or, more probably, a building which had enough in common with it—in form or spirit or both—to deserve the same name.’ If the inscription and de Casparis’ observations are indeed reliable, a square pit or similar structure must also have existed in Anurādhapura. Faxian, a travelling Buddhist monk who lived in the 5th century CE, talks about a square Bodhi shrine at Abhayagirivihāra in his chronicle. In the light of the brief description of the Abhayagirivihāra’s shrine given by the monk and of its location near a water source, one may surmise that the square structure at Ratu Boko might have had the same function, given that the Bodhi shrine is one part of a threefold Buddhist monastery consisting of a stūpa, a pratimāghara (temple for a Buddha image), and a

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bodhighara (outdoor shrine for the Bodhi tree). On the other hand, this structure could simply have been a part of a stūpa and the large square pit at the centre would then have been the dhātugarbha (relic chamber). Through the survey of inscriptions, chronicles, archaeological data as well as the comparison of the structure with a variety of existing monuments, this chapter aims to identify the function of Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko. The result suggests that the Candi may have had a function different from what archaeologists have imagined thus far. Given that a Bodhi shrine has not yet been identified at Ratu Boko and that the structure in question possesses the properties of a bodhighara, it might be reasonable to assume— until more evidence is unearthed—that Candi Pembakaran was used as a shrine for the sacred Bodhi tree, which symbolizes the enlightenment of Lord Buddha.

historical background Situated on an elevated plateau just south of Mount Merapi in Central Java, the Ratu Boko complex, according to the ‘Ratubaka’ (or ‘Abhayagiri’) inscription in Siddhamātṛkā script found at the site, was built in Śaka 714 (or 792–793 CE) (de Casparis 1961: 242). However, by compiling further information from several other inscriptions in the area, Degroot (2006: 72) suggests that it was probably built in six different phases between the 8th and 9th centuries CE. The complex consists of three compounds: western, eastern, and southeastern. The western

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko compound comprises three terraces, each consisting of a number of courtyards. The gopura with three doorways stands on the second terrace. Candi Pembakaran (Fig. 5.1), a two-tiered platform with a square pit, is located on the third terrace along with a few other remains, such as large pools (one situated directly to the east of the Candi), two stone platforms, and a covered terrace (pendopo). The eastern compound is slightly elevated and contains two man-made caves, while the southeastern compound, which is the largest of the three, contains several remains of courtyards, covered terraces, and water tanks. Many opinions on the function of the complex have been voiced by explorers and archaeologists since the 19th century. The earliest reports were those of Dutch scholars, namely Brumund (1854: 47), Groenveldt (1886: 80), and Ijzerman (1891: 111), who referred to, and accepted, local legends that suggested the site had been the palace of former kings. Among these was the legendary King Boko, who was popularly believed to have been a flesh-eating ogre. The second group of Dutch visitors, which included Brandes (1903: 65) and Bosch (1918: 37), saw the complex as a cave-monastery with auxiliary compounds intended for various usages. Subsequent scholars, in particular Stutterheim (1926: 134–135), strongly argued that the complex was not a palace as the covered terraces are too small for a typical Javanese palace, and that the plateau may have lacked the water supply to effectively run a palace. Finally, de Casparis (1956: 267), on the basis of his tentative reading of a damaged section of the Śivagṛha inscription of 856 CE, suggested that the site was a fortress and that a battle had been fought there between a Hindu and a Buddhist prince, Kumbhayoni and Bālaputradeva, the latter belonging to the Śailendra dynasty. A number of inscriptions written in Sanskrit have been found at the site; one of the most significant ones—the Ratubaka or Abhayagiri inscription—was unearthed in 1954 in the northern part of the complex. A relevant verse reads: ‘This Abhayagiri Vihāra here of the Sinhalese ascetics (?), trained in the sayings of discipline of the Best of the Jinas, was established’.1 Hence, from then 1. ayam iha jinasūnoḥ padmapāṇeḥ kṛpāloḥ | prahita …… pādaiḥ | jinavaravinayoktaiḥ śikṣitānāṃ … tīnām | abha-

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on, the Ratu Boko has generally been believed to have been a Buddhist monastery modelled after the Abhayagirivihāra in Anurādhapura, Sri Lanka. Beside the fragment of inscription found in 1954, another notable fragment, which has been dated to between 792 and 793 CE, states that the Ratu Boko complex was built by King Dharmmottuṅgadeva, who named it after the Abhayagirivihāra in Sri Lanka. Other inscriptions also revealed that Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna Buddhism thrived in the complex. One solid example is the gold foil inscribed with the tantric mantra om ṭakī hūṃ jaḥ svāhā. Sundberg (2003: 166–167) noted that this could be a mantra associated with Trailokyavijaya from the Sarvatathāgatatattvasaṅgraha, or a similar figure (such as Ṭakkirāja) from the Yogatantric corpus. Similarly, a lead dhāraṇī found not so far away from Borobudur, is inscribed with two texts comprising of invocations to the Triple Jewel and Caṇḍavajrapāṇi2 as Mahāyakṣasenāpati in the form of a long mālāmantra (garland of mantra) known as Mahāraudranāmahṛdaya (Griffiths 2014: 28). Griffiths observes that the two mantras were probably composed separately as the former is written in Hybrid Buddhist Sanskrit while the latter uses standard Sanskrit (ibid.: 28). Moreover, the mālāmantra contains some of the same bījas (seed syllable) as the mantra inscribed on the gold foil from Ratu Boko,3 thus suggesting that both mantras belong to Trailokyavijaya (ṭakī hūṃ jāḥ are the bījākṣaras of the deity) and that the foils may have been used as protective amulets of the site. Acri (2016: 347) agrees with this and elaborates on Sundberg’s (2003) and Jordaan’s and Colless’ (2004) theories that the yantra demonstrates elements of anti-Śaiva polemic; this corresponds to the socio-religious and socio-political backdrop of 9th-century Central Java when the region saw a shift from Buddhism to Śaiva dominance. yagirivihāraḥ kāritaḥ siṅhalānām || English translation by de Casparis (1961: 245). 2. The figure was referred to as Trailokyavijaya in later Buddhist iconographical sources in Sanskrit. See Griffiths 2014: 31. 3. ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ hūṃ kiṭa hūṃ ṭaki dhuṃ kiṭa dhuṃ iya ija… See Griffiths 2014: 28.

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The evidence of the presence of the Mahāyā- remain inconclusive. Candi Pembakaran falls na and Vajrayāna schools at Ratu Boko, which into this category; there are several opinions on was associated with the Abhayagirivihāra, affirms what might have been its function. Some scholars the historical understanding that the Sri Lankan believe it was used as a homakuṇḍa (sacrificial fire monastery had earlier been a centre of Sanskritic pit), which, according to Miksic (2015: 57), may Buddhist thought before it became an exclusive have fulfilled the same purpose as Candi Pawon, centre of Pali Buddhism at a later time.4 None- as pawon means ‘kitchen’ (from awu, ‘ash’). Yet theless, if the complex was indeed modelled after another opinion suggests a crematorium where the the Abhayagiri monastery, it comes as a surprise remains of members of the nobility were incinerthat it does not comprise the famous mahāstūpa ated: this was based on the archaeological report surrounded by covered hallways that its Sri Lankan that a considerable amount of ash was found in counterpart has as a main structure. the pit when the site was first explored by Dutch Degroot (2006: 72) is of the opinion that the archaeologists in the 1930s (Miksic 2015: 57). In Abhayagiri inscription, which identified the Ratu fact, Miksic refers to Candi Pembakaran as the Boko complex as the second Abhayagirivihāra, ‘Burning Temple’. I argue, however, that neither is contemporaneous with the third phase of the the homakuṇḍa nor the funeral pyre is a typical complex’s development, which she believes saw the part of a Sri Lankan monastery nor are either construction of structures with Sri Lankan features. mentioned in literary sources on the Abhayagiri She identifies a pendopo complex at Ratu Boko, monastery and Sri Lankan Buddhist architecture which is located on ‘high, isolated site with rocky (such as the Mañjuśrīvāstuvidyāśāstra). Additionoutcrops’ and comprises rock caves, pools and a ally, Candi Pembakaran’s pit seems to be too big double-platform building, typical features of a Sri both for cremation and homa; a structure as big Lankan meditation monastery (ibid.: 61). Similar- as this would have required a massive amount of ly, Sundberg (2016: 349) points out that the dou- firewood and ghee (clarified butter) to keep the ble-platform, which forms the centrepiece of Ratu fire burning, which I imagine would have been Boko, is representative of signature Sinhalese archi- unrealistic for a monastic community living on tecture. Tellingly, the same type of structures exists top of a mountain. Given that Candi Pembakaran in high concentration in Anurādhapura where they is located near a man-made pond and shaped like a were built for Sri Lankan ascetics known as the square Bodhi shrine, I suggest it may have indeed paṃsukūlikas (ibid.: 355). Furthermore, Wijesuriya been a bodhighara, which is undoubtedly one of (1998: 32–34) pointed out that most monasteries in the three most important buildings in the AbhaSri Lanka are also located on mountains and slopes yagirivihāra as attested in various writings. and were often built on sites with pre-existing caves, which could be both natural and man-made caves components of mediaeval depending on the terrain. This was to make sure sri lankan monasteries that the monks had an atmosphere conducive to meditation, yet were not too far away from a habThe presence of epigraphic evidence linking Ratu itation where they could receive alms. However, some of the distinctive buildings Boko to Abhayagirivihāra, as well as some architecof a Sri Lankan monastery have not yet been tural and iconographic elements common to those identified. There have been many speculations two sites, has led scholars to regard the former as a on the functions of different ruins at Ratu Boko, Javanese ‘replica’ of the latter. In order to substanmany of which are being investigated but still tiate this claim, it is of paramount importance to identify the components of the classical Buddhist monasteries in Sri Lanka through archaeological 4. Specifically, after the reforms imposed by the Rajarattha evidence and literary sources in an effort to match kings from Sena II (r. 866–901 CE) onward, to bring the them with the ruins at the Javanese complex. Abhayagiri into orthodox compliance with the Pāli-based Typically, a Sri Lankan monastery comprises Śrāvakayāna doctrines conserved in the rival Mahāvihāra. See Sundberg 2016: 361. meditative walk platforms, hot-water baths, la-

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Fig. 5.1: The ‘Candi Pembakaran’. (Photo: Achmad Muttohar)

trines, lavatories, refectories, store houses, chapter houses, and ponds. This list finds a textual attestation in the Mahāvaṃsa, a 5th-century Pali history of Buddhism on the island, which refers to two types of monastic settlements along with their structures. The first is a cave settlement similar to the monastery at Mihintaḷe, located on a remote rocky outcrop and the second is the more urbanized monastery at Tissārāma, which later developed into a Mahāvihāra (Wijesuriya 1998: 119–120). The vinayas (rules) of the Cullavagga, a Pali text on monks’ etiquette, additionally dictate that early forms of the dwelling places for the monks were either caves or temporary shelters. In fact, according to the text, Anāthapiṇḍika (or Anāthapiṇḍada in Sanskrit), a wealthy disciple of the Buddha, is said to have built such a dwelling place for his guru at the Jetavana forest consisting of various

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structures, namely cells, porches, attendance halls, fire halls, huts, privies, walking paths, bathrooms, lotus ponds (Wijesuriya 1998: 122). Similarly, the Mahāvagga, another Pali text, which recounts the events in the life of the Buddha after the Enlightenment, gives an almost identical list of buildings,5 apart from additions, namely the curved house, long house, mansion, and cave. After Buddhism had started to receive significant royal patronage and Buddhist complexes had started to become more expansive, it seems that, reflecting this shift, three large structures, namely the cetiya (stūpa), the bodhighara (Bodhi shrine), 5. Namely, curved house, long house, mansions, caves, cells, porch, attendance halls, fire halls, huts, privies, walking paths, wells, halls at the wells, bathrooms, halls in the bathrooms, lotus ponds, sheds. See Wijesuriya 1998: 122.

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and the pratimāghara (image house), which are not originally mentioned in the early Pali texts, took precedence over other structures mentioned in the aforesaid texts. First, the cetiya (stūpa) became the only compulsory structure starting from the 5th century CE onwards, the bodhighara and the pratimāghara achieved the same status soon after; and the trio then became permanent fixtures to the monastery complexes in Sri Lanka (Wijesuriya 1998: 125). The Mañjuśrīvāstuvidyāśāstra, a Sanskrit treatise written in Siṅhala script dealing with Sri Lankan Buddhist architecture and iconography, preserved in a palm-leaf manuscript from Gampola in Sri Lanka, lists five structures known as pañcāvāsa (pabbata in Pali), namely bimbālaya (pratimāghara), prāsāda (mansion-type building), bodhighara (Bodhi shrine), cetiya (stūpa), and sabhā (assembly hall) as the most important structures (Jayasuriya, Prematilleke, and Silva 1995: 12). It further prescribes them to be placed on particular spots in the planimetry of the complex, which is in the form of zonal grids known as pīṭha (9 squares) and upapīṭha (25 squares), where each square of the grids is linked to a deity. The pīṭha and upapīṭha are further classified into different types. The pīṭha comprises one classification: the Siṅhārāma with two sub-types, categorized by the direction that the gopura is facing: west and east. Both Siṅhārāma sub-types have the pratimāghara at the centre with other pañcāvāsa structures surrounding it. The upapīṭha classifications include Hastyārāma (three sub-types) and Gokulārāma (one sub-type). The sub-types are again classified according to the direction the gopura (gateway) faces. All Hastyārāma sub-types appear to have the sabhā (congregation) at the centre with other pañcāvāsa buildings surrounding it in various arrangements. The Gokulārāma also has a sabhā at the centre, but the pañcāvāsa structures are aligned to the north of the sabhā. According to Jayasuriya, Prematilleke, and Silva (1995), ancient Sri Lankan monasteries have only been found to follow the Hastyārāma and Gokulārāma classifications, but the editors do not believe that other types do not exist; they feel that the text has to be compared further with material remains (ibid.: 215). It is also possible that the monks or patrons

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at that time may have preferred these two to the other types. Having demonstrated that Sri Lankan monasteries were constructed with references from textual sources and owing to Ratu Boko’s connection with Sri Lanka, there is a possibility, therefore, that the builders of the Javanese monastery could also have used texts as sources for its construction, although there is no evidence to say what the texts were. However, the Mañjuśrīvāstuvidyāśāstra is the only extant text providing a comprehensive code for Buddhist architecture, in particular the monasteries in Sri Lanka (ibid.: 4), but the date of the text is still uncertain, though it is unlikely that the text predates the construction of the Ratu Boko complex.

the origin of the bodhimaṇḍa (bodhi shrine) The Buddha, having meditated under the Śrī Mahābodhi tree (ficus religiosa) at Bodhgayā, attained enlightenment; as this moment is the climax of Buddha’s life and the epitome of Buddhist teaching, many texts about the life of the Buddha tend to describe the event in great detail. Hence, the Bodhi tree has been associated with the Buddha and Buddhist teachings ever since. As a matter of fact, Cunningham (1879: 14) points out that the throne on which the Buddha attained enlightenment is referred to as the bodhimaṇḍa (‘house of [a tree] of enlightenment’) as well as the vajrāsana (‘diamond throne’). Nevertheless, the worship of the Bodhi tree, or in fact any species of tree, predates Buddhism. It had been the object of worship since the Indus Valley Civilization, associated with the cult of the Mother Goddess of fertility (Fergusson 1971: 56–57). An amulet found at Mohenjodaro shows a platform built around a large tree.6 The same concept evidently found its way into early Buddhism, as sculptures of yakṣiṇīs or śālabhañjikas standing against or kicking the trees to bring down the ripening fruits, which stand for 6. As Mackay describes it, ‘there is a large tree with a platform round it, exactly like the platforms that are frequently built round the sacred trees in India today’. See Mackay 1989: 361–362.

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fertility, are prominent among the remains of the the worship of the Bodhi tree by the villagers on toraṇas (arched gates) belonging to the great stūpas the banks of the Varaṇā river.9 of Bhārhut and Sāñcī. Aside from representing Apart from being an indication that early fertility and prosperity, sculptures of semi-divine Buddhism attempted to assimilate pre-existing beings, which are often depicted along with trees brahmanical and local customs, Viennot (1954: 3) at Buddhist monuments, reflect early Buddhism’s observes that the Buddha’s connection with the tree connection with the ancient animistic belief which as the throne of Enlightenment, is also symbolic sees trees as the dwelling places of spirits and nāgas of the Buddha’s lineage with its root traceable to (semi-divine serpents). The best example can be the Solar Dynasty of kings (Sūryavaṃśa),10 and seen in sculptures depicting the scene of the En- which legitimizes the Buddha’s universal soverlightenment of the Buddha in which reliefs of the eignty. This is because the ancient consecration (aserpent-king, Kālika and his wife in the anthropo- bhiṣeka) of monarchs, which is described at length morphic form are shown worshipping the Buddha in several early Vedic texts such as the Kauṣītaki as he sits on the Enlightenment throne,7 which is a Upaniṣad, Jaiminīyabrāhmaṇa, and Aitareyabrāhpart of the Bodhi tree (Williams 1975: 179). Another maṇa, was performed on a wooden seat (pīṭhikā) popular depiction memorialized in reliefs found normally made from the Uḍumbara wood (fig in many Buddhist monuments across South Asia wood/ficus glomerata)11 (Suebsantiwongse 2021: and Southeast Asia is the scene that comes imme- 40), and therefore, the Buddha’s Enlightenment is diately after the Enlightenment, when the Nāga synonymous to his consecration as the Cakravartin Mucalinda coils around the Buddha who is seated (universal overlord). Furthermore, the worship of early Buddhism under the Bodhi tree and shelters him from the elements with his large hood, which is often de- was ‘aniconic’ and the tree in works of art was picted with seven heads. This scene takes place on the representation of the Buddha and his Enthe fifth week after the Enlightenment according to lightenment. Hence Bodhi trees are often seen on the Lalitavistara and on the sixth week according bas-reliefs at Bhārhut (Fig. 5.2), Sāñcī (Fig. 5.3), to the Nidānakathā. Vogel (1926: 103) observes and Amarāvatī, which are sometimes depicted that the earliest version of the Mucalinda episode behind an empty throne that represents the seat found in a Pali canon mentions that the Buddha of the Enlightenment. In fact, Snodgrass (1985: 256) is seated under a tree also called a Mucalinda-tree, points out that the spires of the aforesaid stūpas are but which does not appear in later texts, and thus identified with the tree in whose shade the Buddha he hypothesizes that nāgas were probably con- attained nirvāṇa, while the harmikā, which has the ceived as tree-spirits in early Buddhism. Similarly, form of a wooden fence or a hypaethral pavilion, the Dummedha Jātaka refers to a scene in which a crowd gathers around a Bodhi tree to pray to the goddess who dwells in it,8 but the Mahāvastu refers 9. ‘The Exalted One was staying in Benares, on the banks of the river Varaṇā, teaching devas and men. Now to the observation made by the Buddha, criticizing on the banks of the river, there was a huge banyan tree 7. Reference to this event can be found in the Lalitavistara, Chapter 23. 8. ‘… the prince one day mounted his chariot and drove out of the city. On the way he saw a crowd gathered at a holy banyan-tree, praying to the fairy who had been reborn in that tree, to grant them sons and daughters, honour and wealth, each according to his heart’s desire. Alighting from his chariot, the Bodhisatta drew near to the tree and behaved as a worshipper so far as to make offerings of perfumes and flowers, sprinkling the tree with water, pacing reverently round its trunk. Then mounting his chariot again, he went his way back into the city.’ Chapter 14 (trans. Silva 1989: 173).

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with wide-spreading roots, a big trunk and thickly growing branches and leaves. It was a handsome, lovely tree, looking dark like a black cloud. A prayer, which a man chanced to make at that banyan tree was answered. Therefore, great veneration and honour were paid to the tree …’ (trans. Silva 1989: 173). 10. All Buddhist texts that describe the lineage of the Buddha unanimously state that he hails from the Solar Dynasty of kṣatriya kings known as the Ikṣvāku Dynasty, founded by the legendary King Ikṣvāku. 11. According to the Dīghanikāya and the Buddhavaṃsa, the Uḍumbara tree was the tree under which the Koṇāgamana Buddha attained enlightenment. See Walsh 1995: 200 and Horner 1975: 88.

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marks the location of the throne of Enlightenment, which is the bodhimaṇḍa. Snodgrass (1985: 257) further remarks that the bodhimaṇḍa is symbolically identified with the navel of the world and metaphysically with the spot where the Enlightenment took place, which is the apex of the cosmos. Thus, the harmikā or the bodhimaṇḍa, which sits atop the early stūpas, represents, in Snodgrass’ view, the centre of the universe, which sits at the summit of the Cosmic Mountain, and the metaphysical significance of the bodhimaṇḍa probably remains the same even when it is constructed on the ground and supporting a real tree. Beside the Enlightenment scene, the tree still continues to play a significant role in several subsequent scenes in the life of the Buddha. The Kaliṅga Bodhi Jātaka tells us that the seeds of the original tree were taken and planted at Jetavana on the advice of Ānanda.12 The text emphasizes the sacredness of the tree by describing how gods and kings venerate it. Finally, according to the Mahāpadāna Suttanta, each of the seven Buddhas is associated with a Bodhi tree13 and the Assattha tree is assigned to Gautama Buddha. Owing to information gleaned from such texts, the cult of Bodhi worship probably took shape not long after these texts were written. First at Bodhgayā, a bodhimaṇḍa was built by Aśoka around the 3rd century BCE and is referred to as Saṃbodhi 12. Ānanda (A): ‘Can a shrine be made, Sir, during your life? Buddha (B): No, Ānanda, not a body-shrine; that kind is made when a Buddha enters Nirvāṇa. A shrine of memorial is improper because the connection depends on the imagination only. But the great Bodhi tree used by the Buddhas is fit for a shrine, be they alive or be they dead. A: Sir, while you are away on pilgrimage, the great monastery of Jetavana is unprotected, and the people have no place where they can show their reverence. Shall I plant a seed of the great Bodhi tree before the gateway of Jetavana? B: By all means so do, Ānanda, and that shall be as it were an abiding place for me…. Then at the gateway of Jetavana, he cleared out a pit for the tree to stand in, and a seat he had made of the seven precious things’ (trans. from Silva 1989: 147). 13. Vipassi – Pāṭalī (bignonia suaveolens), Sikhī – Puṇḍarīka (adenenthera pavonia), Vessabhū – Sāla (shorea robusta), Kakusandha – Sirrisa (acacia sirissa), Koṇāgamana – Uḍumbara (ficus glomerata), Kassapa – Nigrodha (ficus bengalensis), Gautama – Assattha (ficus religiosa). See Silva 1989: 148.

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on the Eighth Rock Edict.14 The manner in which the emperor venerated the tree is also recorded in the Aśokāvadāna, or the legend of Aśoka, which is a part of the Divyāvadāna, a 2nd-century CE Sanskrit anthology comprising tales of the life of the Buddha and his devotees. The legend has it that the Emperor sent all of his precious jewels to the Bodhi tree at Bodhgayā and worshipped the tree personally by pouring milk scented with sandalwood, saffron and camphor kept in five thousand pots made of gold, silver, crystal and cat’s eye gemstones.15 The Aśokāvadāna also says that the Emperor himself built 84,000 monasteries, each of which consisted of a bodhimaṇḍa (Strong 2014: 109–110) and according to the Mahāvaṃsa, the king even dedicated his reign to the Bodhi tree (Geiger 1950: 125). Consequentially, the reliefs at Bhārhut16 and Sāncī stūpas exhibit scenes of the worship at Bodhgayā, although there is no evidence of bodhimaṇḍas on the premises of these early Indian Buddhist monuments. The spreading of the cult of Bodhi worship, according to Cunningham (1879: 107), was primarily due to the fact that, whereas other types of relics may have been restricted to one owner, the tree could be multiplied by various methods. These methods would include simply transporting the seeds or saplings. I would imagine the latter to grow faster and hold more spiritual value for the seekers given that leaves, which have been the symbol of the Enlightenment since the early stages of the religion, can be seen on the branches planted in the soil from the Buddha’s place of Enlightenment—which is, by any standard, a relic in its own right. 14. ‘In the past kings used to go out on pleasure tours during which there was hunting and other entertainment. But ten years after Beloved-of-the Gods (Devānaṃpiya Piyadasi) had been coronated, he went on a tour to Saṃbodhi and this instituted Dhamma’ (trans. Dhammika 1993: 5). 15. suvarṇarūpyasphaṭikavaiḍūryamayaiḥ pañcakuṃbhasahasrair nānāgandhapūrṇaiḥ kṣīracandanakuṅkumakarpūravāsitair mahābodhim snapayiṣyāmi | (from the kunālāvadānam chapter in the Aśokāvadāna. See Mukhopadhyaya 1963: 101). 16. A relief has an inscription over it (bhagavato sakamunino bodho), indicating that the scene depicts the Buddha’s Enlightenment at Bodhgayā. See Silva 1989: 159.

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko

Fig. 5.2: A relief from Bhārhut showing the veneration of a bodhighara, located at the place of Awakening of the Buddha. (Source: Photodharma.net)

Fig. 5.3: A relief showing the worship of the Bodhi tree on the toraṇa at Sāñcī. (Source: Wikimedia)

the development of bodhighara in sri lanka Saplings of the tree from Bodhgayā were believed to have arrived on the island around the 3rd century BCE during the time of Devānaṃpiyatissa, who

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held the tree in great reverence (Fernando 1967: 7). Faxian, the Chinese monk-traveller, confirms this in his chronicle,17 where Anurādhapura is said to be the first place where it was planted. According to the Mahāvaṃsa, upon the arrival of the saplings from India, King Devānaṃpiyatissa worshipped them with a white parasol and gave them royal consecration (Chapter 19). The text describes the Bodhi shoots being distributed and planted in and around the ancient capital at the following places: Jambukola, Tivakka, Thūpārāma, Issarasamaṇārāma (Isurumuṇiya), Vessagiri, Peṭhamacetiya, Mihintaḷe, Kājaragāma (Kataragama) and Caṇḍanagāma. Out of these nine, Issarasamaṇārāna, Mihintaḷe and Kājaragāma still retain some traces of the original shrines and the last is believed to be the only original tree. Moreover, the importance of the Bodhi tree to Sri Lankan monastics is again highlighted in the Mahāvaṃsa in which a prominent therī (nun) named Saṃghamittā is said to have erected a building at a nunnery to house the mast of the ship that bought the Bodhi saplings from India; this building was named Kupayaṭṭhiṭhapitaghara (Chapter 19, verses 68–69). In fact, according Rahula (1966: 120), the Bodhi shrine is the second most important structure in all Sri Lankan Buddhist monasteries; the first being the stūpas that contain the relics of the Buddha, and the branch of the Bodhi tree can only be cut if it interferes with the cetiya (stūpa), paṭimā (image) or āsanagraha (image/prayer hall) or if the removal would contribute to a better health of the tree. Basnayake (1986: 77), in summing up various descriptions of the bodhimaṇḍa given in the Mahāvaṃsa, concludes that a bodhimaṇḍa constituted a raised square maḷuva (platform) with walls on four sides with and entrances at each of the cardinal points; the Bodhi tree stood at the centre of the maḷuva, that had no roof and could be reached by a flight of steps. The space between the maḷuva and the wall formed the pradakṣiṇapatha (circumambulation path), which was covered with 17. ‘A former king of the country had sent to Central India and got a slip of the Bodhi tree, which he planted by the side of the hall of Buddha, where a tree grew up to the height of about 200 cubits. As it bent on one side towards the southeast, the king, fearing it would fall, proposed it with a post eight or nine spans round.’ See Legge 1965 [1886]: 103.

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a roof. This conception is similar to a bas-relief of a bodhimaṇḍa found at Sāñcī, which depicts a raised, single-storeyed building, while the Bhārhut one shows the same structure with two storeys, both having the pradakṣiṇapatha. The Mahānāman inscription dated around 586–587 CE, which records the erection of a temple (probably a  pratimāghara  or image-shrine) on the  bodhimaṇḍa  at Bodhgayā by a Sri Lankan monk-pilgrim named Mahānāman with the aspiration to attain Buddhahood (Tournier 2014: 29), also affirmed the importance of the  bodhimaṇḍa  in the early Sri Lankan Buddhist belief and practice. Mahānāman and other Sinhalese monks' methods of devotion to  the Śrīmahābodhi tree enclosed within the  bodhimaṇḍa  at Bodhgayā  as documented in the inscription may have been replicated upon their return to Sri Lanka and probably influenced the construction and the worship of the bodhimaṇḍa on the island in the subsequent centuries. The Mañjuśrīvāstuvidyāśāstra refers to a total of twenty types of bodhimaṇda (also called bodhivṛkṣa, bodhisthāna, bodhiveśma, bodhighara and rājavṛkṣa in the text) but Silva, who is also one of the editors of the Sanskrit translation of the text, simplifies and categorizes the bodhimaṇḍa into two main types in his own book (Silva 1989, as follows: 1. Bodhimālaka or Bomaḷuva—a simple wood, brick or stone wall built around the tree. 2. Bodhighara—a compound built over a tree to shelter it including a circumambulation path around it. It seems that the term bodhighara is used almost exclusively in Sri Lanka; the term bodhimaṇḍa seems to be used in the Mahāyāna Prajñāpāramitā literature18 and in later Pali texts and can refer to an awakening state in which one can attain enlightenment. Hence, in this chapter, the term bodhighara is used to refer to a physical structure, which houses a Bodhi tree situated in Sri Lanka and presumptively also in Java.

18. A group of approximately forty texts in Sanskrit composed in the Indian subcontinent between BCE 100 and 600 CE, and which are believed to be the earliest Mahāyāna sūtras.

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Silva groups the development of bodhighara into the following three phases: First phase:

Simple platform built around the tree. Second phase: More developed from the first phase with the additional vajrāsana and a roof covering it. Third phase: Fully developed; fence, circumambulation path surrounding the tree and a toraṇa on the north side. There are two shapes of bodhigharas in Sri Lanka: square and round. Notable squared bodhigharas are those of Nillakgama, Abhayagirivihāra and Vijayārāma, while the circular ones can be found at Toluvila, Mänikdena, and Pulukunavi. Since this chapter aims to establish that Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko may have been a bodhighara, only the square types are discussed here. Nillakgama’s bodhighara is square, surrounded by a wall and has entrances at the east and west. The circumambulation path around the tree is covered, leaving the centre part open for sunlight to penetrate and providing space for the tree to grow. The squared shrine at Abhayagirivihāra sits on a raised platform with stairs for the people to ascend and worship the tree. There are four pedestals for Buddha images, one in each direction. The central shrine for the tree at Vijayārāma is, however, dug into the ground and has the characteristics of a garbhagṛha (sanctum sanctorum). As at Abhayagirivihāra, there are also four pedestals for images as well as a covered circumambulation path. Similar to the appearance on the bas-reliefs from Bhārhut and Sāñcī, and even to real life scenes at Bodhgayā in the present day, the bodhigharas were probably decorated with sunshades, banners, flags and parasols, offered food, flowers, and jewellery, which were mostly likely placed before the vajrāsana;19 this was either with or without images of the Buddha. Nonetheless, Bandaranayake (1974: 161) states that neither of the bodhigharas in Sri Lanka have received enough serious attention from archaeologists. This might have been because the remains of a bodhighara structure are more obscured than those 19. Cunningham (1879: 14) identifies the vajrāsana to be the same structure as the bodhimaṇḍa.

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko of a stūpa or a pratimāghara (image house). And with the exception of the Śrī Mahābodhi Temple at Bodhgayā, no example of a bodhighara has been identified and the structure has thus been regarded as of no particular archaeological substance.

candi pembakaran as a bodhighara Remains of stūpas, pratimāgharas, monks’ cells, ponds, and even caves are found at Ratu Boko, but no trace of a bodhighara is anywhere to be seen. If the complex is indeed the second Abhay-

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agirivihāra as the inscriptional and archaeological evidence seems to show, it should also contain at least one bodhighara to fit the criteria. Judging by the stone pit at the centre of Candi Pembakaran, I argue that it is possible that the structure was built as a bodhighara after the style found at Abhayagirivihāra, Dambadeni (Fig. 5.4), Isurumuṇi (Vessagiri), Nillakgama (Fig. 5.5) and Vijayarāma; a raised platform and a pit or a lower garbhagṛha, which means the worshippers would have had to ascend the platform and worship the tree (which is grown in the pit) from above it.

Fig. 5.4: A sketch of the bodhighara at Dambadeni. (Source: author)

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Saran Suebsantiwongse by 25 metres. The remains of a vajrāsana, the Buddha’s footprint and a Buddha image 1.75 metres in height and the tree pit, which are the hallmarks of a bodhighara, are found within this structure. Another indication suggesting that Candi Pembakaran might have been a bodhighara is the water tank right behind it on the eastern side, as obviously the tree has to be regularly watered and cared for. The act of watering the tree is, in fact, the central ritual of the entire cult. Back in Sri Lanka, the Mahāvaṃsa says that King Mahānāga (r. 573–575 CE) invented a practical way of watering a bodhighara at Anurādhapura by constructing an irrigation channel linking it with the Tisava tank (Silva 1989: 156). The same irrigation channel was said to have been renovated by King Sena II in the 9th century. Additionally, Silva (ibid.: 170), in his attempt at identifying different archaeological remains in Sri Lanka as bodhigharas, came up with eight criteria to verify them:

Fig. 5.5: A sketch of bodhighara at Nillakgama. (Source: author)

a. Bodhi tree court b. āsanas facing the four directions with preferably large vajrāsana generally facing the east c. a clear square or circular circumambulation path d. pillars to support the roof e. an outer screen wall on the periphery of the circumambulation path made of stone or brick f. entrance to the circumambulation path g. a drain to take the water away from the inner Bodhi tree court to the outside h. a service flight of steps for the devotees to water the base of the tree.

Silva (1989) incidentally describes the bodhigharas at Kalaṇi, Kandu, Pādeṇi, and Budumuttava in Sri Lanka as having different sets of berms like the terraces of a stūpa. At Kandy, devotees are permitted to ascend to worship the vajrāsanas and the Buddha images. Moreover, Geiger (1950) refers to this berm as the koṭṭhaka, which is the terrace Criteria g clearly stipulates that it should have built to protect the tree even if it consists merely ‘a drain to take the water away from the inner of heaps of stones. Bodhi tree court to the outside.’ Furthermore, all Coincidentally, an unnamed bodhighara (also of Silva’s criteria can, in fact, be applied to Candi locally known as an āsanaghara) located near the 20 Ratnapāsāda at Anurādhapura has almost the Pembakaran whose characteristics seem to fit the exact measurements as Candi Pembakaran: 28.25 criteria c, d, e, f, g, and h perfectly. Criteria c, d, and e talk about a circumambulation path and it is likely that such a path also existed at the Candi 20. A chapel (uposatha hall) located in the Abhayagiri- as the remains of the base for the stone pillars or vihāra complex first built by Vaṭṭagamaṇi Abhaya (89–77 timber columns are clearly visible on all sides at BCE) and renovated by Kaniṭṭha Tissa (167–186 CE) and the top of the terrace. Mahinda II (777–797 CE).

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko Criteria f and h stipulate the entrance and a flight of stairs. The Ratu Boko structure apparently contains both features; the stairs with ornamented railings—featuring so-called ‘Kāla-heads’ at the top and what seem to be stylized makara-trunks at the bottom—leads to the top of the terrace (Fig. 5.6), where a toraṇa would have stood opening into the covered circumambulation path of the shrine. Moreover, Candi Pembakaran’s stone pit, too, matches Silva’s description of a similar structure: ‘the pit of the tree was often lined with heavy masonry and built like a well, probably with a view to encourage the roots to travel vertically downwards instead of laterally’ (1989: 158). He adds that growing the tree in a confined stone chamber or a well-like construction would have helped to protect the structure from the growth of the tree’s roots, which could be detrimental to the entire structure. Speaking of style, the makaras, which, according to the Rājāvaliya, a 17th-century historical chronicle of Sri Lanka, have a face of an elephant, the feet of a lion, the ears of a pig, the body of a

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fish and tail, are symbolic of water and prosperity, and are seen on important Hindu and Buddhist structures in India, Sri Lanka, and throughout Southeast Asia, including on the railings and at the lower corners of the remaining structure of the main entrance at Candi Pembakaran. The mystical beast is related to the Bodhi cult, which is deeply rooted in the ancient cult of fertility, and can also be identified with Mucalinda, the serpent who protected the Buddha from the rain after his Enlightenment. Although the toraṇa at the top of the stairs no longer exists, one can speculate that it would have also been a toraṇa with a Kāla and makara motif, matching those of the railings. Such a motif can also be seen above Sinhalese Buddha images from the 8th and 11th century CE—the Buddha image at Laṅkatilakavihāra at Kandy (Fig. 5.7) is a good example. Other motifs on stone railings at Sri Lankan’s bodhigharas were also found; these are lotus motifs carved in intricate detail. The lotus, which rises from the mud and blooms above the water, is the classic symbol of Buddha’s enlightenment.

Fig. 5.6: Kāla motif on a railing at Candi Pembakaran, Ratu Boko. (Photo: Sasadara Manjer Kawuryan)

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Fig. 5.7: A Buddha image seated under a toraṇa featuring the motifs of Kāla-head and makara (Photo: Nuwan Gajanayaka)

A look at some of the iconography at Borobudur, Mendut, and Pawon may be helpful in identifying Candi Pembakaran as a bodhighara. Almost every relief at these three monuments contains depictions of flora and fauna. Stone panels portraying all sorts of sacred trees are countless and those with the distinctive Bodhi trees are numerous. The Bodhi tree can be identified by its heart-shaped leaves and is being bedecked with decorative items such as banners, garlands, and parasols. It can be characterized in three types: 1) The actual Bodhi tree of the Buddha’s enlightenment—always depicted with the iconography of the Buddha himself. At Borobudur, the tree of enlightenment can be found in the first gallery on panels 93, 94 (Fig. 5.8), 95, 96, 97, 98, 99 and 100, which portray the pre- and post-enlightenment scenes that lasted for a period of seven days. A bodhighara can actually be identi-

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fied clearly on panel number 100 (Fig. 5.9), which illustrates the Buddha performing the caṅkramaṇa (meditative walk) to the tree. 2) The Bodhi tree shown above with various bhikṣus (monastics) and holy figures—on panels of the second gallery (Gaṇḍavyūha) at Borobudur such as panel 19 (Suratiṣṭata-bhikṣu21), panel 20 (Megha-dramida), panel 22 (Sāradhvaja-bhikṣu—Fig. 5.10), panel 22 (Sudarśana-bhikṣu) and panel 103 (Sudhana). 3) The kalpataru, one of the five trees of Indra’s heaven, said to grant wishes (Klokke 1993: 127)—often shown with anthropomorphic animals such as kinnaras and apsarases and decorated with gems, garlands, and golden pots at its base, as on panel 371, first gallery, balustrade at Borobudur (Fig. 5.11) and a 21. Literally meaning ‘beggar’, bhikṣu often refers to Buddhist mendicants/monks.

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko few panels at Candi Pawon (Fig. 5.12) and Candi Mendut (Fig. 5.13). Similarly, Njoto (2014: 176) observes that images of kalpataru often appear along with a makara (or Kāla) and clouds, which denote fertility and prosperity. Today, many Bodhi trees are planted around the base of Borobudur. It is said that a Bodhi tree

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grown from the sapling from Anurādhapura— which, in turn, is descended from the original Śrī Mahābodhi at Bodhgayā—once stood in a corner at Borobudur; but it had to be removed during a recent restoration (Bernet Kempers 1976: 11). Finally, the bodhighara can be seen on the leaf-shaped puppets in the traditional Javanese shadow-puppetry known as wayang purwa, kayon,

Fig. 5.8: The subduing of Māra, first gallery, chief wall, northwest, panel 94, Lalitavistara, Borobudur. (Source: Photodharma.net)

Fig. 5.9: The Buddha performing the caṅkramaṇa to the bodhighara, first gallery, chief wall, northeast, panel 100, Lalitavistara, Borobudur. (Source: Anandajoti/Dharma Records)

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Fig. 5.10: Sāradvaja-bhikṣu and Sudhana, Second gallery, chief wall, south side, panel 22, Gaṇḍavyūha, Borobudur. (Source: Virtual Museum of Images & Sounds)

Fig. 5.11: Kalpataru, first gallery, inner east balustrade, upper panel 371, Borobudur. (Source: Virtual Museum of Images & Sounds)

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko

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Fig. 5.12: Kalpataru, Candi Pawon. (Source: Photodharma.net)

Fig. 5.13: Kubera with his yakṣas and the kalpatarus, Candi Mendut. (Source: Photodharma.net)

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and gunungan. The puppet (Fig. 5.14) represents the tree of life, which springs out from a house. It also symbolizes the axis of the universe that connects the human world with that of the spirits. On the other side of the puppet, the demon Kāla is painted with a halo of flames that represents the destructive forces of the universe. The tree of life in the Javanese culture, too, is identified with the kalpataru (wish-fulling trees) whose iconography appears in various works of art and

architecture throughout the island (Njoto 2014: 176–177). A bas-relief fashioned out of volcanic stone displayed at the Victoria and Albert Museum (Fig. 5.15), dating to about 1425 CE, shows Kṛṣṇa and Satyabhama acquiring the kalpataru Parijāta (a type of jasmine tree). This is part of a popular legend from a Javanese court poem preserved through performances of the wayang purwa, which demonstrates that tree worship was prevalent in Javanese culture.

Fig. 5.14: A traditional Javanese gunungan, inv. Nr: IS. 10-1979. (Source: Tropenmuseum)

Fig. 5.15: Bas-relief of Kṛṣṇa and Satyabhama with the kalpataru. (Photo: V&A, taken by the author)

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko

conclusion Keeping in mind that Ratu Boko is linked to the Abhayagirivihāra, and having taken into account various historical, archaeological, textual, and iconographical evidence in Sri Lanka and Central Java, one can conclude that the veneration of the Bodhi trees is a long-standing tradition on both islands. Through analysis and comparison of the evidence, we can hypothesize that Candi Pembakaran may have been either a bodhighara or a stūpa. I point out, however, that there is no evident trace of a bodhighara, which is an important component of the pañcāvāsas (five-fold parts) of any Sri Lankan monastery, and which resembles that of the monastery at Anurādhapura on which the Ratu Boko was allegedly modelled. Moreover, if Candi Pembakaran was a stūpa, or even a minor cetiya, I would imagine it to be too small for a monastic complex built with a royal patronage that spans a total of 250,000 square metres. Additionally, the remains of the pillar bases indicate that pillars, which may have supported some sort of roof, must have stood there rather than the dome ceiling of a stūpa—I make this assumption by looking at Javanese and Sri Lankan stūpas where there is no evidence to demonstrate that the domes are being supported by pillars. Thus, on the basis of the available evidence, I surmise that that the structure referred to as Candi Pembakaran is more likely to have been a bodhighara rather than a stūpa. Further research on this topic is required. Firstly, a renewed excavation with the intention of finding traces of either a bodhighara or a stūpa at Candi Pembakaran is necessary. Secondly, more research using primary and secondary resources regarding the connection between Sri Lanka and Java needs to be undertaken by experts in Sanskrit, Pali, and Old Javanese languages as well as by archaeologists and art historians. For instance, the plan of Ratu Boko can be compared in detail with every type of monastery plan prescribed in the Mañjuśrīvāstuvidyāśāstra. Tentatively, with the gopura of Candi Pembakaran facing west, the plan would fit into the Hastyārāma III category according to Silva’s studies on the Mañjuśrīvāstuvidyāśāstra. But this can be ascertained only after

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precise comparisons have been made with the help of modern technology. Finally, I am of the opinion that it is unlikely that Candi Pembakaran was used as a crematorium for monastics as funeral pyres as big as this structure are unheard of in any Buddhist tradition; moreover, the auspicious makara motif denotes that it is a structure for worship. Neither was it used as a homakuṇḍa or a yāgaśālā (sacrificial-fire hall) as the pit, measuring 26 by 26 metres, is again too big for the ritual; it would have required thousands of gallons of ghee to keep the fire burning, which would have been impractical and prohibitively expensive for a group of monks living on a hilltop even if they were sponsored by kings. The large amount of ash, which was discovered by archaeologists when they first explored the candi, was nothing extraordinary: the area has been prone to Mount Merapi’s volcanic activities for centuries and the ash collected in the pit was clear evidence that it had been neglected until its discovery at the beginning of the 21st century.

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Brandes, Jan L.A. 1903. ‘Driemaandelijksch rapport over Juli, Augustus en September 1903’, in Rapporten van den Commissie in NederlandschIndië voor Oudheidkundig Onderzoek op Java en Madoera, pp. 63–68. Batavia: Albrecht & Co/’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff. Brumund, Jan F.G. 1854. Indiana. Verzameling van stukken van onderscheiden aard, over landen, volken, oudheden en geschiedenis van den Indische archipel. 2 vols. Amsterdam: Van Kampen. de Casparis, Johannes G. 1956. Selected Inscriptions from the 7th to the 9th Century A.D. Bandung: Masa Baru. . 1961. ‘New Evidence on Cultural Relations between Java and Ceylon in Ancient Times’, Artibus Asiae 24/3–4: 241–248. Cunningham, Alexander. 1879. The Stūpa of Bhārhut: A Buddhist Monument Ornamented with Numerous Sculptures. London: W.H. Allen and Co. Degroot, Véronique. 2006. ‘The Archaeological Remains of Ratu Boko: From Sri Lankan Buddhism to Hinduism’, Indonesia and the Malay World 34/98: 55–74. Dhammika, S. (trans.). 1993. The Edicts of King Aśoka. Kandy: Buddhist Publication Society. Fergusson, James. 1971. Tree and Serpent Worship. Delhi: Oriental Publishers. Fernando, W.B. Marcus. 1967. Ancient City of Anuradhapura. Colombo: Archaeological Department. Geiger, Wilhelm (trans.). 1950. The Mahāvaṃsa. Colombo, Sri Lanka: Ceylon Govt. Information Department. Goswami, Bijoya (ed.). 2001. Lalitavistara. Kolkata: Asiatic Society. Griffiths, Arlo. 2014. ‘The “Greatly Ferocious” Spell: A dhāraṇī Inscribed on a Lead-Bronze Foil Unearthed near Borobudur’, in Kurt Tropper (ed.), Epigraphic Evidence in the Pre-Modern Buddhist World, Proceedings of the Eponymous Conference Held in Vienna, 14–15 Oct. 2011, pp. 1–36. Wien: Arbeitskreis für Tibetische und Buddhistische Studien Universität Wien. Groeneveldt, Willem P. 1886. Bestuursvergadering van Dinsdag 11 Mei 1886, VI. Notulen van het Bataviaasch Genootschap 24: 79–81.

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Candi Pembakaran at Ratu Boko Century BC–10th Century AD. Colombo: M.D. Gunasena. Seneviratna, Anuradha. 1994. Ancient Anuradhapura: The Monastic City. Colombo: Archaeological Survey Department. Silva, Roland. 1989. Religious Architecture in Early and Medieval Sri Lanka. Leiden: Kris Repro Meppel. Sirisena, W.M. 1978. Sri Lanka and South-East Asia: Political, Religious and Cultural Relations from A.D. c. 1000 to c. 1500. Leiden: Brill. Snodgrass, Adrian. 1985. The Symbolism of the Stupa. Studies on Southeast Asia. Ithaca, N.Y: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University. Strong, John S. 2014. The Legend of King Aśoka: A Study and Translation of the Aśokāvadāna. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Stutterheim, Willem F. 1926. ‘De Bouwvallen op den heuvel van Ratoe Baka bij Prambanan’, Djåwå 6: 129–135. Suebsantiwongse, Saran. 2021. The Rise and Rites of Tantric Kingship in the Sāmrājyalakṣmīpīṭhikā, a Hybrid Nibandha from Vijayanagara. PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge. Sundberg, Jeffrey. 2003. ‘A Buddhist Mantra Recovered from the Ratu Boko Plateau; A Preliminary Study of Its Implications for Sailendra-Era Java’, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 159/1: 163–188.

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. 2016. ‘Mid-9th-century Adversity for Sinhalese Esoteric Buddhist Exemplars in Java: Lord Kumbhayoni and the “Rag-wearer” Monks of the Abhayahiri-vihāra’, in Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, pp. 349–379. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Tournier, Vincent. 2014. ‘Mahākāśyapa, His Lineage, and the Wish for Buddhahood: Reading anew the Bodhgayā Inscriptions of Mahānāman’,  Indo-Iranian Journal  57/1–2: 1–60. Viennot, Odette. 1954. Le culte de l’arbre dans l’Inde ancienne: Textes et monuments brahmaniques et bouddhiques. Paris: Presses universitaires de France. Vogel, Jean P. 1926. Indian Serpent-lore: Or, The Nāgas in Hindu Legend and Art. London: Arthur Probsthain. Walshe, Maurice O’C. 1995. The Long Discourses of the Buddha: A Translation of the Dīghanikāya. Boston: Wisdom Publications. Wijesuriya, Gamini Senaratne. 1998. Buddhist Meditation Monasteries of Ancient Sri Lanka. Colombo: Department of Archaeology, Government of Sri Lanka. Williams, Joanna. 1975. ‘Sārnāth Gupta Steles of the Buddha’s Life’, Ars Orientalis 10: 171–192.

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Chapter 6

The Conqueror of the Three Worlds: The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains M i c h e l G a u va i n

T

introduction1

railokyavijaya, the ‘Conqueror of the Three Worlds’, also called Vajrahūṃkāra (‘Adamantine Hūṃ Producing’), is a wrathful manifestation of Vajrapāṇi, sometimes described as a transformation of Vajrasattva (and thus iden-

1. This chapter is a revised and abridged version of my dissertation for the MA Buddhist Art: History and Conservation at The Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London. I would like to express my profound gratitude to my former supervisor, Giovanni Verri, for his patient guidance, encouragement and advice during the entire process of research, writing and revision of the original work. I am also grateful to Richard Blurton and Alexandra Green (The British Museum) for having facilitated my access to the figurine of Trailokyavijaya in The British Museum Collection; to Mohan Pratap, Nazia Kamal, Abira Bhattacharya (National Museum, New Delhi), Michaela Appel (Museum Fünf Kontinente, München), Fifia Wardhani (National Museum of Indonesia, Jakarta), Kaneda Ryōren (Daihonzan Daikakuji, Kyōto), and Sarah Ritzmann (Sotheby’s) for having supplied me with images from their respective institutions; to Rob Linrothe (Northwestern University), Susan L. Huntington (Ohio State University), Mori Masahide (Kanazawa University), Itō Naoko (Hiroshima University), Hiram Woodward (Walters Art Museum), Swati Chemburkar (Banaras Hindu University), and Gary Lee Todd (Sias University) for having provided me with images from their own photographic collections; and to Aoki Tomoko (Kongōbuji Head Temple, Kōyasan), who wholeheartedly supported me with extraordinary practicality and dedication. Without the help of all these people, many points of this research would have remained obscure. I would also like to extend thanks to Peter Sharrock (SOAS), Andrea Acri (EPHE), Robert Mayer, Cathy Cantwell (University of Oxford), Iain Sinclair (Nan Tien Institute and University of Queensland) and Jeffrey Sundberg, for the excellent

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tical in essence with the Buddha Mahāvairocana), or as an emanation of the Buddha Akṣobhya.2 He belongs to a category of beings whom Linrothe defined as ‘wrathful destroyers of obstacles’ (krodha-vighnāntaka), a class of esoteric deities whose task is not merely the protection of the devotees or the intimidation of recalcitrant beings, but also, and most importantly, the removal of external and internal hindrances and the transmutation of ignorance into wisdom.3 While the cult of Trailokyavijaya spanned almost the entire Asian continent over many centuries, it appears to have achieved considerable prominence in Java in the 8th–11th centuries. As it will become apparent from several elements analysed below, the communities of South Sea States, and in particular those of Sri Lanka, might have exerted a major influence on the transmission to East Asia of textual, artistic and ritual aspects related to this deity. The aim of this chapter is to cast some light upon the diffusion and nature of the cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java between the 8th and the 11th century, through the analysis of epigraphical and sculptural remains. These two types of artefacts conversation, support, and perceptive comments that have helped me keeping on track juggling my research. Words are powerless to express my gratitude to the Ho Family Foundation, which supported me financially for the whole academic year by awarding me a generous scholarship. The present chapter, and my participation to the entire programme at The Courtauld, would not have been possible without their inestimable help. 2. Mallmann 1986: 381–382; Snodgrass 1988: 277, 719; Sørensen 2011: 108. About Vajrapāṇi, see Lamotte 2003a and 2003b. 3. Linrothe 1999: 12, 152–159, and 2000: 25–27.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 95 have different characteristics, and thus different analytical methods will be employed. Inscriptions are often dated, have a more or less explicit content, can include formulas charged with multiple esoteric meanings, and in many cases come from a very precise location, possibly from a meaningful context: as such, they can often be put in relation with specific figures, communities, buildings, texts, and ritual practices. The statuettes from Java, on the other hand, are undated, and their precise provenance is unknown; however, their approximate period of manufacture and their connection with specific texts, traditions, and regions of the Buddhist world could be reconstructed by means of their style and iconography. The main body of this chapter will discuss the relevant epigraphic and artistic production from Java by making use of both primary and secondary sources. Other kinds of local and foreign sources, such as Indo-Tibetan and Sino-Japanese texts and artefacts, or Old Javanese literature preserved in Bali, will be referred to throughout the chapter, as a means of contextualization. The retrieved information will be critically combined in the conclusions. It is to be noted that many details found in the scholarly literature specifically referring to the pieces of art under investigation had to be revised in the light of new photographic evidence, kindly provided by the holding institutions. Further, in the case of the statuette of Trailokyavijaya at The British Museum, it was possible to undertake a technical investigation—in addition to the investigation of its physical, curatorial and conservation history—to understand its making and shed light on the now-lost attributes and iconography.

The iconography of Trailokyavijaya: general traits Trailokyavijaya is generally described as blue in colour and enveloped in flames, with protruding fangs and an extremely fierce appearance. He is commonly represented with one face and two arms or four faces and eight arms,4 often wearing a crown or a tall headgear, armlets and wristlets, and a short dhotī. He usually holds two hands 4. In some cases, only three faces are represented, the fourth being implied at the back of the image.

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crossed in front of his chest, to form his characteristic mudrā, known as trailokyavijaya-mudrā, or vajrahūṃkāra-mudrā: the two fists, which may or may not hold a vajra/vajra-bell, have the index and little fingers up, and are joined back to back, with the little fingers interlocked. In the rest of the hands, he usually holds attributes: a bow in one of the left hands and an arrow in one of the right hands appear to be a constant feature of the iconography, while the other āyudhas vary, generally among the following implements: sword, noose, wheel, elephant-goad, vajra, baton, khaṭvāṅga, trident, or vajra-lance.5 While in East Asia he is also found portrayed in seated form,6 he is most commonly represented in the so-called pratyālīḍha posture, in the act of trampling the two recumbent figures of Maheśvara (Great Lord, Śiva) and his consort Umā (the Goddess, Pārvatī), pushing the former down to the ground with the left foot, and leaning with slightly less weight on the breast of the latter with the right foot.7

Diffusion of the myth: scriptural, artistic, and epigraphic evidence Indian subcontinent The iconography depicting Trailokyavijaya standing on Maheśvara and Umā derives from a powerful myth of subjugation whose locus classicus is found in the second chapter of the Sarvatathāgatatattvasaṅgraha (STTS),8 a work which probably took 5. Lokesh Chandra 1999: 3632–3658. 6. Linrothe 1992: 413–414. 7. Bhattacharyya 1958: 184–185; Snodgrass 1988: 719; Lokesh Chandra 1999: 3632–3658; Herrmann-Pfandt 2008–2009: 33. 8. Appendix 6.1 at the end of this chapter presents a résumé of the myth, based on the account reported in the Sanskrit edition of the STTS (preserved in the Kesar Library of Kathmandu, in the form of palm-leaf manuscript, probably dating back to the 9th–10th century) as translated in Italian by Tucci (1932: 135–145) and in English by Snellgrove (1987: 134–141) and Davidson (1995: 547–555), and also on the account reported in the Chinese edition of the same text, as summarized in French by Iyanaga (1985: 667–682). See also Śaśibālā 1986: 66–68; Davidson 1991: 200–202, and 2002: 150–151; Linrothe 1992: 347–352, and 1999: 183–185. A number

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shape in South India during the second half of the 7th century (possibly slightly later than the Vairocanābhisambodhi). The enormous influence of the STTS rapidly spread to eastern India and Kashmir, and then abroad, leading to a wide dissemination of the cult of Trailokyavijaya, and of the narrative of his subjugation of Śiva, throughout Asia.9 To date, just five sculptures have been identified as Trailokyavijaya in India (from Nālandā

and Bodhgayā in Bihar, and from Achutrajpur, in of scholars, commenting on Trailokyavijaya’s iconography, took Maheśvara straightforwardly as a symbol for Hinduism, and considered the representation of his subjugation nothing but a way, for the Buddhists, to denigrate Hinduism itself. In their opinion, the images of Trailokyavijaya trampling on Maheśvara and Umā were produced in order to exalt Buddhism, insult Hinduism, and win converts. Pal has called one such image ‘a blatant declaration of sectarian bias’ (1975: 173); Saraswati notes that Trailokyavijaya’s iconography ‘revolves round an animosity to Hinduism’ (1977: LXIV). Bhattacharyya mentioned a Trailokyavijaya image as an example of ‘How the Buddhists of the tantric age attempted to exhibit the superiority of their gods over those of the Brahmanical faith’ (1932: 119). Nath asserted that Trailokyavijaya ‘was conceived only to humiliate the Hindu deities Śiva and Pārvatī’ (1986: 69). Davidson (1995: 547–549), on the other hand, argued that even if the myth probably arose in a rural context permeated by a sense of antagonism, it was soon absorbed into monastic institutions, where it came to be re-elaborated, acquiring multiple levels of significance (for different perspectives on the meanings assumed by the myth, see Stein 1973: 467; Iyanaga 1985: 731–743; Snodgrass 1988: 722–723; Linrothe 1990: 20–22, 1992: 353–357, and 1999: 186–188; Davidson 1991: 214–218). As Amar convincingly suggested (2012: 175–178), the creation of the myth of subjugation should probably be understood as a pondered response of the Buddhist establishment of the area of Bodhgayā to the growing influence of Śaivism in the region: a strategy of appropriation devised by specific individuals within the saṁgha for the purpose of attracting ordinary Śaiva devotees through the inclusion of Śiva within the Buddhist pantheon, as a minor deity. The myth, in fact, does not end with the defeat of Maheśvara, but with his being revived and integrated into the maṇḍala together with his former entourage, and this mythical event was apparently paralleled, in concrete terms, by the installation of an image of Mahādeva and of other brahmanical gods within the Mahābodhi complex in Bodhgayā. 9. Silk 2015: 373, 379.

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Fig. 6.1: Trailokyavijaya from Nālandā Monastery Site 1. Stone, 17.5 cm, late 8th or 9th century. National Museum, New Delhi, acc. no. 47.63 © National Museum, New Delhi.

Fig. 6.2: Trailokyavijaya from Achutrajpur (Odisha). Bronze, 48.1 cm, ca. 10th century. Odisha State Museum, Bhubaneswar, acc. no. 239 (Faculty Collections, Northwestern University Libraries. ‘Trailokyavijaya’, Rob Linrothe Image Collection. Accessed 30 August 2020. https://dc.library.northwestern.edu/items/1eff8999-1b534c5b-af29-bcf3b7e7bebd).

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Fig. 6.3: Trailokyavijaya fragment from Nālandā. Stone, 121 cm, ca. 10th century. Nālandā Museum, acc. no. 00002 (Asian Iconographic Resources database). Fig. 6.5: Trailokyavijaya from the shed of the Mahant Compound in Bodhgayā. Stone, 148 cm, 10th century (Photo by John C. Huntington, Courtesy of the John C. and Susan L. Huntington Photographic Archive of Buddhist and Asian Art).

Odisha), both in stone and in bronze, dating from the late 8th to the 10th century (Figs. 6.1 to 6.5).10

China A summary version of the myth of subjugation was known in China thanks to the Synopsis of the Eighteen Assemblies in the Vajraśekhara Yoga (Jin’gangdingjing yujia shiba hui zhigui, 金剛頂 經瑜伽十八會指歸; T 869), a text composed by Amoghavajra (不空金剛; 705–774 CE)11 in the third quarter of the 8th century, soon after his travel to Sri Lanka (741–746 CE).12 The same narrative Fig. 6.4: Trailokyavijaya from Nālandā Monastery Site 9. Bronze, 25 cm, ca. 850–950. Patna Museum, acc. no. 8457 (Photo by John C. Huntington, Courtesy of the John C. and Susan L. Huntington Photographic Archive of Buddhist and Asian Art).

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10. Linrothe 1999: 194–207. 11. See Khokhlov 2022. 12. Iyanaga 1985: 660; Silk 2015: 373. Even before Amoghavajra’s Synopsis of the Eighteen Assemblies in the Vajraśekhara Yoga, the story of the subjugation of Śiva was introduced in China through the Commentary on the Mahāvairo-

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appears, with more or less details, in several other texts and ritual manuals believed to have been produced by Amoghavajra or by his school (i.e. T 1133, T 1134A, T 1134B).13 The first full-fledged Chinese translation of the STTS, the Yiqie rulai zhenshi shedasheng xianzheng sanmei dajiaowang jing (一切如來眞實攝大乘現證三昧大教王經; T 882), was produced much later, between 1012 and 1015, by Dānapāla (施護; ?–1017).14 A marble Trailokyavijaya, dating ca. 775, was found as part of a sculptural group unearthed from the site of the ancient Anguo-si temple, in Chang’an, one of the Chinese capitals of the Tangs (618–907), corresponding to the present-day Xi’an (Fig. 6.6).15 In the same city, the figure of Trailokyavijaya was found engraved, as part of a set of eight vidyārājas, on the base of a bronze statuette known as Kneeling Bodhisattva holding Relics, which was excavated from beneath the pagoda of the Famen-si temple and appears to have been offered by the Imperial house of the Tang in 874.16 From an 11th-century chronicle by the Japanese Tendai monk Jōjin (成尋; 1011–1081), the San Tendai Godai san ki (參天台五臺山記), we know that in Chang’an there were several temples dedicated to individual deities, one of which enshrined a two-armed Trailokyavijaya.17 From Tang China, we also have a standing, canābhisambodhisūtra (Da Piluzhena chengfo jing shu,

大毘盧遮那成佛經疏; T 1796), a work composed by Yixing (一行; 683–727) on the basis of the teachings of Śubhākarasiṃha (善無畏; 637–735), which is believed to

have been completed in 725. In this account, the author makes explicit reference to the STTS as the source of the narrative, but replaces the figure of Trailokyavijaya with that of Acala. Trailokyavijaya appears in the Commentary on the Mahāvairocanābhisambodhisūtra, but with different functions (Iyanaga 1985: 682–723). 13. Iyanaga 1985: 664. References to Trailokyavijaya’s posture of subjugation appear also in T 1003, T 1056, T 1124, T 1209 and T 1210, all of which are attributed to Amoghavajra. 14. Iyanaga 1985: 660; Silk 2015: 373. 15. Nara National Museum 1988: 205–206; Lai 2006: 45–47, 53. 16. Lai 2006: 195–197, 344. For information about the finding and the findings, see Karetzky 1994 and Sharf 2011. 17. Orzech 2006: 151–152 and Orzech, Sørensen and Payne 2011: 427. See CBETA Electronic Tripitaka Collection (CBETA 電子佛典集成), Dazangjing Bu Bian (大藏經補

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Fig. 6.6: Trailokyavijaya unearthed from Anguo-si temple in Xi’an. Marble, 88 cm, ca. 775. Beilin Museum (Photo: Gary Lee Todd, 2014. Accessed 13 September 2020. https://flic.kr/p/nBwRc9).

eight-armed Trailokyavijaya in bronze, now in a private collection, which apparently passed unnoticed by Western scholars.18 Trailokyavijaya is also found portrayed as part of a group of four or five vidyārājas on several bronze vajra-bells produced in China under the Tang, or in Korea under the late Unified Silla (780–935) or Koryŏ Dynasty (918–1392).19 He was probably depicted in a painting on silk of Thousand-Armed Avalokiteśvara from Dunhuang, now in the possession of The British Museum (BM 1919,0101,0.35), dating from the 1st half of the 9th century (his name appears in a cartouche beside an almost lost wrathful figure holding a bow).20

編), vol. 32, n. 174, fascicle 7, 400c. 18. See Sekine 2011: 5. 19. Okazaki 1966; Soper 1966: 35; Sekine 2011: 4–5, 39–45. 20. Whitfield 1982–1983: 314, fig. 18-1 and fig. 53; Linrothe 1992: 393–395.

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Himalayas As for China, the STTS was apparently known in Tibet already in the late 8th or early 9th century.21 The first full-fledged Tibetan translation of the text, the De bzhin gshegs pa thams cad kyi de kho na nyid bsdus pa (D479/P112), was produced only in the late 10th century or in the first half of the 11th century, by Rin chen bzang po (954–1055) and the Kashmiri Śraddhākaravarman.22 The deity is depicted in the ca. 12th-century wall paintings at Alchi’s Dukhang and Sumda, in Ladakh,23 as well as in the ca. 15th-century wall paintings at Gyantse’s Kumbum, in Tibet.24

Japan A copy of Vajrabodhi/Vajrabuddhi’s (金剛智; 671–741) abridged collection of ritual practices from the STTS, titled Sūtra for Recitation Abridged from the Vajraśekhara Yoga (Jin’gangding yujia zhong lüechu niansong jing, 金剛頂 瑜伽中略出念誦經; T 866), has been found in an old manuscript collection compiled between 736 and 756 CE, preserved at Tōdai-ji, in Nara; a manuscript of the STTS itself was borrowed by a monk of the Saidai-ji from the Tōdai-ji

21. Kanō 2015: 379. 22. Ibid.: 373. Rin chen bzang po and Śraddhākaravarman are also credited for the translation of three Indian commentaries to the STTS, by Buddhaguhya (late 8th century; D2501/P3324), Śākyamitra (8th or 9th century; D2503/P3326), and Ānandagarbha (8th or 9th century; D2510/P3333). These commentaries present some differences in their iconographical interpretations. Kanō, following Lim (1964: 335, 337), states that the commentary by Ānandagarbha, titled Tattvālokakarī, has been especially influential on the artistic production of Western Tibet and Southeast Asia (Kanō 2015: 374), but this perspective is not unanimously agreed upon (see for instance Woodward 2004: 348, fn. 55). 23. At Alchi’s Dukhang, Trailokyavijaya is found in the eastern quadrant of a Vajradhātu maṇḍala (Pal 1982), at the centre of a Trailokyavijaya maṇḍala (Katō and Matsunaga 1981), and in a Vāgīśvara Mañjuśrī Dharmadhātu maṇḍala (Fig. 6.7), while at Sumda he is represented in a Vāgīśvara Mañjuśrī Dharmadhātu maṇḍala (Linrothe 1999: 207–210). 24. Tucci 1989, part. 3, fig. 341; Ricca and Lo Bue 1993: 74–87, 157; Linrothe 1999: 211.

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in 772.25 However, the official transmission of the tradition of the STTS to Japan, with its systematic initiations, teachings and practices, began in 806, with the return of Kōbō Daishi Kūkai (弘法大師空海; 774–835) from Chang’an.26 There, Kūkai studied under Huiguo (惠果; 746–805), who had inherited the transmission of the STTS from Amoghavajra.27 Among the Siddham texts brought to Japan by Kūkai, one is titled the King of Eulogies of Vajragarbha-Trailokyavijaya (Jin’gangzang Xiangsanshi zanwang, 金剛藏降三世讃王).28 In Japan, a life-size, wooden image of Trailokyavijaya survives as part of the karma maṇḍala of Tōji Lecture Hall (ca. 839), whose vidyārāja section is said to be based on the esoteric ‘translation’ of the Sūtra for Humane Kings, known as The Perfection of Wisdom Sūtra for Humane Kings Protecting Their Countries (Renwang huguo bore boluomiduo jing, 仁王護國般若波羅蜜多經; T 246), completed by Amoghavajra in 766, or more specifically on a ritual manual related to that scripture, known as Instructions for the Rites, Chants, and Meditations of the Prajñāpāramitā Dhāraṇī Scripture for Humane Kings Who Wish to Protect Their States (Renwang huguo bore boluomiduo jing tuoluoni niansong yigui, 仁王護國般若波羅蜜多經陀羅尼 念誦儀軌; T 994), attributed to the same author but probably produced by his disciples.29 Trailokyavijaya is also represented in both the Taizō and Kongōkai maṇḍalas of the Tōji Shingon’in (9th century),30 which on the whole are based on the Vairocanābhisambodhi and on the STTS, respectively.31 He also appears in the Godaison Zuzō, a 25. Kanō 2015: 380. 26. Ibid.: 380–381. 27. Abé 1999. 28. Unfortunately, it may now be lost (Giebel 2012: 215–216). 29. Nihon bijutsu zenshū 4: 235; Ogawa and Nishimura 1986–1987; Linrothe 1992: 387–390; Bogel 2010: 84, 313–337, and 2011: 936–954; Wang 2018: 172, 211, 216–217. For an annotated translation and an extended consideration of the esoteric version of the Sūtra for Humane Kings, see Orzech 1998. 30. Linrothe 1992: 390–392; Ishimoto 2011: 38, 207. 31. In the Taizō maṇḍala, Trailokyavijaya figures three times, under different names and forms, although always seated: as Trailokyavijaya and Vajrahūṃkāra in the vidyādhara quarter, and as Candratilaka in the Vajrapāṇi

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Fig. 6.7: Trailokyavijaya in the Vāgīśvara Mañjuśrī Dharmadhātu maṇḍala, Alchi Dukhang (Ladakh). Wall painting, ca. 12th century (Faculty Collections, Northwestern University Libraries. ‘Alchi Dukhang. Interior detail: Trailokyavijaya’, Rob Linrothe Image Collection. Accessed 30 August 2020. https://dc.library. northwestern.edu/items/6ea40ce9-34b8-4d68-8fd0-524457ff645c).

collection of iconographical drawings by Kōgon, which is dated 1250 but is said to be based on the drawings of wrathful deities from a Ninnō-kyō Mandara associated with Kūkai.32 Examples of later images of Trailokyavijaya, both in sculpture and painting, are particularly abundant in Japan (Fig. 6.8).33

Southeast Asia According to a Khmer inscription (K. 397) dated 1108, there was an image of Trailokyavijaya at quarter (Snodgrass 1988: 269–279, 313–316; Linrothe 1999: 154). In the Kongōkai maṇḍala, on the other hand, he is depicted on the west of Akṣobhya (which is the place of Vajrasattva in the fundamental Perfected Body Assembly) in both the Trailokyavijaya Assembly (where he stands in pratyālīḍha posture) and the Trailokyavijaya Samaya Assembly (where he is represented in his samaya form) (Snodgrass 1988: 716–727). 32. Linrothe 1992: 386–387; Taishō Shinshū Daizōkyō Zuzō 6. 33. Linrothe 1992: 392–393. See also Kyōto Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan 1983: 159, 174; Nihon bijutsu zenshū 5: 244.

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Phimai, in present-day Thailand. In the inscription, the name of the deity is accompanied by the epithet of senāpati, a title indicating a general or chief commander of an army.34 The same title was found inscribed on a stone pedestal (K. 954), discovered in the southern gallery of the complex, which once presumably hosted a stone image.35 From the same site, we have a late 11th or early 12th-century bronze figurine of Trailokyavijaya, now preserved in the National Museum of Bangkok (Lb407) (Fig. 6.9).36 The inscription of Prasat Ta An (K. 240), about 47 km northwest of Angkor, in present-day Cambodia, refers about the foundation of a Śrī Trailokyavijaya

34. Cœdès 1924: 346–352; Woodward 2005: 147; Harris 2005: 18. 35. Cœdès 1937, vol. 7: 126–127. 36. Bowie 1972: 69; Woodward 2005: 154 and pl. 46A; Ly 2006: 35–48. For a recent article on this bronze image, see Paul-Gupta 2019.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 101 shrine in 979.37 The deity appears to have found particular popularity in Java, where we have a series of inscriptions reporting some formulas possibly related to him, and a relatively conspicuous number of bronze figurines, which will be discussed in this chapter.

trailokyavijaya in java Information from epigraphic sources

Fig. 6.8: Trailokyavijaya from a set of Five Vidyārājas preserved at Daikakuji, Kyōto. Wood, 66.8 cm, 1176–7 © Kyu Saga Gosho Daihonzan Daikakuji (旧嵯峨御所 大本山大覚寺).

Fig. 6.9: Trailokyavijaya from Thailand. Bronze, 16 cm, early 12th century. Bangkok National Museum, acc. no. Lb 407 (Photo: Hiram Woodward).

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Inscriptions on stone or metal are among the most important primary sources for the study of the socio-political and religious life in Java during the Hindu-Buddhist period (7th–early 16th century). Their total amount is impressive, and the information they provide covers a long chronology: as reported by Fontein, ‘according to the figures compiled by Damais in 1952, to which many more recent discoveries could be added, there are 210 datable inscriptions from Java, dating from 732 to 1486’.38 The earliest examples are in Sanskrit, while those crafted from the beginning of the 9th century (804 CE) are almost exclusively in Old Javanese.39 A large number of inscriptions are engraved on ‘boundary stones’, or ‘sīma stones’ (vatu sīma). In Buddhism, boundary stones are essentially markers (nimitta) placed in a formation to demarcate, or create, a sacred space (sīma), suitable for certain ritual activities.40 In addition to this primary function as ‘boundary makers’, sīma stones can have a votive nature: they often bear inscriptions, usually reporting the name of the donor and some short, formulaic dedication, sometimes including details about concomitant large donations. In this way, boundary stones came to play also a role in the activity of merit-making, and became a display of both religious piety and temporal power.41 In the specific case of Java, the ritual demarcation of sacred space and 37. Woodward 2015: 239. See Cœdès 1937, vol. 3: 76–78. 38. Fontein 1990: 27. 39. Fontein 1971: 37; Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 2. 40. The word sīma indicates both the boundaries and the bounded area. 41. Murphy 2010: 86–103.

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the cadastral demarcation of agricultural land tended to overlap, both in terminology and in practice.42 Most of the inscriptions on boundary stones were issued on authority of a king to record that an area was designated to be a sīma, a tax-exempt land whose revenues were not to go to the authorities but were ceded to a religious foundation, in perpetuity.43 The name of the king and the date of issue were usually mentioned, sometimes with details about the ceremony that accompanied the enactment.44 A few of these inscriptions also explain why the revenues were granted, providing data of great historical interest.45 Even so, the overall information retrieved from this kind of sources is insufficient to build a coherent picture of the major figures and events which characterized the political and religious scenario in Java during the 8th and 9th century.46 Other kinds of Buddhist inscriptions almost invariably report verses drawn from scriptural sources (the most recurrent examples correspond to the so-called ye dharmā formula, the pratītyasamutpāda-gāthā, but we also find examples of other short gāthās, and a substantial number of mantras and dhāraṇīs). As such, these inscriptions might be indicative of the range of texts (and related practices), which had reached the island and were available to the learned Buddhists of the time. The texts, in turn, may help us in the challenge of understanding the context and function of the artefacts on which the verses are engraved.47

An inscription on lead-bronze foil from Borobudur

for major restoration works.48 The foil, now preserved at the site museum, shows an inscription in Sanskrit, written in Kawi script.49 On the basis of the peculiar shape of the akṣara ma, Griffiths dated the inscription back to the period comprised between the 8th and the early 10th century, possibly to the mid-9th century.50 He described the writing as irregular and careless, as it often happens in the case of dhāraṇīs written for magical purposes, which were not meant to be read.51 Although the exemplar was heavily corrupt, Griffiths managed to reconstruct the text on philological bases, and provided a translation, here slightly abridged: [1.] Homage to the Triple Jewel (Buddha, Dharma, Saṁgha)! Homage to the fierce Vajrapāṇi, the great general of the Yakṣas! Homage to the Lord, […] who has a body adorned with four arms, who is of terrible appearance due to (his bearing) sword, club, axe, snare, cudgel (vajra), and flaming fire, whose right foot hangs down over the heap of twisted locks of Paśupati (Śiva), whose left foot is placed on the pair of breasts of Pārvatī! Homage to the Lord, the great Cudgel-bearer! I shall recite the Heart named Mahāraudra (‘Greatly Ferocious’), extremely violent, that causes the destruction of all of (Śiva’s) Bhūtas and Gaṇas, of ferocious form, that causes terror, fear and conflict, that causes the success of all undertakings! [It is] like this:

In March 1974, a rolled piece of leaded bronze foil was discovered in a plain less than 100 metres west of the Borobudur, in the so-called trench 35/ III, during excavations carried out in preparation

[…] O ferocious … chase away the evil seizure! Destroy the evil thought, the bad thought, the angry thought! […] Destroy all evil, destroy all enemies, destroy all obstacles, destroy all diseases, destroy all illnesses, destroy all Vināyakas,

42. Griffiths 2014a: 176–177. 43. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 2; Fontein 1990: 27. 44. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 2. 45. Fontein 1990: 27. 46. Ibid.: 27. 47. Griffiths 2014a: 137–139.

48. Boechari 1982: 92–94; Anom 2005: 151; Hudaya Kandahjaya 2009: 2; Lokesh Chandra 2013: 233; Griffiths 2014b: 1–3. 49. Griffiths 2014b: 5. For detailed pictures of the foil, see Griffiths 2014b: 7–14. 50. Ibid.: 3–4. 51. Ibid.: 5.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 103 death rituals.55 Considering that in the Navakampa the verses corresponding to the first dhāraṇī are followed by a sprinkling formula, Griffiths argues that it is possible that the second dhāraṇī of our bronze-foil once served an analogous ritual Fierce one, fierce one! Kill, kill! Tear, tear! Slay, function.56 slay! […] Hail! The fierce form of Vajrapāṇi to whom the [2.] Homage to the Triple Jewel! Homage to the dhāraṇīs are dedicated, according to Griffiths, fierce Vajrapāṇi, the great general of the Yakṣas! should be identified as Trailokyavijaya, even if a damage in correspondence of the first line of [It is] like this: the composition prevent us from determining […] Slay, slay! Shake! Crush! Agitate! Destroy! with certainty the mudrā and the number of faces Annihilate! […] Hail! assigned to the deity. The number of arms, however, is explicitly four, although the text apparently lists So also like this: more attributes than could be accommodated Ṭaki hūṁ jaḥ jaḥ hūṁ kiṭa hūṁ ṭaki dhuṁ kiṭa in four hands: sword, club, axe, snare, vajra.57 dhuṁ iya ija ... Hail!52 The position of the subjugated deities is reversed Griffiths noted that the inscription is composed from usual: Śiva is said to be trampled with the right foot, and Pārvatī with the left foot, as of two distinct but related texts, both relying on prescribed in Ritual Procedure for Recitation to the a variety of terminological and mantric elements Wrathful Vidyārāja Trailokyavijaya (Jiangsanshi ‘characteristic of the cycle of the Sarvatathāgafennu mingwang niansong yigui, 降三世忿怒明王 ta-tattvasaṃgraha’, and both consisting of an 念誦儀軌), a work attributed to Amoghavajra,58 opening invocation addressed to the Three and as represented in the Vāgīśvara Mañjuśrī Jewels and to Caṇḍavajrapāṇi, a fierce form of Dharmadhātu maṇḍala in Alchi’s Dukhang Vajrapāṇi described as ‘the great general of the (Fig. 6.7). The overall description of the deity Yakṣas’ (mahāyakṣasenāpati), followed by a deviates from any iconographic form attested so dhāraṇī. The first and primary dhāraṇī, called far: it could certainly be the consequence of a ‘Greatly Ferocious Spell’, is made of ‘an opening mistake, but we cannot exclude the hypothesis invocation, followed by an extended invocation enumerating the attributes of the deity being invoked, i.e., Caṇḍavajrapāṇi, followed by a per- 55. Kandahjaya 2009: 2–5. formative statement of the title and purpose of 56. Griffiths 2014b: 29–30. That said, Griffiths admits the dhāraṇī and finally the text of the dhāraṇī that he was not able to figure out how and when this sprinproper’.53 The second dhāraṇī comprises a simple kling formula would have been employed in a ritual setting invocation addressed to the same deity, followed (ibid.: 30). 57. Griffiths 2014b: 31–32. In any case, Griffiths notes by a sequence of mantras with many imperatives that the expression employed here (asimusalaparaśupāśa) and several untranslatable syllables.54 corresponds to ‘a fixed set of attributes assigned to wrathful As discovered by Hudaya Kandahjaya, the first figures in more than one Buddhist scripture’ (Griffiths dhāraṇī reveals extensive correspondence with 2014b: 18). verses preserved in a Balinese stuti known as the 58.  T 1210 041b11–12. In Japan, the ritual manuals of the Navakampa, or ‘The Ninefold Tremble’, nowa- Chūin lineage of the Shingon school, probably on the basis of this scripture, recommend the practitioner to visualize days recited in Bali during both daily rituals and Trailokyavijaya with the right foot over Śiva and the left destroy all those who have bad words, destroy all those who have bad thoughts, destroy the Devas, Asuras, Garuḍas, Gandharvas, Yakṣas, Kiṁnaras, Great Serpents, etc. […]!

52. Ibid.: 27–28. 53. Ibid.: 28–29. 54. Ibid.: 28–29.

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foot over his consort (Ōyama 2017: 429–430), in apparent contrast with the usual iconography, which nonetheless continued to be followed by Japanese artists in the production of icons. This should make us aware of the fact that there might always be a disjunction, even a lasting disjunction, between visualized and tangible iconographies.

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that the inscription is referring to an unknown iconographic variant.59 Griffiths believes that the bronze-foil may have had a protective function, even if it is unclear if it was devised as an amulet for personal use, or as a relic to be installed into an architectural context.60 However, it is also possible that it was part of consecration materials inserted into a metal image,61 as in the case of the rolled-up silver foil that was found hidden in the base of the largest sculpture of the Sambas hoard (h. 18 cm), now preserved at the British Museum (1956,0725.8.b).62 The size of the Sambas rolled foil is about 16 × 2.35 cm, while the size of the bronze foil unearthed nearby the Borobudur is 45.5 × 2.3 cm:63 the virtually identical height of the two foils might be a clue to their similar use.

Five inscribed boundary stones, and a plaster cast Five short inscriptions on boundary stones (vatu sīma) discovered in Central Java report the mantra Paki hūṃ jaḥ, which looks quite similar to the sequence ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ found at the opening of

59.  Griffiths 2014b: 32. See also Lokesh Chandra 1999: 1453–1460, 3632–3658. 60. Griffiths 2014b: 28. 61. Mathilde Mechling recently conducted a technical study on thirty-nine Indonesian bronze statues in the collection of the Musée Guimet, supposedly crafted between the 8th and the mid-10th century, as part of her PhD research project (Leiden University and Université Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris 3). She demonstrated that all the pieces in the corpus under investigation, although solid cast, were produced with a hollow space on the bottom of their supporting elements (lotus flower or cushion, and quadrangular pedestal when still in place), and that this internal cavity, in some cases going further up into the legs or the abdomen of the deity, was specifically devised for inserting a consecration deposit after casting. By means of neutron radiography and tomography (see Lehman and Hartmann 2010 and Lang and Middleton 2005), she was also able to identify most of the contents of the four figurines which were still sealed up: along with other materials, such as gold or silver coins and stone beads, three statues out of four resulted to contain a rolled-up metal foil (Mechling 2018). 62. For detailed pictures of the silver foil, see Griffiths 2014a: 144–145. 63. Griffiths 2014a: 142, and 2014b: 5.

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the last verse of the inscription on bronze foil examined above: • Inscription of Candi Abang, on a cylindrical stone apparently found in a Śaiva cave-shrine located at the foot of the hill on which the remains of Candi Abang are situated, in the area of Yogyakarta. Estampage 2739. Dated Śaka 794 (872 CE).64 • Inscription of Vihāra I, on a stone post found in Pleret, Bantul Regency, in the region of Yogyakarta. Stored in Yogyakarta BP3 Office (BG.323). Dated Śaka 796 (874 CE).65 • Inscription of Vihāra II, on a stone post found in Pleret, Bantul Regency, in the region of Yogyakarta. Stored in Yogyakarta BP3 Office (BG.774). Dated Śaka 796 (874 CE).66 • Inscription of Candi Bongkol (Temanggung), a.k.a. Inscription of Alih Tiṅhal, on a stone post from the homonymous Śaiva shrine, in Kedu district, and now in the National Museum of Indonesia, Jakarta 64. The inscription of Candi Abang mentions exclusively the date. According to Stutterheim (1932: 293–294), this cylindrical stone, 68 cm high, for 42 cm round and for 26 cm square, was found by Mr. D. Honig, administrator of the Wanudjojo company, in July 1932. See also Damais 1955: 29–30; Sarkar 1971: 183; Acri 2016b: 334, and Yamasaki 2018: attached list 1d. Wisseman Christie 2000: 79. 65. The inscription of Vihāra I only mentions a (Buddhist?) vihāra, and the date. Stutterheim (1932: 296) claims that this stone post was at that time ‘located in the yard of the mosque of the Kérta desa (near Kuta Gëde)’. See also Damais 1955: 30, 236; Herni Pramastuti et al. 2007: 35; Acri 2016b: 334; Yamasaki 2018: attached list 1e. 66. The inscription of Vihāra II was found in the same area of Vihāra I, and shares with it the date and the reference to the vihāra. See Herni Pramastuti et al. 2007: 37; Yamasaki 2018: attached list 1e. The two inscriptions of Vihāra have been apparently discussed by Rita Margaretha Setianingsih in a presentation titled ‘Agama Budha Abad 9 M di daerah Berbah – Yogyakarta. Berdasarkan data prasasti dan arca’ (‘9th Century Buddhism in Berbah – Yogyakarta. Based on data from inscriptions and statues’), delivered at the congress of the Indonesian Epigraphist Association (AAEI— Asosiasi Ahli Epigrafi Indonesia) held in Malang in May 2001. The proceedings of the congress were published in a volume that I was not able to consult: Asosiasi Ahli Epigrafi Indonesia (ed.), Buku Panduan Kongres I dan Seminar Asosiasi Epigrafi Indonesia – Malang, 28–30 Mei 2001: Aksara dan Makna: Membaca dan Mengungkap Kearifan Masa Llau (Jakarta: AAEI, 2001).

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 105 Sanskrit edition of the STTS, the formula is called ‘the elephant-goad of the pledge of all tathāgatas’, while in Iyanaga’s translation from the Chinese edition, it is defined as a formula of ‘convocation’, a term which stands for the Chinese gouzhao ( 鉤召), ‘hooking and catching’, which is used to Griffiths suggested that Stutterheim, Damais, and indicate a ritual action in which the practitioner other scholars who transcribed the mantra encaptures the deities and places them at his disposgraved on these boundary stones as Paki hūṃ jaḥ 72 al. The character gou (鉤) is commonly employed might have done so because they were ‘unfamiliar 73 with this kind of mantric syllables’, and claimed to indicate the elephant-goad (aṅkuśa). While the sequences ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ and hūṃ that ‘it is safe to assume that ṭa ki is intended’.69 takki jaḥ are indeed similar, they are not identical. While I believe that dismissing the paki reading, As noted by Griffiths, the former appears as such offered unanimously by early and contemporary scholars alike, as a mere case of ṭ/p misreading in the mantra Oṃ ṭakki hūṃ jaḥ, which is found in (without providing any further explanation apart the Sarvavajrodaya (D2516/P3339), a ritual manual from noticing that this kind of misreading is based on the first chapter of the STTS, composed common in the works of early scholars) risks to by the Māgadha scholar Ānandagarbha (8th or 9th overshadow some unclear and possibly peculiar century),74 and in the Guhyasamājatantra, where aspects related to these inscriptions, I agree that it is described as ‘the great wrath of all Tathāgatas the two mantras, Paki hūṃ jaḥ and Ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ, who is [named] Ṭakkirāja’.75 are probably analogous in their functions, and I will follow this assumption in the present chapter, in the hope that further research will cast some three versions—ṭakki jaḥ, hūṃ ṭakki jjaḥ, and oṃ ṭakki light upon potential differences between the two.70 jjaḥ—occur in the STTS (662, 927, 1129 in Horiuchi’s edition). Tucci gives Hūṃ tat kij jaḥ (1932: 140), Snellgrove The sequence ṭakī hūṃ jaḥ recalls a specific Hūṃ ṭakkijjaḥ (1987: 136), and Davidson Hūṃ takki jaḥ part of the myth of the subjugation of Maheśvara (1995: 551). as presented in the STTS: Vairocana recites the 72. Iyanaga 1985: 669. mantra Hūṃ ṭakki jaḥ to summon Maheśvara 73. Nakamura 1981: 398d. and his retinue on the summit of Mount Sumeru, 74. The dates of Ānandagarbha are not clear. What is sure thus opening the way to his altercation with is that he lived before the 10th century. Buswell and Lopez Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya and his final sub- place him in the mid-8th century (2014: 781). The Tibetan jugation.71 In Davidson’s translation from the monk-historian Tāranātha (16th–17th century) places his (D. 83). Undated, but assigned to circa 883 CE by Damais.67 • Paki hūṃ jaḥ inscription, on a stone post possibly from Central Java. Estampage 2996, now missing. Dated or assigned to 872–874 CE.68

67. The inscription of Candi Bongkol just refers that a king (dasama rake, that could indicate the tenth king, maybe King Dakṣa) made certain gifts. See Stutterheim 1932: 294; Damais 1970: 49; Sarkar 1972: 289; Acri 2016b: 334; Yamasaki 2018: attached list 1d. Wisseman Christie 2000: 80. 68. Yamasaki 2018: attached list 1d. Transliteration in Wisseman Christie 2000: 81. 69. Griffiths 2014a: 177. 70. That the two mantras are distinct but related, or else, interchangeable, is suggested by the existence of a plaster cast (discussed below) reporting them as part of two consecutive mantras, in which the syllables pa and ṭa appear quite distinguishable (I thank Jeffrey Sundberg for pointing out this detail in an email dated 9 June 2018). 71. Davidson 1995: 551. Acri (2016b: 336) claims that the means of summoning the gods to Mount Sumeru was actually (Oṃ) ṭakki jaḥ and not Hūṃ ṭakki jaḥ, but all

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life during the reign of King Mahīpāla, who apparently died in the same year as the Tibetan King Ral pa can (836 CE). In any case, it seems that Ānandagarbha studied at Vikramaśīla, and that his teacher was Vajravarman from Siṅhala (Sri Lanka) (Skorupski 1983: XXV). 75. Griffiths 2014a: 177–178. In Japan, Ṭakkirāja (Takki-ō, 摘枳王, 樀枳王, 擿枳王 or 吒枳王) is a deity associated with the same mantra, variously identified with Trailokyavijaya (降三世), Vajrarāja/Rāgarāja (金剛王/愛染王, Vajrarāja being also known as ‘Vajra hook king’ 金剛鉤王), or as the just judge, King Yama (閻摩王). Otherwise, Ṭakkirāja is sometimes considered as a name for the wrathful body of all the deities (諸尊の忿怒身の名) (Mikkyō Jiten Hensankai 2007: 1552). In the Shingon Jiten, mantras with the sequence ṭakki are listed from number 286 to 291, and (Oṃ) ṭakki hūṃ jjaḥ (n. 290) is reported as the mantra of Vajrarāja (金剛王) as found in Sword Seals of the Great Sun Tathāgata (Dari rulai jianyin, 大日如來劍印; T 864A 196c04–6, transliterated as 唵吒計吽惹) (Hatta 1985: 48–49).

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The function of this mantra appears in any case to be consistent with the function of the Hūṃ ṭakki jaḥ in the STTS. Its purpose, in fact, is that of ‘violent abduction’ of ‘obstacles’, a first step that is usually conducive to their ritual annihilation. As we read in the Sarvavajrodaya, the abduction of ‘obstacles’ is achieved also through the mimesis of the acts of Trailokyavijaya on part of the officiant: He who wishes to effect complete freedom from obstacles should cover them (i.e. the effigies of the directional deities who might cause trouble) with mud. If in this condition they [still] make trouble, he should immerse himself in [the deity] Vajrahūṁkāra [Trailokyavijaya] and adduct them with the Ṭakkirāja [that is to say, the mantra Oṁ ṭakki hūṁ jaḥ]; should also adduct them etc. with the Vajra-goads etc.; should bind the [seal of] Vajrahūṃkara; and should step on the effigy of the obstacle with his left foot. After the practice of [self-] expansion with Hūṁ vaṁ hūṁ etc., he should stand in pratyālīḍha stance, should throw that seal in the direction of the clouds etc., in between each of them, and should visualize that the clouds etc. are being burnt to ashes by Vajrahūṃkara who shines like dense blazing fire expanding high in the sky and strikes [the obstacles] with his foot. In this way, they are struck down.76

In the case of the five inscriptions on boundary stones listed above, however, it is likely that the formula Paki hūṃ jaḥ was intended by itself to bring about the removal of obstacles. This is suggested by the fact that the formula is engraved at the very beginning of the inscriptions, where it is not uncommon to find the propitiatory formula avighnam astu (‘let there be no obstacles!’).77 A possible explanation for this could come from the examination of a plaster cast preserved in the National Museum of Ethnology in Leiden (RV-1403-2996), which provides us with a unique example of Javanese inscription apparently displaying both the sequences paki hūṃ jaḥ and ṭaki 76. Griffiths 2014a: 178. 77. Ibid.: 178; Acri 2016b: 334.

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hūṃ jaḥ.78 According to Juynboll, this plaster cast (11.5 × 75 × 5 cm) reproduces a section of a memorial stone or slab (95 × 167.5 × 74.5 cm), characterized by Kawi-script lettering in the shape of an arch on the front surface, which was recovered on the terrain of Prambanan, in the region of Yogyakarta.79 The inscription is undated, but was probably carved in the 9th century.80 It seemingly reports, consecutively, the mantras Paki hūṃ jaḥ jaḥ hūṃ vaho and Ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ jaḥ hūṃ vaho,81 with the sequence jaḥ hūṃ vaho that may be reconstituted as jaḥ hūṃ vaṃ hoḥ, ‘a very strong unit in Buddhist tantras’, as suggested by Griffiths.82 Griffiths was not able to find a scriptural source for the mantra Ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ jaḥ hūṃ vaṃ hoḥ (even though he traced a similar but not identical formula, Oṁ tạkki jaḥ hūṃ vaṃ hoḥ, in a section on the consecration of the tantric master included in the Kriyāsaṅgrahapañjikā, a formula later traced by Iain Sinclair in a section on the devatāyoga from the Kriyāsaṅgraha), nor was able to explain the function of the inscription, given the lack of context.83 However, as noted by Acri, the mantra Ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ jaḥ hūṃ vaṃ hoḥ reflects a series of ritual steps, which are implied in the passage from the Sarvavajrodaya quoted above:84 the text, in fact, instructs the practitioner to recite the Ṭakkirāja formula, and then to ‘adduct them etc. with the Vajra-goads etc.’.85 Anyone familiar with the system of the STTS would recognize here a reference to the four actions of adducting, drawing to oneself, snaring, 78. A picture of the plaster cast can be downloaded from the website hosting the online collection database of the Nationaal Museum van Wereldculturen (https://hdl.handle. net/20.500.11840/704989). 79. See Leemans 1885: 111, n. A32 and Juynboll 1909: 234. Juynboll adds that the cast was produced in July 1884, and that it was donated to Leiden’s National Museum of Ethnology by the Royal Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences (Juynboll 1909: XI). 80. Damais 1955: 29–30; Acri 2016b: 336. 81. Jeffrey Sundberg, personal communication, 9 June 2018. 82. Griffiths 2014a: 179. 83. Ibid.: 179–180. Acri 2016b: 336. 84. Acri 2016b: 334. 85. Griffiths 2014a: 178.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 107 and ‘penetrating’ or ‘bringing under control’, which are respectively symbolized by an elephant-goad, a rope, a chain, and a bell. These four actions are personified as Vajrāṅkuśa, Vajrapāśa, Vajrasphoṭa, and Vajrāveśa or Vajraghaṇṭā (the four Gathering Bodhisattvas who sit at the east, south, west, and north gate of the Vajradhātu), whose seed-syllables are precisely jaḥ, hūṃ, vaṃ, and hoḥ.86 In the ritual context, the four actions have a two-directional application. On the one hand, they can be used to summon and bring into presence buddhas, bodhisattvas, and gods, calling them down from their transcendental abodes: in Shingon manuals for the ritual of the Vajradhātu, for instance, the four actions, enacted by uttering the corresponding syllables while performing four variations of the trailokyavijaya-mudrā,87 are employed ‘to draw in and empower the retinue of Buddhas in the Great Mandala. The hook assembles them, the snare enters them into the Great Mandala, the chain binds them there and the bell gives them great pleasure’.88 On the other hand, the four actions can be used to draw beings from their evil ways into the maṇḍala: an act of subjugation and conversion.89 As noted by Iyanaga, these kinds of evocatory procedures can be employed to summon and use at one’s wish the great devas, Maheśvara in primis.90 As the jaḥ in the sequence ṭaki hūṃ jaḥ has essentially the same function of the jaḥ in the sequence jaḥ hūṃ vaṃ hoḥ (attraction), it seems reasonable that the second jaḥ might have become considered redundant and omittable, and this would explain its absence in the mantra Oṁ tạkki 86. Snellgrove 1987: 222–223; Snodgrass 1988: 629–633; Goepper 1993: 127. See Tanaka 2018: 131, fig. 4.10. 87. Habukawa 2015: 177. 88. Miyata 1988: 70. 89. It is important to note that the maṇḍala is considered a field of power, a domain, and from here comes the idea of ‘bringing under one’s control’ (see Davidson 2002: 131–144, 150–152). As noted by Acri (2016b: 336), the final result, ‘penetrating’ or ‘bringing under control’, embodied by the syllable hoḥ, ‘may be regarded as a violent act, as penetration implies “stabbing” (with bell, perhaps figuratively indicating a “mantric penetration” via the medium of sound)’. 90. Iyanaga 1983: 751.

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jaḥ hūṃ vaṃ hoḥ reported in the Kriyāsaṅgraha and the Kriyāsaṅgrahapañjikā. Further, according to later East Asian sources, the essence of the syllables hūṃ, vaṃ, and hoḥ, at least in their exoteric interpretation, is encompassed by the syllable jaḥ.91 If this interpretation reflects an earlier, widespread belief, then it is possible that the three syllables hūṃ, vaṃ, and hoḥ, even when they did not explicitly follow the formula Taki hūṃ jaḥ, were considered functionally implied. This would explain why the five inscriptions on boundary stones listed above would fulfil the whole sequence of actions, and not simply the first step of adduction of ‘obstacles’. What these inscriptions essentially reveal is an intimate connection between Trailokyavijaya’s power of subjugation and the primary function of the boundary stones on which these formulas were engraved, that is to say, the establishment of sacred areas (sīma). The same tradition may have survived to this day in Shingon ritual manuals, where the procedure for establishing the boundaries, known as kekkai (translation of sīma-bandha, 結界), employed to create an area suitable for the ritual, is carried out by performing the mudrā and the mantra of Trailokyavijaya (Oṃ śumbha niśumbha hūṃ gṛhṇa gṛhṇa hūṃ gṛhṇāpaya hūṃ ānaya hoḥ bhagavan vajra hūṃ phaṭ),92 turning the mudrā three times to the left to remove obstructions, and then three times to the right to establish the sacred area.93

91. Vajrāṅkuśa (elephant-goad/jaḥ), Vajrapāśa (rope/hūṃ), Vajrasphoṭa (chain/vaṃ), and Vajrāveśa (bell/hoḥ) correspond, on an exoteric plane, to the so-called ‘four things of attraction’ (catvāri-saṅgraha-vastūni): giving of alms, loving speech, beneficial practices, adaptation of actions (Snodgrass 1988: 629). According to Snodgrass, ‘older texts say that she [Vajrāṅkuśa] corresponds to the giving of alms among the four things of attraction, but later texts say that she incorporates all the four things of attraction’ (Snodgrass 1988: 631). Snodgrass also adds that ‘she is the firmness, strength and efficacy of Bodhicitta, which draws beings up from Saṃsāra to Nirvāṇa’ (Snodgrass 1988: 631). 92. Hatta no. 1561. ‘Oṃ, O Śumbha, O Niśumbha! Hūṃ! Seize, seize! Hūṃ! Obtain! Hūṃ! Lead! Hoḥ! O Lord, O Vajra, hūṃ phaṭ!’ (Dreitlein 2018: 29). 93. This procedure, according to Iyanaga (1983: 750–751), is based on a specific text attributed to Amoghavajra (T 1056).

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An inscription on gold foil recovered from the Ratu Boko plateau A gold-foil cut in the form of two connected diamond-shaped leaves, recalling a vajra, was unearthed sometime during or just after the Second World War near the western entrance-gate of the complex of the Ratu Boko, a site located on a hillock one kilometre south of the famous Prambanan temple complex in Central Java.94 Sadly, as noted by Sundberg, the foil ‘disappeared from all likely institutional repositories without a trace’.95 Apparently, local inhabitants looted it from the archaeological archives of the field office at Prambanan, whose building had been damaged during the Dutch attack to Yogyakarta.96 All we have in our hands now is a hand-drawn facsimile by the archaeologist Soehamir.97 Soehamir did not take note of the physical dimensions of the foil, but his facsimile is accurate enough to recognize on each leaf, both on the front and back side, the mantra Oṃ ṭakī hūṃ jaḥ svāhā, inscribed in Kawi script. Interestingly, the mantras on the reverse side of the foil present an oddity: in both cases, the grapheme ī in the syllable kī is characterized by an exaggerated circular bubble, 94. Sundberg 2003: 164; Jordaan and Colless 2004: 56. The Ratu Boko plateau was the site of the Abhayagirivihāra, a Śailendra monastery inhabited by Sinhalese monks coming from the renowned, homonymous monastery in Sri Lanka (see de Casparis 1961: 241–248; Le Bonheur 1971: 42; Sundberg 2016: 349). Soehamir’s record of the finding, reported in the journal of the Archaeological Service of the former Netherlands East Indies (Oudheidkundig Verslag 1950), is not very clear, but according to Jordaan and Colless (2004: 60), the gold foil was probably found in the area in between the first gate and the ramp, rather than in the steps of the gate or ramp; also, it was apparently found loose, and not within a stone box (pripih), as customary in the case of foundation deposits. In consideration of this, Snellgrove suggested that the gold foil was more probably associated with a sculpture, rather than with a building (Sundberg 2003: 178). To this, Jordaan and Colless (2004: 61) added that an apt icon would have been an image of Trailokyavijaya subjugating Maheśvara and his consort, for reasons that will become clear below. 95. Sundberg 2003: 164. 96. Sundberg 2016: 378–379. 97. The facsimile, published in Soehamir 1948 [1950: 36], is reproduced in Sundberg 2003: 165 and Acri 2016b: 324.

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within which we can read the words panarabvan and khanipas.98 It has been suggested that the word panarabvan may be a reference to King Rakai Panaraban (r. 784–803), the third monarch in the Vanua Tәṅgah III list of kings, successor of Panaṅkaran (r. 746–784).99 This hypothesis was supported, on the basis of phonetic and orthographic arguments, by Sundberg, who also highlighted the compatibility of this identification with the plausible dating of the inscription.100 Jordaan and Colless noted that Panaraban was most probably a Śaiva (although apparently not unfavourably disposed toward Buddhism), and pointed out that given the association of the mantra with the myth of Trailokyavijaya, the intention of those who crafted the object, possibly the monks of the Abhayagirivihāra, could have been the mantric subjugation and conversion of Panaraban.101 This perspective was also embraced by Acri, who noticed that Śaiva and Buddhist sources related to subjugatory practices describe procedures for connecting written mantras to the victims, for instance by including their names at the end of the formulas, by inserting their letters between the mantric syllables, and so on.102 On the basis of his in-depth analysis of the Śaiva materials, Acri was persuaded that the gold-foil at the Ratu Boko might be ‘a yantra of coercive magic’ in the context of a Bauddha-Śaiva polemic, reflected in the use of the mantra recalling the taming of Maheśvara by Trailokyavijaya.103 Following Jordaan and Colless,104 he believes that the artefact might have been crafted by the monks of the Abhayagirivihāra to subjugate 98. Sundberg 2003: 164–165; Jordaan and Colless 2004: 56. 99. Kusen 1994; Jordaan and Colless 2004: 58. 100. Sundberg 2003: 176–177. Sundberg pointed out that the form of the ka in the syllable kī of the Ratu Boko mantra might be a clue to a relatively early date of the inscription, as ‘no datable occurrence of this can be found in Java later than the 792 AD inscription of Mañjuśrīgṛha’ (Sundberg 2003: 166). 101. Jordaan and Colless 2004: 60–62. 102. Acri 2016b: 331. 103. Ibid.: 331, 341. 104. Jordaan and Colless 2004: 61–62.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 109 or ‘spellbind’ the king, in a sort of re-enactment of Trailokyavijaya’s myth, in order to establish a coercive hold odyuver him and convert him from Śaivism to Buddhism.105 As for the mysterious word khanipas, Acri claims that it should correspond to a personal name: of king Panaraban himself (‘Panaraban’ is his Raka title), of another victim (someone of his entourage, such as a general, minister, or a family member), or of the person who wished to ‘spellbind’ the king to himself.106 Sundberg suggestively advanced the hypothesis that khanipas could correspond to the name of the queen, a possibility that would reinforce the parallel with the myth of the subjugation of Maheśvara and Umā.107 To Sundberg’s early doubt, that the final svāhā is usually employed in a benedictory rather than hostile context,108 Acri answered that the Tantras present different systematizations, and that the svāhā ‘does not necessarily entail a benedictory nuance’.109 Griffiths even affirmed that the presence or absence of the closing svāhā in the mantra can be considered a ‘trivial difference’.110 Although this 105. Acri 2016b: 343–344. Curiously enough, in the 16th-century mytho-historical work Carita Parahyaṅan (‘Chronicle of the Deified Ancestors’), we find a dialogue in which Sañjaya, considered by the author as the father of Panaraban, addresses his alleged son by saying: ‘Hey child, change (from) my religion, because it scares people’ (Sundberg 2011: 151). In the Carita Parahyaṅan, the figure of Panaṅkaran does not appear, and thus Sañjaya is said to be Panaraban’s father. However, we know, from the Wanua Tengah III inscription mentioned above, that the power passed from Sañjaya to Panaṅkaran, and from him to Panaraban (Sundberg 2011: 153). Acri believes that this text ‘might have preserved a vague memory of a dramatic and far-reaching religious conversion, or even a religious conflict, linked to this king and his reign, predating the text itself of six or seven centuries’ (Acri 2016b: 344). 106. Acri 2016b: 346. 107. Sundberg 2003: 177. However, Sundberg more recently argued that khanipas could be a reference to ‘Baṅga’, a son of Panaraban. According to his hypothesis, the Ratu Boko mantra could have been instigated by Panaraban’s son Varak against his own father and his own brother (Sundberg 2016: 378). 108. Sundberg 2003: 170, 178. 109. For instance, in Mahīdara’s system the closing svāhā is associated to the act of subjugation (Acri 2016b: 332, 343). 110. Griffiths 2014a: 177, fn. 125.

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might certainly be true, I believe that this point needs further consideration. In the Susiddhikarasūtra (Suxidi jieluo jing, 蘇悉地羯羅經; T 893), in the chapter on the characteristics of mantras, it is stated: ‘If there are mantras which, although their words are few in number, have the word “oṃ” at the beginning and have the word “svāhā” at the end, you should realize that [these] mantras are quickly able to accomplish the śāntika rite (扇底迦法)’,111 that is to say, a rite for averting evil. We do not know if the people who crafted the Ratu Boko gold foil were following an analogous tantric system, but we already noticed, in the previous examples, how benedictory results can be reached through subjugatory means, i.e. through the annihilation of evil influences. In the case of the inscription on the lead-bronze foil, through the destructions of all Bhūtas and Gaṇas (that is to say, all obstacles), one obtains the ‘success of all undertakings’; in the case of the inscriptions on the boundary stones, by removing obstacles or by bringing them under control, one establishes an auspicious space, suitable for ritual practice. In short, subjugatory mantras can be employed to pursue benedictory ends, and in similar cases a final svāhā would not appear out of place. I myself was quite persuaded of the theory of the mantric subjugation and conversion of Panaraban, at least until I examined some Chinese canonical sources in search for instances of use of the Ṭakkirāja mantra. The Ṭakkirāja mantra is mentioned in the Vajraśekhara-yoga’s Very Highest and Secret Methods of Trailokyavijaya Siddhi (Jin’gangding yuqie Jiangsanshi chengjiu jishen mimen, 金剛 頂瑜伽降三世成就極深密門, T 1209),112 and is found in the Dhāraṇī of Leaf-clad Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva (Yeyi Guanzizai pusa tuoluoni, 葉衣 觀自在菩薩陀羅尼; T 1100), transliterated as 唵樀 枳吽弱.113 Both these scriptures are attributed to Amoghavajra. In the latter text, apparently ‘translated’ by Amoghavajra between 756 and 763,114 the sequence ṭakki hūṃ jaḥ is also found embedded 111. 112. 113. 114.

T 893 604c01–2. Giebel 2001: 134. T 1209 040c10. T 1100 448a20. Kotyk 2017: 192.

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in the mantras of the twenty-eight great generals location of each of the twenty-eight great generals of the yakṣas (二十八大藥叉將), which are all of the yakṣas, smear a small altar with incense, and composed of an initial syllable oṃ (唵), followed over it burn incense and place various flowers, as by the name of the specific yakṣa general,115 the well as drinks and food, a lamp, purified water, and sequence ṭakki hūṃ jaḥ (吒抧吽弱), and a final in a sincere and devout way, commence by saying: svāhā (娑嚩訶).116 “I politely request the twenty-eight great generals The context for the use of the mantras of the of the yakṣas and their retinues to abide each in twenty-eight great generals of the yakṣas is given his respective direction, to protect and defend as follows: ‘Whether king, man or woman, [some] [name of the person], eliminating misfortunes will be difficult to raise and nourish; some will have and anything inauspicious, sickness and the risk short lifespans, bound in illness and at unease with of premature death, allowing him to attain physical sleep and food. All is due to past karma and caus- strength and increasing his sagaciousness, giving es-conditions, being born under a bad nakṣatra him awe-inspiring and beautiful appearance, and convergence. Some often have their natal nakṣatra making him easy to raise and nourish, providing intruded upon by the five planets, making their him with a very long life”. Once the empowerment bodies uneasy’.117 ‘In that case’, says the text, ‘write is accomplished, the twenty-eight great generals of the mantras of the twenty-eight great generals of the yakṣas will not dare to be in contrast with [the the yakṣas on paper or on a white cloth, using will of] all the buddhas, and thus they will follow bovine bile, and attach them on the walls of the the commands of Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva and residing place’: four on each of the walls in the Vajrapāṇi Bodhisattva. Day and night, they will cardinal directions; one on each of the corners in protect him firmly and allow him to be at ease while the intermediate directions; four on the floor in sleeping and while awake, recovering his majesty. If the cardinal directions (inscribed on the surface a king does so, calamities and diseases in his realm of some stones that should not be stepped on); will be put to an end, the country will be peaceful, four on the ceiling (or roof?) in the intermediate and the people will be happy’.119 directions.118 ‘Once the mantras are attached, at the So here we have an example of use of the mantra Oṃ ṭakki hūṃ jaḥ svāhā, virtually identical to the mantra of the Ratu Boko gold foil, employed 115. Cf. the names listed in Amoghavajra’s ‘translation’ of for protection, cure and pacification, for the the Mahāmāyūrīvidyārājñī sūtra, the Sūtra of the Mother of benefit of any person but more specifically of the Buddhas, the Great Peahen Queen of Mantras (Fomu Dakongque mingwang jing, 佛母大孔雀明王經; T 982, 426b18– king and consequently of the kingdom. In this 427a22). In this text, the Buddha says to Ananda: ‘Further- case, with the insertion of the name of a yakṣa more, you should recite the names of the twenty-eight great general after the initial oṃ, the corresponding generals of the yakṣas, for they are able to protect all sentient being is apparently invited to protect a person beings in all the worlds in the ten directions, preventing all from negative influences coming from a specific misfortunes and calamities’ (T 982 426b18–20). The text direction. The mantra itself, however, does not then specifies that each of these great generals permanently seem to be exclusively related to those twentyresides in a specific quarter and protects sentient beings living there, freeing them from suffering and despair. Four eight great generals of the yakṣas, but rather to are said to reside in each of the cardinal directions, one in a protective function which might be exercised, each of the intermediate directions, four on land, and four when unspecified, by all that class of beings in its in the sky (T 982 426b20–427a22). entirety, or possibly by Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya 116. T 1100, 448b11–449b08. 117. T 1100, 448b11–13. Kotyk 2017: 94. See also Kotyk 2018. as their lord and leader, the general among the great generals of the yakṣas. 118.  T 1100, 448b13–449a28. A diagram of the prescribed positioning of the mantras, as well as their rendering in Siddham script, can be found in the Takushō (澤鈔; T 2488 443b20–444b01), a work by Shukaku (守覺; 1150–1202). In this work, the author records the transmission he received from the Shingon monk Kakusei 覺成 (1126–1198)

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of the Hojuin branch of the Hirosawa subschool (Hunter 2018: 326). 119. T 1100 449a28–b09.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 111 This is not enough to dismiss the theory of the mantrical subjugation and conversion of Panaraban: the specificities of the occurrence of the mantra on the Ratu Boko gold foil, such as the nature of the words connected to the mantra or the method employed to connect them to the mantra, must be carefully considered, as they may be decisive to the nature of the mantra itself in relation to its intended beneficiary or victim. However, the use of gold for the mantra might point to a regal commission for a benediction, and if that is the case, then we might have to reconsider the reason behind the production of the piece and possibly see it as an evidence of Buddhist activities for the protection of the sovereign, and by extension of the state, in 8th-century Java.

Information from sculptural sources If we think that in the whole Indian subcontinent, up to the 10th century, we can count no more than five images of Trailokyavijaya, the number of icons found in Java is relatively high. The five or possibly six surviving Javanese figurines are all in bronze, and none in stone, and this prevents us from reaching a better understanding of the cult of Trailokyavijaya in terms of time, space, and context. In fact, while stone images of deities have been produced on the island during the whole Hindu-Buddhist period (7th to the beginning of the 16th century), Buddhist figurines in bronze were imported or manufactured in Java only until the early 11th century.120 Further, while stone images 120. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 39. The reason behind the rather abrupt ceasing of the manufacturing of bronze figurines is unclear: it was not because of a lack of raw materials or of technical skills, as the production of other kinds of bronzes, such as ritual implements, lamps, bells, and other utensils, continued without interruption, and the late production, from the technical point of view, is often of a superior quality. It has been suggested that the demand of bronze statuettes of deities could have tapered off because of the diffusion of new approaches to religious practice, which dismissed the worship of images. This, however, would not explain why the production of stone statuary, on the other hand, was carried on until the end of the Hindu-Buddhist period. See Fontein 1990: 56; de Casparis 1991: 349–350; Klokke and Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 5; Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 76–81.

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are heavy and not easily transportable, bronze figurines are small in size, light and transportable, even for long distances, and thus the place where they were discovered does not necessarily correspond to the area where they were manufactured,121 nor to the place where they were used: many statuettes of this kind were found assembled in metal boxes or in earthenware jars, buried in the proximity of temples for reasons that are still unclear.122 To this, it should be added that while many stone images were found in situ, where a whole architectural and iconographical project offers clues to the relative position of the deity within the enshrined pantheon, a great number of bronze figurines were found outside of an archaeological context, often during agricultural works, and thus even the place of discovery is usually unknown.123 To these limitations we should add two considerations. First, it has been convincingly argued that bronze and stone statuary in Java had their own separate evolutions both in style and iconography.124 Second, the production of bronzes of large size is hardly known (we have only fragments of large images).125 In consequence we must evaluate the importance of the cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java from smaller icons.126 Pending further discoveries, we must be content with an incomplete idea of the regional diffusion of the cult. It is important to note that the lived context of the bronzes is unknown, and neither ancient literature nor later ritual manuals provide information clarifying if they also served instrumental 121. Mechling 2018: 71. 122. Mechling 2014: 26–27; Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: XII; Fontein 1971: 40, 43. Some scholars suggest that they were hidden away for their economic value, to keep them safe during troubled times (Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 102), while others believe that they were buried for their sacred nature, possibly for ceremonial purposes (Fontein 1990: 38). 123. Mechling 2014: 26 and Mechling 2018: 72. 124. Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 85–88. 125. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 16–17; Fontein 1971: 37–40, 75; Bernet Kempers 1959: pl. 44–45; Mechling 2014: 26n8. 126. However, in the case of figurines belonging to maṇḍalas, size can be indicative of the rank of the represented deity within the hierarchy of the maṇḍalic assembly (Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 80).

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purposes.127 It has been suggested that they could have been used for private worship, placed on domestic altars, but also in temples, in small niches,128 requested by monks or royalty, especially in the case of maṇḍalic groups of statuettes.129

An eight-armed Trailokyavijaya from the National Museum of Indonesia, Jakarta (655a) The National Museum of Indonesia in Jakarta preserves an icon of Trailokyavijaya from the Kläring Collection,130 whose importance cannot be overestimated, as it is the only Javanese piece still displaying all its original attributes (Figs. 6.10 and 6.11). It was transferred to the museum from Yogyakarta (Central Java) by 1884.131 This fourfaced, eight-armed Trailokyavijaya, 18.7 cm in height, has high, pointed headgear, a necklace, earrings, and three bracelets on each arm, a spiky flower-shaped armlet, and simple bracelets at the elbows and wrists. He wears a dhotī, so thin that it is almost undistinguishable from the body— with its edges just visible at ankle level and the shallow folds dangling between the legs and under the right leg; from Isidore Kinsbergen’s photographs preserved at the Rijksmuseum (Figs. 6.10 and 6.11), it appears to be decorated with floral roundels, a pattern also found in the stone fragment from Nālandā (Fig. 6.3) and in the bronze from Nālandā Site 9 (Fig. 6.4). He also wears a decorated cross-body band passing over the left shoulder, with one end falling almost vertically on his back. Apparently, two stripes of similarly decorated cloth wrap his body at the level of the abdomen, with the ends hanging down on the front and back side of the image. Below the 127. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 15, 17–18. 128. Van Lohuizen-de Leeuw 1984: 14; Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 17; Lerner and Kossak 1991: 164; Mechling 2014: 28. 129. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 15. For comparison, scholars long expressed sceptical views about the dissemination of Buddhist Vajrayānic beliefs linked to small bronze Hevajra maṇḍala icons found in Angkor, until later research indicated a 3.6 m stone Hevajra icon was erected in the main entrance to the Bayon state temple in c. 1200. See Sharrock 2022. 130. Koninklijk 1890: LXXII; With 1920: 151. 131. Linrothe 1992: 418.

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Fig. 6.10: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 18.7 cm, mid-10th century. National Museum of Indonesia, Jakarta, acc. no. 655a (Photo by Isidore van Kinsbergen, 1865. Accessed 13 September 2020. http://hdl.handle.net/10934/ RM0001.COLLECT.453733).

Fig. 6.11: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 18.7 cm, mid-10th century. National Museum of Indonesia, Jakarta, acc. no. 655a (Photo by Isidore van Kinsbergen, 1865. Accessed 13 September 2020. http://hdl.handle. net/10934/RM0001.COLLECT.453731).

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 113 abdomen, visible on the rear, we find two belts, locked with a big flower-shaped buckle on the front side. A long sash is also tied around the hips. The deity stands in a very angular pratyālīḍha, and forms the usual trailokyavijaya-mudrā with the front hands, holding vajra and vajra-bell. In the rest of his right hands, he holds a short sword (top), a cakra (mid), and an arrow (low), while in the left hands he has a bow (top), an unidentified object, possibly a crescent shaped knife (mid),132 and an elephant-goad (low).133 To my knowledge, this specific set of implements is not found anywhere else than in Java. Trailokyavijaya’s right foot is over Umā’s breast, while his left foot is on the right side of the head of Maheśvara, which is turned by the blow. Both the trampled deities wear a high crown, earrings, sacred chord (upavīta), decorated bracelets on the arms, and simple bracelets on the wrists and ankles. Also, they hold vajras in both their hands, as noted in the Notulen of the Royal Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences (Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen, hereafter KBGKW): those in their right hands are three-pronged vajras, while those in their left hands are one-pronged vajras.134 The limp penis of Maheśvara lies on the belly of the consort. The interlaced position of their bodies recalls the stone image from Bodhgayā (Fig. 6.5). The pedestal consists of an oval double lotus with three legs (or four, according to With—there is no known image of the bottom of the sculpture).135 Thanks to Pleyte 132. It might be a traditional knife, sickle, or machete from the Indonesian archipelago: an Arit (Java), a Korambi (Sumatra/Sulawesi), a Luki (Java), a Telabuna (Java), a magical Kudi (Java/Madura/Bali), or a Ruding Lengon (East Java). See Zonneveld 2001. 133. According to Pleyte (1902: 197), With (1920: 151), and the Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen (1890: LXXII), he has an elephant-goad (‘olifantshaak’) in the mid-left hand, and a hook with a long handle (‘haak met langen steel’) in the low-left hand. 134. KBGKW (1890: LXXI). Cf. the stone Trailokyavijaya fragment from Nālandā (Fig. 6.3), where both the trampled deities appear to hold a vajra in the right hand and a triśūla in the left hand, and the bronze Trailokyavijaya from the Five Continents Museum in Munich (Fig. 6.12), where Maheśvara alone holds a vajra in the left hand. 135. With 1920: 151.

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and to the KBGKW, we know that on it there is an unpublished inscription in Old Javanese.136 The piece is currently inaccessible, so I could not verify if it corresponds to the ye dharmā formula, or to any mantra employed for the consecration of icons.137 This is highly probable, however, as these are usually the only kind of inscriptions found on Javanese bronze images of deities.138 Stylistically, the icon presents the characteristics of a rather advanced stage in the so-called process of ‘Javanisation’.139 Although being a wrathful deity, Trailokyavijaya’s faces are all serene, and so are the faces of the heavenly couple under his feet: a typical characteristic of Javanese art.140 The large, prominent eyes and the sharply pointed noses typical of the Pāla bronzes are replaced by more delicate facial features, something that happens already in the early production.141 The pointed headgear, 136. Pleyte (1902: 197); KBGKW (1890: LXXII). 137. ‘The Tathāgata has proclaimed the cause, as well as the cessation, of all things arising from a cause. This is the Great Śramaṇa’s teaching’ (Ye dharmā hetuprabhavā hetuṃ teṣāṃ tathāgato, hy avadat teṣāṃ ca yo nirodha evaṃ vādī mahāśramaṇaḥ). See Bentor 1996 and Swearer 2004: 219–220. 138. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: XII, 15. 139. The term ‘Javanisation’ is employed to refer to the continuous process of differentiation of the local production from the early imported models, a process of efflorescence and enhancement which began already before the mid-9th century (i.e. the artists introduced delicate facial features), led to the gradual birth of an original Javanese style between the mid-9th and the early 10th century (the so-called Central Javanese style: small and round faces, regular proportions, balanced shapes, rounded limbs, minimal moulding of the traits), and then evolved further, with the gradual but rapid emergence of some specific characteristics which led to the establishment of the so-called East Javanese style (i.e. elongation of the bodies, increase of the height of the headgears, ornaments more dense and protuberant, expansion of the set of jewellery—with the introduction of a third bracelet), the latter reaching its apex in the late 10th or early 11th century (i.e. very slender and elongated bodies, slightly moulded and dominated by enriched ornamentation: high pointed headgears, full set of spiky jewellery, and peculiar curls on the shoulders). See Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988; Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994. 140. Fontein 1990: 158; Linrothe 1992: 419–420. 141. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 29; Huntington 1994: 65–66; Klokke and Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 5.

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slightly increased in height, the use of a set of three bracelets, and above all the moderately dense ornamentation, are typical of Javanese production of the mid-10th century: later images have a denser ornamentation, and those manufactured in the last quarter of the 10th century usually present long, bodhisattva-style hair curling up from the shoulders.142 For these reasons, in contrast with Linrothe, who dates this piece to the late 10th century, I suggest that the period of production corresponds to the mid-10th century.143

An eight-armed Trailokyavijaya from the Five Continents Museum, Munich (30-1-9) After being listed in Juynboll’s catalogue of Leiden’s National Museum of Ethnology in 1909, under the number 1630/5, this image of Trailokyavijaya, to my knowledge, has been completely ignored by old and recent scholarship alike, probably because in 1930 it was transferred to the Bavarian State Museum of Ethnology in Munich (the present-day Five Continents Museum, München), and there remained almost forgotten (Fig. 6.12). According to Juynboll, who only provides a very brief and incomplete description, the statuette comes from Yogyakarta (Central Java), and its height is 23 cm.144

Fig. 6.12: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 23 cm, late 10th century. Five Continents Museum, Munich, acc. no. 30-1-9 © Museum Fünf Kontinente, Munich (Photo: Marietta Weidner).

142. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 33. See, for instance, the figurines belonging to the Nganjuk and Surocolo maṇḍalas (Bernet Kempers 1959: pl. 168–171; Fontein 1971: 79–81; Fontein 1990: 223–233; Lerner and Kossak 1991: 198–201; Eka Hadiyanta 2011: 41–59). 143. Linrothe (1992: 420) essentially acknowledges the fact that this sculpture had undergone a more advanced process of Javanisation than the statuette in London, and as he placed the statuette in London in ca. mid-10th century, he deduced that the statuette in Jakarta should be of the late 10th century. I did the reverse: I placed the statuette in Jakarta in the mid-10th century on the basis of its own characteristics, and then I dated the statuette in London a bit earlier, for it shows a less advanced process of Javanisation. The point is that at the present it is relatively easy to establish a relative chronology of the figurines, while a precise dating remains a mirage (Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 23). 144. Juynboll 1909: 94. Juynboll affirms that the figurine was acquired by Leiden’s National Museum of Ethnology in November 1907. He adds the following reference: ‘Cat. SCHULMAN, pag. 72. n°. 792’.

The deity has a high pointed headgear, a necklace, spiky flower-shaped earrings and armlets, two additional striped bracelets on each arm (at the elbows and wrists), and striped anklets. He wears a dhotī decorated with floral roundels, and a sacred chord passing over the left shoulder, with one end falling vertically behind it. Apparently, a belt and a striped cloth wrap his body at the level of the abdomen, with their ends hanging down on the front, in a rather unnatural manner, from above a big and spiky flower-shaped buckle. The ends of a long sash, or of two separated sashes, hang down on the sides, from the level of the belt, and fall along the hips. The garments fill most of the space between the legs. Instead of forming the classical trailokyavijaya-mudrā, the four-faced deity holds a vajra-bell at the level of the chest with both the frontal hands, in a rather unusual manner. The

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Fig. 6.13: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 23 cm, late 10th century. Five Continents Museum, Munich, acc. no. 30-1-9 (Juynboll 1909, pl. XIII).

attributes held in the top and mid-right hands are now lost, but looking at the picture published in Leiden’s catalogue in 1909 (Fig. 6.13) we realize that at that time they were still at their place. The overall iconography of this piece is virtually identical with that of the eight-armed Trailokyavijaya in Jakarta, apart from the strange mudrā in front of the chest: a short sword (top), a cakra (mid), and an arrow (low) in the right hands, and a bow (top), the unidentified object looking like a crescent shaped knife (mid), and an elephant-goad (low) in the left hands.145 Even in this case, the deity stands in pratyālīḍha, but the posture is less angular than 145. According to Juynboll (1909: 94), he has an elephant-goad (‘elefantenhaken’) in the mid-left hand, and a hook with a long handle (‘haken mit langem stiel’) in the low-left hand.

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that of the piece in Jakarta. His right foot is over Umā’s breast, while his left foot is on the right side of the head of Maheśvara, turned as to avoid the blow. As in the piece in Jakarta, the trampled deities wear a high crown, earrings, sacred chord, decorated bracelets on the arms, and simple bracelets on the wrists and ankles. Maheśvara holds a vajra in his left hand, while his right hand seems to have a hole, which could have hosted another attribute. Umā appears sustaining her own head with her left hand, while with the right seems to touch the erect penis of her consort. Their interlaced posture, again, recalls the stone image from Bodhgayā (Fig. 6.5). The couple lies on an oval, four-legged double-lotus pedestal. Stylistically, the piece appears slightly later than the one in Jakarta, as the ornamentation, on the whole, appears more spiky, dense and protuberant, and the faces, even in this case delicate and serene, look more elongated. However, like in the case of the figurine in Jakarta, this Trailokyavijaya lacks the peculiar curls on the shoulders, typical of the production of the last quarter of the 10th century.146 For these reasons, I suggest that this piece should have been manufactured during the third quarter of the 10th century.

An eight-armed Trailokyavijaya from The British Museum, London (1859,1228.94) This four-faced, eight-armed Trailokyavijaya (Fig. 6.14), according to the record of The British Museum, measures 14.5 cm in height, and was found near Mount Prau, or Dieng, in Central Java. In the acquisition entry, the sculpture is dated to the 9th–10th century. In this sculpture, Trailokyavijaya has a high, pointed, spiky headgear, a very loose necklace, flower-like earrings, and only two bracelets on each arm: a small, spiky, flower-shaped armlet, and a simple bracelet at the wrists. He wears a short, plain dhotī, and no cross-body sash. Apparently, two belts wrap his body at the level of the abdomen, with the lower one locked with a big flower-shaped buckle. A 146. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 33. See fns. 138 and 141.

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Fig. 6.14: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 14.5 cm, early 10th century. The British Museum, London, acc. no. 1859,1228.94 © The Trustees of the British Museum.

V-shaped section of fabric, possibly part of the dhotī, hangs on the front of the image, reaching his right ankle, with an additional stripe falling down on the back side. A long sash is tied around the hips, forming large bows on the sides: its two ends fall almost vertically on the back side of the image, nearly reaching the ground. The deity forms the classical trailokyavijaya-mudrā with the frontal hands, while holding a vajra and a vajra-bell. All the other attributes are lost, but the lower part of the hilt of a sword is still visible below the hand of the top-right arm. For the rest, the pictures of the icon published thus far are of no use in understanding the original iconography: the other two right hands, as suggested by Linrothe, look like a repeated threatening tarjanī-mudrā (closed fist with extended index finger) with the extended fingers unnaturally bent (sideways in the case of the hand of the middle arm, and backwards in the case of the hand of the lower arm).147 All the remaining left hands look like closed fists, even if it is clear that they must have held attributes, later broken, judging from the remaining fragments of such attributes. The visual examination of the 147. Linrothe 1992: 417.

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figurine at the museum revealed that the hand of the middle right arm has a hole for an implement, and therefore cannot be in tarjanī-mudrā, despite the extended index finger. The hand of the lower right arm, on the contrary, does not seem to have a hole for an attribute.148 The bit sticking out from the fist, however, is definitely not a broken implement, but the index finger, and this might imply the tarjanī-mudrā, as suggested by Linrothe.149 Concerning the remaining left hands, the lowest one has a hole for an implement (with a peculiar space between the index finger and the hole itself, maybe used to fix the attribute), while the mid and top ones are clearly holding some broken attribute, nearly impossible to identify. It is reasonable to assume that the deity had at least an arrow in a right hand, and a bow in a left hand, as these appear to be constant elements in Trailokyavijaya’s iconography. Apparently, the only right hand which could have held an arrow is that of the middle arm, which has a hole for an attribute. The hole is shaped in a way that would allow the arrow to be held reclined towards the deity’s head. It is to be noted that this hand is kept quite raised, and if we look at the examples from Jakarta and Munich, the hand holding the arrow, in those cases the lower right, is analogously kept raised, although with the palm directed inward, towards the deity’s face, instead of outward. I suspect that this slight change in the posture of the deity could have been concomitant with an inversion of the direction of the arrow, which in the case of the icon of The British Museum could have been pointing upwards. Interestingly, in several Japanese representations of Trailokyavijaya, both sculptural and pictorial, when the arrow is held pointing upwards, the index finger of the hand holding it is often kept extended (Fig. 6.8).150 As 148. The surface was too unclear to determine with certainty if there was an implement there, even by closer inspection. 149. The tarjanī-mudrā is a gesture of threat, so it would be absolutely appropriate for a wrathful deity. However, this mudrā is not part of the usual iconography of Trailokyavijaya. 150. For pictorial examples, see the Trailokyavijaya from the 13th-century Set of Five Vidyārājas from the

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 117 for the bow, it appears likely that it was held in the top-left hand, like in the case of the icons in Jakarta and Munich, given the very similar posture of the relative arm, which is kept rather stretched outwards, leaving enough room for the weapon. It is perfectly possible that even the rest of the attributes coincided with those of the sculptures in Jakarta and Munich, obviously with the cakra moved from the hand of the mid right arm to that of the low right arm. This would justify the presence of the extended index finger, although this, later, must have been bent. In fact, if we look from the rear at the way the sculpture in Jakarta holds the cakra, it appears that the index is kept separated from the rest of the fingers, slightly raised above them, naturally curved, in contact with the back of the cakra. The Trailokyavijaya at The British Museum could well have held the unidentified object looking like a crescent shaped knife in his mid-left hand, while if he had an elephant-goad in the low left hand, its handle must have been relatively short: the hand of the deity, in fact, is kept in line with the leg stretched right below it, in contrast with other examples, where the deity keeps the low right arm forward enough to allow the elephant-goad to pass in front of the knee. The deity stands in pratyālīḍha, with a posture slightly less angular than that of the piece in Jakarta. His right foot is over Umā’s breast, while the left is on Maheśvara’s chest, not on his head (which logically is not turned to avoid the blow). Even in this case, the interlaced posture of the trampled deities recalls the piece from Bodhgayā (Fig. 6.5). They only wear a high crown and earrings (Umā’s ones are long, while Maheśvara’s ones are button-like), and do not have sacred chords nor bracelets. They do not hold attributes: Umā’s hands rest on her open tights, in the proximity of her genitals, while Maheśvara’s hands rest on his knees. The heavenly couple was lying on a pedestal, which now is missing. From a technical point of view, the image is solid cast in two main parts: the body of TrailokDaigo-ji (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, n. 12-3) and the Trailokyavijaya from the 13th/14th-century Hanging scroll of the Five Vidyārājas now in the Nara National Museum (945-0).

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yavijaya on top, and the trampled couple below. The two parts are joined together through cemented struts that, from the sole of the feet of Trailokyavijaya, penetrate in the chests of the two lying deities. These, in turn, were attached to the missing pedestal through three struts. Some small decorative elements, such as the ornaments on the crowns, appear to have been separately cast, as they visually appear slightly separated from the main body of the sculpture. The attributes, or at least some of them, were also separately cast and inserted into holes in the hands of the deity. According to Bernet Kempers, this way of fixing the attributes is quite common in Tibet, but has so far been rarely found in Java.151 From the stylistic point of view, the icon presents many characteristics of the production of the second half of the 9th or early 10th century: delicate, round, and serene faces, a very balanced shape, regular proportions, a minimal moulding of the traits, and a relatively light ornamentation, which does not compromise the harmony of the whole composition.152 However, the tall, elongated headgear, with its spiky ornaments, is an element that apparently began to emerge at the beginning of the 10th century. As the deity wears only two bracelets per arm, it was probably produced before the icon from Jakarta, which we have dated mid10th century. Thus, we should probably consider the figurine in London as crafted in the early 10th century.153

An eight-armed Trailokyavijaya from the National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden (RV-1403-1760) This eight-armed Trailokyavijaya from Leiden’s National Museum of Ethnology (Figs. 6.15 and 6.16) stands apart from all the other figures of the deity found in Java, for iconographical and stylistic

151. Bernet Kempers 1935: 109. 152. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 31; Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 79–80. 153. Linrothe (1992: 418) dates it back to the mid-10th century. See fn. 142.

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Fig. 6.15: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 17 cm, before 10th century. National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden (Collection Nationaal Museum van Wereldculturen. Coll. no.: RV-1403-1760).

Fig. 6.16: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 17 cm, before 10th century. National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden (Collection Nationaal Museum van Wereldculturen. Coll. no.: RV-1403-1760).

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reasons alike.154 Everything below his ankles is lost, so we can only assume the presence of Maheśvara and Umā under his feet, and that of a pedestal below them. Despite being a fragment, the figure is 17 cm in height: a considerable size.155 Apart from the customary four faces, the deity has an additional head, placed just above the frontal face, attached to what looks like a tall headdress. Lokesh Chandra says that it is a Buddha-head,156 and this would put this image in connection with the representation of Trailokyavijaya found in the Vāgīśvara Mañjuśrī Dharmadhātu maṇḍala at Alchi’s Dukhang, which also has a Buddha-head on top (Fig. 6.7). However, a closer examination of the sculpture reveals that the head on top is wrathful, exactly like the rest of the faces, and thus it is not a Buddha-head. Maybe we should consider this piece as a five-headed Trailokyavijaya, although the particular feature of the fifth head could be the result of a mistake: the artisan might have combined together two different models, one representing the fourth face on the rear of the head, and the other representing it as an additional head on top.157 In any case, all the heads have inlaid-silver eyes, similar to, but smaller than those of the bronzes from Achutrajpur (Fig. 6.2) and Nālandā Monastery Site 9 (Fig. 6.4).158 The deity, who stands in pratyālīḍha, has two necklaces, a Buddha-garland (as found in all the eight-armed examples from East India, and as described in the Sādhanamālā),159 flower-shaped 154. According to Leemans (1885: 48, n. M25) and Juynboll (1909: IX), this figurine was donated to Leiden’s National Museum of Ethnology in December 1843 by the widow of General Elout. They probably refer to Henriëtte Josina van Eybergen, wife of Cornelis Theodorus Elout (1767–1841), who had been Commissioner-General of the Dutch East Indies from 1816 to 1819. 155. Juynboll 1909: 94. 156. Lokesh Chandra 1999: 3647. 157. Moving the fourth face away from the rear of the head is a common solution in the case of images not sculpted in round, or in the case of iconographical drawings. The options are: not representing the fourth face at all (Fig. 6.6), representing it on one side of the head (Fig. 6.5), or representing it as an additional head on top (i.e. Taishō Shinshū Daizōkyō Zuzō 5, fig. 317). 158. According to Leemans, also the teeth are silver inlaid (1885: 48, n. M25). 159. See Figs. 6.3, 6.4, and 6.5. The Sādhanamālā refers to this garland strung with tiny Buddha images as

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 119 earrings and armlets, and two simple bracelets at the wrists. He wears a short dhotī decorated with floral roundels, dots, lines, triangles. Apparently, two belts and one chord wrap his body at the level of the abdomen, the belts locked with two flower-shaped buckles. One very long sash or two separated sashes of decorated cloth are loosely tied with bows to the hips, passing twice on the front of the image, below the belt-buckles, with the ends falling along the thighs of the deity. A large piece of garment, apparently of the same textile of the dhotī, falls from below the buckles, and curves on a side to wrap the lower part of the left leg. The frontal hands form the trailokyavijaya-mudrā without holding vajra and vajra-bell. The rest of the arms are arranged symmetrically on the two sides, and all the hands lost their attributes. Only what could be the hilt of a sword can be seen in the low right hand. The attribute in the low left hand is broken, and is not recognizable, but looks like having a circular cross-section. No attribute is visible in the other hands—only the holes in which the attributes were inserted are visible now. The fingers of the mid right and left hands appear unnaturally deformed, but only a visual inspection could determine the reasons of their shape. The posture of the top arms is very common, being employed in images of Śiva, Brahmā, Viṣṇu, Gaṇeśa, Avalokiteśvara, Amoghapāśa, and Cunda.160 From a stylistic point of view, this wrathful Trailokyavijaya does not reflect the typical Javanese features and thus I would argue that this is an imported figurine, or a figurine modelled after one or more imported icons. The naturalistic silhouette, the detailing of the garment folds, the sharply pointed noses, and the prominent eyes, are typical characteristics of the Pāla bronzes.161 We know that several centres of the Pāla school had an influence on Java: Jhewāri (Chittagong district)

‘buddasragdāmamālādivicitrāmbarābharaṇadhāriṇam’ (Foucher 1905: 58–60; Bhattacharyya 1958: 184–185; Mallmann 1986: 382). 160. See for instance Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 58, 59, 60, 65, 68, 69, 72, 74, 75, 77, 78, 81, 87, 88, 89, 90, 111; Fontein 1971: 39; Lunsingh Scheurleer and Bernet Kempers 1985: 178; Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 93. 161. Linrothe 1992: 415.

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and Mainamati (Comilla district), in present-day South-east Bangladesh, Achutrajpur in Odisha, and later Nālandā and Kurkihār, in Bihar.162 For this piece, Linrothe suggests a connection with Bengal.163 Unluckily, no Trailokyavijaya from that region survives. Given that almost all of the surviving images of the deity from the Indian subcontinent were found in Bihar, particularly in Nālandā, and given the existence of a direct connection between this centre and Java (the presence of a monastery for the accommodation of Javanese monks and pilgrims built at the will of the king of Śrīvijaya, Bālaputra of the Śailendra dynasty),164 it would seem likely that the model for this icon could have come from that area. However, some elements of the statuette reveal influences from other areas: according to Linrothe, the sequence of belts may be a Javanese adaptation of South Indian sculptural traditions.165 Indeed, the use of the sash tied around the hips could be an adaptation of Pallava-style models from Nāgapaṭṭinam or Kāñcīpuram, in Tamil Nadu.166 The presence of elements from both the southern and the north-eastern regions of the Indian subcontinent, and the lack of any apparent Javanese element, make me wonder if the statuette itself, or anyway its model, could have been produced in a different place (that is to say, neither in the Indian subcontinent nor in Java), a place that was receptive of the influences from both southern and northern India, and possibly on the way to Java, i.e. Sri Lanka. For this piece, Linrothe suggests a dating of late 9th or early 10th century,167 but in doing so, he also quotes Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke, who affirm that ‘dating such images is extremely difficult’, for they ‘give virtually no holdfast for the establishment of their date and place of manufacture.’168 Linrothe’s dating is a perfectly possible option, as the importation of bronze figurines from 162. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 27–30; Klokke and Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 4; Huntington 1994: 58–66; Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 79; Mechling 2014: 32. 163. Linrothe 1992: 415–416. 164. Fontein 1971: 33; Lerner and Kossak 1991: 162. 165. Linrothe 1992: 416. 166. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 26–27, 31; Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 78. 167. Linrothe 1992: 416. 168. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 23.

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the Indian subcontinent to Java is attested from the 7th century and continued until the mid-9th century to 10th century.169 I feel, however, that the line of reasoning Linrothe followed (‘It exhibits little of the thick and spiky ornamentation which marks the Eastern Javanese style beginning in the tenth century’)170 would not apply in the case of an imported figurine. On the other hand, if the figurine was produced in Java, it could also be very early, as Javanese artists started introducing Javanese characteristics such as the delicate facial features even before the mid-9th century.171

A two-armed bronze Trailokyavijaya sold by Sotheby’s on 19 March 2016 (lot 1323) A one-headed, two-armed bronze Trailokyavijaya, 10.2 cm in height and said to be from Java, was sold by Sotheby’s in 2016, as a piece of the 9th or 10th century (Fig. 6.17). The deity forms the trailokyavijaya-mudrā without holding vajra and vajra-bell, and stands in pratyālīḍha posture with the right foot over Umā’s belly and breast, and the left foot on the back and right side of the head of Maheśvara, who is lying face down on the pedestal with the head turned right, a posture that recalls the stone image from Nālandā Monastery Site 1 (Fig. 6.1). He has a high pointed headgear decorated with three small, seated tathāgatas (again like the stone image from Nālandā Site 1), and apart from a short dhotī, decorated with floral roundels, dots, and lines, he wears a necklace, earrings, spiky flower-shaped armlets, beaded bracelets and anklets, maybe another type of wristlet, and a Buddha-garland which strangely falls down from the left shoulder, passes in front of the left forearm, and then turns around the hips like a loose belt (looking like ending nowhere).172 He also apparently wears a cross-

169. Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 77, 79, 80. 170. Linrothe 1992: 416. 171. Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 29; Huntington 1994: 65–66; Klokke and Lunsingh Scheurleer 1994: 5. 172. In this case, the Buddha-garland resembles more of a band rather than a large necklace. Cf. Figs. 6.3, 6.4, 6.5, 6.15, 6.16. See fn. 158.

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Fig. 6.17: Trailokyavijaya. Bronze, 10.2 cm, 9th or 10th century. Sotheby’s Sale N09841, Lot 1323, 19 March 2016 (Photograph Courtesy of Sotheby’s, Inc. © 2016).

body striped sash passing over the left shoulder. The position of the deities under Trailokyavijaya’s feet is not interlaced like in the other pieces from Java. From the picture published on Sotheby’s website, it would seem that some attributes are placed around their bodies, on the pedestal, a feature that, if confirmed, would recall the bronze Trailokyavijaya from Achutrajpur (Fig. 6.2). The pedestal consists of an open-work plinth with floral motives instead of a more common doublelotus. According to the website, there is a small rectangular aperture on the base, directly behind Trailokyavijaya, which probably supported a vertical structure, possibly holding up a halo and/ or an umbrella over the deity. Taking into account the tall headgear, the spiky, dense, protuberant, and seemingly separately cast

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 121 decorations, the possible presence of three bracelets on each arm (although not on the elbow), and the rare use of an open-worked pedestal, I would suggest that this figurine was probably manufactured not earlier than the third quarter of the 10th century, and possibly in the last quarter. This piece is strikingly similar to the stone image of Trailokyavijaya from Nālandā Monastery Site 1 (Fig. 6.1), not only for the face-down posture of Maheśvara, but above all for the facial features (eyebrows, eyes and nose). In contrast with all the images of the deity in Javanese style examined above, this one is characterized by a wrathful expression, and strictly follows the Indian model. The dhotī, on the other hand, looks very similar to that of the figurine in Leiden. The presence of the Buddha-garland, which does not seem to have a coherent physical structure and therefore potentially betrays a lack of understanding of this adornment, is rather exceptional: no other image in Javanese style wears it, and in India it is found exclusively in eight-armed images of the deity.

A ritual spike topped by a two-armed wrathful deity in trailokyavijaya-mudrā, stored in the Archaeological Heritage Preservation Office (BP3) of Yogyakarta (BG.49) In a recently published study about religious art of Indonesia, Naoko Itō briefly describes a ritual spike, or kīla, found in Sleman, in Central Java, now stored in the Archaeological Heritage Preservation Office (Balai Pelestarian Peninggalan Purbakala, BP3) of Yogyakarta, in Bogem (Fig. 6.18).173 Although this kind of implement has risen to prominence in Tibet, where it came to play a central role in an independent deity-cycle, in Indian and East Asian Buddhism alike it more frequently played the role of subsidiary ritual element.174 In the course of its development, the kīla passed from being a simple wooden peg for boundary making, employed with cords to establish the outline of buildings before construction, to being a boundary marker, indicating that a rule or law applies within a special area (i.e. the royal palace), to being a means for 173. Itō 2019: 182–184. See also Itō 2002: 26–27. 174. Cantwell and Mayer 2008: 17.

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Fig. 6.18: Ritual spike topped by a two-armed wrathful deity in trailokyavijaya-mudrā, from Sleman (Central Java). Bronze, 10.6 cm, 8th to 10th century. Archaeological Heritage Preservation Office (BP3) of Yogyakarta, Bogem, acc. no. BG.49 (Photo: Swati Chemburkar).

protecting important spaces from the intrusion of obstructing forces, creating a sort of magical barrier surrounding and enclosing specific areas (i.e. a sacred palace, a vihāra, an altar, or even a city). In the process, kīlas came to be conceived as objects worthy of honour in themself and came to be meditated upon as the actual embodiments of specific wrathful deities invoked to protect certain areas from vighnas, or obstructing demons. Other uses of the kīlas, employed singularly or in groups, are connected with a more active idea of killing (outer or inner enemies), subjugating local spirits, controlling the weather, or even keeping under control a ritually revived corpse. Different texts provide various instructions concerning the number of spikes to be employed and the size, shapes and materials for their production, some relating certain materials—usually khadira (acacia)

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or other kinds of wood, but also iron, copper, or in some cases bone—to specific ritual ends.175 The piece preserved in the Archaeological Office of Yogyakarta is made of bronze, 10.6 cm in height. According to Itō, it dates from the 8th to the 10th century. It is visually composed of two sections, separated by a central band decorated with a line of relatively large beads. The lower, dagger-like section of the object is in the shape of a one-pronged vajra (now truncated), with a clearly chiselled syllable hūṃ inscribed on its front-side.176 The upper section of the object, on the other hand, is in the shape of a one-headed, two-armed deity in trailokyavijaya-mudrā, possibly Trailokyavijaya, represented from the abdomen up, with the hands interlocked at the level of the chest, without holding vajra and vajra-bell.177 The face of the deity is characterized by wide eyes, a pointed nose, and protruding fangs. He has long and wavy hair tied in a protuberant, conical headdress, and wears a skull crown fixed to the head by what looks like a twisted string or band, with floral roundels attached slightly above the ears. From these, two plain strings (of hair?) fall behind the ears, lie on the shoulders, make a U-curve and then fall on the chest, at the level of the armpits. The strings appear to be fixed to the shoulders by another pair of floral roundels, and their extremities seem to be decorated with a kind of bow. The deity also wears a necklace, large ring earrings with three pendants (the central one the longest, each ending with a smaller ring), flower-shaped armlets, single bracelets at the elbows, and triple bracelets at the wrists. For kīlas, the one-pronged vajra shape was already recommended, along with the shape of a three-pronged vajra, in the Susiddhikarasūtra, 175. Boord 1993: 39–67. 176. A syllable hūṃ also appears on the backdrop of the stone Trailokyavijaya from Nālandā Monastery Site 1, to the proper right of the deity’s crown (see Fig. 6.1). 177. The identification of the deity with Trailokyavijaya/ Vajrahūṃkāra is not immune from doubts: the trailokyavijaya-mudrā may be adopted as a general sign of wrath, and is not an exclusive prerogative of Trailokyavijaya; further, the absence of the lower part of the body, replaced in this case by the one-pronged vajra shape, deprive us of other potential clues to the identification, such as the pratyālīḍha posture and the heavenly couple under the deity’s feet.

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a work which is considered representative of the Kriyātantras, translated into Chinese by Śubhākarasiṃha in 726.178 On the basis of this text, the one-pronged vajra shape apparently became the standard in East Asian Esoteric Buddhism; at least it became so in Japan, where wooden (or less usually iron or copper) one-pronged vajra spikes are still the norm, with some possible variations in their shape determined by the association of the ritual with the Kongōkai or Taizōkai maṇḍala, or by the type of ritual activity: in the case of abhiṣekas, for instance, the one-pronged vajra spikes may be topped by a jewel, the emblem of the Jewel Family (ratnakula).179 In the Japanese context, however, we do not seem to find examples of ritual spikes with the upper section made in the shape of a deity in anthropomorphic form, as in the case of the kīla from Central Java. One of the earliest tantric scriptures to refer to such a shape was apparently the Guhyasamājatantra. This work, which was likely composed sometime between 750 and 850 CE, was translated into both Chinese and Tibetan, respectively by Dānapāla (around 1002) and by Rin chen bzang po and Śraddhākaravarman (11th century), but it never became particularly influential in East Asia.180 In a specific section of this text, according to Fremantle’s translation, it is affirmed that the kīla should be visualized with the upper part in the form of the samaya deity and with the lower section, ‘from the heart to the feet’, as a sharp

178. Giebel 2001: 285. 179. See Mikkyō Jiten Hensankai 2007: 674; Arai 1996, vol. 1: 141; Boord 1993: 50, fn. 174 and 65, fn. 251. According to these sources, the four vajrakīlas brought back from Tang China by Kōbō Daishi Kūkai in 806, now in the collection of Murōji (室生寺), in Nara Prefecture, are in the shape of a one-pronged vajra topped by a jewel resting over a half-moon on a lotus flower. It might be worthwhile to compare these spikes to those brought back by Engyō (圓 行; 799–852) in 839 and by Enchin (圓珍; 814–891) in 858, if still existing, so to confirm the hypothesis that the onepronged vajra shape was essentially the standard in Tang China. It is also said that Eun (惠運; 798–869), who came back from China in 847, brought back adamantine spikes (Mikkyō Jiten Hensankai 2007: 674), but I could not find any mention of them in the records. 180. Buswell and Lopez 2014: 335. See also Tanaka 2018, Chapter 5.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 123 spike,181 but according to Boord, this description refers to the actual configuration (vijṛmbhita, ‘manifested’) of the kīla.182 Considering that the Vajramālātantra, an early Indian explanatory Tantra of the Guhyasamāja system, already describes the kīla as three-edged in shape,183 as it later became customary in Tibet,184 then the spike stored at the Archaeological Office of Yogyakarta might possibly be representative of a ritual tradition which gained prominence later than the STTS as transmitted and rooted in East Asia and before—or concurrently with—the early redactions of the Guhyasamāja. We have no certainty, however, that such a tradition was based on either of these two contiguous tantric cycles.

conclusion On the basis of the available sources, the cult of Trailokyavijaya has been present in Java for at least two centuries, from the fourth quarter of the 8th century to the late 10th or early 11th century, and was highly concentrated in the area of Central Java, whence all the remains of known provenance come from.185 The number of remains found in this relatively small area is astonishing if compared with what survives in the rest of Asia. Understanding the origin of the cult is not easy, because Java, between the 7th and the 9th century, was in the middle of a vast and well-travelled net of maritime routes which kept it in constant connection with Indian, Sri Lankan, Chinese, and Japanese esoteric Buddhist circles.186 In a similar context of substantial intra-Asian connectivity, it is highly probable that several individuals, communities and texts contributed to the diffusion of the cult in its formative period. 181. Fremantle 1971: 95. 182. Boord 1993: 61. 183. Ibid.: 61. Jamspal and Kittay 2020. 184. See Huntington 1975. 185. It is to be noted that in 930 CE the governmental seat of the reign of Siṇḍok, and with it large part of the cultural life of the island, moved from Central to East Java (Lerner and Kossak 1991: 165; Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 23). While we have statuettes of Trailokyavijaya following the style of the East Javanese period, those of known provenance are nonetheless from Central Java. 186. See Acri 2016a: 16.

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However, from the sources examined in this chapter, it would seem that Sri Lanka could have played a major role in this scenario. The earliest of the inscription analysed, the one engraved on the gold foil, was unearthed on the Ratu Boko plateau, which at that time was the site of a monastery inhabited by Sinhalese monks, coming from the renowned Abhayagirivihāra monastery in Sri Lanka. Further, as explained above, I suspect that that which apparently is the earliest of the figurines analysed, the one now preserved in Leiden, could have been crafted in Sri Lanka. From the overall correspondence of the mantras, syllables, and terminology employed in the inscriptions, it is clear that the cult was fundamentally based on the cycle of the STTS, as predictable. However, certain features, such as some inversion in the order of mantric syllables, are indicative of a reliance on specific ritual manuals, rather than on the STTS itself, and this fact could be highly revealing. Scholars have found a certain degree of correspondence with the formulas and procedures contained in the Sarvavajrodaya, a ritual manual compiled by Ānandagarbha, who is also the author of the Tattvālokakarī (D2510/ P3333), a commentary on the STTS which some believe to have been especially influential on Southeast Asian iconography.187 Translations of relevant passages from similar works could be of help in clarifying some issues concerning the iconography of Trailokyavijaya in Java. From the examined sources, it seems that a number of variants existed in an early period. It appears more likely that local ingenuity produced a uniquely Javanese iconography during the 10th century: in the eight hands, the deity holds vajra and bell, and then a sword, a cakra, an arrow, a bow, a crescent shaped knife, and an elephant-goad. No counterpart has been found in other countries yet, and the crescent shaped knife could well be a Javanese adaptation of a previous weapon (as in the case of Vasudhārā, the deity of prosperity and abundance, who in Java came to grasp an ear of rice, the staple food of the island, 187. Kanō 2015: 374. It might be just a coincidence, but as said above, Ānandagarbha studied under a Sri Lankan master, Vajravarman.

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instead of an ear of grain).188 An alternative iconography, representing the deity in two-armed form, seems to have emerged in Java in a slightly later period, possibly on the basis of a different version of the STTS.189 Pending further discoveries, it seems unlikely that Trailokyavijaya was represented as part of a maṇḍalic group of four, five, or more krodhas in Java: the number of statuettes from the island reported to have been clearly identified as wrathful deities other than Trailokyavijaya is, in fact, too scarce.190 It is more probable, therefore, that the figurines of Trailokyavijaya were enshrined individually, or else in combination with images of non-wrathful deities. Given the impossibility to evaluate the relative rank of the deity within a maṇḍalic assembly, and in the face of the almost complete loss of the production of bronzes of large size in Java, we are left in uncertainty about the actual centrality of his cult on the island. On a ritual level, the figure of Trailokyavijaya was clearly connected with a protective function exercised through subjugative means aiming at the destruction or else at the forceful conversion 188. Bernet Kempers 1959: pl. 112; Lunsingh Scheurleer and Klokke 1988: 22, 84; Mechling 2014: 29, 32. 189. As noticed by Inui and reported by Hunter, Dānapāla’s Chinese translation of the STTS does not describe Trailokyavijaya/Vajrahūṃkāra as multi-armed, and this suggests that the Sanskrit manuscript he employed for his translation ‘belongs to a textual tradition different from the Sanskrit manuscripts that Amoghavajra consulted’ (Inui 1996: 88 and Inui 1997: 11; Hunter 2018: 390–391). 190. Itō 2019: 28. The existence of a set of five krodhas is recorded in the Balinese manuscript of the Saṅ Hyaṅ Nāgabāyusūtra, but the list does not seem to include Trailokyavijaya. The text, in fact, describes a unique model having Navab(h)ava as a manifestation of Vairocana, Yamamaraja of Akṣobhya, Simhāvaha of Ratnasaṃbhava, Matthāna of Amitābha, and Vatsala of Amoghasiddhi (Bosch 1961: 116– 118; Lokesh Chandra 1995: 27). In the National Museum of Indonesia there is a set of four figurines representing a group of one-headed, two-armed deities in trailokyavijaya-mudrā, among which one stands in pratyālīḍha (5933). However, a closer look reveals that each of the deities also holds a specific attribute: an elephant-goad, a rope, a chain, and a bell. The group therefore represents the four gate-guardians of the Vajradhātu, the Gathering Bodhisattvas, in wrathful form: Vajrāṅkuśa (5913), Vajrapāśa (5933), Vajrasphoṭa (5909), and Vajrāveśa (5929) (Matsunaga 1999: 329, 301).

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of ‘obstacles’, a term variously indicating inner or outer obstructions, such as vināyakas and all sorts of beings who might cause trouble when ill-disposed (devas, nāgas, yakṣas, gandharvas, asuras, garuḍas, kiṃnaras, mahoragas), more ordinary enemies, as well as diseases. It seems clear that the deity’s power was invoked when ritually establishing boundaries in order to protect from the intrusion of negative influences in some specific areas: altars, temples, monastic complexes, but potentially also cities, regions, or a whole kingdom. This latter possibility, in particular, needs to be investigated further. It is still unclear if the mantra engraved on the Ratu Boko gold foil was intended to provide protection to King Panaraban, possibly through the intervention of Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya and/or of the great generals of the yakṣas with their armies and retinues, as suggested above, or if it was conceived as a means to spellbind and convert him from Śaivism to Buddhism, in an intriguing re-enactment of the myth of Trailokyavijaya’s subjugation of Śiva, as hypothesized in the past. However, in the light of the ritual functions generally associated with Trailokyavijaya and the Ṭakkirāja mantra, taking into account the parallel between the case of the Ratu Boko mantra and the example found in Amoghavajra’s Dhāraṇī of Leaf-clad Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva, and considered the material employed to craft the mantra, I would tend to regard the former hypothesis as more plausible.

appendix 6.1 Resumé of the myth of Trailokyavijaya’s subjugation of Śiva-Maheśvara, based on the accounts reported in the Sanskrit edition of the STTS, as translated in Italian by Tucci and in English by Snellgrove and Davidson, and in the Chinese edition of the text, as summarized in French by Iyanaga:191 On the peak of Mount Sumeru, All the Tathāgatas (that in esoteric Buddhism means the Five

191. Tucci 1932: 135–145; Snellgrove 1987: 134–141; Davidson 1995: 547–555; Iyanaga 1985: 667–682.

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The Cult of Trailokyavijaya in Java Studied Through the Lens of Epigraphical and Sculptural Remains 125 Buddhas) requested Vajrapāṇi to generate his adamantine family, so that a maṇḍala-assembly could be established for the benefit of all beings. Unexpectedly, Vajrapāṇi declines, affirming that in the world there are some beings, such as Maheśvara and other gods, who engage in all kinds of violent and criminal conduct: if even the Tathāgatas are not able to subdue them, how could he accomplish anything with them? So, the Buddha Vairocana enters into a samādhi (intense concentration) and utters a mantra (oṃ śumbha niśumbha hūṃ gṛhṇa gṛhṇa hūṃ gṛhṇapaya hūṃ ānaya ho bhagavan vajra hūṃ phaṭ). As a consequence, several forms of Vajrapāṇi emerge from the Five Tathāgatas and fill the three worlds. These forms then come together to compose a great body a wrathful manifestation, Trailokyavijaya. Vairocana then recites another mantra (hūṃ ṭakki jjaḥ), which drags Maheśvara and his entourage around his palace, on the summit of Mount Sumeru. At this point, Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya commands Maheśvara and his retinue to take refuge in the Three Jewels, so that they could reach the knowledge of the Omniscient One. Maheśvara replies: ‘Hey, you’re just a pathetic yakṣa! I am the creator and the destroyer of all beings, the paramount Lord of the Three Worlds, the self-existent great god of gods. And yet you order me to act as you would wish?’ Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya answers: ‘You, extremely evil being, come and take place in my maṇḍala, and hold to my pledge!’ Maheśvara, turning to Vairocana, asks: ‘Who does he think he is, giving orders to God?’. Vairocana tells him and all the gods: ‘I’d really do what he says, my friend! Take refuge in Three Jewels! Do not make him angry: he could destroy the three worlds with his blazing vajra’. Maheśvara, does not follow Vairocana’s advice: proud of his own knowledge and sovereignty over the three worlds, he turns again to Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya, and displaying his own wrathful, flaming manifestation, with a terrible voice and laughing wickedly, exclaims: ‘Hey, I

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am the Lord of the Three Worlds, YOU will do what I command!’ Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya, smiling, replies: ‘You, stinking demon, you eat the charred flesh of cremated corpses, and your bed and clothes are disgusting remains. Acting like this, how do you think I could ever follow your orders? Come, and obey my commands!’ Maheśvara, furious, replies: ‘If you put it in that way, I will protect my own authority!’ Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya turns to Vairocana, and explains that Maheśvara, proud of his knowledge and sovereignty over the three worlds, is obstinate in refusing to accept the teaching of the Tathāgatas. He asks: ‘Now what do I do with him?’ Vairocana recites again a mantra (oṃ niśumbha vajra hūṃ phaṭ), and Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya adds the syllable hūṃ. Immediately, all the gods fall down to the ground, into great suffering. Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya tells them that if they want to be saved, they must take refuge in the Three Jewels and obey his orders. Maheśvara is on the ground, in desperate conditions, but still asks to Vairocana: ‘If I take refuge, then whose orders will I have to take? That’s my question’. Vairocana answers: ‘You should know that Vajrapāṇi is the Supreme Lord of All the Tathāgatas. He received a wrathful consecration so that now he is able to transform those beings who are so evil that not even the Tathāgatas can redeem. He is the only one who can truly save you, not I’. Maheśvara is about to die, but continues to protest, affirming that he could accept to receive teachings from the Buddha, but not from Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya. The gods of Maheśvara’s entourage supplicate Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya to save them, and ask him how he could harm them, if he really is the Lord of All the Tathāgatas. Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya answers that evil beings such as them must be purified before they can enter into the pledge of all the Tathāgatas.

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The gods convert and promise to enter into Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya’s pledge. The latter recites a mantra, and all the gods, but Maheśvara and his consort, are released from their suffering. Vairocana asks to Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya why Maheśvara is still on the ground. Trailokyavijaya recites a mantra for the protection of life. Maheśvara tries to get up, but he cannot. He asks again who he should take as his master. Vairocana replies: ‘I cannot help evil beings such as you’. Maheśvara is confused: ‘I cannot understand: the Buddha is the master of the Three Words. How could Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya be superior to him?’ At this point, Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya tells him: ‘You, evil being, why don’t you just do what I tell you?’ Hearing this, Maheśvara gets enraged again, displaying an even more wrathful form than before, and shouts out: ‘I’d rather die. I will never accept your orders!’ Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya, King of Wrath, recites a mantra to purify Maheśvara. The god and his divine consort, Umā, suddenly fall to the ground, legs up in the air, with the pudenda indecently exposed. All the gods laugh at the scene. Maheśvara and Umā are both dragged in front of Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya, who then asks Vairocana how to subjugate the extremely wicked god and his spouse. Vairocana recites a mantra of attack, and Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya steps on the two, oppressing Maheśvara to the ground with his left foot, and pushing more gently his right foot on Umā’s breast. Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya then pronounces a mantra, and Maheśvara, under his foot, starts beating his own thousand faces with his thousand arms. The gods shout: ‘Look at our Lord, being disciplined by this powerful Great Being!’ Then Vairocana, out of compassion for Maheśvara, recites a mantra. Through the touch of Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya’s foot, Maheśvara

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immediately obtains a peerless realisation, excellent samādhis and supernatural powers, and gets to the rank of the Tathāgatas. By virtue of this consecration, his consciousness reaches a distant world called Bhasmācchanna (‘Covered in Ash’),192 where he is reborn as the Buddha Bhasmeśvaranirghoṣa (‘Soundless Lord of Ashes’). Then Vairocana, with a mantra, draws back Maheśvara’s consciousness, which takes back the inanimate body under the foot of Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya. From there, he proclaims: ‘Oh! The great knowledge of the Tathāgatas is peerless! Being subjugated, I was established in the unchanging dignity of Nirvāṇa!’

At this point, Vajrapāṇi-Trailokyavijaya commands the deities to take their position in the maṇḍala, and to hold the pledge of all the Tathāgatas. The gods answer: ‘We will do as you command!’ Taking place in the maṇḍala, they are finally consecrated and given new vajra-names and attributes, to denote their new Buddhist status and their acceptance of the pledge to quit their evil ways.

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Chapter 7

The Social Context of the Central Javanese Temples of Kalasan and Prambanan (8th–9th Century CE) M i m i S av i t r i introduction The Buddhist temple of Kalasan and the the Hindu complex of Prambanan (or Lara Jonggrang) lie 3 km apart in the eastern part of the city of Yogyakarta in Central Java (see Map 7.1). Art historians have often focused on the aesthetic and religious aspects of these two temples, which, along with Borobudur, took Javanese sacred art to its apogee in the 8th and 9th centuries CE. For instance, Jordaan’s studies of Kalasan proposed a link between the Buddhist goddess Śyāma-Tārā (Green Tārā) with Nyai Lara Kidul, the Javanese deity of the Southern Sea (Jordaan 1997, 1998); Jordaan and Wessing investigated possible human sacrifice rituals in Central Java on the basis of a human skeleton reportedly found in Prambanan (Jordaan and Wessing 1996: 45), concluding that human sacrifices might have emerged from a syncretic adaptation of an Indic royal cult and indigenous Javanese ancestral beliefs (ibid.: 69); Acri and Jordaan identified reliefs of 24 seated male deities that form Śiva’s retinue at Prambanan temple (Acri and Jordaan 2012: 274), thereby deepening our grasp of the Śaiva cosmological notions embedded in the design of the complex. Adding to these insights, this chapter looks for traces of the social life forming the context for those Central Javanese sacred buildings, following the view that the architecture of monuments points beyond itself to the totality of its social context (Leah 2002: 125, 134). Butzer (1980: 418) argued that archaeology, artifacts, and their social context are the basic ingredients for more accurately disclosing life

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in the past. This chapter studies the epigraphy of the Kalasan and Prambanan temple complexes to uncover traces of the social life of the Javanese in the 8th and 9th centuries. The massive construction effort required to erect the Kalasan and Prambanan temples was the result of the political elite, the religious leaders, and the general public forming a dynamic and interactive support network that combined and focused the various groups’ abilities and skills to achieve unprecedented heights in sacred art and architecture. This chapter asks how the temples of Kalasan and Prambanan were initiated and executed, and how they were maintained. Research on the temple construction process from the beginning to the end, as well as on the efforts to maintain the sustainability of the two temples in the 8th and 9th century, can help us to determine the position and role of the Javanese community in the creation and maintenance of both temples, as well as their social life. Two inscriptions contain valuable data on the human context of the two constructions: the Kalasan inscription (in Sanskrit) dated 778 CE, related to the eponymous temple, and the Śivagṛha inscription (in Old Javanese) of 856 CE, related to Candi Prambanan. Both inscriptions, which are now kept in the Museum Nasional in Jakarta, provide us with much more than just the names of the kings and the dates of their reigns, mentioning as they do some interesting aspects of the life of the society around the temples (Barret Jones 1984: 8). Apart from defining their role in relation to Śaiva and Buddhist deities, both inscriptions contain some details that cast light on the communities around

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Map 7.1: Location of Kalasan and Śivagṛha/Prambanan temples in Java. (Map redrawn by Ainul Yaqin, accessed from https://tanahair.indonesia.go.id/portal-web/)

the temples who were involved in their construction, operation, and maintenance. The inscriptional data is analysed here using a contextual approach. Deriving from the Latin verb contexere meaning ‘to weave together’ or ‘connect’, the word ‘context’ here renders the spatial temporal matrix related to the central cultural artifacts (Butzer 1980: 418). The history of religious architecture of the premodern Indonesian Archipelago began when streams of Hindu and Buddhist doctrine and ritual practice influenced the religious and socio-cultural life of the Archipelago starting from the early centuries of the first millennium CE. A Sanskrit inscription written in a South Indian/ Brāhmī-derived script found in Kutai, Eastern Kalimantan, introduced the concept of a yūpa or ‘sacrificial post’ inscription. Seven such yūpas mark the early history of Indic epigraphy in the Archipelago. Indic influence, received by Javanese culture, reached its peak in the 8th and 9th centu-

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ries. Klokke calls the magnificent architecture of Kalasan and Prambanan as derivative of Indic art, yet strongly localized (Klokke 2008: 154). The style of both temples is unique, with no exact model to be found in India.

the kalasan temple and its inscription The Kalasan temple constitutes a complete and finished example of a style of architecture that resulted from a long Indic tradition of structural experience in the design of major public buildings (see Fig. 7.1). The temple that is visible today is not the original one, as the earliest building was covered by a later construction (Degroot 2013: 115). The second temple, which is seen today, was in its turn renovated, probably in the course of the 9th century (ibid.: 115).

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Fig. 7.1: Kalasan temple. (Photo courtesy of Yoses Tanzaq)

The Kalasan temple has several notable features. Judging from the height of the ceiling, it probably hosted a colossal statue measuring up to four metres in height. The design of the large throne indicates that a large (bronze?) seated image of the Buddhist goddess Tārā was probably placed there (Soekmono 1988: 43). The statue is missing, having been probably looted. The volcanic stone walls were covered with a fine, hard plaster known as vajralepa,1 much of which has been lost to the tropical climate. Today, a major feature is a large face of the demon Kāla/Kīrtimukha, who embodies Time, located above the southern doorway (see Fig. 7.2). There is consensus among art historians in acknowledging Kalasan as one of the finest Javanese temples datable to the 8th century. The Kalasan inscription (known by the locals as prasasti Kalasan) is made of stone, and measures 46 cm in height, 67 cm in width, and 12 cm in thickness (Fig. 7.3). This inscription, written in Siddhamātṛkā script and Sanskrit language, states that the monument was dedicated to Tārādevī, being a Tārābhavana (‘palace of Tārā’) (Wisseman Christie 2000: 16). Having been found at the 1. The colour of vajralepa was white-yellowish and its function was to protect the walls.

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Fig. 7.2: A large Kāla-head carved on the lintel above the southern entrance of Candi Kalasan. (Photo courtesy of Yoses Tanzaq)

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Fig. 7.3: Kalasan inscription (Photo courtesy of Museum Nasional Indonesia)

Candi Kalasan site, it is undoubtedly related to the temple, and it commemorates its erection in 778 CE at the command of the court gurus, after they obtained the approval of the king referred to as Saṅ Rāja Śailendravaṃśatilaka (‘jewel of the Śailendra family’)—identified as Mahārāja Dyah Pañcapaṇa Kariyāna Paṇaṃkaraṇa (or Rakarayān Paṇaṅkaran, mentioned in the Kәlurak inscription of 782 CE). The inscription also attests to the establishment of a vihāra (monastery) for the venerable monks (bhikṣu) who are well-versed in the Great Vehicle and the Discipline (vinayamahāyānavidām),2 and the donation of the hamlet named Kālasa (i.e., what is nowadays known as Kalasan) to support the saṅgha housed in the vihāra (Soekmono 1995: 54). Alongside this rare mention of high-status monks in a temple dedication inscription, we also find a reference to other administrative officers: the abode for the monks was built by the powerful religious teachers of the king, and the officials named paṅkur, tavān, and tīrip (Wisseman Christie 2000: 14) are mentioned as witnesses to the hamlet’s donation. This trio is regularly mentioned in the list of of2. Alternatively, this could be an ‘inverted compound’, meaning ‘well-versed in the vinaya of the Mahāyāna’?

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ficials in the later period (Barret Jones 1984: 105), and usually precedes the Javanese tax farmers in the lists of royal officers presented in Javanese charters. In the Siṅhasāri period (13th century) they are classified as saṅ mana or king’s advisors, which include the group of maṅilala dravya haji. Paṅkur, tavān, and tīrip were involved in tax collection, perhaps on behalf of the rakryan (local leader) or the king (ibid.).

the prambanan temple and the śivagṛha inscription Prambanan is a magnificent Śaiva temple complex, whose elegant 47-metre towers are dedicated to the trimūrti of Śiva, Viṣṇu, and Brahmā (Fig. 7.4). The central sanctuary, dedicated to Śiva, is now locally known as Candi Loro Jonggrang, being named after a mythical princess. The construction of the complex constitutes a pivotal event in the history of the sacred architecture of Java. It can be tentatively dated to the middle of the 9th century, after Kalasan, and both marks the apex of Central Javanese classical art and foreshadows subsequent East Javanese art (Degroot 2013: 22). The Śivagṛha inscription, a rare Old Javanese epigraphic document composed in metrical form,

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Fig. 7.4: Prambanan temple complex. (Photo: author)

was issued by King Dyah Lokapāla, also known as Rakai Kayuvaṅi (r.c. 855–885).3 Dated to 856 CE, it has been studied in detail by de Casparis (1956), and has also been extensively discussed by other scholars, mainly for two reasons: first, it makes allusions to important socio-historical events that took place in Central Java at the turn of the first half of the 9th century; second, it features stylistic and thematic similarities with the allegorical chapters of the—probably roughly coeval—Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa kakavin (Hooykaas 1958; Aichele 1969; Acri 2010, 2011). No less importantly, it describes a temple which resembles the main sanctuary of the Prambanan complex (Fig. 7.5). The construction of the temple undoubtedly took several years and was most probably initiated long before the reign of Dyah Lokapāla (Degroot 2013: 22). Lokapāla or Rakai Kayuvaṅi may have been a relative of his predecessor Rakai Pikatan (r.c. 847–855), king of Mataram, whose queen was a Buddhist (Boechari 2012: 200). 3.  King Lokapāla was a king of the Old Mataram Kingdom, a Central Javanese polity that emerged around the end of the 7th century and lasted until the 10th century (Degroot 2013: 18). Rakai is the title of a Javanese leader who occupied a certain area.

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Fig. 7.5: Śivagṛha inscription. (Photo courtesy of Museum Nasional Indonesia)

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The Śivagṛha inscription speaks of a Śaiva The community of gurus or teachers to the king—probably Rakai Pikatan—as the protector king played a key role at Kalasan and Prambanan. of Java, who defeated an opponent named Bālapu- At Kalasan the king obeyed the request of the tra in a war over the throne. He built his palace gurus, who are referred to as having a high social at Mәḍaṅ i Mamrati and on his death the throne status. This fact highlights the classical Hinduwas passed to his successor Dyah Lokapāla. In the Buddhist pattern of a close bond between the eulogy to the deceased king, the inscription says priestly and ruling classes aimed at achieving a his funerals were performed in the complex. It stable society through a division of labour between mentions a sīma grant of two tampah4 of huma sacred and secular power (Degroot 2013: 37). The (a wet rice field) in Tri Maharaṅ, a sawah field, importance of the guru’s role in a realm also and a patalәsan (taro) field at Maṇḍәr Duṭī in can be seen in the above-mentioned stone yūpa Katamva, for the upkeep of the Śaiva sanctuary by inscription found in Kutai dating from the 5th Rakai Mamrati. The inscription speaks of a river or 6th century. The inscription mentions King that flowed through the site being diverted and Mūlavarman’s gift of 2,000 cows to Brahmins of a tīrtha or holy bathing place, where vaniyagas for merit. In return, the Brahmins established a (seafaring merchants) bathed in order to bring monument to commemorate the kindness of the success (siddha ta yātra) to their ventures (de king (Poerbatjaraka 1952: 11). Casparis 1956: 311–316). The tradition of bathing The functions of a vihāra in ancient Java were in the river, and especially in river junctions, still described by Riboet Darmosoetopo (2003), who continues in Java until today—for instance, it states that temples are clusters of buildings that is done by the Javanese as a ritual procedure to function as both religious structures and dormiachieve any worldly desires. tories (ibid.: 204). The existence of monasteries is mentioned throughout the Central Javanese period (see, for example, the Vayuku inscription of 854 the establishment of kalasan and CE). The Kalasan inscription refers to the building of both a Tārā temple and an abode for the monks. prambanan temples Monasteries, such as the one at Kalasan, served the The process of the establishment of both temples, community with rituals, prayers, and ceremonies. from the beginning to the end, involved several Large monasteries might have provided some form parties. Those involved were the kings, the kings’ of education. In Tibet, some monasteries focused religious teachers, as well as those who built the on retreats and meditation practice, while others temples. The interaction between these parties was served administrative functions and attracted difdynamic, as explained below. ferent types of monks (Jansen 2018: 47). An analogous distinction could have also been observed in premodern Central Java. Kings and gurus Kalasan and Prambanan were both royal foundations. Verse 11 of the Śivagṛha inscription says The builders that the king established a dharma (i.e. a temple Large numbers of builders played various roles in or religious foundation). As noted above, the the construction of both temples. They probably Kalasan inscription was ordered by eminent Bud- included both experts as well as common people, dhist teachers who had obtained the approval of who provided the necessary workforce. Javanese their king, whose status made him closely aligned architects likely determined the best place to with the gods and conferred upon him the duty erect the temple complex according to Sanskrit to sponsor the temple. manuals such as the Mānasāra-śilpaśāstra and Śilpa-prakāśa (Mundardjito 2002: 17). According to both texts, the architect should choose an ap4. The tampah was an ancient Javanese unit of measure- propriate location and environment for a temple ment, equal to 6,750–7,680 square metres.

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(ibid.). Then a very large number of masons and śilpins would begin the work to erect it.

Ancillary Buildings: monastery, panti, and rangkang That temples built on a given site did not stand alone can be clearly seen in the areas where the Kalasan and Prambanan temples are located. In both sites the main buildings are surrounded by some additional buildings such as monasteries, panti, and raṅkaṅ. The Javanese King Panaṅkaran built a monastery close to the temple of Kalasan for the residence and meditation of the bhikṣus, while Rakai Kayuvaṅi Dyah Lokapāla built pantis (fellowship pavilions?) for the Brahmins. Panti pavilions accommodated ascetic practices (tapas) and a number of them were constructed around the central abode of the deity (Wisseman Christie 2000: 96). Two smaller buildings called raṅkaṅ were built as stations for making offerings, according to the Śivagṛha inscription. Indications of what the panti looked like can perhaps be gleaned from columns found at the so-called ‘Arjuna temple’ complex on the ca. 8th century mountain temples of the Dieng plateau (Figs. 7.6 and 7.7). Short stone columns recovered in archaeological contexts in the site are thought to be foundations of pavilions for Brahmins, pilgrims, and hermits that resided at the mountain site to study.

Temple Maintenance The maintenance and preservation of Javanese temples depended on three factors: securing the tax advantages of sīma status for their land; assembling large group of devotees for regular worship; and recruiting doorkeepers for security. A calendar of regular festivals to invite the gods to descend on earth for frequent veneration was key to sustaining a functioning, living temple. The Śivagṛha inscription (verse 13) states that the temple was built in a spirit of mutual cooperation, involving both high-status people, commoners, and servants, all contributing to the donation and the building activities (probably also referring

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to the smaller subsidiary buildings, which were usually donated by nobles). Stanza 18 says that the complex attracted hundreds of worshippers. Along with the local communities (anak banua) there were sea-faring merchants (vaniyaga), religious communities (kalaṅ), and handsome gusti (village lords?). All were instructed to wear ceremonial headbands (kavittha) when worshipping at the temple. On feast days for worshipping the divine beings (maṅhyaṅ), people filled the temple and the ancillary pavilions with offerings. Such ceremonies could have been regularly scheduled at the Prambanan temple. There was a precise calendar of daily services (Wisseman Christie 2000: 98), monthly ceremonies (pratimāsa), biannual turning point ceremonies, and yearly feasts held in specific months (Boechari 2012: 282). At Kalasan, a triad of foremost ministers known as saṅ ādimantri tama tritaya (three great ministers), which appear to be similar in function to the sang mahāmantri katrini in the later period of the Mataram Kingdom (9th century CE), also worshipped in Tārā’s temple. The Mahāmantri katrini were higher officials who were always mentioned together in the lists of officials found in the inscriptions (Barret Jones 1984: 105). They were probably delegated with the task of collecting taxes on behalf of the king (ibid.). Monks, young men and women went to the temples with their teachers, many of whom were counted among temple protectors of various kinds, as well as astrologers. The Prambanan temple was protected by human guards and fierce mythical statuary guards or dvārapālas, as well as surrounding walls (Wisseman Christie 2000: 96). The Śivagṛha inscription (stanza 14) states: ‘There are fierce doorkeepers […] so that thieves will not do evil for fear of being seized’.

Sīma status for both temples The temples’ most effective form of protection was the bestowal of tax-free and holy sīma status to the land where they stood. Sīma (boundary) is a special status that may be granted by a king or another ruler (Riboet Darmosoetopo 2003: 96). Among the people involved in establishing the sīma are the samgat vantil (religious official) with all their nayaka and patih officials. The nayaka

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Fig. 7.6: Columns forming the foundation of panti/pavilion in the Arjuna temple complex in Dieng. (Photo: author)

Fig. 7.7: Reconstruction of a panti or pavilion, an open building for hermits to study and meditate, or for the preparation of temple offerings. (Photo: author)

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is a court official that played an important role in sīma’s ceremonies and held various functions as well as titles (Barret Jones 1984: 108). The patih is a functionary that connected to villages. He had several functions, which are mentioned in several inscriptions. For instance, he could become a witness for neighbouring villages at the inauguration ceremony of a sīma. Another official who played an active role in the establishment of sīmas was also the gusti, a village-level official who was a role model for the village community. In the Śivagṛha inscription, the patihs are called si Kliṅ and si Mresi5; the three gustis were si Jana, si Kandut and si Sanab. A banyaga6 (trader) is described as the vinәkas (‘he who receives orders’); the vahutas (court officials) were Varaniya, Tati and Vukul; the laduh (unknown function) was si Gnәṅ. The spokesmen or experts with words were Kabuh and saṅ Marsi, who represented the village advisory council (rāma maratā) (Ninie Susanti 2010: 127). Rāma maratā consisted in rāmas who had retired.7 They, then, bestowed the sīma, together with the matahun (local official) called si Kavit (Wisseman Christie 2000: 97). Sīma land is designated as special land, whose status benefitted the local population. By marking an area with sīma boundaries, it was declared not accessible to the tax officials, and the head of the sīma had the right to collect taxes in his area (Riboet Darmosoetopo 2003: 96–97). Apart from this economic assistance to residents, the status of sīma provided some maintenance for a temple (ibid.: xv). The sīma status guaranteed the sustainability of a temple and its revenues from the crops as well as a reduction in taxes. Sīma land may consist of rice fields that were sold or used by the head(s) of a temple to support its functioning and maintenance. The rice fields or savah Maharaṅ (vatak Vantil) around the Prambanan temple were the sīma savah that enabled the existence and functioning of the sanctuary (Wisseman Christie 2000: 95). The revenues to maintain the continuous 5. The title ‘si’ followed by a personal name indicates the name of a villager. 6. Banyaga were (possibly long-distance, foreign) traders. Alternatively, here the word can be a proper name since it is preceded by si. 7. Rāma is the leader of villagers.

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functionality of a temple did not only derive from the rice fields, but also from gardens, as referred to in the Juruṅan inscription (876 CE) (Riboet Darmosoetopo et al. 2012). The Juruṅan inscription of 876 CE records a sīma garden (taman) located around the main religious building (prāsāda) in Gunuṅ Hyaṅ to support its existence (Riboet Darmosoetopo et al. 2012: 13). The fruits and flowers from the garden were used for the ritual activities in the temple (Mimi Savitri 2019). The existence of a sīma garden also improved the appearance and attractiveness of Central Javanese temples. Although the sīma garden played a not insignificant role to ensure the sustainability of a temple, the yield was greater in the case of the rice fields that were used as sīma savah. It is therefore not surprising that sīma status was given more frequently to rice fields rather than gardens. The person responsible for the maintenance of the temple was the head of the sīma land. The head of the sīma was also responsible for distributing the proceeds of the business tax, one third being destined to the upkeep of the religious buildings (Riboet Darmosoetopo 2003: 161). The sīma status is usually conferred by the king and is seen as a gift to the residents who are rewarded for meeting their obligations to support and manage the temple by meeting the costs of serving food and holding ceremonies for the deities (ibid.: 15).

The social life around Kalasan and Prambanan temples in the light of inscriptions The social life of the people related to the functioning of a temple in the 8th–9th century CE is revealed through the Kalasan and Śivagṛha inscriptions, albeit in different capacities. For example, the Kalasan inscription provides less information relating to social life than the latter, but tells us more about the king’s power and the relationship between the king and his teachers. This seems to be a common characteristic of the inscriptions from the early period of Hindu and Buddhist influence in Indonesia, from the 5th to the 8th century CE. As a result, not much information about the social and community life can be gathered. On the other hand, the Śivagṛha inscription provides more in-

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The Social Context of the Central Javanese Temples of Kalasan and Prambanan formation related to community life at the time when the Prambanan temple was founded. Research on both inscriptions gives us clues on the social hierarchy of the community at that time. The king had the highest status among the people. His teachers were the persons who played a most important role as his advisors. This is also suggested by the fact that the establishment of the Kalasan temple is by order of the king’s teachers. The great ministers and court dignitaries were also mentioned on both inscriptions, as also the maṅilala dravya haji, royal tax collectors or ‘undesirable’ people who was forbidden to enter religious freeholds, and whose duty was to manage the king’s property. The Javanese polity also acknowledged middle-level royal officials such as nayakas and vahutas, and low-ranking employees. These officials also played a role in the construction of temples and in maintaining their sustainability in Java in the 8th–9th century CE.

conclusion A study of the details of Central Javanese dedicatory inscriptions reveals some of the interactive relationships in the communities that make up social life around monuments. The king and his teachers played important roles when instigating the foundation of temples structures, as well as planning and erecting them. Kings, as supreme rulers of their subjects, possessed authority to commit them to build temples. The king’s teachers and priests were then critical advisors for specifying the location, the physical structure, and the ceremonial calendar. Architects and masons then drew detailed plans, and procured the sources materials and manpower to execute the construction. Finally, the evidently gifted śilpins added their unique and celebrated artistic contribution. The Kalasan and Prambanan temples attracted not only the local inhabitants—including children, banua (villagers), and gusti (local dignitaries), who contributed to the building, but also seafaring merchants (vaniyaga), pilgrims, and relatively isolated religious communities (kalaṅ). Gate-

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keepers (whether human or sculpted) were added to protective walls to guard the temples over time. The strongest guarantee of a monument’s upkeep remained the grant of sīma status that returned business taxes to the temple authorities. The massive construction effort required for these two strikingly different monuments, underpinning different religious creeds, brought together the elite, religious leaders, craftsmen, and the general public in a dynamic and interactive community that combined and focused the abilities and skills of all in reaching wholly unprecedented achievements in the sacred art and architecture of both South and Southeast Asia.

References

Acri, Andrea. 2010. ‘On Birds, Ascetics, and Kings in Central Java: Rāmāyaṇa Kakawin, 24.95–126 and 25’, Bijdragen Tot de Taal-, Land- En Volkenkunde 166/4: 475–506. . 2011. ‘More on Birds, Ascetics, and Kings in Central Java: Kakawin Rāmāyaṇa, 24.111–115 and 25.19–22’, in Andrea Acri, Helen Creese, and Arlo Griffiths (eds.), From Laṅkā Eastwards: The Rāmāyaṇa in the Literature and Visual Arts of Indonesia, pp. 53–91. Leiden: KITLV Press. Acri, Andrea and Roy Jordaan. 2012. ‘The Dikpālas of Ancient Java Revisited: A New Identification for the 24 Directional Deities on the Siva Temple of the Loro Jonggrang Complex’, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land-en Volkenkunde 168/2–3: 274–313. Aichele, Walter. 1969. ‘Vergessene Metaphern als Kriterien der Datierung des altjavanischen Rāmāyaṇa’, Oriens Extremus 16: 127–166. Barret Jones, Antoinette M. 1984. Early Tenth Century Java from the Inscriptions. Dordrecht: Foris Publications. Boechari. 2012. Melacak Sejarah Kuno Indonesia Lewat Prasasti. Jakarta: KPG. Brown, Percy. 1942. Indian Architecture (Buddhist and Hindu period). 2nd edition. Bombay: D.B. Taraporevala Sons & Co. Butzer, Karl W. 1980. ‘Context in Archaeology: An Alternative Perspective’, Journal of Field Archaeology 7/4 (Winter): 417–422.

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de Casparis, Johannes G. 1956. Selected Inscriptions from the 7th to the 9th Century A.D. (Prasasti Indonesia II). Bandung: Masa Baru. Degroot, Véronique. 2013. Magical Prambanan. Prambanan: PT Taman Wisata Candi Borobudur, Prambanan & Ratu Boko. Hooykaas, Christiaan. 1958.  ‘From Lĕnṅkā to Ayodhyā by Puṣpaka, being the Old-Javanese Rāmāyaṇa sarga XXV mainly’, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 114: 359–383. Jansen, Berthe. 2018. The Monastery Rules: Buddhist Monastic Organization in Pre-Modern Tibet. California: University of California Press. Jordaan, Roy E. 1997. ‘Tara and Nyai Lara Kidul: Images of the Divine Feminine in Java’, Asian Folklore Studies 456/2: 285–312. Jordaan, Roy E. and Robert Wessing. 1996. ‘Human Sacrifice at Prambanan’, Bijdragen tot de taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 152/1: 45–73. . ‘The Tārā temple of Kalasan in Central Java’, Bulletin de l’École française d'Extrême-Orient 85: 163–183. Klokke, Marijke. 2008. ‘The Buddhist Temples of the Sailendra Dynasty in Central Java’, Arts Asiatiques 63: 154–167.

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Leah, Neil (ed.). 2002. Rethinking Architecture. London: Routledge. Mimi Savitri. 2019. ‘Taman sīma pada prāsāda di Gunung Hyang (Jawa abad IX M)’, Naditira Widya 13/1: 13–24. Mundardjito. 2002. Pertimbangan ekologis penempatan situs masa Hindu-Buda di daerah Yogyakarta. Jakarta: Wedatama Widya Sastra. Ninie Susanti. 2010. Airlangga: Biografi raja pembaru Jawa abad XI. Yogyakarta: Komunitas Bambu. Poerbatjaraka. 1952. Riwajat Indonesia I. Jakarta: Yayasan Pembangunan Djakarta. Riboet Darmosoetopo. 2003. Sima dan bangunan keagamaan di Jawa abad IX–X TU. Yogyakarta: Penerbit Prana Pena. et al. 2012. Kajian koleksi darpana perunggu & prasasti Jurungan. Yogyakarta: Pemerintah Daerah Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta. Soekmono. 1988. Pengantar sejarah kebudayaan Indonesia 2. Yogyakarta: Kanisius. . 1995. The Javanese Candi: Function and Meaning. Leiden/New York/Köln: E.J. Brill. Wisseman Christie, Jan. 2000. Register of the Inscription of Java from 732 to 1060 A.D. Part I: 732 to 898 A.D. Consultation Draft.

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Chapter 8

Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan1 Roy E. Jordaan

1.

introduction

thereof) as his corpse lying in state on what looks like a funeral pyre. he central figure in this chapter is Sītā as Next is the problem of the identification of the depicted in the Rāmāyaṇa bas-reliefs on the attending women. Contrary to what is commonly inner side of the balustrade wall enclosing assumed, it may not only concern Queen Manthe ambulatories of the three main shrines of the dodarī and Rāvaṇa’s other queen-consorts. Because temple complex of Candi Prambanan. One of the of the connection with the immediately preceding riddles that Sītā presents us with at this temple site relief, which shows Sītā in the presence of Queen is her background, that is to say her birth and par- Mandodarī, it does not seem unlikely that Sītā had entage. This matter appears to be particularly rele- joined these mourning women. But if this suppovant for the interpretation of the twelfth bas-relief sition holds true, how should Sītā’s presence near scene on the Brahmā temple, which shows Rāvaṇa’s the body of her abductor and constant tormentor corpse surrounded by a few women. The caption be explained? In what personal relationship, if any, with the photograph taken by H. Leydie Melville are they represented in this relief? around 1900 reads ‘Lamentation of Rawana by his Perusal of the literature shows that in numerwife Mandodari’ (see Fig. 8.1). This caption as well ous post-Vālmīki tellings, Sītā is represented as as the subsequent descriptions of the scene seems the daughter of Rāvaṇa with his main consort to me to fall short. For instance, unlike what some Mandodarī. This representation is known among researchers write about the relief, it is not so much widely separated peoples in countries like Tibet the death or the killing of Rāvaṇa that is represented and Khotan (Turkmenistan), but also in Myanmar, here (presumably because of the alleged ill effects Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Indonesia (Java, Sunda).2 Also in India, where the Rāma-story originated, this idea is not completely unknown. Indeed, some scholars believe that the original idea was invented by the Jains. Initially it

T

1. This chapter is dedicated to Willem van der Molen in gratitude for his friendship and support to my Java-related investigations. Thanks to John and Mary Brockington for their incisive comments on earlier drafts, and to Robert Wessing for the final editing. Obviously, I alone am to blame for any remaining shortcomings. [Editors’ note: this draft chapter was submitted to the editors by the author just a week before his untimely death. Only minor changes to form, style, and figures’ numbering have been made. Additional comments by the editors are inserted hereafter within square brackets and marked as ‘Eds.’]

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2. See John Brockington’s seminal work on the dissemination and evolution of the Rāma saga, Righteous Rāma (Brockington 1985: 260–306). Lately, the search for relevant publications has been further facilitated by the open access to the exhaustive digital inventory by John and Mary Brockington of the literature about the Rāma story as well as of the numerous distinct narrative motifs therein. The digital archive regarding the development and spread of the Rāma narrative (pre-modern) is accessible through ORA, Oxford University Research Archive (https://ora.ox.ac.uk).

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Fig. 8.1: The wake for Rāvaṇa. (Photograph OD 2319)

was assumed that the Uttarapurāṇa of Guṇabhadra, a Jain text dated to the 8th or 9th century CE, was the origin of all narratives in which Sītā figures as Rāvaṇa’s daughter. Specialists in the field now believe, however, that Guṇabhadra may have taken the account of Sītā’s birth from the Vāsudevahiṇḍi by Saṅghadāsa, another Jain poet, whose work is dated to the end of the 6th century CE.3 But why, given the age and wide distribution of the motif, has this identification of Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s daughter in the bas-reliefs of the Prambanan temple complex never been studied before? This oversight is all the more remarkable given that Sītā’s position as Rāvaṇa’s daughter in the Indo-Malay literature was known to scholars as early as the mid-19th

3. See Bulcke (1952: 112) for the claim about Guṇabhadra’s text being the source of all later tales about Sītā’s kinship to Rāvaṇa. For more about other Jain tellings of the Rāmāyaṇa and the Vāsudevahiṇḍi, see Kulkarni (1959: 296) and De Clercq (2011). As pointed out by De Clercq, not all the Jain versions present Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s daughter.

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century.4 Although in his doctoral thesis W.F. Stutterheim paid some attention to the subject in extant Malay and Javanese Rāma-legends, he did not do so in relation to the Rāma-reliefs of the Hindu-Javanese temples of Prambanan and Panataran, which were the twin foci of his art-historical research.5 As far as Prambanan is concerned this topic has, to the best of my knowledge, only once been mentioned in passing in connection with the eleventh relief of the Brahmā temple (see Fig. 8.8).6 4. See, for instance, Dozon (1846) and Gerth van Wijk (1891). More recently, Noorduyn (1971) devoted a brief discussion to the topic in connection with his discovery of fragments of the Rāmāyaṇa in an Old Sundanese text. 5. See Stutterheim 1989: 74–75, 85–87. Originally published in German in 1925, the English translation of Stutterheim’s path-breaking work was published in New Delhi in 1989. My citations and page references are to the English edition. 6. See Saran and Khanna (2004: 67), who, as we will see later, assume this relief to depict the very first meeting between Sītā and Queen Mandodarī, and of Mandodarī recognizing Sītā as her daughter by the milk that starts to flow from her breasts, as related in the Malay literary version

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Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan This raises the question of whether other clues in some of the preceding reliefs also went unnoticed or were simply ignored. After all, it would not be the first time to see the ‘privileging’ of Vālmīki’s Rāmāyaṇa (hereafter VR) over other recensions in the interpretation of the Rāma-reliefs at Candi Prambanan—sometimes at the expense of more satisfactory descriptions of the reliefs that were the subject of study. Looking back at the preceding narrative reliefs for Sītā’s presence, the first time she is depicted is on the Śiva temple, in the relief that is commonly designated as her syavaṃvara, the archery contest that would decide who was to be her future husband. Stutterheim thought he recognized Sītā’s father, Janaka, among the attending royals, but this identification, as we will see later, seems somewhat prejudiced and also premature as far as his parenthood is concerned—biological or adoptive. This aside, it cannot be deduced from the svayaṃvara relief what Sītā has to do with Rāvaṇa. The question of Sītā’s birth and descent therefore remains unresolved.7 Was this a matter so well-known that it did not need separate depiction? Or are there pertinent clues in relevant reliefs that have thus far been overlooked or whose meanings were not sufficiently understood? As the clues in the Rāmāyaṇa-reliefs about Sītā’s descent cannot be separated from those of Rāma, I will start with the descent of the latter.

rāma’s descent and lineage at prambanan Rāma’s descent is not clearly indicated either, but the first two Rāmāyaṇa-reliefs of the Śiva temple (Figs. 8.1, 8.2a) offer enough clues as to his parentage, even though the gradual clarification of of the Rāma-story. This supposition did not, however, lead to a deeper investigation of this kinship relation and a consideration of the possible implications for the interpretation of other Prambanan reliefs. 7. A summary of the main literary versions of Sītā’s birth and parentage is beyond the scope of this article. Those interested in this topic are referred to the studies by Bulcke (1952), John Brockington (2007), Singaravelu (1982; 2004: 203–219), and De Clercq (2011).

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each relief required the efforts of several dedicated researchers. The first relief shows the god Viṣṇu sitting in half-reclining position on the world snake Śeṣa, floating on the Cosmic Ocean in which various fish and other small sea creatures can be seen. To Viṣṇu’s right is his mount Garuḍa, and to his left a delegation of five figures requesting the god’s help against Rāvaṇa’s misdeeds. From the boon-granting gesture of his left hand it can be deduced that Viṣṇu promises his support. For this purpose he will incarnate in the human being Rāma and fight against Rāvaṇa. Opinions are divided regarding the interpretation of the second relief (Fig. 8.2a). Considering its importance for my own argument, a detailed review of the current interpretations of this relief is warranted. Such review is also called for because none of these interpretations mentions the re-instalment of the long-lost final panel, which depicts a hard to identify human figure with a monkey on his shoulder (see Figs. 8.2a, 8.2b). Whereas I. Groneman thought of a cosy royal family gathering, P.V. van Stein Callenfels more specifically suggested that King Daśaratha was discussing the future marriage of his son with one of his queen-consorts. The hypothetical marriage candidate he assumed to be the woman seated in the background. In the opinion of Stutterheim and J. Kats, however, this woman might also be Daśaratha’s daughter.8 Both researchers believed that the relief represents the announcement of the visit to the royal family by the sage Viśvāmitra, even though the sage himself is not depicted. Viśvāmitra’s request for an audience is to request the King to put his sons at his disposal in order to stop the harassment by demons. A completely different interpretation of the relief is put forward by Cecelia Levin, inspired by V. Raghavan’s remarks about the presence of the bird in the relief’s lower right-hand corner.9 Raghavan associated this bird with the crow that steals one of the magical rice-cakes, which were meant to cause Daśaratha’s wives to bear him sons. Levin suggests that the scene as a whole represents this son-producing sacrifice, known as putreṣṭi-ya8. 9.

Stutterheim 1989: 118; Kats [1925]: n.p. Levin 1999: 171–172; Raghavan 1975: 100.

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Fig. 8.2a: Daśaratha’s family gathering consequent upon the putreṣṭi-yajña. (Photo OD 3468, reproduced from Kats [1925]: Plate II)

Fig. 8.2b: The right-hand relief-panel re-installed: showing a sitting bearded figure with a monkey on his shoulder. (Photo courtesy Jeffrey Sundberg)

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Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan jña or putrīyā iṣṭi, which she sought to connect with the first ritual in the Bālakāṇḍa (sargas 11–13) that had the form of a horse sacrifice (aśvamedha). Furthermore, she thought that the preparations for the ritual were hinted at in the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa kakavin (hereafter OJR).10 In the accompanying note Levin refers to a representation of a horse sacrifice on an Indian temple as a means for Daśaratha’s putreṣṭi.11 The absence of pertinent indications of a horse sacrifice in the Rāma-relief of Prambanan did not deter her from interpreting the relief in terms of this sacrificial ritual, arguing that ‘[r]ituals may have varied from region to region in India and this detail may not have been one known by the Javanese. Moreover, the description of the putreṣṭi ceremony in the OJR makes no reference to a horse’s head, but focuses instead on a description of a series of offerings, ablutions over a statue, and prayers to the god of fire.’12 Saran and Khanna dismiss Levin’s interpretation, arguing that: ‘The conduct of an important sacrifice is hard to divine here as we find no evidence either of the sacred fire or the accoutrements of ritual that are unmistakably portrayed on other such occasions.’13 This looks like a debate at cross purposes. What the Indian scholars have in mind with sacred fire in relation to the present Rāma-relief is the second ritual described in the Bālakāṇḍa (sargas 14–15) which is also connected with the putrīyā iṣṭi. This second ritual consists of a fire sac10. As is known, the OJR is not directly based on VR but on the 7th-century Rāvaṇavadha, better known as the Bhaṭṭikāvya, a recreation of Vālmīki’s text by the poet Bhaṭṭi who had particular literary-educational purposes in mind with his work. [Eds.: for a recent edition and translation of the OJR, see Kern and van der Molen 2015 and Robson 2015.] 11. According to John Brockington, who was so kind to check Levin’s references, the figure with the ‘horse-head’ on the Indian temple in question may well have been confused with Ṛṣyaśṛṅga, legendary son of an ascetic father and deer mother, who is commonly and appropriately shown with a deer’s head. Considering further that the Indian representation is part of the putreṣṭi (not the aśvamedha), Levin appears to have conflated the two rituals (John Brockington, personal communication). 12. Levin 1999: 226, n. 1. [Eds.: For a translation of this passage of the OJR (1.21–31), see Robson 2015: 36–38.] 13. Saran and Khanna 2004: 85, n. 14.

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rifice in which a mysterious figure emerges from the flames, holding a bowl of pāyasa, a sweet of milk and rice, that is parcelled out among Daśaratha’s wives as a fructifying porridge.14 Because of the absence of evidence of such a fire sacrifice in the relief in question, Saran and Khanna prefer Stutterheim’s and Kats’ interpretation of the announcement of Viśvāmitra’s visit to Daśaratha’s court. A weak point in this interpretation, however, is not only the absence of Viśvāmitra in this relief, but also that it largely coincides with the next relief, representing the sage’s visit itself, and therefore seems superfluous. Considering the limited space available to the sculptors for depicting the Rāma-story at Candi Prambanan, the use of a large separate relief scene comprising three panels solely for the purpose of the anticipated visit would, in my opinion, have taken up too much precious space. But there are also substantial objections to be raised against Saran and Khanna’s reasoning. For one thing it seems unwarranted to extrapolate the absence of indications for the fire sacrifice to the claim that no ritual items are shown in the relief at all. Stutterheim’s early description shows that more is to be seen in the relief than Saran and Khanna want us to believe, such as the objects on the decorated tray on the ground in the middle of the relief that Stutterheim tentatively linked to a flower offering in connection with Viśvāmitra’s visit.15 It seems a valid question therefore whether another interpretation is conceivable for this flower offering. This also holds for the interpretation of what is visible in the right-hand section of the relief: a squatting figure, presumably a gatekeeper, in the opening of a door of an inner gate, who looks in the direction of the above-mentioned bird. Stutterheim’s description—‘in the foreground is a big bird with a long beak [that] is drinking (?) from a vessel, in which there are some plants’—is 14. Among the Rāma-reliefs of the Amṛteśvara temple at Amṛtapura, a Hoysaḷa temple from the 12th century, is a relief that represents the putriyā iṣṭi in which this mysterious figure is actually depicted as standing in the fire and offering a bowl to the keeper, who instructs the king to distribute the pāyasa among his queens (see Evans 1997: 42, Fig. 8). 15. Stutterheim 1989: 116.

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open to improvement. A closer look reveals that rather than a vase it concerns a small square chest or a basket.16 Moreover, the bird is not drinking, but seems to be rooting in the basket with its beak—presumably in search for something edible; something that can also be deduced from the interest shown in the basket’s contents by a tame mongoose. What Sutterheim took for plants could be the beak and the wing of yet another bird, but because of the damage to this part of the relief this cannot be determined with certainty on the basis of extant photographs of the former Dutch Indies Archaeological Service. Next is the question of the identification of the male figure with curly hair seated to the right of the basket. Dwelling on conjectural remarks about the import of ‘Negro’ slaves in ancient Java, Stutterheim deemed it possible that it depicted a ‘Negro’ slave, or a tribesman from the Indian interior who supposedly could also have Negroid traits. But he admitted that he could not explain the figure’s presence in the relief. On the basis of the re-installed relief section that had long been thought lost, it now turns out that it does not concern one sitting male figure, but two. Thanks to the panel’s being less weathered, the curly hair of this second figure is clearer than that of his companion, as are his beard and arm bracelet. On his shoulder sits a monkey that seems to be scratching himself. All this supplementary iconographic information, however, does not help to resolve the question of the identity of the two male figures. Speculatively one could venture the suggestion of an artist duo considering the tame mongoose and the monkey in their company. Whether or not the two men in question also have something to do with the bird is impossible to say for want of any surviving tales about the presence of an artist duo during the putreṣṭi ceremony. The reason that Levin’s interpretation of the relief is not satisfactory is that she tries to connect the putreṣṭi-yajña with the aśvamedha, the first 16. [Eds.: the word in the original publication by Stutterheim, rendered by the author as ‘vessel’ and ‘vase’, is Behälter, i.e. a ‘container, case, receptacle, box’ for the storage of both liquid and non-liquid substances.]

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ritual mentioned in the Bālakāṇḍa, rather than following Raghavan’s original idea which was phrased as follows: ‘it strikes me that the correct identification of [the scene] is that it is the performance of sacrifices for the birth of sons to Daśaratha and a crow carrying part of the cakes intended for Daśaratha’s Queens to Lanka, as found in some other S.E. Asian versions.’17 Although Levin did connect Raghavan’s crow with the bird Gāgak Svāra figuring in the hikayats, meaning the 13th to 17th-century Malay literary versions of the Rāma-story, she did not consider the information about the theft of the rice-cakes. The Roorda van Eysinga edition of the Hikayat Sәri Rama [hereafter HSR] connects the mischievous behaviour of the crow with Rāvaṇa, the demon ruler and Rāma’s future opponent.18 It concerns the passage about Rāma’s birth and descent that has been usefully summarized by Zieseniss: Since King Daśaratha has no sons he calls in the help of the priest Mahārisī, who orders him to prepare a sacrificial ceremony. A few days later, the priest arrives in a flying chariot to conduct the ceremony. This happening is witnessed by Gāgak Svāra, Rāvaṇa’s grandfather in the form of a crow, who decides to use the ceremony for the benefit of Rāvaṇa by stealing one of the three rice-balls that were meant for Daśaratha’s chief queen. The priest curses him for the mischievous act and predicts that Rāvaṇa will die at the hands of Daśaratha’s son and that the child born from the stolen rice-ball will become the wife of the latter. After some time Daśaratha’s sons are born: Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa 17. Raghavan 1975: 100–101. 18. It should be noted that the Shellabear edition of the HSR, which is dated to the 17th century, follows a different tradition in which Daśaratha receives four bezoar stones from a maharṣi as means to enhance the fertility of his two wives. Since the rice-balls and the theft of one of these by a crow are missing from this edition, my discussion will focus on the story-line of the Roorda van Eysinga manuscript. Although copied at a later moment than the Shellabear manuscript, the Roorda recension is much older and can be traced back to the 13th century. For more information on the different recensions of the HSR, see Zieseniss (1963: 179–180), Barrett (1963), Brakel (1980), and Achadiati Ikram (1980).

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Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan with his chief queen, and the sons Bharata and Śatrughna, and a daughter Kīkevī Devī, with his younger wife.19

In connection with the rice-balls, the crow-like bird standing on the basket with the food should, I think, be interpreted as an iconological clue, derived from the Rāma-story that was followed by the Prambanan sculptors.20 This text was neither VR nor the OJR, as the intrusion by the crow during the putreṣṭi is missing there, while six rice-balls or rice-cakes in a box or basket is obviously not the same thing as rice-porridge served in a bowl. Besides, in VR and the OJR King Daśaratha has three queen-consorts, while at Prambanan, as I will argue shortly, only two wives are depicted, which is in consonance with the tradition preserved in the HSR. In Vālmīki’s telling, each of the three queens receive a different amount of the pāyasa while in the HSR the two queens (whose divergent names and fates will be discussed later) receive an equal amount, that is three rice-balls each. The theft of part of the pāyasa by a crow is not mentioned in VR or in the OJR. The interpretation of the bird’s behaviour sheds a new light on the relief as a whole. In my opinion, the scene is synoptic in the sense that temporally separated but mutually related events in the original story are collated in the relief as if they happened simultaneously. Obviously, this set-up only succeeds if the designers could assume that the audience or rather viewers were sufficiently familiar with the version of the story that they had to visualize.21 ‘Implied narrative’ is one of the means used in this endeavour, which Levin has described as the selection of particular infor-

19. Zieseniss 1963: 13–14, abbreviations expanded; compare Barrett 1963: 541–542. Note that in this telling Mandodarī (not Kausalyā) is Daśaratha’s chief wife and not Rāvaṇa’s, something I will return to later. Baliadari, Daśaratha’s second wife in the HSR, should be identified with Kaikeyī, his junior queen in VR. Daśaratha’s third wife, Sumitrā, does not figure in the Malay telling. 20. Notice worthy is that the base of the food basket is decorated with six round balls, thus matching the number of rice-balls of the HSR. 21. For this assumption, see Levin (1999: 157) and Mary Brockington (2012: 204).

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mation to imply an incident or dialogue.22 In the relief in question the presence of the bird is used to refer to the performance of the putreṣṭi-yajña and simultaneously to show that the fertility ritual had been effective and that the two wives of King Daśaratha had borne him four sons. Moreover, the sons are represented as adults. They can be seen sitting together on the ground against the background of a heavily damaged horse. Rāma is recognizable by his high crown (mukuṭa), his brothers by their decorated headbands, each with his hair tied into a bun underneath. Behind the horse is an elephant. On account of the bell on the animal’s neck and the decorations on its forehead and body, Stutterheim thought that it was a royal elephant. Immediately to the left is a female figure whose identity is unclear. Stutterheim and Kats believed her to be a daughter of King Daśaratha, but this seems unlikely to me considering her more elevated seating position in relation to Daśaratha’s sons.23 That she must be a woman of royal standing is evident from her jewellery and caste cord. In view of the absence of a crown and the distance from the king, I believe her to be Kaikeyī, his junior queen, while the other crowned female figure, sitting closer to the King, should be identified as Kausalyā, his chief wife. Although the unidentified female figure is so heavily damaged that a direct identification is impossible, I do think there is more to say in favour of identifying her as Kaikeyī than as Kīkevī Devī. First, because of the hierarchical-generational distinction that separates her from Daśaratha’s sons (including her own children Bharata and Śatrughna) and second because of her placement near the elephant. This last cannot be coincidental because in the HSR it is said of Baliadara (who should be identified with Kaikeyī in VR) that she saved the life of the king when during a tour around the city he would have 22. See Levin 1999: 136–141. 23. Here I take the opportunity to renounce my earlier reliance on Stutterheim and Kats in identifying the woman in question as Daśaratha’s daughter. Consequently, my own association of the female royal figure in the sixteenth relief of the Brahmā temple with this daughter can no longer be maintained (see Jordaan 2011: 195–196). Rather it is Kaikeyī who is persuading King Daśaratha to appoint Bharata as the successor to his throne.

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Fig. 8.3: Viśvāmitra’s court visit. (Photo OD 3469, reproduced from Kats [1925]: Plate III)

fallen from his elephant had she not supported his palanquin, breaking her arm in the process. The identification proposed here implies that Kaikeyī’s daughter, Kīkevī Devī (who should also have been seated in a lower position), is not represented in the relief. If my identification of the second royal female figure as Kaikeyī is correct, it is not only Kīkevī Devī who is absent but also Sumitrā, the king’s third queen-consort. This inference, as we will see below, has repercussions for the current interpretation of the next relief, which shows Viśvāmitra’s visit to Daśaratha’s court to solicit Rāma’s help against the rākṣasa who are wreaking havoc in his hermitage (see Fig. 8.3).

viśvāmitra’s visit to daśaratha’s court According to van Stein Callenfels the figure seated in elevated position in the middle of the relief should be identified as Viśvāmitra, while King Daśaratha and his three queen-consorts sit respectfully to his right. In Stutterheim’s more detailed analysis the two figures with the ‘spiral crowns’ on Daśaratha’s right are identified as Kaikeyī and Sumitrā, while the other woman with the ‘usual [royal] head-dress’ on his left is Kausalyā. Seated

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on the ground on Viśvāmitra’s left are some of the sage’s disciples. In the background two curlyhaired servants try to rein in two prancing horses. Considering that Stutterheim’s analysis has never been questioned, we may assume that it now represents the communis opinio among art historians. I beg to differ, however. Before proceeding, let us bear in mind that Stutterheim himself was aware that the representation is not in consonance with VR, in which Daśaratha is accompanied by his family priest rather than by his wives. As it is clear that VR is not followed here, the question arises why Daśaratha should all of a sudden be accompanied by his three wives. In the previous relief Stutterheim had identified only one wife, the chief queen Kausalyā. The identification of the second female figure as Kaikeyī is my own proposal, based on the information preserved in the HSR. Contrary to van Stein Callenfels and Stutterheim, I think that the same two wives accompany Daśaratha during Viśvāmitra’s court visit. It is far from obvious that the figure in the middle (immediately to Daśaratha’s right) represents Sumitrā, if indeed the figure is that of a woman. Stutterheim makes light of this gender identification by reminding us of what he had pejoratively dubbed Groneman’s ‘breast theory’, but comparison of the middle figure’s breasts with

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Fig. 8.4: Bharata’s consecration (left) and Rāma’s departure for exile (right) Seated on the platform in the middle are Kaikeyī, Kausalyā and Daśaratha, whose postures indicate the differential impact of the two related events. (Photo courtesy Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

those of Viśvāmitra’s disciples leaves ample room for doubt.24 Couldn’t the figure be Rāma? Honesty compels me to say that my alternative identification as Rāma cannot be demonstrated directly, because not only the breasts but also the crowns and the royal figures’ jewellery hardly differ from each other.25 Yet if we leave out the breasts, crowns and jewellery from further consideration for their liability to subjective appraisals, there are two arguments in favour of identifying the figure in the middle as Rāma. 24. In the first Rāma-relief (Fig. 8.1) Groneman had Daśaratha’s family identified with the group of five persons who sought Viṣṇu’s help against Rāvaṇa, an identification based mainly on the slightly pronounced breasts of some of these persons that he attributed to the infertility of Daśaratha’s wives. Stutterheim’s amended identification of these persons as male ascetics may be true of the first relief, but ironically leaves open the possibility that in the second relief (Fig. 8.2a) exactly the same thing is the case, and that the alleged queen Sumitrā is in fact Prince Rāma. Aside from the comparison with the breasts of the male disciples of Viśvāmitra, I would like to point to Rāma’s pronounced breasts in the third relief (Fig. 8.2b) which depicts him killing the rākṣasī Tāṭakā. The overall resemblance of the two Rāmas is so striking that the execution may well have been the work of the same artisan. 25. The seeming arbitrariness in the display of crowns and halos of the main figures in the Rāma-story has been repeatedly observed by previous researchers, among whom Vogel (1921: 214, n. 1), Stutterheim (1989: 117, 231, n. 518), and Levin (1999: 130).

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The first argument concerns the number of Daśaratha’s wives at Candi Prambanan. Here I would like to call attention to the eleventh relief on the Śiva temple, which depicts the distressed atmosphere prevailing at Daśaratha’s court when Rāma, Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa go into exile (see Fig. 8.4, centre). We can see the king and his wife Kausalyā sitting on an elevated platform, stooped and with their faces turned downwards, literally beaten down by sorrow. What has thus far escaped attention is the other woman on the same platform, sitting upright and looking back at the previous scene with an intent expression. In my opinion, sitting on the same platform as the king and queen, this can only be Kaikeyī, and not a servant. The figure’s body language strengthens this identification, for rather than being despondent Kaikeyī had every reason to rejoice at Rāma’s departure as this was part of her plan to have her own son Bharata mount the throne.26 A third wife, Sumitrā, 26. Considering that Kaikeyī is looking intently in the direction of what is generally taken for the festivities attending the consecration of a prince as yuvarāja (prince regent), I concur with Stutterheim’s suggestion that it concerns the consecration of her son Bharata, and not Rāma as was later proposed by Saran and Khanna (2004: 43). A look at the balustrade wall shows that the scenes in question are joined and should not therefore be interpreted in isolation but as coherent parts in which Bharata’s consecration (who is seconded by his brother Śatrughna) is logically linked

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is nowhere to be seen, which supports my claim that Daśaratha at Prambanan only has two wives: Kausalyā and Kaikeyī. The second argument concerns Rāma’s presence during Viśvāmitra’s court visit, which, as said, was to solicit Daśaratha’s sons help against the demons. Considering that in the previous relief Rāma is represented as an adult man (contrary to VR, where he is still a boy wearing side-locks, as befits his status), I find it improbable that as the mature person directly involved he would not have been present during the deliberations. What remains to be discussed in the second relief are the two horses in the background. I take their prancing and the efforts of the grooms to rein them in as an indication of Viśvāmitra’s recent arrival at Daśaratha’s court. Considering that his conveyance was a flying chariot drawn by divine horses, the Javanese artisans may have opted for the image of frenzied horses to give an approximate indication of the swiftness of Daśaratha’s arrival. Levin, on the other hand, connects the two horses with the imminent departure of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, but fails to notice the incongruity of Lakṣmaṇa’s absence in the present relief. The latter only appears in the next relief, but there we see him and Rāma setting out on foot.

sītā’s birth and descent On the basis of the first two reliefs on the Śiva temple we have come to see Rāma as an incarnation of the god Viṣṇu, an insight that facilitates our understanding of Rāma’s heroic deeds in the subsequent narrative reliefs at Prambanan. Not so with Sītā. Without information about her birth and descent, the current interpretations of the reliefs in which she figures have come to reveal so many problematic aspects that it seems worth delving deeper into the meaning of the iconological clues of the crow and the rice-balls during the putreṣṭi ceremony. The primary aim of this investigation is to find a plausible explanation for Sītā’s presence at Rāvaṇa’s funeral gathering. In fact, the re-interpretation of the relevant reliefs following Daśaratha’s both with Kaikeyī’s, Kausalyā’s, and Daśaratha’s different postures and with Rāma’s departure from court (see Fig. 8.4).

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putreṣṭi amounts to a test of the hypothesis that Sītā is Rāvaṇa’s daughter in the visual Rāmāyaṇa of Candi Prambanan. It may be recalled that Gāgak Svāra, the demon in the form of a crow, stole one of the six rice-balls for the benefit of Rāvaṇa, his grandchild. His intention, however, was thwarted by the officiating priest’s curse to the effect that the person who ate from the stolen rice-ball would die at the hands of the spouse of the future child. The story then continues as follows: after receiving the rice-ball from Gāgak Svāra, Rāvaṇa eats the ball himself instead of giving it to his wife (as did Daśaratha). Sītā is born as the daughter of Rāvaṇa. Seen from a structuralist perspective this is an inversion: because the riceballs should have been eaten by a woman in order to produce sons, the consumption of the rice-ball by Rāvaṇa for ‘mytho-logical’ reasons had to result in the opposite, namely the birth of a daughter. This information in the Roorda van Eysinga edition of the HSR would have sufficed to explain Sītā’s birth if the person who first wrote down the tale in Malay-Arabic script had not interrupted the flow of the original birth-story by inserting a new section. He presumably thought this necessary in order to bring the story in harmony with the doctrines of Islam, which were increasingly foregrounded in Indo-Malay society from the 13th to the 17th century.27 In summary, the text fragment runs as follows: After Daśaratha’s chief wife, here called Mandodarī, gives birth to Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, 27. See also, for instance, Stutterheim 1989: 71; Barrett 1963; Hussein 1980: 144; Achadiati Ikram 1980: 84. I think that Amin Sweeney (1987: 26) exaggerates when he calls the HSR in its extant form a Muslim work. The Roorda van Eysinga manuscript clearly represents a treatise that was still in the process of becoming one. The unfinished character of the makeover is not only reflected in deliberate excisions and forced adjustments of offensive Hindu-Buddhist notions (such as polytheism and ideas about transmigration, incarnation, and salvation), but also helps to explain the occasional interjection by the author of cautionary notes like ‘Allah knows best whether this narration is true.’ This very interjection is used in the discussion of the causeway episode (see Jordaan 2011: 202) and appears to be quite specific and should, therefore, not be confused with the more common pious Islamic expressions and stock phrases such as ‘only Allah is perfect and all-knowing’.

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Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan rumors reach Rāvaṇa about her extraordinary beauty. He decides to pay Daśaratha a visit and claim Mandodarī for his own on account of his position as overlord. Daśaratha cannot but comply with this demand. Mandodarī, however, persuades her husband to request a few days of respite from Rāvaṇa. In the meantime, and without their knowledge, Mandodarī creates a replica of herself, who is named Mandudaki. Rāvaṇa takes this double back to Lanka. When Daśaratha discovers his wife’s trick he decides to follow Rāvaṇa in disguise. In Lanka he secretly gains access to Rāvaṇa’s female quarters and is the first to have sexual intercourse with Mandudaki, the pseudo-Mandodarī. Sometime after her marriage to Rāvaṇa, Mandudaki gives birth to a daughter who we will later come to know as Sītā.28

Three arguments can be advanced for regarding this text fragment as an interpolation. First, the observation made by Bulcke and others that nowhere in the Indian Rāma tales is Mandodarī ever represented as Daśaratha’s wife, nor did he ever get her from Rāvaṇa.29 As for the reason of this adaptation, Barrett has noted that ‘The incident occurs nowhere outside the HSR and the [Javanese] Serat Kanda, and has evidently been inserted by someone who does not want the heroine to be born to the villain!’30 Barrett goes further in this than Bulcke, who did not so much think of the pseudo-Mandodarī’s fecundation as her defloration lest Rāvaṇa find out that she no longer was a virgin, which is in fact the reason given in the Serat Kanda text.31 The second argument is based on Achadiati Ikram’s finding that in the manuscripts of the HSR that she researched the text fragment in question is both confused and confusing, and does not seem to have a clear function within the overall structure of the story. Thus it appears that the name Mandudaki is not used equivocally: whereas one version does not refer to Mandudaki at all and only vaguely 28. Zieseniss 1963: 15–16. 29. Rather than an interpolation, Bulcke (1952: 117) refers to the text fragment as ‘cette histoire très bizarre’. 30. Barrett 1963: 542, n. 1. 31. See Stutterheim 1989: 59.

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to ‘a woman’, the other manuscripts not only do not use the name consistently but in the course of their telling they all come to speak of Sītā as Mandodarī’s child.32 The third and decisive reason to assume that the text fragment about Mandudaki was not found in the proto-HSR, and that Queen Mandodarī was simply Rāvaṇa’s wife, is the existence of yet another Southeast Asian version in which a crow steals one of Daśaratha’s rice-cakes. This is the Rāmakīen, a late-18th century Thai rendition of the Rāma-story.33 In spite of the evident adaptations of the personal names and various other adjustments and insertions, the original storyline can still be discerned.34 Abbreviated to the barest essentials, the Thai rendition goes as follows: Kalaikot [=Ṛṣyaśṛṅga] takes the lead in organising the son-producing ceremony. Fires are kindled under the cooking pots and the holy rice begins to cook. The food smells delicious and its odour drifts throughout the countryside, even as far as Laṅkā. Smelling the food, Nang Monto [=Mandodarī] becomes very hungry and tells Totsakan [=Rāvaṇa] that he must get her some of the food. He sent for the Queen of the crows, who flies off to Ayutaya [=Ayodhyā], stealing a piece of the holy rice that Nang Monto eats herself [not Rāvana, as in the HSR]. Nang Monto begets a daughter. Scarcely has she been born or the child cries three times ‘Death to the demons’ Totsakan has the child’s horoscope cast, whereby it is learned that she would bring great misfortune on the demons. Totsakan has the child thrown into the river enclosed in a glass jar. Eventually the child is saved and adopted by Chanok [=Janaka], who gives her the name of Sang Sida [=Sītā].

The reason to break off this excerpt from the much younger and hybrid Thai telling at this point is that what follows (as in the HSR and Serat Kanda) proves to be of little or no help for interpreting the sixth bas-relief on the Śiva temple that is known as Sītā’s svayaṃvara: the election of her marriage 32. Achadiati Ikram 1980: 31–33. 33. For more on the compilation of the Rāmakīen, see Velder (1968: 35–37). 34. Olsson 1968: 65–69.

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Fig. 8.5: Sītā’s svayaṃvara. (Reproduced from Kats [1925]: Plate VI)

partner on the basis of an archery contest. The svayaṃvara, as said, is the first relief in which Sītā appears at Candi Prambanan and the first time she meets Rāma in person (see Fig. 8.5).

sītā’s svayaṃvara Represented within the framework of this long relief is the introduction to and Rāma’s actual involvement in the archery contest. In the first two panels of the relief we see Viśvāmitra, Lakṣmaṇa, Rāma, and King Janaka seated together under the roof of an open pavilion. They are most likely discussing Rāma’s participation in the contest. Rāma can be identified with the person who has his arms across his breast, which Sutterheim took as a gesture of agreement that he would try his luck with the bow. Alternatively, it could represent Rāma preparing himself mentally for the challenge. In the next section we see Rāma successfully shooting an arrow into the air, assisted by Lakṣmaṇa who holds the tip of the bow. Looking on at Rāma’s achievement is Sītā who is accompanied by two women. Previous researchers were cognizant of the fact that the representation of the svayaṃvara differs from Vālmīki’s description in which the huge bow breaks apart when Rāma strings it. Another divergence is the presence of

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Sītā’s two female companions, who cannot be identified as maidservants in view of their crowns and clothing (as was already argued by Stutterheim against van Stein Callenfels). The identification as servants seems more apt for the bare-chested men sitting on the ground behind Viśvāmitra. What interests us here in particular is the identification of the royal figure sitting behind and to the left of Rāma (right underneath the two pigeons on the roof) as King Janaka. In my opinion, Stutterheim stretches the truth when he writes that this figure’s crown is of a ‘totally different kind’ than the other crowns, both in the present relief and in the preceding and succeeding reliefs, and that the royal figure should therefore be identified as Janaka, the foreign king on account of this differently looking crown. This is the reason that I find Stutterheim’s identification plausible, be it somewhat circular and tendentious. Of more importance, however, is that it cannot be deduced from Janaka’s presence whether he was Sītā’s adoptive father, as is taken for granted in the literature about this relief. The scene does not offer any obvious visual clues to Sītā’s parentage, except perhaps her two female companions. Stutterheim suggests that these might represent Sītā’s sisters, noting at the same time that the epic makes no mention of two sisters. To Stutterheim this was a trivial matter, saying that ‘such a deviation from Vālmīki’s epic need not worry us too much as there

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Fig. 8.6: Strategic deliberations between Sugrīva and Rāma (left); Hanumān causing disturbance in Laṅkā (right). (Reproduced from Kats [1925]: Plate XXXIV)

are so many other deviations.’35 Regrettably, I have not succeeded in finding a Rāma-story in which two princesses act as Sītā’s companions during her svayaṃvara. As far as is known, Sītā has just one sister, Urmilā, who may or may not have been married to Lakṣmaṇa, but otherwise remains an enigmatic personage.

at Kiṣkindhā. Stutterheim’s description refers to five women, whom he places into two distinct categories and describes as follows: ‘Three women are seated, one behind the other, with the hairdo becoming progressively less ornamented.’ While van Stein Callenfels assumed them to be monkey queens, Stutterheim tentatively identified them as ‘Tārā, Vālin’s and now Sugrīva’s spouse, and two other women of lesser rank but they are not supfrom kiṣkindhā to hanumān’s search posed to have any relationship with Rāma.’36 These latter two women, he thought to be just servants: for sītā in laṅkā ‘A curly-haired maidservant facing the other side. The next relevant relief section to be reviewed was She makes a horrified gesture and is striking with until very recently seen as a stopgap scene of the a twig of leaves. Below a second maid-servant.’ 34th relief on the Śiva temple that depicts the deLevin’s description is as follows: ‘Sugrīwa, liberations about the strategy to be followed in the surrounded by his armies and wives, apologizsearch for Sītā, between Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa on es to Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa’, to which she adds: the one hand, and Sugrīva and his monkey officers ‘While Sugrīwa addresses Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa on the other (see Fig. 8.6). two female servants scold a monkey.’37 It is evident Groneman thought that this final relief section from her analysis that Levin situates the scene shows Hanumān’s arrival in Laṅkā after his jump in the monkey kingdom of Kiṣkindhā, and that across the sea passage. He identified the two she takes the women to be monkeys, saying ‘one squatting young women in the foreground as Sītā of Sugrīwa’s wives scolds a monkey, a biological and Trijaṭā, the other two standing figures in the relative of her husband, for defecating on the roof background as rākṣasa women. Contrary to this, of a building.’38 van Stein Callenfels, Stutterheim, and Kats considered the right-hand scene to only be a stopgap, depicting a comic incident in the monkey palace 36. Ibid.: 140. 35. Stutterheim 1989: 121.

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37. Levin 1999: 323. 38. Ibid.: 155.

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In my opinion, Saran and Khanna’s interpretation (in which Groneman’s and Stutterheim’s ideas are combined) cuts more ice and is a step forward in the iconographic analysis of the scene. They hold that the right-hand scene depicts the beginning of Hanumān’s search in Laṅkā: Hanuman arrives in Lanka, in the garden where Sita is imprisoned. He seems to be stealing two mangoes, defecates on the roof-top and is caught in this act by an irate rakshasa woman who throws up her hands in disgust as she angrily shoos away the thief. Seeing the commotion another rakshasa woman points him out to Sita. Here we have the resulting effect of an action being portrayed before its cause. This episode is not mentioned in the Valmiki Ramayana, but the Hikayat Seri Rama describes an incident in which Sita presents Hanuman with two delicious mangoes from Ravana’s garden. However, in our relief Hanuman has not yet met Sita. Once again we have the Javanese sculptors recording some incident popular then, which was re-interpreted several centuries later in the Hikayat Seri Rama.39

In spite of the progress their interpretation represents, Saran and Khanna’s description is open to further improvement. As I see it, the lower seated rākṣasī is doing the very opposite of pointing at Hanumān: the fingers of both her hands unmistakably point at Sītā. This can be taken as an attempt to direct Hanumān’s attention towards the searched-for princess. The act of this rākṣasī proves that the scene is set in Laṅkā, and not in the monkey’s palace in Kiṣkindhā as Levin and others assumed (except Groneman). Moreover, given that this rākṣasī looks younger and friendlier than the ugly twig-wielding female demon, I am inclined to identify her as Trijaṭā who sided with Sītā during her imprisonment. Oddly enough Saran and Khanna do not say anything about the woman wearing a crown who is seated right behind Sītā, or about the third woman, who, barely visible stands at the back with both arms raised in the air. This is presumably another irritated rākṣasī. But who is the second woman? Just like Sītā she wears a crown, earrings and a necklace, 39. Saran and Khanna 2004: 56.

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which mark her as a royal person, either a princess or a queen. Her and Sītā’s response, dignified and self-effacing, suits their station—how otherwise should royals behave when confronted with a mischievous monkey who is openly defecating on their rooftop? The unidentified lady has her right-hand on top of Sitā’s shoulder as if to reassure her. I venture to suggest that it is Mandodarī, Rāvaṇa’s chief queen. If this is correct, she enters the stage much earlier, that is to say on the Śiva temple rather than on the Brahmā temple, as Saran and Khanna suggest (who have, as said, the first and only meeting between Sītā and Mandodarī take place in the eleventh relief of the Brahmā temple). What can be upheld is their explanation for Mandodarī’s recognition of Sītā as her daughter, namely the milk that spontaneously oozes from her breasts as is told in the Hikayat.40

hanumān’s meeting sītā in the aśoka-grove Unlike the previous researchers, I believe that Queen Mandodarī is also represented in the relief that depicts Hanumān’s meeting with Sītā in the Aśoka-grove (see Fig. 8.7). To demonstrate the plausibility of this contention, I first have to point out the problems with the current interpretations, particularly those pertaining to the identity of the second crowned woman who stands next to Sītā in the first of the two relief-sections (Figs. 8.7a, 8.7b). Van Stein Callenfels writes of a servant drawing Sītā’s attention to Hanumān, hiding in a thicket, but does not mention the second crowned woman. The woman sitting next to Sītā in the right-hand section he identified as Kalā, whom he represents as Vibhīṣaṇa’s daughter. Stutterheim, on the other hand, refers to the two crowned women in the first part (Fig. 8.7a) as Sītā and Trijaṭā. He suggests that Trijaṭā is dressed as a royal lady because as 40. Another earlier example from the HSR is the milk oozing from the breasts of Mahārisī Kali’s wife, which the woman took for a sign that she should raise the abandoned child as her own (see Zieseniss 1963: 17). Possibly these examples are akin or hark back to an Indian folk-belief that a cow spontaneously secretes milk on seeing her own calf (see Brockington and Brockington 2006: 393, n. 13).

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Fig. 8.7: Meeting between Sītā and Hanumān in the Aśoka-grove. (Reproduced from Kats [1925]: Plate XXXV)

Fig. 8.7a: Sītā caressing Trijaṭā’s head (particular of Fig. 8.7)

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Fig. 8.7b: A reciprocal sign of intimacy: Trijatā’s hand on Sītā’s hip (particular of Fig. 8.7)

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Vibhīṣaṇa’s alleged daughter she is of royal descent. For this reason he could not support van Stein Callenfels’ identification of the curly-haired woman in the second part (Fig. 8.7b) as Kalā (whose name he ‘read’ or re-interpreted as Trijaṭā). Next, Kats proposed a compromise of sorts by taking the woman in the first part for a female slave and identifying the other crowned companion as Trijaṭā. Kats continued the identification of the woman in the second part as Kalā. In their separate discussions of the relief under review, Jan Fontein (1997) and Levin do not offer any useful new insights. Saran and Khanna, finally, refer to the two women in the first part as, respectively, a ‘companion’ of Sītā and a female attendant, and to the women in the second part as Sītā and her companion Trijaṭā. What remains unclear is whether it concerns two different companions or the same one, Trijaṭā. In my opinion, the intimate gesture of Sītā’s hand on the female attendant’s head in the first part and the reciprocal sign of intimacy of the female attendant’s hand on Sītā’s hip in the second part provide the clue for resolving this double riddle. Because of the familiarity and intimacy expressed by these gestures, I propose that the ‘female slave’ or ‘female attendant’ is Trijaṭā. In contradistinction to VR, Trijaṭā is not an old rākṣasī, but a young and friendly looking woman.41 As I do not agree with Stutterheim’s sleight of hand, infusing Trijaṭā with royal blood through Vibhīṣaṇa, I think there is more to be said for identifying the other crowned woman as Mandodarī, which is in line with the amended interpretation of the previous relief.

frightful news about the battle in laṅkā The next relevant scene is depicted in the eleventh relief of the Brahmā temple, which again shows Sītā together with a royal lady, while a female attendant at their feet apparently informs them of the exciting developments in the battle in Laṅkā (see Fig. 8.8). 41. For the development of Trijaṭā from an old rākṣasī to Sītā’s young confidante (in the course of which Kalā was almost completely ignored), I refer the reader to Bulcke’s 1964 article.

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Fig. 8.8: Sītā, Mandodarī and Trijaṭā. (Photo: author)

For unknown reasons, in Stutterheim’s work a photograph and a discussion of this scene are missing. Fontein confines himself to remarking that here we see Sītā with her companion Trijaṭā.42 In her identification, Levin refers to ‘royal captives’ in the Aśoka Garden awaiting the outcome of the war. She refers to sentences in the OJR where another anonymous female prisoner, who tries to encourage Sītā, is supposedly featured.43 Although it is said of this woman that she was ‘a human being of good lineage in distress’, I do not believe she can be the woman in question, in view of her crown, which attests to her royal status and thus more than just ‘good lineage’. A new proposal on the relief is advanced by Saran and Khanna, who associate the royal captive with Mandodarī and defend their view as follows: ‘All previous interpretations have identified the scene here as depicting the kneeling Trijata informing Sita of the impending victory of Rama’s forces. This would seem plausible were 42. Fontein 1997: 195. 43. Levin 1999: 201. In the accompanying endnote, Levin refers to OJR 17.135–137 but she admits that Soewito Santoso, the Indonesian editor and translator of the said kakavin, was in doubt about the presence in the Aśoka-garden of a female captive other than Sītā. With Vālmīki such a royal captive is missing.

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Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan it not for the fact that the supposed figure of Sita on the right is shown without an aureole; and if the haloed figure on the left is Sita, why then is she seated at a lower level than her companion? The crowned figure seated at a higher level than the haloed princess, who must be Sita, could be Queen Mandodari, given that in the following relief she mourns the death of Ravana. In the Hikayat story, Mandodari recognizes Sita Dewi as her daughter by the milk that starts to flow from her breasts.’44

Saran and Khanna’s identification of the two women as Sītā and Mandodarī is in my opinion the most plausible. Supporting their identification of Sītā with the lower sitting haloed figure and the other higher sitting woman as Mandodarī is that the more elevated position of the latter is based not only on her status as queen but also on the hierarchical distinction between parents and children that we found in the second relief on the Śiva temple. Whether Mandodarī recognized Sītā as her daughter from the milk oozing from her breasts can obviously not be deduced from the reliefs under discussion, but it seems likely that the audience was familiar with this folk motif. If so, this would offer yet another example of ‘implied narrative’. Saran and Khanna, however, neglect to follow through the interpretative implications of the kinship relationship between Mandodarī and Sītā.

the identities of the royal female attendants at rāvaṇa’s funeral The next relief is often referred to as ‘the death of Rāvaṇa’, which, as said, is somewhat inaccurate since it is not so much the slaying that is depicted here, as Rāvaṇa’s corpse on top of a funeral pyre (see Figs. 8.1 and 8.9). It seems safer to identify the relief as the wake for Rāvaṇa, as Saran and Khanna actually do in their discussion: The lifeless form of the multi-headed, multiarmed Ravana lies prostrate on a decorated bier surrounded by his grieving consorts. On the

44. Saran and Khanna 2004: 67.

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extreme left is the most striking of the female mourners; with a royal halo, she is undoubtedly Queen Mandodari, about to lay a garland of flowers at the feet of her dead husband. The emotion of compassion, or karuna rasa, which permeates Valmiki’s account of the lamentation of Queen Mandodari and Ravana’s other consorts, is ably captured here.45

This interpretation of the relief should, I think, be adjusted on one particular point. If we accept the previous identification of the haloed figure as Sītā, it should, for reasons of consistency, follow that the haloed figure in the present relief is identified as Sītā, which Saran and Khanna do not do. Instead they now connect the halo with Mandodarī, and no longer refer to Sītā. It is as if Sītā had remained in the Aśoka-garden. There is, however, one matter that makes Sītā’s presence at the wake plausible, namely the odd number of five attending women, rather than four as one would expect of Rāvaṇa’s queen-consorts.46 The four main consorts, according to the HSR, are Queen Mandodarī (Rāvaṇa’s senior wife), Nīla Utama (the goddess of Heaven), Pәrtivī Devī (the goddess of the Netherworld) and Gaṅga Mahā Devī (the goddess of the Sea). The three women with the ornamented hairdos who stand on Rāvaṇa’s right-hand side can be identified with the three above mentioned goddesses.47 As for the two women at Rāvaṇa’s feet, Sītā, if present, is either the crowned and haloed figure who places a wreath over Rāvaṇa’s lower legs, or the woman standing next to her, whose head is so severely damaged that it can no longer be ascertained whether she once wore a crown and a nimbus. Going by the contours and oval shape of the remains of her headdress, however, she probably wore a crown and a nimbus (see Fig. 8.9). Be that as it may, it seems more plausible to identify the 45. Ibid.: 68. 46. Earlier Stutterheim (1989: 145) also identified these women as Mandodarī and four (rather than three) unidentified co-wives. Co-wives or queen-consorts should be distinguished from concubines, anonymous wives of lower standing, whose total numbers run into the hundreds for both Rāvaṇa and Daśaratha. 47. See Zieseniss 1963: 9, 105.

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Fig. 8.9: Another look at the wake for Rāvaṇa. (Photo courtesy Rijksmuseum Amsterdam)

queen garlanding Rāvaṇa’s feet as Mandodarī than as Sītā. The leading position accords with Mandodarī’s status as chief consort, but seems irreconcilable with Sītā’s hatred of demons. Indeed, in all accounts of Sītā’s birth as Rāvaṇa’s biological or adoptive daughter, she is immediately hostile or predicted to be hostile towards the demon-king and his dynasty, as in the Thai tale cited above. In several accounts she is specifically reborn hostile, in retaliation for Rāvaṇa’s former maltreatment of her, as is the case in the two Jain texts referred to earlier in this article. As I do not know of a Rāma-story that mentions Sītā’s presence at Rāvaṇa’s wake, I cannot tell what her motives were for doing so, except to recall Rāma’s argument when persuading Vibhīṣaṇa to arrange a decent funeral for his elder brother, Rāvaṇa, namely that ‘death cancels out enmity’. Aside from this, one must consider the parent-child relationship, which, as we saw in previous reliefs, involves considerations of subordination, obedience and respect. Thus Sītā may have attended the funeral out of piety or sympathy for her mother, or she may have obeyed her mother’s wishes to

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this effect. One might venture to suggest that the visual hints at Candi Prambanan about the compliance of children with their parents’ decisions had a special meaning for the Javanese royalty at the time. To demonstrate this, however, would require separate historical research into the complicated dynastic situation in Central Java around the mid-9th century.

conclusion and questions for further research The query whether Sītā’s presence at Rāvaṇa’s wake could be accounted for by her descent from the slain demon king was the starting point for this review of current scholarship on the most relevant reliefs, both on the Śiva and Brahmā temples.48 In 48. As far as I can see, no further clues about Sītā’s birth and descent can be found in the reliefs on the Brahmā temple successive to Rāvaṇa’s wake. But it is conceivable that rumours about Sītā’s presence there might have inspired Rāma’s subsequent harsh treatment of Sītā in many Southeast Asian written versions.

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Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan this review, a number of crucial shortcomings were discussed, including two earlier ones of my own. It also shows that these flaws could be corrected if one proceeds from the idea that Sītā as depicted in the Rāmāyaṇa of Candi Prambanan is indeed Rāvaṇa’s daughter. But what are the art historical implications of this conclusion for our understanding of the lost oral or the written text that was followed at Prambanan? It seems to me that the most important implication is the refutation of Bulcke’s authoritative claim that the sculptors of Prambanan’s bas-reliefs kept closely to VR and the OJR, except for a few minor divergences that could be explained through the much later popular Malay version of the hikayats.49 What is amazing is Bulcke’s claim that only a few, perhaps even no traces in the heterogenic mass of deviations from the hikayat could be detected at Candi Prambanan, while his principal source on this matter, Stutterheim’s doctoral thesis, had demonstrated the very opposite to be true. Stutterheim’s explorative and unavoidably incomplete study highlighted no less than thirteen important deviations from Vālmīki’s text, no fewer than nine of which could be clarified with the aid of the hikayats. In the meantime, Stutterheim’s findings have not only been confirmed by succeeding researchers, but multiplied with other examples. The present article argues that this is also true for the topic of Sītā’s birth, which was the focus of Bulcke’s research and can definitely not be considered a matter of secondary importance. The fact that the lost text that was followed at Candi Prambanan resembled the Malay hikayats in so many ways, caused Kats to claim that ‘the Malay “Hikayat Seri Rama” is represented in the reliefs of the Prambanan temple in Central Java’, and Stuart Robson to suggest a ‘derivation of the Prambanan reliefs not from Kakawin but from a proto-Hikayat Seri Rama’.50 Both these statements, I feel, are open to serious objections. First, the Rāma-story presented in the hikayats diverges in many important ways from the one 49. See Bulcke 1952: 112, n. 1. 50. Kats 1927: 583; Robson 1980: 12–13.

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depicted in the Prambanan reliefs. Unlike them, which begin with Viṣṇu’s imminent incarnation as Rāma, the hikayats commonly begin with Rāvaṇa’s genealogy and adventures. Examples of other divergences are the absence of the sage-king Mahārisī Kali during the svayaṃvara, as well as the omission of the second part of the archery contest, the shooting of an arrow through forty tāl-trees, in which Rāvaṇa participated. Particularly important is that in the HSR the fertility-inducing ritual on behalf of the childless King Daśaratha resulted in the birth of five children, four sons and one daughter, whereas in the second relief of the Śiva temple at Prambanan only four sons are depicted. Absent is Kīkevī Devī, the daughter of the junior queen Baliadari. Second, the HSR itself contains many affinities both with other Southeast Asian Rāma-stories and a number of Indian recensions of the Rāmāyaṇa that still deserve further investigation.51 Such affinities may be useful for a hypothetical reconstruction of the text that served as the model for the story that was depicted at Prambanan. The third objection, which is closely connected with my last point, is the real danger that the peoples in the Indo-Malay world will be held responsible for some of the divergences that, because of their unusual and confusing character, have already resulted in the use of such pejorative terms as bizarre, fantastic, bowdlerisation, etc. In a sense such characterizations are akin to the early 19th-century ones, rightly criticized by Stutterheim, in which the divergences from VR were attributed to a combination of ignorance, misunderstanding, and carelessness on the part of the Javanese artisans and sculptors. However, anyone who is acquainted with the account of the conception and birth of Sītā in the Kashmirian Adbhuta-Rāmāyaṇa will agree that this text is no less astonishing than the Southeast Asian renderings, and that the possibility cannot be ignored that some of the strange or extraordinary adjustments originated in India.52 One relevant example 51. See the remarks to this effect by Stutterheim (1989: 73–81) and Zieseniss (1963: 181–188). Jordaan (2011) offers an example of this approach in which the focus is on the episode of the construction of the causeway to Laṅkā. 52. For a summary of the Adbhuta-Rāmāyaṇa, see Grierson (1926).

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in the birth of Sītā. What happened to the other stolen rice-ball is anyone’s guess. It is conceivable that in the hypothetical scenario at Prambanan, Rāvaṇa really did offer the second rice-ball to his Queen Mandodarī, which resulted in the birth of a son, who was Sītā’s brother and perhaps even her twin. Regrettably I did not succeed in finding a relief at Candi Prambanan in which this brother might be depicted. The existence of a (twin) brother of Sītā finds some support in the Rāma-literature, namely in the Paümacariya of Vimalasūri, a Jain rendering from the 6th century CE. However, unlike the miraculous course of events at Prambanan, the conception and birth of the twin sister and brother here proceed naturally. Yet the possibility cannot be dismissed a priori that an Indian tale once existed in which the birth of the twins was combined with the motif of the theft of the rice-balls by two crows, which later served as a prototype for the Prambanan Rāma-story. The chance discovery of such a tale would go a long way towards meeting John Brockington’s observation that ‘the question of Sītā’s parentage is one motif by which it is possible perhaps to trace the linkages between the different versions of the Rāma story.’55 At present it is still too early to mention a specific text as the prototype for the Prambanan Rāma-story, and perhaps only further research in India can set us on its track, if this is still possible at all. It is beyond doubt that there already were ‘many Rāmāyaṇas’ in ancient Java as well as in 53. See Stutterheim 1989: 73, whose reference is to a sup- India, where the story originated. All the same and whatever the difficulties inherent in this kind of plementary note by R.E. Enthoven (1912: 41) on the folklore of Gujarat. research, it remains worthwhile to establish what 54. The involvement of a second crow can hardly be areas in India have Rāma-stories that come closest deduced from the early photograph by Cephas that is re- to the Prambanan Rāmāyaṇa. Stutterheim for one produced in the folio volume with plans and illustrations was convinced that the results of such an investhat accompanied Groneman’s report on the excavation of tigation could tell us more about the regions in Candi Prambanan. Luckily, Jeffrey Sundberg was willing to India that the bearers of the oral and written story take close-up photographs of the second relief of the Śiva temple when he was in Indonesia to participate in a summer hailed from. He himself singled out several possible course in premodern Javanese Art History in Yogyakarta. I regions of origin, in which Gujarat in particular was surprised to see that the right-hand panel, which since scored highly. Lacking the time and opportunity the days of Groneman had been assumed to have been lost, to take up research in this direction myself, I must had been re-installed, apparently without proper notification leave it at the conclusion of the present article that in archaeological reports. Sundberg’s photographs not only

is provided by a folktale from Gujarat in which a third of Daśaratha’s sacrificial drink is stolen by an eagle.53 In this folktale the pāyasa is eaten by Añjanī, who gives birth to Hanumān, but it is easy to see how an imaginative bard might have used the idea as a starting point for a new version of the Rāma-story in which the birth of Rāma is linked to that of Sītā and other figures. Let us in this connection return briefly to the finding that in the HSR the fertility-inducing ceremony resulted in the birth of five children, four sons and one daughter, whereas at Candi Prambanan only the four sons are depicted. The absence of Kīkevī Devī and the presence of two crows in the second relief raise the question about the number of rice-balls in the basket, and of what might have happened to the fifth and the sixth rice-balls (assuming that the two crows were responsible for the theft of one rice-ball each). The only solution I can think of is that at Prambanan two crows may indeed have been involved in the theft of one rice-ball each, whereas in the HSR rendition the involvement of one of these crows was lost.54 This possibly concerns the loss of the demon Gāgak Nāsir, who in the hikayat commits misdeeds very similar to those committed by Gāgak Svāra, notably the defilement of sacrifices. Proceeding from this hypothetical scenario, Rāvaṇa did not receive one but two rice-balls. According to the HSR he ate one rice-ball himself, which resulted

confirmed my hunch about the involvement of a second bird in the theft, but also revealed several other as yet enigmatic iconographic details (see the main text).

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55. John Brockington 1985: 261.

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Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s Daughter at Candi Prambanan the Sītā of Prambanan is Rāvaṇa’s daughter. This finding implies that the origin of this notion can be traced back much further than the 13th century date assigned to the Roorda van Eysinga edition of the HSR and the 18th century date of the Thai Rāmakīen. Indeed, rather than seeking to derive the Prambanan reliefs from a proto-HSR, it makes more sense to trace back both the HSR and the Rāmakīen to a text that had also served as a guide for the Javanese sculptors of these reliefs. Based on the most conservative founding date of the major shrines in the central courtyard of the Prambanan temple-complex, the terminus ante quem for this idea in the Southeast Asian source tradition can now be fixed at the mid-9th century.

References

Achadiati Ikram. 1980. Hikayat Sri Rama: suntingan naskah disertai telaah amanat dan struktur. PhD dissertation, Universitas Indonesia, Jakarta. Barrett, E.C.G. 1963. ‘Further light on Sir Richard Winstedt’s “undescribed Malay version of the Rāmāyaṇa”’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 26: 531–543. Brakel, Lode F. 1980. ‘Two Indian epics in Malay’, Archipel 20: 143–160. Brockington, John L. 1985. Righteous Rāma: The Evolution of an Epic. Delhi: Oxford University Press. . 2007. ‘Sītā Janakātmaja’, in Monika Nowakowska and Jacek Wozniak (eds.), Theatrum Mirabiliorum Indiae Orientalis: A volume to celebrate the 70th birthday of Professor Maria Krzystof Byrski, pp. 82–89. Warszawa: Dom Wydawniczy Elipsa. Brockington, John and Mary Brockington. 2006. Rāma the Steadfast. London: Penguin Classics. Brockington, Mary. 2012. ‘The ladies’ monkey: Hanumān in Boston’, Journal Asiatique 300/1: 199–214. Bulcke, Camille. 1952. ‘La naissance de Sītā’, Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 46/1: 107–118. . 1964. ‘Sītā’s friend Trijaṭā’, Indian Antiquary, Third Series 1/1: 55–63.

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De Clercq, Eva. 2011. ‘A note on Sītā as Rāvaṇa’s daughter in the Jain Rāmāyaṇa’, Journal of Vaishnava Studies 20/1: 197–207. Dozon, A. 1846. ‘Étude sur le roman malay de Sri-Rāma’, Journal Asiatique 7: 425–471. Enthoven, R.E. 1912. ‘The folklore of Gujarat’, Indian Antiquary 41, supp. 37–72. Evans, Kirsti. 1997. Epic narratives in the Hoysaḷa temples: The Rāmāyaṇa, Mahābhārata and Bhāgavata Purāṇa in Halebid, Belur and Amṛtapura. Leiden/New York/Köln: Brill. Fontein, Jan. 1997. ‘Preliminary notes on the narrative reliefs of Candi Brahmā and Candi Viṣṇu at Loro Jonggrang, Prambanan’, in Natasha Eilenberg, M.C. Subhadradis Diskul, and Robert L. Brown (eds.), Living a life in accord with dhamma: Papers in honor of Professor Jean Boisselier on his eightieth birthday, pp. 191–204. Bangkok: Silpakorn University. Gerth van Wijk, D. 1891. ‘Iets over verschillende Maleische redactiën van den Seri Rama’, Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 34: 401–434. Grierson, George. 1926. ‘On the AdbhutaRamayana’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental Studies 5: 285–301. Groneman, Isaac. 1893. Tjandi Parambanan op Midden-Java, na de ontgraving; Met lichtdrukken van Cephas. 2 vols. Leiden: Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch-Indië. Hussein, Ismail. 1980. ‘Ramayana in Malaysia’, in Venkatarama Raghavan (ed.), The Rāmāyaṇa tradition in Asia, pp. 142–154. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi. Jordaan, Roy. 2011. ‘The causeway episode of the Prambanan Rāmāyaṇa reexamined’, in Andrea Acri, Helen Creese, and Arlo Griffiths (eds.), From Laṅkā Eastwards: The Rāmāyana in the Literature and Visual Arts of Indonesia, pp. 179–207. Leiden: KITLV Press. Kats, J. [1925]. Het Rȃmȃyana op Javaansche tempel reliefs/The Ramayana as sculptured in reli[e]fs in Javanese temples. Batavia: Kolff. . 1927. ‘The Rāmāyaṇa in Indonesia’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental Studies 4/3: 579–585. Kern, Hendrik (author); van der Molen, Willem (ed.). 2015. Rāmāyaṇa. The story of Rāma

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and Sītā in Old Javanese. Romanized Edition by Willem van der Molen. Tokyo: Research Institute for Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa, Tokyo University of Foreign Studies. Kulkarni, V.M. 1959. ‘The origin and development of the Rāma story in Jaina literature’, Journal of the Oriental Institute, Baroda 9/2: 189–204, 284–304. Levin, Cecelia. 1999. The Rāmāyaṇa of Loro Jonggrang: Indian antecedents and Javanese impetus. PhD dissertation, Institute of Fine Arts, New York. Noorduyn, Jacobus. 1971. ‘Traces of an Old Sundanese Ramayana tradition’, Indonesia: 151–157. Olsson, Ray A. 1968. The Rāmakīen: a prose translation of the Thai Rāmayāṇa. Bangkok: Praepittaya. Raghavan, Venkatarama. 1975. The Rāmāyaṇa in Greater India. Surat: South Gujarat University. Robson, Stuart. 1980. ‘The Rāmāyaṇa in early Java’, South East Asian Review 5/2: 5–17. . 2015. Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa. A New English Translation with an Introduction and Notes. Tokyo: Research Institute for Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa, Tokyo University of Foreign Studies. Saran, Malini and Vinod C. Khanna. 2004. The Ramayana in Indonesia. New Delhi: Ravi Dayal.

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Singaravelu, Sivakumar. 1982. ‘Sītā’s birth and parentage in the Rāma story’, Asian Folklore Studies 41/2: 235–343. . 2004. The Ramayana tradition in Southeast Asia. Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press. van Stein Callenfels, Pieter V. 1919. ‘De Ramayanareliefs op den Çiwa-tempel te Prambanan’, in M. Lulius van Goor (ed.), Korte gids voor de tempelbouwvallen in de Prambanan-vlakte, het Diëng-plateau en Gedong Sanga, pp. 32–43 (Bijlage II). Weltevreden: Landsdrukkerij. Stutterheim, Willem F. 1989. Rāma-legends and Rāma-reliefs. New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts and Abhinav Publications. [Translated from German by C.D. Paliwal and R.P. Jain.] Sweeney, P.L. Amin. 1987. A full hearing. Berkeley: University of California Press. Velder, Christian. 1968. ‘Notes on the saga of Rama in Thailand’, Journal of the Siam Society 56/1: 33–46. Vogel, Jean Ph. 1921. ‘Het eerste Rāma relief van Prambanan’, Bijdragen tot de Taal- Land- en Volkenkunde 77: 202–215. Zieseniss, Alexander. 1963. The Rāma Saga in Malaysia: Its Origin and Development. Singapore: Malaysian Sociological Research Institute. [Translated from German by P.W. Burch.]

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Chapter 9

Hydro-architectonic Conceptualizations in Central Javanese, Khmer, and South Indian Religious Architecture: The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water* Jeffr ey Su ndberg introduction1 The perceptive Dutch anthropologist and Java scholar Roy Jordaan spent a great deal of time documenting the Śaiva temple complex at Prambanan, collating prior scholarship on the temple and contemplating its many extant mysteries. Among the fruits of his efforts was a conceptualization that consistently explained a number of curious features of the temple’s core complex: the thesis that the entire inner courtyard was intermittently flooded, creating a giant tīrtha at the sacred site so as to in

effect re-create the fabled Ocean of Milk, a sight which must have been so dramatic and majestic as to signal far and wide the elemental importance of Central Java across the Hindu-Buddhist world at the time. Jordaan’s thesis has not received the measure of scholarly appreciation it deserves. The present chapter seeks to amend that situation by solidifying Jordaan’s thesis and amplifying it into previously unexplored directions. So far as I am aware, there has yet to be a study suggesting how the Śaiva temple complex at Prambanan actually functioned and what rituals

* It should be noted that the author of this chapter resisted several editorial recommendations on style, terminology, and content. As a result, Andrea Acri would like to disclaim his editorial responsibility. 1. I would like to dedicate this chapter to my admired late friend Roy Jordaan, whose engagingly written and compellingly argued work In Praise of Prambanan captured my attention and motivated my own inquiries into the wonders of Central Javanese archaeology. Though my own understandings of Central Javanese history have evolved from the two-dynasty conceptualization that serves as a substrate for aspects of Roy’s analysis, I have found that through the nearly two decades of our acquaintance, Roy had been an unfailingly knowledgeable sounding board for ideas, a helpful critic, and a critical resource, always recalling some obscure century-old archaeological reference and understanding its sudden significance in light of newer data. I am grateful for Roy’s mentorship and friendship, and can only hope that essays such as the present one are fitting tribute to the time that he has invested in improving my writings and inquiries. We modern admirers of the ruins of Java’s HinduBuddhist civilization have to thank the fine imagination and tenacious advocacy of Roy Jordaan for this great enrichment of our understanding.

A succession of kindnesses led to the present chapter and deserve to be thanked. Peter Sharrock generously extended an invitation to participate in the Alphawood SOAS-UGM 2017 conference in Yogyakarta, where John Guy serendipitously displayed an image of the Ci Aruteun river boulder to the seminar and provided information on the riverine inscriptions of the Tārumānagara kingdom of West Java that stimulated the train of thought that led to this chapter. I am also thankful to Peter Sharrock and Emma Bunker for pointing out the pertinence of the array of a thousand liṅgas (sahasraliṅga) on the riverbed at Kbal Spean; to Swati Chemburkar and Hunter Watson for a number of useful dialogues as well as for permission to use their photographs; to Abira Bhattacharya, Emma Bunker, Swati Chemburkar, Phyllis Granoff, Peter Sharrock, and Emma Stein for rummaging through their mental inventories for other instances of Śiva statues on yonis; to Véronique Degroot for a generous number of useful materials; to Ania Nugrahani for bibliographic pointers to publications on the newly-uncovered Liangan temple and the yoni there; to Corinna Wessels-Mevissen, Gerd Mevissen, and Liesbeth Pankaja Bennink for drawing attention to the flooding of other South Indian temple courtyards; to Janneke Koster and Arnoud Haag for clarifications of material presently in the National

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were carried on in it. This chapter will argue that although the paramount ritual focus of the Prambanan temple was the consecration of water by its lustral flow over the towering erect statue of Śiva mounted on a yoni (as well as similar yoni-mounted statues of Brahmā and Viṣṇu in their respective temples), there was a collateral production of large quantities of sanctified water flowing over a thousand hitherto-unrecognized liṅgas that studded the balustrades and superstructures of the eight largest temples in Prambanan’s central courtyard. In this sense, the Prambanan temple serves principally as a mechanism for the passive production of consecrated water. The scale of this vast and elegant holy water production monument was unrivalled in premodern Asia, and comparable only with ‘purification sculptures’, Śivaliṅgas carved into the rocky beds of natural rivers such as at Kbal Spean in Cambodia. I hope that the reader will come to share Jordaan’s and my conviction that the Śaiva temple at Prambanan counts among the astounding conceptual formulations undertaken by the Javanese in their extraordinary kingdom. After a rehearsal of the elements of Jordaan’s analysis, the present chapter will show that a number of the contemporaneous Indic or Indicized kingdoms incorporated standing or moving water as an element in their own sacred architecture, either as embellishment or else as a sacralized product. The Javanese themselves had advanced a consecration-by-contact system of sanctification as early as the Tārumānagara kingdom of West Java, and the practice is also contemporaneously attested in Central Java. The employment of water in the largest Śaiva temple in insular Southeast Asia—indeed, as the world’s largest Śaiva temple complex until the Bṛhadīśvara temple of Rājarājacōḷa and the Gaṅgaikoṇḍacōḻapuram temple of Rājendra Cōḻa from more than a century and a half Museum of Indonesia; to Umakanta Mishra and Hunter Watson for their generous help in thrashing through the Sanskrit in Sañjaya’s Canggal inscription and in the Purāṇas; to Rolf Giebel for useful editorial feedback; to Osmund Bopearachchi for his help with photographs; to Kurt Kroboth for his assistance parsing the fine points of the French descriptions of the Kbal Spean; to Jonathan

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Fig. 9.1: A rare panoptic view of the immense, threemetre high Śiva image standing on its one-metre-high yoni, with the statue supplanting the liṅga. Equally impressive monoliths of Brahmā and Viṣṇu stand on yonis in the other two major temple edifices in the central courtyard. OD 820. Courtesy of the Leiden University Library.

later, Prambanan was almost certainly a premium state temple expressive of the majesty and brilliance of the Javanese kingdom—will be seen as an innovative and deeply knowledgeable Central Javanese variation on well-established Śaiva themes, a clever and sophisticated conceptualization that would garner admiration for its sponsors in their interactions with foreign kings and priests. This hydro-centric innovation, I will suggest, lay at the heart of the Prambanan construction in primarily three forms.

Zilberg for access to critical resources; and especially to Peter Jordaan for his many beneficial insights concerning the Prambanan temple as well as immensely enthusiastic production of graphics. In South India, both Valérie Gillet and Emmanuel Francis have provided unfailingly helpful advice and references, and also contributed photographs to the chapter.

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Figs. 9.2a, 9.2b: Top (a): A diagram of the Prambanan temple, indicating the three major, three minor, and two supplementary temples within the courtyard. Map adapted and modified by Peter Jordaan from the Wikipedia contribution of Gunawan Kartapranata at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Prambanan_Temple_Compound_ Map_en.svg. Bottom (b): A closer focus on the central courtyard, indicating the positions of all of the major depictions of deities. Map courtesy of Peter Jordaan.

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The first of these innovative Javanese conceptualizations was the choice of a conceptually novel placement of an erect statue of Śiva—a vyaktaliṅga—on the yoni instead of the conventional pairing of an aniconic śivaliṅga and a yoni. In the principal Prambanan garbhagṛha, the deity is present as an icon, and the principal product of worship is the lustration water that runs from the praṇāla spout after being ladled over some part of the statue. (This ritual lustration of Śiva’s statue would have been accompanied by similar lustrations of the yoni-mounted Brahmā and Viṣṇu statues in their respective temples). At least in this sense, the Prambanan temple must have served as a ‘holy water machine’. The second of these Javanese innovations was the studding of the temple complex with a conglomeration of liṅgas—precisely, a holy thousand-liṅga (sahasraliṅga) array—hitherto unrecognized because of their abstracted representation in a ribbed and bulbous bell-like form. Reference to the 11th-century Khmer Kbal Spean riverine site, the inscriptions of which specify its function as a sahasraliṅga site of one thousand liṅgas, allows the recognition of the presence of analogous features at Prambanan. There the sahasraliṅgas served as the consecrating mechanism, not for rainwater rushing through the channels of a Cambodian riverbed that was mythically likened to the Descent of the Ganges, but for the rainfall into the Javanese temple courtyard. In this way the sacred and sanctifying features installed on the exterior of the Prambanan temple passively accomplished, on a massive scale, that which was acquired through the efforts of the priest within its sanctums. The third of these Javanese hydro-centric innovations is the interpretation of the accumulated sanctified rainfall in the courtyard as the cosmogonic Ocean of Milk, which itself hosted a threefold ‘Arising of the Liṅga’ (liṅgodbhava) symbolism centred upon those three mahāliṅgas of the sahasraliṅgas that serve as the principal spires of the three primary deva shrines, centred directly above the yoni-mounted mahādevas Śiva, Brahmā, and Viṣṇu in the garbhagṛhas and also directly above the temple foundation pits. These three mahādevas, I argue, are not the conventionally accepted trimūrti, but (lower, embodied) manifestations of

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Śiva’s threefold triguṇa qualities of rajas, tamas, and sattva.2 2. Since the time of the revelation that the mammoth statue of Śiva lay buried in the central cella and that Prambanan was principally oriented to that god, there is a longstanding awareness that despite the presence of Prambanan’s dedicated temples to Brahmā and Viṣṇu (on yonis), the Prambanan ensemble constituted a thoroughly Śaivized complex. Possibly because of the distracting presence of a trimūrti concept of three co-equal gods, most prior scholars such as Ijzerman, Krom, Bosch, and Vogel avoided expressing interpretations that too emphatically posited that all—the Brahmā and Viṣṇu statues found upon yonis—were manifestations of Śiva and were instead reduced to merely hinting at a Śaiva cast to features on the Brahmā and Viṣṇu temples and in the Vaiṣṇava tales (e.g. Krom’s device of terming the sculpted, spouted, nāga-supported monolith on which the large Brahmā and Viṣṇu statues stand as ‘yoni-shaped pedestal’ [see Jordaan 1996b: 149], while Bosch [1922: 67; Jordaan 1996b: 153] was left to mention but not interpret the trident symbols of the twenty-seven ṛṣis who surround the Brahmā temple). While the Śaiva preeminence is now acknowledged—I wish to draw attention to Véronique Degroot’s (2013: 44) fresh observations on the thematic correlations between the subsidiary Śaiva deities Agastya and Mahiṣāsuramardinī and the Brahmā and Viṣṇu temples, and Thomas Hunter’s observations (Degroot 2013: 37–40) of the strategic intrusions of Śaiva trident-bearing ṛṣis who direct Rāma in scenes of significance in the Rāmāyaṇa— more recent scholarship has been more forward in positioning Brahmā and Viṣṇu as not just subordinate but as emanations of Śiva: Acri and Jordaan (2012) discuss their own substantial clarification of the guardian dikpālas and digbhandas, including novel identifications of Brahmā and Viṣṇu among them, that surround the Śiva temple, joining van Lohuizen-de Leeuw (1955), Hooykaas (1966), and Goudriaan and Hooykaas (1971) in noting that not only are these figures among the nearest elements of Śiva’s āvaraṇa (entourage), but that they are indeed emanations of Śiva. So far as I know, no prior source has formally identified the large Viṣṇu and Brahmā statues as immediate triguṇa principles—tattvas—of Śiva, nor has any source noted the correspondence between their locations and the description in such texts as the Liṅgapurāṇa. I point to Purāṇic passages that will be much met in this chapter as I am convinced that a text or texts approximating the Liṅgapurāṇa explain much of Prambanan’s core symbolisms and intentions. (Confoundingly for the study of Śaivism in the kingdoms of Matarām and Galuh, the Old Javanese text Pratasti Bhuvana [Leiden University Oriental Manuscripts Collection Cod. 5056; Pigeaud 1924: 294ff.] lists kings of Matarām—‘Panaraban’ [r. 784–803] and ‘Lokaphalā’ [sic; r. 855–885] among them—that it assigns to the Dvapara Age, which was marked in Java by the arrival of the Liṅgapurāṇa. The interpretive

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water

cursory description of the temple and central cellas Before commencing the explication of the Prambanan temple, it will be useful to provide the reader with a brief overview of the temple, especially describing the statuary found in the sanctuaries, not all of which is present in the restored modern shrines. Apart from the statuary I discuss, there are many now-vacant niches, especially in the superstructure of the Śiva temples as well as the shrines on the periphery of the courtyard, and entirely vacant temples—the paired candi apit shrines on the north and south extremes of the central courtyard—whose original contents will complexity arises because of the intimate association of the Liṅgapurāṇa with the Pāśupatas, whose figurehead Lakulīśa was replaced both as leader of the Pañcakuśikas as well as an avatāra body of Śiva by the figure of Pātañjala, himself unattested in the body of Indian Śaiva literature that has come to scholarly attention: see Acri 2014.) Whereas Acri and Jordaan came at the subject via generalized considerations of Brahmā’s and Viṣṇu’s rank among the generalized āvaraṇa emanations of Śiva, such texts as the Liṅgapurāṇa directly support the concept that Viṣṇu and Brahmā are among the three principles of Śiva, the fundamental triguṇa consubstantiality of which provides the justification for their unprecedented placement on Prambanan’s three yonis. Such direct statements are easy to find in the Liṅgapurāṇa—for example, 12.12 (Shastri 1951: 69): ‘O Viṣṇu, I am lord Śiva, the unsullied; I divided myself into three forms under the names of Brahmā, Viṣṇu and Rudra with the activities of creation, protection, and dissolution’. Even the relative locations of the Prambanan statuary find justification in Liṅgapurāṇa 19.2–3 (‘The Enlightenment of Viṣṇu’; Shastri 1951: 68): ‘Both of you very powerful were born of me formerly. Brahmā, the grandfather of the universe was born from my right side; Viṣṇu, the soul of the universe, sprang from my left side. I am extremely pleased with both of you.’ With the praṇāla of the yoni pointing north, this compels the placement of Brahmā to the south and Viṣṇu to the north, in contrast to the principles that dictated the opposite disposition at prominent temples in South India. I conclude that Brahmā and Viṣṇu appear directly as tattvas of Śiva, with the identification sewn in as two of the āvaraṇas, Guardians of Time and Space, and again via the functional homologies between the Agastya of the southern cella and the Brahmā temple to its south, and the Mahiṣāsuramardinī of the northern cella and the Viṣṇu temple standing to its north, with Śaiva ṛṣi figures serving as a pervasive homogenizer of the ensemble.

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never be known but whose presumed execution in metal rather than stone speaks to their importance. In addition, there are hundreds of personalities engraved onto stone panels as bas reliefs. Despite the disappearance of much of the secondary statuary, the principal statuary of the large shrines on the elevated central courtyard was fashioned from stone and survived in situ until the modern period, permitting a substantial explication of many major elements of the temple. Many of the principal stone statues of the Prambanan complex are still encountered in the restored temples of the central courtyard. Missing from the present restoration are the subsidiary statuary recovered from the Brahmā and Viṣṇu temples, the one metre-high statue of Śiva—the second one in the complex—from ‘Candi B’, and a long-forgotten Brahmā on a courtyard pedestal block (see the point marked ‘G’ on the map in Fig. 9.2), distinguished from the equivalently-sized Brahmā mounted on the yoni in the southern shrine. This courtyard Brahmā assumes diagnostic significance, providing both the essential verification of the presence of a liṅgodbhava (‘Arising of the Liṅga’) within the temple, and also demonstrating the true relationship of the Śiva icon in the central temple to the subsidiary Brahmā and Viṣṇu.

uniqueness of prambanan’s presentation of the three mahādevas While the decision to depict the standing statue of Śiva rather than a conventional liṅga or mukhaliṅga on a yoni is unique in the Indic world of its day, the depictions of Brahmā and Viṣṇu upon a yoni are otherwise unattested. While the ideation of an anthropomorphic liṅga (vyaktaliṅga) is mooted in some Śaiva sources (Mills 2019: 49), the actual implementation of an anthropomorphic manifestation of a deity upon a yoni, so far as the author can determine, is original to the Javanese, and they should be credited with this novel creation. However, as will be discussed below, there are rough parallels and precedents for such a conceptualization as the illuminating Pallava and Cōḻa figures of Śiva’s liṅgodbhava episode

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Figs. 9.3a, 9.3b: Two conceptual echoes of Java’s iconographic novelty. Left (a): A Khmer image of Śiva standing on a yoni. Image courtesy of Emma Bunker. Right (b): A Sukhothai-period image of the same, executed in wood and now standing in the National Museum in Bangkok. Image courtesy of Abira Bhattacharya.

make clear, where Śiva transitionally manifests himself in anthropomorphic form within his own liṅga or a ‘column of lustre’ (Gillet 2010: 173–186). Prambanan is not only exceptional in hosting such a configuration, but very forward in making these symbolical elements so important. This said, the idea of an anthropomorphic Śiva on a yoni, although implemented in the onetime-largest Śaiva sanctuary of the Śaiva world and again in a now-disappeared enclosure to the north of the Ratu Boko plateau that was remembered by locals in the early 19th century as the remains of an ancient city or a kraton,3 was not very influential. 3. The British Resident in Yogyakarta, John Crawfurd, was the first to document three statues of particular importance in the Gatak village that stood in a then-visible enclosure between Prambanan and the Ratu Boko escarpment. One was a statue of Śiva and the other two were statues of Viṣṇu, all constructed to fit to three vacant yonis nearby (Crawfurd

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We probably find echoes of it in the triple yoni at the newly-uncovered Liangan temple on the slopes of the Sindoro volcano, along one of the approaches to Dieng.4 Apart from that, there are two other known expressions of this core conceptualization, 348–349; one of the Viṣṇus and the associated yoni were chosen for depiction as an ensemble in Crawfurd 1820b). As of 2003 the yonis still existed in the village of Gatak (Degroot 2008: 239), and the author is indebted to Peter Sharrock for noticing the mutilated statue of the Viṣṇu depicted by Crawfurd in the custody of the Archaeological Service authorities in Yogyakarta. The size of the square enclosure—900 feet per side—suggested to Crawfurd that the structure was indeed a kraton. This is an observation of far-reaching consequence, and the present author and his collaborator Peter Jordaan will take up the issue in a future study. 4. See Degroot 2017 for a review and synopsis of several recent publications on the Liangan temple by the Indonesian Archaeological Service.

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water one from Cambodia and one from Sukhothai, with both being from many centuries after Prambanan.5 Prambanan’s iconographical innovation seems to have gone extinct with the cataclysm that beset the Central Javanese civilization in 929 CE, with the later Khmer and Thai examples perhaps independent re-inventions. Whatever might be learned from the particulars of the implementation of the pedestals surmounted by deities, it must be emphasized that the point of the central temple and the principal pair of subsidiary temples is the production of sanctified water by its passage over a holy object, actively prosecuted by a presiding royal priest, or perhaps even the Javanese king. The remainder of this chapter will be devoted to the water-related themes of lustration, sanctification, inundation, and Śaiva cosmogony.

prior work by jordaan on the retention of sanctified water at the prambanan temple site Readers acquainted with post-Independence scholarship on Central Java will no doubt know of the perceptive and novel observations of Jordaan (1989, 1991, 1995, 1996a: 45–60, 2011) on a fundamental aspect of the Prambanan temple: multiple, self-consistent indications of the temple’s elaborate hydraulic engineering that suggested to him that the inner courtyard was intentionally flooded so as to serve as a gigantic tīrtha, a massive repository of sacralized water. Jordaan came to supply

5. I am indebted to Abira Bhattacharya and Emma Bunker for pointing out the two later instances from Cambodia and Thailand illustrated in Figs. 9.3a and 9.3b. Bhattacharya (personal communication) observes that ‘it seems quite difficult to find any specific reference in the context of Prambanan. Similar kinds of anthropomorphic forms of Śiva standing on yoni-pīṭha are seen in Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia; however, this concept is obscure in Indian art. In Indian sculpture, the liṅga is often shown carved with the human face of Śiva which is installed on the yoni-pīṭha. Even one of the earliest images of Śiva, which is carved on a liṅga from the 1st century BCE, found at Gudimallam, shows the deity standing on Apasmāra’.

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an impressive amount of evidence and technical argumentation that I will briefly revisit in order that the reader might see the thematic support for such a flooding.

The Conceptual and Symbolic Functions of the Flooded Prambanan Courtyard as laid out by Jordaan As per Jordaan’s own recounting of the stimulus for his inspired envisioning of an ancient but forgotten reality, the prominence of the literary theme of the Ocean of Milk—the primordial ocean churned by the gods and demons for the creation of the amṛta elixir, with Mount Mandara as the churning pole and a snake as the rope—was crucial for his recognition.6 The Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa (8.42–59) describes the central ‘Crystal Palace’ temple complex of the kingdom of Laṅkā, and this literary account seems inspired by certain features of Prambanan.7 6. Roy Jordaan (personal communication) wrote: ‘The thing that set my mind going was the oddity (see In Praise of Prambanan, Jordaan 1996a: 52–53) of seeing laborers, who were working in a corner of the central courtyard, pumping water out of the courtyard with a hose instead of having the water drain into the soil as one would expect on the basis of Krom’s remarks about the permeability of the soil in the central courtyard. At the same time, I remembered reports about occasional drainage problems there. Back home, in Jakarta, when reading over de Casparis’ discussion of the Śivagṛha inscription (D28 in the National Museum), particularly the section dealing with notions of the tamvak (tambak, a wall) and the tīrtha, I had the flash of inspiration in which all these elements were connected but quite differently from the way de Casparis had handled the inscriptional evidence. In retrospect, it would have been enough and much better to discuss directly the myth of the Churning of the Milky Ocean as the plan on which the structure was built rather than taking the roundabout way of the ritual deposits, the inherent complexities of which I was not aware of at the time.’ 7. While I agree with Jordaan (1995: 48–56) of the pertinence to Prambanan of the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa’s description of the ‘Crystal Temple’ surrounded by the āvaraṇa shrines, I am struck by the fact that the text discloses to its readers (or audience) no details of the upper level of the temple, including the interiors of any of the shrines populating the courtyards, much less revealing that the ambulation corridors themselves contain—recursively—the Rāmāyaṇa story. What the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa conveys is largely that which the worshipper who was restricted from entry

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Fig. 9.4: Viṣṇu floating on the Ocean of Milk, the introductory relief of the Rāmāyaṇa story on the central Śiva shrine at Prambanan. Per Jordaan’s understanding, the devotee who comes to worship at the Śiva temple will have just waded through a courtyard inundated with sanctified water, representing precisely this Ocean of Milk theme. While ostensibly the first element of a Vaiṣṇava story that is incidentally presented on a temple of Śiva, in a Śaiva context, this Samudramanthana represents the moment just after Śiva’s renewed creation of the universe, and depicts the origination of Viṣṇu and Brahmā. (Cf. Figs. 9.15 and 9.19 below, several of the nineteen such depictions of Viṣṇu Ananteśa taken from the Kbal Spean near the Phnom Kulen-fed headwaters of the Siem Reap river). Also conspicuous in the scene is the serpent Ananta/Śeṣa upon which Viṣṇu floated, who in South Indian mythology would himself be reborn as Patañjali, a critical supporter of Śiva’s cosmic tāṇḍava dance, and also the cluster of five Śaiva ṛṣis, who, I suggest, are connected to Patañjali. Photo reproduced (with enhancements) from Vogel 1921.

Specifically, the text compares its ‘Crystal Palace’ temple to Mount Mandara with these suggestive phrases: ‘The crystal palace was comparable to Mount Mandara, the [temple] square to the Ocean of Milk’ (Poerbatjaraka 1932: 162, translated in Jordaan 1996a: 48–49). With these words, the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa not only explicitly allows that into the central courtyard could see. It is as though the composers of the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa carefully avoided revealing the cultic contents and conveying the profound theosophical doctrines of the Prambanan temple to the audience, retaining it as an esoteric secret to the commoners. The one divine personality that a temple visitor could observe from standing at a courtyard gate would be the Brahmā of the courtyard. In this regard, keeping in view Richard Davis’ 1988 work on the Śaivization of the cremation ritual and the role of the four lower mouths of Sadāśiva enunciating the Vedas and other inferior revelations, the Brahmā of the courtyard might be perceived as doing just that during the Vedic chanting during holy processional days.

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the courtyard of a Javanese temple could be flooded but specifies at least one of the significances of the flooded courtyard. (The same text’s supplemental statement that the temples in the courtyard are Mount Mandara, the churning pole, will be further discussed on p. 199). In this regard, Jordaan noted the significance of the first panel of the Prambanan Rāmāyaṇa reliefs (Fig. 9.4), which commences the telling with a cosmogenic depiction of Viṣṇu sitting on the cosmic serpent Ananta,8 who in turn reposes on the primordial Ocean of Milk. 8. This serpent is variously named Śeṣa (‘Remainder’, so called because he is the only thing that remains after the cataclysm that concludes each world epoch) or Ananta (‘Endless’, so called because he is the only thing that persists, unrestricted by time). In a future publication I will discuss this serpent and his reincarnation as another significantly consequential Śaiva nāga, Patañjali, with this birth being under Śiva’s imprimatur to a husband-and-wife pair of Śaiva ascetics.

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Fig. 9.5: The appropriateness of an inundated courtyard for the complexes’ Rāmāyaṇa story reliefs: the final relief on the central Śiva shrine at Prambanan depicts the Laṅkāvatāraṇa (the crossing of Rāma and Hanuman’s army to Laṅkā) before the presentation transitions to the Brahmā temple. Photo courtesy of the Leiden University Library.

This idea, Jordaan (1996a: 54) points out, is sustained by the term chosen in the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa for the structure enclosing a temple— tamvak—that de Casparis wanted to translate as a normal brick or stone wall, ignoring the fact that even today tambak are perceived as a wall that either serves to keep water off/out or holding/retaining water, being commonly used for man-made fish-ponds, formed by embankments or dikes. The second of the themes that would be enabled by an inundated Prambanan courtyard is the verisimilitude lent to key transitions in the panels of the Rāmāyaṇa selected for depiction on the Prambanan balustrades. In the scene depicting the crossing from Bhārata to Laṅkā by Hanuman’s army, the watery hiatus between the crossing scene executed on the Śiva temple and the subsequent Laṅkā portions on the Brahmā temple cleverly replicates the demarcation as the tale transitions from the Śiva temple to its next stage on the Brahmā temple to its south. This use of the physical water of the courtyard as a divisor in the Rāmāyaṇa depiction continues to be a valid idea even when we take into account one of the more recent interpretative advances, Levin’s (2011: 161–167) convincing argument that the Rāma story most likely terminates not on the Brahmā temple but over on the first panel of the Viṣṇu temple with the reunion of Rāma and Sītā, where they are joined by their two sons Lava and Kuśa. Jordaan (2011: 190) pointed out that the flooded courtyard symbolically functions as the Netherworld out of which Sītā ascends in order

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to be reunited with Rāma and her two sons, and summarized: Apparently, the central courtyard of Prambanan was not conceived as a neutral space, but served a dual function in the sculptural layout of the Rāma story over the three main shrines, as a means to separate and re-connect the story at two critical junctures, and as a symbolic marker of the Netherworld which, thought of as being located in the sea, was physically represented as a pool (cf. Levin 2011: 166n29).

Jordaan (2011: 190–191, 191n8) later advanced a newer argument that touches the present chapter’s interest in manifestations of Śiva’s cosmological activity. Jordaan wrote: I would like to draw attention to the reliefs on the exterior of the Śiva temple, particularly to the dancing ‘celestial damsels’ (vidyādharī, apsarases) and heavenly musicians (gandharvas) depicted on the outer side of the balustrade. These reliefs have usually been examined in the context of choreographic studies as depicting particular dance movements as laid down in the Nāṭyaśāstra, an Indian treatise dealing with dance and music, but little significance has so far been accorded to the fact that apsarases are intimately connected with water. Apsarases, their name being popularly derived from the word waters (āp, apas), appear during the Churning of the Milky Ocean. I now venture to suggest that some of the unidentified divinities on the subsidiary temples represent the deities who appear during the Churning

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of the Milky Ocean, such as Dhanvantari and Lakṣmī.

The elements adduced by Jordaan to support his flooding thesis include textual references to the existence of a tīrtha that cannot be fulfilled by any tank structure known from within its well-explored grounds. Assuming that both the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa and the Śivagṛha inscription refer to the Prambanan temple,9 Jordaan noted that the final facet enabled by a flooded Prambanan courtyard is its transformation into a tīrtha, ‘function[ing] as a pool (tank) or a reservoir for the holy water that priests made in a special ritual’ (Jordaan 1995: 37). Indeed, Jordaan (1996a: 54–55) himself seems to ultimately affirm the courtyard-as-tīrtha concept as the paramount goal of the temple, noting ‘I believe that now, instead of “re-enactment”, I would prefer Mircea Eliade’s (1976: 18–31) term “cosmicization”, denoting a consecration which reproduces the paradigmatic work of the gods.’

Physical Clues suggesting the Intentional Accumulation of Water in the Prambanan Courtyard In support of his observation of the multifaceted utility of a flooded Prambanan courtyard, Jordaan mustered a wide array of technical evidence that persuades one that the flooded courtyard was a physical reality. To begin with, Jordaan pointed out that the entire elevated courtyard was fashioned to function as an enclosed basin, with even the steps at the courtyard gates being elevated. As Jordaan (1995: 57n41) noted, the depth of flooding at Prambanan was hard-stopped by the height—55 cm—of the threshold gates, and supplemented this fact by 9. While I have no objection to scholarship which discerns a relationship between the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa and the Prambanan temple, I strongly oppose the acceptance—increasingly wide—of the Śivagṛha inscription as a foundation stone of Prambanan: this unremembered find should have been the most unforgettable of finds if it were indeed found at Prambanan and then sent to the new museum in Batavia. I should add that upon personal investigation into the validity of de Casparis’ transcription (1956: 305–310), I have found numerous errors. I will not rely upon the text until a validated version is at hand.

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observing that the temple was devoid of decoration and embellishment below this level, as would be expected if that portion of the wall were indeed submerged.10 The provision of the thick retaining wall also suggests that they were designed for the retention of water: the wall was some two metres thick, and its foot was positioned 1.8 metres below the level of the raised central courtyard.11 Part of this doubtlessly was provided in order to retain the massive core of the courtyard, which was elevated some 4.2 metres above the surrounding second courtyard—about the height of the Śiva statue when standing on its yoni—but the portion above the courtyard floor would have served to direct gravitational forces downward, and also to resist water pressure from within. Jordaan’s thesis compelled attention to the particulars of the engineering of the courtyard, which featured negligible channelling, with poor natural drainage on the elevated courtyard. While Krom (1923: 451) acknowledged the fact that only eight small drain spouts serviced the entirety of the central courtyard, he ascribed the small number to the allegedly porous nature of the sandy soil in the courtyard. Jordaan (1996a: 51) in response observed that this implied subsidence should have been of great concern to the builders and the mas10. Peter Jordaan (personal communication) has pointed out that similar elevation characterizes the gateways into the central Śiva shrine and posits that the temple promenade itself could be flooded through the expedient of stopping up the makara drain spouts. 11. Although perhaps, given their poor understanding of the relevant mechanics, this engineering precaution was considered necessary, as the entire central courtyard was an elaborately engineered platform raised to a height of 4.2 metres above the second courtyard below. The thickness of the courtyard wall is substantial, some 2 metres thick, with a foot some 1.8 metres below the level of the raised central courtyard. The thickness of the wall demonstrates that it was built to withstand some expected hydrostatic pressure without budging. This may have been prophylactic given the anticipated stresses of the massive temples planned for erection in the central courtyard, and this design decision perhaps was motivated by the experiences during the construction of Borobudur, which suffered a partial collapse during the construction that needed to be shored up with the massive retaining belt that now obscures the originally visible Karmavibhaṅga panels at the base.

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“sealing” came into being through which water could hardly move at all.’ The present sealing surface was not an effect of a millennium’s compaction but rather was an effect originally present in the temple, seemingly by design: the substrate was elaborately engineered by the Javanese of the 9th century to have precisely the qualities that are seen today. The drainage mechanisms provided for this elaborately engineered courtyard are worth the reader’s attention, for if the courtyard did not permit the percolation of rainwater, the eight minuscule drain spouts do not facilitate the removal of water through that means either (see Figs. 9.8a, 9.8b).13

Obvious Remedies addressing the Courtyard Flooding were neglected: Prambanan’s Inundation was Intentional

Fig. 9.6: A photo depicting the height to which the inner courtyard was raised. The geotectonic judgement of the sthāpaka was greatly trusted, as any slippage as at Borobudur some three or four decades earlier would be catastrophic for the design. Photo courtesy of Roy Jordaan.

sively heavy temples that they created. Based on the stratigraphic surveys of the Nandi temple, which consists of layers of sand, clay, gravel, and large and smaller riverstones, it was concluded that the original substrate is not easily permeable to water, and this effect was compounded by the inevitable compaction of the top layer by the construction activity.12 Citing a personal communication with Dr Willem Hoogmoed, Jordaan (1995: 37, cf. 1996a: 52n30) noted that ‘the top layer [of the soil] must have been so degraded since the beginning of the building activities that a so-called “slaking” or

12. Stratigraphic profiles of the courtyard very near to the central Śiva shrine are described in Ari Setyastuti 2011 and Daud Aris Tanudirjo 2011.

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An abundance of evidence suggests the inundation of the Prambanan courtyard, and, as Jordaan has pointed out, the physical flooding seems integral to the symbolic significance of the temple. One of the principal objections to Jordaan’s thesis has been the lack of an obvious mechanism for achieving the inundation. Indeed, identifying the means of efficiently introducing water into the artificially elevated Prambanan courtyard constituted one of that author’s frustrations. Over the course of time, the author had mooted a number of mechanisms to raise water against gravity into the courtyard. While Śaiva tīrthas were known in Central Java and their remains recovered (Degroot 2008), tīrthas in the area being generally lodged near the local water level and fed from springs, no osmosis effect was available at a courtyard that had been artificially raised above the surrounding

13. Peter Jordaan, in a personal communication, noted that ‘from the other side (i.e., the perspective of the second courtyard), the two small drainage holes are clearly visible. Today they used cement to keep the stones of the upper stairs together; perhaps the top stones in the middle could be removed to drain the courtyard faster in those days. The small holes can easily become blocked by leaves or flowers. The gutter on both sides of the lower stairs could be modern.’

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Fig. 9.7: Partial uncovering of the system of underground walls, fashioned from riverstones, in the central temple area of Prambanan. These would have resisted lateral shifting of the bulk fine material. Photo OD 11401, courtesy of the Leiden University Library.

Figs. 9.8a, 9.8b: Left (a): Annotated depictions of two of the eight drain spouts that permit the central courtyard to be drained into the second courtyard of Prambanan. Photo courtesy of Roy Jordaan with amplifications by Peter Jordaan. Top (b): One of the twelve makara drain spouts that permits the egress of the rainwater that falls upon the Śiva temple to be drained into the courtyard. The relative clearance ratios of the temple versus the courtyard drain spouts are substantial—perhaps 30 times for the central Śiva temple alone. Photo courtesy of Peter Sharrock.

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water ground.14 No channel is seen to conduct water into the courtyard. Jordaan (1995: 37) concluded his survey of possible mechanisms by noting a manmade feature in the secondary Prambanan courtyard: an underground stone water conduit, presumably being fed from the nearby Opak river (Kali Opak) and being sufficiently close to the temple to facilitate manual filling of the courtyard (see the map in Fig. 9.2a). Without this sinuous conduit feature having been fully traced to either its northern or southern extremities, I note that it stands on the tiered second courtyard, where a filling would be difficult because it would be countergravitational, but that the elevation might facilitate the removal of water from the Prambanan temple. Not least, of the arguments working in Jordaan’s favour is the brutal fact, so nettlesome for the modern operation of Candi Prambanan as a heritage tourism site for visitors who do not like wet feet and ruined shoes, that before the extensive hydrological improvements, Prambanan’s inner courtyard was quite naturally flooded. (In fact, as Jordaan [2011: 187n3] notes, so urgent was the need to clear water from the temple before the November 1994 visit of former First Lady Hillary Clinton that ‘the distinguished guest and her retinue could only gain access after the water had been pumped out by fire-brigade personnel who were called in from the city of Yogyakarta’). The extensive engineering remediation executed by the Indonesian archaeological authorities in the past two decades (Dinas Purbakala Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta 1993; Jordaan 1995: 37, 2011: 187n3) included the digging of more than twenty interconnected drainage pits in reinforced concrete as well as the creation of gravel-filled conduits around each of 14. Degroot (2008: 65) notes of the Central Javanese tīrthas that ‘From the technological point of view, the bathing places of Central Java are rather simple. They are built in areas where underground water is abundant and found (almost) at ground level. The water, originating from a spring or the underground part of a river, filters upwards through a floor made of river stones, and fills the pool. There is no evidence for a connection with an irrigation system. The fact that the pools were fed by underground water—and not surface water—certainly helped in maintaining their water level whatever the debit of the nearby rivers.’

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the temples, visible in the background of Fig. 9.22c. Given the flooding created by rainfall itself, Jordaan did not need to identify another external source in order to validate his thesis. The question is whether the fact of abysmal drainage at the Prambanan courtyard represents a never-corrected design flaw or an intentional feature of the original architecture. The evidence strongly suggests that the courtyard’s tendency to flood during rainfall was a deliberate decision, as concluded by Jordaan (1996a: 18) himself: ‘In a number of recent publications I have tried to demonstrate that the poor drainage of the central temple area is not due to a possible error in the construction by the original builders, but seems rather to form part of their original plan, involving the construction of an artificial tank or pond.’ As noted above, there are only eight miniscule drain spouts for the entirety of the central courtyard, which is an intuitively inadequate number for such a large area. If unwanted drainage problems existed, as the modern experience at the temple strongly suggests, the most obvious remedy is again intuitive: increase the number of drain spouts or enlarge the existing ones.15 That no such obvious remedy was ever implemented indicates that nothing about the original construction was found to yield an objectionable result. This in turn implies that the retention of the water, which must have been present in some degree in the courtyard even with conscientiously cleared drain spouts, was never considered a design flaw. Given that Prambanan’s central courtyard flooded naturally in the heyday of the temple and continued to do so until the elaborate modern efforts to make the temple amenable to tourists, it is virtually undeniable that the courtyard functioned as a tank that retained water. Flooding is what happens when it rains, with no mechanism other than natural rainfall required.

15. The reader will note from the example in Fig. 9.8b that many more large makara drain spouts—at least twelve on the Śiva temple alone, each with diameter of about 10 cm— were furnished for each of the circumambulation corridors of each of the courtyard’s temples, as though water was normally unwanted on the circumambulation corridors but was permitted to accumulate in the courtyard.

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I will now expand on Jordaan’s foundational thesis and direct it into new and expanded expressions, employing both new data and new considerations so as to allow us to discern the operational principles that underlay the creation of the Prambanan temple. The present chapter is but a preliminary and quite limited subset of the thesis I intend to lay out. When fully finished, I hope that this account inspired by Jordaan—it would not exist had he not shared his envisioning—will constitute the rudiments of a proper appreciation of the remarkable conceptual formulations undertaken by the Javanese in their astonishing kingdom, where their craft at Prambanan stood near the apex of their religious accomplishments.

water as an architectural element was known to the indic kingdoms outside the javanese realm To commence a further analysis of Prambanan as a tīrtha, it should be pointed out that water was incorporated into Pallava creations as an architectural element—jalavāstu—almost two centuries before Prambanan, and there are quite strong reasons to believe that the Central Javanese were cognizant of them. As Monius (2001: 104) noted, the South Indian Buddhist Maṇimekalai explicitly included Java (the island of ‘Cāvakam’) and Laṅkā as part of a recognized cultural domain. This close cultural linkage between Java and South India is further attested by the Javanese choice of script, which closely followed the Southern Indian form as late as the time of Sañjaya in 732 (Sarkar 1969); and—this is pertinent to Prambanan—their acceptance of the liṅga-pīṭhikā representation (Dhaky 2004). As noted by Dhaky, such Pallava embellishments found little purchase outside Narasiṃhavarman II’s Kailāsanātha temple, other than the widespread adoption in Central Java.16 16. Dhaky’s admirable effort may have ignored another kingdom that was closely connected to both South India and Java, for what appears to be a liṅga-pīṭhikā is found in the photographs around Mahendraparvata (Phnom Kulen) presented in the photographs of Boulbet and Dagens (1973: 90, Photo 19); these may be further revised with the renewed

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Fig. 9.9: The 732 CE inscription left by King Sañjaya at Candi Canggal on the Wukir hillock, some few miles to the east of Candi Borobudur. Shortly after its execution, the misfortunes of the Pallava may have stimulated a willingness in Java and elsewhere to experiment with new modes of design and decoration, though adhering to the general pattern fashioned during the period of the Pallava heyday. Photo: author

Even after the Pallavas began to stumble in the succession struggles that began in 728, the Javanese Śaivas likely accepted the Pallava works as paradigms for sophisticated temple architecture, for they were not only the first of the types of independent free-standing temples created by the Javanese, but the Pallava temples such as Kailāsanātha were also the largest and most theosophically evolved such temples at the time of the Javanese creations of Canggal or Prambanan. At the time when Sañjaya created his Śaiva temple to Śambhu

archaeological attention being paid to the vast Phnom Kulen site.

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water at Canggal, these free-standing temples would be novelties. As Sarma (1999: 546) wrote: The first [Pallava] attempt at a structural temple [as opposed to one cut into a natural rock] in Toṇḍaimaṇḍalam, as the present evidence goes, was the narapati Siṃhapallava Viṣṇugṛhaṃ caused by Narasiṃhavarman I (630–668) which was a house (śayyagṛha) for an extant recumbent god described mahācakrin in the midst of the ocean (jalanidhau) and built of stones (aśmābhiḥ). The image, a cut-out icon out of an exposed rock boulder touching the waves ‘is a very unconventional figure of reclining Viṣṇu without Ananta Bhūdevī, and āyudhas’. There are also more sculptured boulders near the Shore Temple.

Other temples of the Pallavas also incorporated water as an element, and an entire temple complex is called Jalaśayana (‘Lying in Water’). This idea sustained the placement of Rājasiṃha’s Shore Temple at Mahābalipuram (Māmallapuram), with its connotations of the Descent of the Ganges. Regarding this temple, Kaimal (2013: 143) observed that ‘Yet another scenario is of ceaseless ocean tides and periodic tsunamis slowly grinding the cluster of shrines commonly referred to as the Shore Temple down to soft lumps, and this [was] perhaps a planned outcome of placing icons on the shore line where nature could perform the daily ritual lustrations that honoured the divine (Smith 1996).’ Another site of pertinence is the c. 770 Vaikuṇṭa Perumāḻ temple of Nandivarman II, the courtyard of which seemingly served as a replica of the Ocean of Milk (Hudson 2008: 7). This temple is instructive for the situation at Prambanan for many reasons, and will be discussed in several places in this chapter. A fuller accounting of the employment of water in the Pallava and other Indian temples subsequent to the time of Prambanan is beyond the scope of this chapter.17 17. I am indebted to Corinna Wessels-Mevissen for drawing my attention to a publication by Dagens (2005: 185), mentioning that the space around the vimāna of the 12th-century Airāvateśvara temple, Darasuram, Tamil Nadu, was filled with water, since a very low wall leads around it. Gerd Mevissen (2002: 62) observes that the platform

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The practice of intentionally flooding the courtyard enclosure of a sacred location is established beyond all doubt by reference to instances dating from both prior to and subsequent to the erection of the Prambanan temple. The precedent derives from corroboratory passages in two Sri Lankan chronicles. From the late mediaeval Sinhalese chronicle Rājaratnākaraya (Karunaratne 2008: 33; cf. the much less precise description in Mahāvaṃsa XXXIV.45, which specifies that the water came from the Abhaya tank, now known as the Basawak-kulama) comes an account of an early inundation of the courtyard of Anurādhapura’s Ruwanweli stūpa, which involved using some mechanism—the precise nature is left unstated18— to spray the dāgäba with honey water, fragrant water, mercury water, and red ochre water for one week each, resulting in a courtyard that was filled calf-deep with this water when properly stoppered up. The courtyard was then inundated with ghee that had been stored in Lanka’s treasury, with the entire subsequent ceremony continuing for a week before, presumably, the courtyard was drained. I do not know whether the Rājaratnākaraya description accurately conveyed the details of the actual practice during the reign of Bhātika Abhaya (r. 19 BCE–9 CE) some 900 years before Prambanan and described in the Mahāvaṃsa from some 500 years before, nor is any description of the symbolic significance the month-long inundation ceremony provided in the Rājaratnākaraya and

(adhiṣṭhāṇa) at the Nṛtta Sabhā at Chidambaram is similarly recessed and ‘forms a shallow basin that at times was probably filled with water thus giving the impression that the whole structure was flooded.’ Mevissen (2002: 69n5) further notes that such shallow basins are found on the rathamaṇḍapas at Palaiyarai, Darasuram, Kumbhakhonam (at both the Sarangpani and Nāgeśvara temples), as well as Chidambaram (see also Mevissen [1996: 500]). As Liesbeth Pankaja Bennink has pointed out to me, the modern worshippers at the Airāvateśvara complain about the flooding of their temple, which forces them to walk through a courtyard flooded calf-deep during the rainy season. Of course, from the perspective of Prambanan, such a flooding is entirely intended. 18. I thank Peter Jordaan for pointing out the possibility that an Archimedean screw or else a pumped bladder was the tool used to achieve the Ruwanweli inundation.

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Fig. 9.10: The Ruwanweli stūpa of the Mahāvihāra in Anurādhapura, the courtyard of which, per the Rājaratnākaraya, was subject to periodic ritual flooding to the depth of a man’s calf. Photo courtesy of Osmund Bopearachchi.

Mahāvaṃsa other than it was a form of jalapūjā,19 but the Sinhalese account is significant in that it attests the ceremonial flooding of a courtyard that was equipped with a drainage system that could be stoppered up. What might be significant is the reported depth—calf-deep, perhaps 20 or 30 centimetrescm—of the Ruwanweli inundation, which generally accords with the 10 cm depth proposed by Jordaan (1995: 55, 57) based upon multiple considerations in the Prambanan temple courtyard (Jordaan 1995: 51–60).

19. It should be pointed out that the Sinhalese, although Buddhists, were quite conscious of the Vaiṣṇava account of the cosmic founding. T.B. Karunaratne (1990) discusses the Buddhist employment of the Anavatapta myth, listing deep homologies between the systems.

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The second piece of new information comes from a very recent archaeological discovery from Jombang in East Java, and is provisionally thought to derive from the 11th century reign of King Airlaṅga.20 The site features a temple in a constrained courtyard, with stone water channels leading from a nearby spring to feed water into the courtyard. Rather unfortunately, these pieces of information, which I believe are the single best substantiations of Roy Jordaan’s vision of an inundated Prambanan courtyard, only came to my attention after that gentleman’s passing in late March 2019. Lest the reader use the Lankan information about a mechanism or device to achieve the spraying of the Ruwanweli stūpa to look for a similar device 20. I am indebted to Peter Sharrock for noticing this and bringing it to my attention.

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water at Prambanan, in what follows I will lay out some novel considerations that should, I believe, make the mechanism of Prambanan’s flooding clear.

sanctification of water was known to and practised by the indicized javanese In the preceding section, I examined a few of the instances where foreign kingdoms that were well known—and seemingly deeply influential—to the Javanese furnished imaginative precedents for architectonic jalavāstu, incorporating bodies of water in their sacred architecture. I now wish to examine the somewhat parallel concept of consecration through contact with sanctified objects, requiring no sacerdotal manipulation in order to accomplish the generation of holy water. This process involves actual sacralized water, as opposed to a clever use of real water as a mere architectural feature. As I will argue below (p. 201), this process was a principal effect instituted at the Prambanan temple. Precedents or analogues for this process, some of which predate the period of Pallava stone temple construction, were available to the conceptualizers of the Prambanan temple, either as Javanese adoptions of Indian ideations or ideas original to the Javanese themselves.

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Perhaps the oldest of these conceptual precedents is to be found not in Central Java but to its west, in an inscription crafted in prior centuries by King Pūrṇavarman in his Tārumānagara kingdom near modern Bogor in West Java: the Vaiṣṇava Ci Aruteun inscription (Guy 2014: 11–12; see also the transcription given by Sarkar 1971: 3–5), incised on a boulder in the Aruteun riverbed. The inscription, engraved in a South India-derived script, was intended to be submerged in the intermittent flows through the riverbed and explicitly declares itself to sanctify the waters by doing so (Figs. 9.11a, 9.11b). The inscribed boulders of the Tārumānagara kingdom may provide not just a remote conceptual precedent for a consecration-by-contact at Prambanan, but a rather direct precedent for two noteworthy Śaiva artifacts of the 9th century, likewise immersed in a flowing river, this time the Opak River which courses to the southern sea and passes by the west side of the Prambanan compound. Two stone Śaiva yantra tablets (BG 748, BG 1521), with a circular, nine-compartmented diagram displaying tridents, lotus petals and lotus flowers, have been recovered about a kilometre downstream from Prambanan, within sight of the present bridge on the Yogyakarta-Solo Road. Rita Margaretha Setianingsih (1998: 18) notes that these symbols are reminiscent of the attributes of the digbandhas/navasaṅas, while Acri and Jordaan

Figs. 9.11a, 9.11b: Left (a): Flowing water as consecration: the Vaiṣṇava boulder inscription from the Ci Aruteun riverbed, a relic of the Tārumānagara kingdom in West Java. Photo OD-6889, courtesy of the Leiden University Library. Right (b): The site of the inscription (now removed) when the river is flowing after a rainstorm. Photo courtesy of Emmanuel Francis.

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Figs. 9.12a, 9.12b: Left (a): BG 748, one of the two engraved bījākṣara stones recovered from the Kali Opak, about a kilometre south of the Prambanan temple. An inscription, yet undeciphered or even adequately imaged, runs circumferentially in the band surrounding the inner grid. Photo courtesy of Swati Chemburkar. Right (b): A similar yantra figure engraved on a riverside boulder at the Kbal Spean site in Cambodia. Photo courtesy of Swati Chemburkar.

(2012: 290) note the likely conceptual association of the lotuses and attributes of deities on the Opak tablets with directional guardians depicted high on the superstructure of the central Śiva shrine at Prambanan. Further clarification of the purpose of one of the stones—the BG 748 artifact (Fig. 9.12a)—might be gained through both a careful study of the inscription that runs circumferentially around the central fields, and also through study of a similar device found at the Kbal Spean riverine site in Cambodia, which is flanked by at least one yantra inscription on a riverine boulder (Fig. 9.12b). If my appraisal of where the Prambanan water accumulation was vented is correct, these two yantra tablets—it is highly likely that there are more to be recovered— may have served as supplemental consecration for the Opak River.21 21. Although positioned on a boulder adjacent to the spring-source that fed into the Kali Bolong and not in the stream itself, the Sanskrit boulder inscription at Tuk Mas

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Yet another attestation of consecrationthrough-contact that was operative in the Matarām kingdom within a few decades and within a few kilometres of the construction of Prambanan is found at the catchment tank for water that passes under ‘triple miniature candi’ tank at the southern Ratu Boko promontory. This tank was established c. 857 by a royal Śaiva supporter—Śrī Kumbhayoni22—in his activities adjacent to the historic padhānaghara of the Sinhalese Abhayagirivāsins on the southern quadrangle of the Ratu Boko site. (‘Golden Spring’, located near the village of Lebak to the northeast of Magelang; cf. Sarkar 1971: 13–14) proclaims the spring to be ‘as purifying as the Gaṅgā’. The boulder is embellished with a multitude (16 or maybe more) of holy symbols, including padmas and radially segmented circles that are highly reminiscent of the Opak yantra stones. 22. As I proposed elsewhere (Sundberg 2011: 152n19; 2016: 363n23), Śrī Kumbhayoni was likely the former king of Galuh in Sunda, related to the Matarām regent King Kayuvaṅi (r. 855–885) via King Varak’s (r. 803–827) splitting of the kingdom.

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Fig. 9.13: The Śaiva ‘holy water machine’ of the Ratu Boko, mere metres from the Abhayagirin double-platform padhānaghara there. The tank into which the water flows has been dedicated to Śiva by a gold consecration foil. The three consecration temples are almost assuredly the work of the learned Śaiva nobleman Śrī Kumbhayoni and date from around 857 CE. Compare the three temples depicted in the boulder reliefs at the Kbal Spean site in Cambodia, and the three principal temples at Candi Prambanan, as well as the basin incised into the riverbed at the Kbal Spean site (Fig. 9.20 below). Photograph: author.

Fig. 9.14: The origination point of the channels that pass underneath the central of the Ratu Boko temple simulacra. Water, still profane, was somehow introduced into these channels to emerge as sanctified. Photo: author.

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Apart from whatever sanctification accrued to water fed under the three small shrines, the tank itself was consecrated to Śiva in the form of Rudra, as is evident from the gold foil recovered during its reconstruction (Balai Pelestarian Peninggalan Purbakala Yogyakarta 2007: 125). If the Ratu Boko tank is a tīrtha, it is the smallest of the ones created in Central Java. Prambanan, if its central courtyard indeed functioned as a tīrtha, would be the largest. Elevated as both the Ratu Boko and Prambanan sites were, they are unique in lacking passive hydraulic pressure to fill them; some alternate means of feeding them must be found. In the case of the Ratu Boko triplet of embryonic temples, the source was ultimately manual: the hierophant needed to bring water to the sluices under the temple. These alternative Javanese implementations of religious structures dedicated to consecration-by-contact are pertinent for Prambanan, but there is no obvious avenue for water into Prambanan. However, with no further intervention, rain from above floods the courtyard and would often be adequate to convey the desired impression as envisioned by Jordaan. Natural rainfall is the medium of inundation that I discern, and thanks to the particulars of a Śaiva riverine consecration device in mid-11th century Cambodia, I think that I can both identify the source of the water to be sanctified and unveil the mechanism of its sanctification, insights that ultimately point to the governing principle of the Prambanan temple. It is to that Kbal Spean site that we next turn.

the kbal spean śaiva gaṅgāvatāraṇa-sahasraliṅga sanctification site: the mass consecration of water in a commensurately indicized kingdom Cambodia’s Kbal Spean riparian site on the Stung Kbal Spean (‘Head Bridge Creek’), situated on the slopes of Phnom Kulen mountain that fed the ancient capital of Angkor from some 25 miles to the north,23 validates the concept of the conse23. This was the site of the historic Mahendraparvata (‘Great Indra’s Mountain’) and centre of Khmer governance

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Fig. 9.15: Yet another instance of the consecration of flowing water: liṅgas, nominally a thousand of them, carved into the Stung Kbal Spean riverbed, some 25 kilometres to the north of Angkor. From the mid-11th century, produced under the direction of the Śaiva king Sūryavarman I (r. 1006–1050) and his son Udayādityavarman II (r. 1050–1066). Note that the array of Kbal Spean liṅgas within a yoni suggests the Śaiva flower motifs on the temples at Prambanan, engraved as the motif on the thighs of the statue of Śiva Mahādeva at Prambanan, and on the stone tablet of the Kali Opak. Photo courtesy of Hunter Watson.

cration of a vast flow of water. This site, spread along a 200-metre stretch of the river culminating in a cluster of waterfalls, offers many features of pertinence to understanding the Prambanan temple established along the Kali Opak. The Kbal Spean site inscriptions, some dated from the specific years 1054 and 1059 and incised on boulders along the way, specify that the Kbal Spean is a in the early 8th century, the extent of which is only now being appreciated through the technique of LiDAR (Light Detection And Ranging) surveying.

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Fig. 9.16: The waterfall at the terminus of the Kbal Spean riverine site. Under the overhang are engraved some of the Sanskrit epigraphical messages that signal some understanding of what the site represents. At Prambanan, the waterfall is executed in permanent stone. Photo courtesy of Hunter Watson.

Fig. 9.17: Panorama of the scene depicted at the head of the sanctifying array of submarine liṅgas at Kbal Spean. The site is richly and multifariously redolent of themes central to Candi Prambanan, but perhaps represents just the beginnings of the pertinent art historical revelations from Phnom Kulen’s newly-unveiled Mahendraparvata site, whose religious architecture was contemporaneous to Prambanan. Photo courtesy of Hunter Watson.

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sahasraliṅga (1,000 liṅga) site dedicated to a Gaṅgāvatāraṇa: a site of a thousand śivaliṅgas, sanctifying the Descent of the Ganges. The large number of submerged liṅgas incised into the Stung Kbal Spean riverbed collectively serves as the consecrating mechanism intended to sanctify the water that linked the cosmic mountain of Kulen to the temples of Angkor. The site is worth describing in some detail: as I will lay out on p. 191, the Kbal Spean is one of the conceptual keys to Prambanan, opening deep retrospective insight into prominent features of the Prambanan temple, with the liṅgas occurring in clusters of arrays. Although the site has been subject to prior dedicated publications (Boulbet and Dagens 1973; Boulbet 1974; Jacques 1999; Tawa 2001; Bunker and Latchford 2004, 2011; Sokrithy et al. 2004),24 I will tailor my discussion to the task of explicating Prambanan. Although the site epigraphy remains to be comprehensively transcribed, translated, and explicated, the inscriptions specify the Kbal Spean to be a sahasraliṅga system at least twice, once in Sanskrit verse and once in Khmer (Jacques 1999: 359), and a cursory examination of the arrays of liṅgas incised into the riverbed leave little doubt as to the veracity of the claim (Figs. 9.15–9.20). On the overhang of the waterfall was written yet more Sanskrit poetry, with one verse (K. 1012, no. 1; Jacques 1999: 361) affirming the identity of river and Gaṅgā, reading Torrent of Rudra ([ru]dradhārā), river of Śiva (śivārnāsā), this Gaṅgā manifests itself visibly, noisily, that which completely destroys the faults of the world ([lo]kakilbiṣasaṃhartrī), like the celestial river (dyunadī; ‘heavenly river’, i.e. the Gangā).

The Spean, now sanctified after passage over the sahasraliṅgas and its plunge over the waterfall ledge, terminated in an immense tīrtha a number of miles downstream, whence this water was routed to a number of temples in the vicinity. The reader should appreciate the form assigned to these liṅgas, which were generally ringed at the 24. Apart from the literature cited, I am indebted to Emma Bunker, Swati Chemburkar, Peter Sharrock, and Hunter Watson for more detailed briefings on the site and its sculptural themes.

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Fig. 9.18: The profile of Kbal Spean’s liṅgas shows them to be isoforms of the decorative bell turrets at Prambanan. The creation of a 1,000 liṅga array at Prambanan was duplicated at the Kbal Spean, which is explicitly labelled a sahasraliṅga array in a contemporaneous site inscription. Photo courtesy of Hunter Watson.

apex when depicted in profile on the riverbed (Fig. 9.18), but could assume a spiky aspect when depicted in bas relief on the boulders along the river. The pertinence of this feature will be made apparent in the next section, where I will note the finials on what seems to be a corresponding sahasraliṅga implementation at Prambanan. These liṅgas did not always stand alone; the riverbed is frequently embellished with incised bas-relief yonis, many hosting a plurality of liṅgas that together assume the shape of a lotus, reminiscent of the more three-dimensional metallic depiction from Cambodia of a slightly later age. As Peter Sharrock pointed out, Khmer implementations of sahasraliṅga sites occur not only on Phnom Kbal Spean but also at the healing water spa of Neak Pean (Anluang Phkay) in Angkor itself, which was later converted to a Buddhist site under the great King Jayavarman VII. In this vein, I am further indebted to Hunter Watson for pointing out the existence of another ‘1,000 liṅga’ site in the Indian motherland, this one dating from the 18th century and fashioned at Sirsi Taluk, Uttara Kannada, Karnataka.25 25. In a helpful inquisition into the textual support for the sahasraliṅga concept, an anonymous reviewer of this chapter

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Figs. 9.19a, 9.19b: Left (a): One of the Kbal Spean’s nineteen bas-relief depictions of Viṣṇu reclining on the serpent Ananta, floating on the Ocean of Milk that he has just churned. Brahmā in turn issues from a lotus from his navel. This is precisely the subject of the opening register in the Rāmāyaṇa reliefs that wrap around Prambanan’s Candi Śiva and continue through its Candi Brahmā to its Candi Viṣṇu. This particular instance is flanked by a triplet of temples, with a liṅga and yoni depicted in the central one. Photo courtesy of Olivier Cunin. Right (b): An equivalent view taken when the waters are running. Note the splashy context of this Ocean depiction. Photo courtesy of Swati Chemburkar.

Fig. 9.20: A submerged basin excavated in the Kbal Spean riverbed. On its sides are engraved not one but two of the numerous instances of the Anantaśāyin episodes accompanying the Kbal Spean sahasraliṅga depictions. This basin finds corollaries in Central Javanese tīrthas and at the Ratu Boko (Fig. 9.13). Photo courtesy of Swati Chemburkar.

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The Kbal Spean site shows every indication of dating from the late-10th to mid-11th century, produced principally under the direction of King Sūryavarman I (r. 1006–1050) and his son Udayādityavarman II (r. 1050–1066), with Udayādityavarman completing his father’s 1000liṅga project upon his death (Bunker 2011: 228). The liṅgas are attributed to a minister and were carved by hermits. Interestingly, the first royal date was 986 in the Śaka system (= 1064 CE), and 986 was the actual number of the sahasraliṅgas that were engraved on the riverbed (Jacques 1999: 359). (Jacques [1999: 359] thought that one of the inscriptions [K. 1011/3] contains the number 900 that might reference a date, 978 CE, that corresponds to the first occupation of the site by Śaiva hermits, though he concluded that all four major groupings of the site’s inscriptions appear to have been engraved under the reign of Udayādityavarman II [Jacques 1999: 357]). It is unlikely that the Kbal Spean site was unknown in contemporaneous South India as Rājendra Cōḻa rendered assistance to Sūryavarman (Lippe 1971: 30); whether this is related to Rājendra’s attack on Śrīvijaya, where he sacked the capital and took the Śailendra king into captivity, remains unknown. There is indeed reason to believe that Śaiva ṛṣis participated in the development of the Kbal Spean site, as depictions of them are found in a number of locations, the site seemingly being their dominion. Further knowledge about the site might be gained through an analysis of the specific traits of these figures, along the lines of the pathbreaking identifications furthered by Chemburkar and Kapoor (2018) and Kapoor (2019). The reader should note that there are many features that stand as ancillary or adjunct to the sahasraliṅgas-Gaṅgāvatāraṇa river consecration offered some additional information on the Sirsi Taluk site, pointing out that the site, located on the Shalmala River, appears only to have been explicated by oral traditions, not texts. To take an example drawn from the website https:// www.inditales.com/sahasralinga-sirsi-thousand-shivalingas (last accessed April 2022): ‘The king of Sonda or Swadi Akasappa Nayaka has no children. He was advised by a priest to make 1008 Shivalingas to be blessed with children. So, the king had every stone at the bed of Shalmala River converted into a Shivalinga.’

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mechanism, and these are of deep interest for any full explication of Prambanan. Not the least of these are the numerous replicated depictions of the Anantaśāyin episode—19 distinct tableaux of Viṣṇu reclining on Ananta in the Cosmic Ocean with Brahmā lodged on a lotus stalk (Fig. 9.19). Although the Sanskrit inscriptions at the overhang of the waterfall seem to deal with the trimūrti of Śiva, Viṣṇu and Brahmā (vrahmaviṣṇvīśvara; Jacques 1999: 362), within the dominant Śaiva context, these Anantaśāyin depictions clearly denote not a Viṣṇu cult but rather the Śiva’s recurrent cosmocratic regeneration of the entirety of the universe, beginning each cycle afresh with the primary generations of the two subordinate mahādevas. There are other features of note, among which are the depiction of the cluster of three independent temples, each of which seems to shelter a liṅga (Boulbet and Dagens 1973: 11). In a separate depiction stands a now-unrecognizable figure poised in a tāṇḍava dance (Sokrithy et al. 2004: 44–46).26 Clustered with this depiction and flanking it are two other temples, each of which harbours a liṅga, with one of the temples having a great number of liṅga-like objects covering its roof. In light of the arguments to be advanced in the next section, this is not impossible to interpret as a sahasraliṅga temple of the type that I believe is found at Prambanan, where the pairing of liṅga and dance constitute antipodal modes of Śiva’s tattva (‘principle’ or ‘reality’). Thus, despite the predominance of the flowing water being progressively sanctified by passage over the sahasraliṅgas of the site, we see clear efforts to depict that which is both static as well as that which is cosmogenic. Solid liṅga- and tāṇḍava-related items enclosed within temples are not the only features to be engraved on boulders along the rivers. A basin—one presumes it to constitute a tīrtha—was excised in the riverbed, and the sidewalls of this submerged basin are furnished with not one but two of the Anantaśāyin Ocean of Milk representations.

26. Sokrithy et al. (2004: 45) describe this figure as a hermit sitting cross-legged in meditation in a small cell, but clearly this figure has assumed a stance used conventionally to denote dance, both in Śaiva as well as Esoteric Buddhist contexts. For a dancing Hevajra, see Sharrock 2009.

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water If the Opak river was consecrated by the two circular symbolic devices of the yantra tablets discussed above, the Kbal Spean site also partook of this Śaiva symbological imperative, for it too features a similar circle divided into nine compartments, with sacred glyphs within (Fig. 9.12a above). The Kbal Spean sacred circle, located in the vicinity of the waterfall, is accompanied by an inscription of four lines (Sokrithy et al. 2004: 28) that I do not believe has yet surfaced in the epigraphic literature, but that certainly will aid in better understanding of the Opak phenomenon. Also at the site but positioned on the riverbank is an independent statue of Brahmā, a feature whose significance might be made clear only through examination of the Śaiva liṅgodbhava myths. This Brahmā might not be wholly unconnected to the now missing royally sponsored ‘gold liṅga’ (suvarṇaliṅga) of the site. Per the epigraphic record there was at least one suvarṇaliṅga at the Kbal Spean site: Jacques (1999: 361) reads the Sanskrit inscription as referring to ‘a liṅga of gold installed on the summit of the mountain, ornament of the three worlds’. While Boulbet and Dagens (1973: 13) thought that they had identified the possible location for it in a now empty yoni within the river, Jacques (1999: 361) thought that the royal liṅga of gold was perhaps hosted on the riverbank, and that there was an edifice ‘of light materials’ erected not far from the first cluster of texts (Jacques 1999: 358). Such a riverbank temple with an independent Brahmā would accord closely with what was accomplished at Prambanan with its large statue of Brahmā positioned on an independent pedestal in the courtyard (at Position G in Fig. 9.2b). In the section that follows, I will greatly rely upon the themes—Gaṅgāvatāraṇa and sahasraliṅga most prominent among them—composited in the 11th-century Kbal Spean site in order to explicate the Prambanan temple, for it required the stimulus of these overtly identified Kbal Spean instances before I could see the analogous implementations at Prambanan.27 That said, I do not 27. The reader should be aware that there are a few features of the Kbal Spean site that do not find correspondences at Prambanan, some of which in fact are still quite mysterious. A sculpted three-dimensional frog with teeth stands out in my mind.

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think that the process of illumination is entirely one-directional: if Prambanan is back-illuminated by the Kbal Spean site, the Kbal Spean site could benefit from forward illumination from understandings developed at Prambanan. In fact, one of the issues that should be closely investigated is whether the Kbal Spean is a remote derivative of Prambanan, which likely implemented the Gaṅgāvatāraṇa and sahasraliṅga themes as boldly and conspicuously as anywhere in the Indic world. In contemplating the Kbal Spean as a derivative of Prambanan, we must ask whether there is any other precedent for the Spean’s ‘spiky’ liṅgas and the three central towers occupied by liṅgas. Can we conversely learn about Prambanan by observing what themes and motifs—the Bull, the isolated Brahmā, and the ‘orants’ (chanting supplicants) in particular—were selected for inclusion at Kbal Spean despite not having any particularly logical connection to the flow of the river, as with the multiple panels devoted to Viṣṇu on the Ocean of Milk? Before such progress through comparison can be made, thoroughly updated studies of both Prambanan and the Kbal Spean must be undertaken.

the central prambanan temples explicated as a gaṅgāvatāraṇa and sahasraliṅga sanctification site in light of the ratu boko and kbal spean evidence Regarding yet another of the features that were seemingly particular to Prambanan, namely the roughly one thousand idiosyncratic and distinctive fluted finials that abound on the eight substantial structures of its central courtyard, Véronique Degroot (2013: 66) noted: the bulbous finials that adorn all the temples of the central courtyard are unique to Prambanan. In Java, Hindu temples are usually topped by square finials, while Buddhist ones are crowned by stupas (bell-shaped monuments). The ribbed bulbs of Prambanan probably helped fuel the confusion of the first Western visitors, who often described the temple complex as a Buddhist monument.

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The peculiarity of the profiles of the sahasraliṅgas at the Kbal Spean Gaṅgāvatāraṇa riverine site—recall that the sahasraliṅga label is explicit, unequivocal, and confirmed by a count, while if it could not be guessed from the Śaiva Ocean of Milk imagery in proximity to its waterfall, the Kbal Spean site epigraphy explicitly identifies the river as the Gaṅgā—opens up a recognition of the correspondingly curious spike-tipped, ribbed bulbous finials that abound on the balustrades and superstructures from 200 years earlier at Prambanan (Figs. 9.21 and 9.22), the elaborated symbolic form of which impeded prior successful identification. These, I believe, are liṅgas—the core object is seen quite clearly in the instances positioned around the crowded tops of the temples, and there were almost certainly a thousand of them. Dutch researcher Peter Jordaan, with the help of Swati Chemburkar, has achieved a confirmed tally—a verified count on numbered photographs—that presently totals 995 liṅgas at Prambanan.28 The flutings on the Prambanan finials clearly depict srota-streams and represent the Descent of the Ganges—the reader will notice the upturn or upsplash of the fluting at the lower terminus, very certainly indicative that the Descent of the Ganges is the motif embodied in the ribbing. The lithic Ganges—there must be upward of 10,000 of these individual streams among the thousand bulbous finials—functions to not only illustrate the significance of the monsoon rainwater passing over them, but also to render that flow permanent, serving as a lithic embodiment of the activity of the sahasraliṅgas to sanctify water that perpetually flows over them even in the absence of rain, in much the manner that the ‘kāla-heads’ are disgorging and consuming the phenomenal world in perpetuity or that the temple makaras are continuously spouting jewels. The reader will observe that the depiction of this Gaṅgāvatāra-srota symbolism was essential even for the finials crowded into position at the 28. For comparison, there are not exactly 1,000 liṅgas depicted at Kbal Spean, but rather a number which denotes the Śaka year (986) of the site’s creation (Jacques 1999: 359). No such chronometric effect could be possible at Prambanan, which probably dated from around 780 Śaka: as mentioned, the labourious but not yet exhaustive count has turned up at least 995 fluted finials.

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very top of each of the individual shrines’ central spires, where the true underlying profile of the sahasraliṅgas (rather than the sahasrasrotas) is seen most distinctly: on these topmost structures space permitted the engraving of only minute indications of the Gangetic riverine flutings (Fig. 9.22b) but still important enough to depict. It is doubtlessly significant that all of the Gaṅgāvatāraṇa-liṅgas are established on the eight principal buildings within the central courtyard, with no identifiable liṅgas to be found on the 224 shrines in the peripheral courtyard or on the thick gated wall that demarcates the inner courtyard: the rainwater that passes over these Śaiva emblems is entirely constrained to the central courtyard floor. The Gaṅgā descends from Mount Kailash, and the waterfall is an essential element in the accounts of Śaiva cosmology and theology available in a number of the primary texts extant at the time.29 Per Śaiva mythology, the force of the fall is broken up by Śiva’s hair.30 The Prambanan Gaṅgāvatāraṇa-liṅgas incorporate this waterfall in their terminal upsplash, while similar waterfall splashes are created by the makara drain spouts that spew forth the Ganges onto the courtyard floor.31 Despite their different contexts and ori29. Adiceam (1976: 104; see also Gillet 2010: 247–272) notes that the association of Śiva and Gaṅgā is rather ambiguous in the texts and seems to manifest itself in three different expressions: Gaṅgāvatāraṇamūrti or ‘he upon whom descends the Gaṅgā’; Gaṅgādhara or ‘he who carries the Gaṅgā’; and Gaṅgāvisarjana, or ‘he who allows the Gaṅgā to flow’. Apart from the Liṅgapurāṇa and the Śivapurāṇa, there are accounts of the Gaṅgāvatāraṇa in the Sanskrit Vāyupurāṇa, Matsyapurāṇa, and Brahmāṇḍapurāṇa, as well as multiple sources in Tamil Śaivism, so by itself Prambanan’s Gaṅgāvatāraṇa motif possesses no strong diagnostic value for determining the sthalapurāṇa of the temple. 30. The Tamil Śaiva saint Māṇikkavācakar (800–862–?), whose activity was likely contemporaneous to the erection of Prambanan, mentions one of Śiva’s salvific acts, the catching of the falling Ganges in his hair, and he provides a rationale for this act in a verse: ‘Had she [Ganga] not plunged / into His matted locks, / there would have been great destruction / and the whole world would have plunged / into the nether regions.’ Māṇikkavācakar’s translator and commentator Glenn Yocum (1976: 24) notes, ‘Again, Śiva saves the cosmos from ruin, just as he saves his devotee from the ruin of rebirth and karma.’ 31. Taking pura in its sense of ‘temple’ rather than ‘city’, Griffiths (2011: 148) advances the suggestion that the

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Fig. 9.21: A view of the Prambanan temple, depicting the cascade of ribbed finials that occur on the superstructure and balustrades of the eight major shrines within the inner courtyard. Image courtesy of Peter Sharrock.

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Figs. 9.22a, 9.22b, 9.22c: Top left (a): The fluting on Prambanan’s thousand liṅga-finials lends a bulbous appearance to a lean base form. Numbering eight or sixteen ribbons, such fluting connotes the Descent of the Ganges or other symbolism related to the rainwater which poured down over the form. Photo: author. Top right (b): The finials as manifested at the apex of the primary Śiva temple. The reader will note that only the faintest indications of the fluting were created, but that the core resembles the liṅgas at the Kbal Spean and the caitya at the nearby Buddhist Candis Plaosan and Sojiwan (Fig. 9.23 below), and approximates the backpiece of the Śiva statue, several tens of metres directly below. Photo: Bernet Kempers 1955, as accented by Peter Jordaan. Bottom (c): The terminus of the water flow in the courtyard, with water spewed from the mouth of the makara. Photo courtesy of Roy Jordaan.

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water entations—Prambanan’s distributed and circumambulatory open-air presentation rather than the linear, riparian submarine context of the Kbal Spean, with the Prambanan water flow vertical rather than principally horizontal—the Prambanan and Kbal Spean objects are, in my opinion, most assuredly one and the same Gaṅgāvatāraṇa, with the waterfall breaking the Gaṅgā’s descent after it has passed over the liṅgas. Indeed, there is no way to prevent the rainfall from falling across these liṅgas: Java’s monsoon drenchings accomplish a mass lustration of them—no human mechanism is possible—off the superstructure liṅgas, with the consecrated water subsequently accumulating in the courtyard, passing either directly into it or else first being channelled through the makaras (see Fig. 9.22c). Once seen for what it is, the design leaves an indelible impression. At some point in the past millennium, the true identity of the sculptural depiction of these forms was forgotten by the local populace and baffled prior students of the temple. The bulky rotundity introduced by the Prambanan ribbing—a shroud that obscured their meaning (at least to the modern discoverers of the temples)—as well as the oddly spiky apexes, together with the admixture of these forms with more conventional temple finials—the kūṭa-shaped finials—are what kept the massive monolithic liṅgas from being detected by prior researchers of the temples.32 It was only the chance ‘Laṅkāpura’ of one of the Kumbhayoni Ratu Boko inscriptions was one name for the Prambanan temple, with its rich Laṅkāvatāraṇa imagery. (I remind the reader that the royal Śaiva exegete Śrī Kumbhayoni deposited Śaiva sacred architecture and Śaiva Sanskrit and Old Javanese inscriptions on the Ratu Boko, on the northern Gunung Kidul ridgeline, and on the plain between Prambanan and the Ratu Boko in the years between 856 and 863.) Griffiths (2011: 148n46) further moots the possibility that Kumbhayoni’s ‘Bhadrāloka’ temple is another name for Prambanan or else one of its components. In light of Griffiths’ argument, it is not implausible that Kumbhayoni’s reference to the nirjharapura refers not to a city named ‘Waterfall’ but rather is yet another reference to the Śaiva waterfall streams associated with the now-recognized Gaṅgāvatāraṇa of Prambanan. 32. I defer detailed discussion of the spiky finials that I recognize as Gaṅgāvatāraṇa-liṅgas to a future publication, where they will be identified as a conscious effort to mimic the caityas abounding on corresponding positions on the roofs of the Esoteric Buddhist temples—most particularly

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observation brought about by an effort to amplify the consecration-by-contact phenomenon that manifested the pertinence of the Kbal Spean sahasraliṅga depiction to the author.33 However, the Candi Sojiwan and Candi Plaosan—elsewhere on the plain. (Although he neither explained nor argued his identification, Chihara [1996: 132] was seemingly the first to posit that the Prambanan finials were not just Buddhist ratnas or bells but stūpas, an interpretation that was promoted at the very beginning of Java Studies by John Crawfurd). The thousand liṅgas from which they protrude, I will argue in supplement to the considerations posed by Jordaan (1993) and Kim (2007: 158–177), constituted a challenge to the commensurate, profusely replicated Buddhist symbolism found at the stūpa-studded Candi Sewu (Old Javanese sevu: ‘thousand’) and elsewhere among the Buddhist monuments of Java. After so many decades of Esoteric Buddhist predominance and the trio of elaborate state-sponsored expressions of that religiosity—Sewu, Borobudur, and Plaosan—the placement of a conspicuous sahasraliṅga array on the Prambanan superstructure was, I believe, the predominant symbolic imperative for Prambanan’s iconographic directors, as it was the first state Śaiva temple in nearly a century and a new hierarchy at the court had to be made visible to the populace. (As such, I will argue that the Prambanan temple supplemented the Śaiva resurgence manifested around 857 in the vicinity of the Abhayagirin compound on the Ratu Boko prominence, as I argued in Sundberg 2016). The sahasraliṅga system with the appended Gaṅgāvatāraṇa symbology seemed to be a simply brilliant contrivance that perfectly answered requirements, taking the specific form of the tapering stūpas of the nearby Candis Plaosan and Sajiwan. 33. Consideration of the circumstances of the Kbal Spean suggest that this Khmer site was itself inspired by Prambanan’s own spike-tipped sahasraliṅga and the triple tower with liṅgas inside. While the present author steps backward in time and employs the epigraphically well-described 11th-century Kbal Spean to explicate the 9th-century Prambanan, the true conceptual dependency was necessarily the reverse: the conceptualizations of Prambanan likely informed the Kbal Spean. Where, other than Prambanan, might the Kbal Spean carvers have gotten their liṅga model, as the spiked finials of which are a wholly unexpected feature of a liṅga? (As mentioned above, the author will point out in a future publication based on this chapter that these spiky liṅgas are a recasting of Buddhist caityas implemented in neighbouring Buddhist temples, particularly resembling those at Candi Sojiwan and the Plaosan complex. Whether this symbolic suppression of Buddhism was required by the instigators of the Kbal Spean sahasraliṅga site is unknown, but may merely have been a faithful embodiment of a sahasraliṅga expression first implemented at Prambanan). The Kbal Spean iconographic directors also implicated the Ocean

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Fig. 9.23: The stūpa-studded superstructure of one of the royal Buddhist shrines at Candi Plaosan, the signature product of King Garuṅ (r. 829–847) a generation or more from the earliest plausible date of the founding of Prambanan. A king critical to Java’s subsequent religious history, the raka of Pikatan (r. 847–855) began his public career (c. 835) as a sponsor of two prominent shrines at his predecessor Garuṅ’s Candi Plaosan complex, but came to be memorialized in his Śivagṛha mortuary inscription as a Śaiva. Photo courtesy of Roy Jordaan.

thousand liṅgas seem to have impressed themselves as the one folk memory of the temple complex, persisting in the local legend of the demon challenged by Loro Jonggrang, the daughter of the Ratu Boko, of Milk episode—the motif is replicated some nineteen times along the 200-metre stretch of river—and therefore seemingly understood the true profile of the Prambanan liṅgas, not being confused by the Gaṅgāvatāraṇa-cladding over the liṅga core: they possessed interior knowledge of Prambanan and were not tricked into replicating this superfluous aspect of the design. Given these considerations, it could be argued that the Śaiva Śailendra kings rather than the contemporaneously powerful Cōḻas were the ones to whom Sūryavarman I and Udayādityavarman looked when they needed a role model, and it can therefore be inferred that Prambanan was the preeminent expression of the sahasraliṅga, which the Javanese Śaivas apparently did like nobody before. (It should be noted that one of the possible conclusions drawn from this observation is that Prambanan was not wholly defunct even at the time when governance had shifted to East Java in the wake of what seems to be a 929 CE mahāpralaya deluge that visited upon the Central Javanese kingdom).

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to fashion a thousand statues overnight (Lokesh Chandra 1989; Jordaan 1993: 29–31). The quantity of 1,000 is the one fact of salience to endure through the thousand and more years. It is here, after much detailed argumentation, that a stock-taking may be considered appropriate. The takeaway that I stress to the reader is that one of the keys to understanding Prambanan is the rainwater that becomes sanctified by spilling over the liṅgas, an ultimate symbolic fulfillment of the consecration-by-contact ideation that was present elsewhere in theistic Java, both centuries before at Tārumānagara sites as well as at the time of Prambanan, where the phenomenon is also found in both the Kali Opak and Ratu Boko sanctification sites. Primarily, though, the consecration that occurs via the passive mechanism of the temple’s exterior liṅgas mirrors the consecration of water actively obtained from the statues standing on the yonis in the garbhagṛhas below.

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the gaṅgāvatāra and the śaiva ocean of milk: the intersection of two aquatic myths in prambanan’s courtyard The reader has by now undoubtedly seen that while only part of the rainwater courses down over the temples’ liṅgas, all of it terminates in the courtyard. The flow thus becomes an accumulation while that which was initially dynamic becomes static, analogous to the manner that Śiva manifests himself as the dynamism of the cosmic dance and the stasis of the liṅga.34 In both modes, though, the sacrality is retained, no matter what the form. It should be observed that at Prambanan, the two aquatic themes of Gaṅgā and Milk-Ocean are conjoined by the serpentine makaras, which are the mechanism of transformation in this fundamental process. The important makara theme and its royal associations—seemingly particular to the Śailendra dynasty—will be examined in the fuller publication of my research on Prambanan. The author thinks that the identification of the liṅga-consecrated rainfall as the source for the Prambanan courtyard seems assured: the only water flowing over these liṅga-turrets, half of which are located so perilously high on the temples that they are entirely inaccessible to humans, would be rainfall, and this is the only avenue of ingress for the sacralization of water for the tīrtha. As noted above, such mechanisms as chute, osmotic pressure from an underground spring, and bucket brigade have been mooted, but it is clear that the deluge of the superstructure of liṅgas is what did the trick. A further implication of this is that the Prambanan courtyard functions as not just a taṭāka—a large reservoir—but a fully sanctified tīrtha: its thousandfold passage across the liṅgas sanctified it, a further illustration of the principle of consecration by contact. With more than 200 cm of annual rainfall in Yogyakarta, the heavens indeed provide a profuse quantity of rainfall than can accumulate in 34. The reader is directed to skillfully-expressed passages on the complementary relationship between liṅga and tāṇḍava at the Chidambaram temple in Handelman and Shulman (2004: 33–44, 79–87).

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the Prambanan temple courtyard.35 This solves the troubling mystery of water in the courtyard, and in fact enhances the understanding of its nature, which had until now relied on the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa identification of it as an Ocean as well as what could be inferred by the hydrological references adduced, with great perspicacity, by Roy Jordaan. This sanctified courtyard is yet another Javanese conceptual innovation, although one strongly motivated by South Indian precedents of standing bodies or pools of water forming jalavāstu, or water architecture. How long the rainwater stood in the courtyard is unclear as the author is aware of no evaporation studies, but it is clear from observation of the rainfed basins on the southeastern Ratu Boko terrace that such water can persist for quite some time, and I can point to at least one possible Śaiva temple ritual justified by the desiccation of the Ocean: a concept in the Liṅgapurāṇa (29.29–32) where the Ocean dries up and needs to be recharged by the propitiation of Śiva’s liṅga. At the moment, the author lacks the ability to point to passages in the available mediaeval Śaiva literature that precisely sets forth a mythological nexus between the fluid Ganges and the static Ocean of Milk that the rainwater at Prambanan ultimately became: the Gaṅgā is an element within the phase of the Śaiva cosmic cycle while the Ocean is the period of hiatus where the destruction (saṃhāra) phases into emission (sṛṣṭi),36 35. It is to Peter Jordaan that I also owe a second suggestion pertinent to ancient realties at Prambanan. Noting the height of the raised platforms where the four stairwells intersect the circumambulation promenade around the Śiva shrine, Peter Jordaan suggests that the curious topology effectively segmented the shrine promenade into four self-contained basins that could be easily inundated by the plugging up the makara spouts that drain it. Jordaan further suggests that this might represent the four oceans of Hindu mythology. 36. In a comment on an early draft of this chapter, Andrea Acri aptly suggested that the Gaṅgā might be the sṛṣṭi and the Ocean would constitute sthiti. I would agree that such an assignment would be more logical and conceptually appropriate for the flow of rainfall at Prambanan, but know of no textual support for such a notion, as it seems from the Śaiva mythologies that the post-saṃhāra phase was the Ocean and that the Himalayas down which the Ganges flowed were subsequent creations. Acri’s point should be borne in mind in subsequent searches of the literature.

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with the Ocean made possible by the rainfall of three liṅga-filled temples37 does not greatly differ from the clouds formed out of the smoke of the than the miniature simulacra of temples found burning of the world in the saṃhāra (Liṅgapurāṇa at the Ratu Boko).38 Water flows over this fully 54.32–40; Shastri 1951: 212–213). However, such immersed tīrtha, as it does the riverbed yoni with texts as the Liṅgapurāṇa (77.53; Shastri 1951: 383) multiple liṅgas. As seen in Figs. 9.17 and 9.19, two recognize tīrtha and Gaṅgā to be analogous quan- of the Anantaśāyin scenes where Viṣṇu engages tities—‘The wells, tanks, and lakes are śivatīrthas in entranced yogic slumber upon a supposedly (sacred waters of Śiva). By taking a bath in those tranquil Ocean of Milk is anomalously set upon a with devotion one is undoubtedly liberated from rapid where the often-raging river splashes past. In brahmin-slaughter and other sins’—just as with short, there seems to be little concern on the part the Ganges. Although a formal statement of con- of contemporaneous Śaiva artists to differentiate substantiality has thus far eluded the author, pure between situations calling for still water and situcommon sense may alone suffice to suggest the ations requiring a flow of water. This indifference to distinctions between the missing connection. flowing Gaṅgā and placid Ocean is seen at the Whatever the ultimate scriptural impetus for Śaiva Chidambaram temple at Tillai—and also at the Gaṅgāvatāraṇa–Ocean nexus, the association the Aruṇācaleśvara temple at Tiruvāṇṇamalai—in was recognized by sophisticated Śaivas at religious South India, where the tanks are attested within sites other than at Prambanan. While an exhausthe sanctified perimeter of a temple.39 One of these tive survey awaits, the author can point to three sites—the Kbal Spean, the Chidambaram temple at Tillai, and the Aruṇācaleśvara temple at Tiru- 37. The now-abraded objects in the two flanking temples vāṇṇamalai—that bear phenomenological witness in Fig. 9.19 give the appearance of being liṅgas with a figure inside them, as though they were representations of a cato the Gaṅgā–Ocean association. nonical Liṅgodbhava as seen at the Kailāsanātha temple and At the Kbal Spean, which, if it could not be sur- elsewhere in South India. mised from its waterfalls, is a site that is explicitly 38. There are obvious suggestions of a direct relationship self-described as a Gaṅgāvatāraṇa, the Ocean of between the three massive temples on the north-south axis Milk theme is so important that Śeṣaśāyin imagery at Prambanan and the three miniature representational is implemented no fewer than nineteen times, dis- temples that lay on the north-south axis at Kumbhayoni’s tīrtha site at Prambanan. At the Ratu Boko, the sacralization tributed along the 200-metre stretch of sahasra- of water occurred via channels under the temples rather liṅgas clustered along the tumultuous river. At the than over them, and this may either indicate some sort of Kbal Spean site, the Ocean of Milk imagery occurs homology or deep interconnectedness with Prambanan concurrently with the sanctification of the river that I do not comprehend for want of understanding of the via the sahasraliṅgas, and even physically occurs precise relationship between the two sites in the 9th century. Because the Ratu Boko instances are oriented to the west upstream of the Gaṅgāvatāraṇa that is presumably rather than the east as at Prambanan they either are actually enacted by the waterfall. From the consecration analogous to the Prambanan triplet of ‘Candi A’, the Nandin site of the Kbal Spean, the flowing water is not shrine, and ‘Candi B’, or else they form counterparts to the arrested until it reached its final destination, a three principal temples at Prambanan, serving as linkage tank many kilometres downstream, but the site’s between the sites. If the Khmers of the mid-11th century knew of Pramcreators considered a tīrtha to be so integral to the banan, did they also know of the Ratu Boko and its basin, river site that a little tīrtha was excavated from the or indeed of the Prambanan courtyard as a basin? riverbed rock—one imagines the trouble for the 39. Michell (2003: 64) notes that of Chidambaram’s ten labourers—and provided with not one but two of tīrthas, two—the Śivagaṅgā and the Paramānanda Kupa, the the Śeṣaśāyin Ocean of Milk depictions (Fig. 9.19). ‘Well of Supreme Bliss’—lie within the temple. Surrounding (The Kbal Spean tīrtha is nowhere near as large as the temple is one called the Tirupparkkadal Tank, the ‘Tank of Divine Milk’. The nearby Indian Ocean itself is enrolled the Prambanan courtyard, but is quite commen- as one of the tīrthas in the accounting. Rajarajan (2016: 93) surate in size with the little tank at the Ratu Boko describes the dimensions of several South Indian temple platform, and the Kbal Spean’s bas-relief depictions tanks, including the Śivagaṅgā tank at Chidambaram. Com-

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water temple tanks is even named Śivagaṅgā:40 the tank is quite placid but the name suggests a dynamic process, so again this does not seem to have been a particularly troubling conceptual stumbling block for 11th-century contemporaries who participated in the same Śaiva tradition as Prambanan’s instigators. It should be remarked that liṅgas are to be bathed in Chidambaram’s Śivagaṅgā tank (Smith 1996: 72), so clearly the waters and the liṅgas are considered to be reciprocal influences, with each one bearing the potential to purify the other. A fact that Jordaan so effectively exploited, the courtyard of its ‘Crystal Temple’ was deemed an Ocean of Milk in the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa. In advancing this symbolic expression, the Javanese may not have been the first: a precedent for the embodiment of a rainfall-fed Ocean of Milk may be found from seven or more decades earlier. In Nandivarman II’s 770 CE royal Vaikuṇṭa Perumāḻ temple (Hudson 2008: 4) we can observe a Pallava conceptual model for the Prambanan courtyard serving as an Ocean of Milk. And as with the Ocean at Prambanan, this instance at the Pallava-instituted Vaikuṇṭa Perumāḻ seemingly benefitted from a literary mention, one by the Vaiṣṇava poet-saint Tirumaṅgai: ‘In this final stanza Tirumangai implies that Nandivarman will eventually receive this fruit. He also implies that the drainage moat surrounding the Vishnu-house is filled with water, that it is the Ocean of Milk, and that the Vimana in its midst is Vaikuntha on White Island. The black stone icon sitting inside is therefore Vaikuntha Perumal’ (Hudson 2008: 56). Noting that a rainwater drainage moat separates the Vaikuṇṭa Perumāḻ’s interior vimāna palace from a surrounding covered pared to Prambanan’s inner courtyard, which measures 110 by 110 metres, we see that the South Indian correlates are similar in area. The terrain to the east of the Prambanan temple hosted its own tank. At the village of Telogo (‘Lake’) to the east of Prambanan lay an embankment that formed a water reservoir, functional at the time that it was seen and measured by Crawfurd during the British Interregnum in Java. Crawfurd reported that it measured 200 feet on each side (Crawfurd 1820b: 346). 40. Both Chidambaram and the Tiruvāṇṇamalai sites have 1,000-pillared halls (Michell 2003: 50, 60), the significance of which should be carefully evaluated. Tiruvāṇṇamalai also boasts a tank of water anomalously called the Agni-tīrtha, no doubt related to the Liṅga of Fire that the temple harbours.

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circumambulation walkway, on which the history of the entire Pallava dynasty had been engraved, Hudson (2008: 7) further pointed out that ‘if the moat were plugged, however, the drainage would be like a moat surrounding a palace, or an ocean surrounding a mountain. The latter appears to be its original meaning.’ In the instance of the Vaikuṇṭa Perumāḻ, there is a bridge between walkway and vimāna. No such causeway was available to those admitted to Prambanan to worship. This said, it is not clear at this point whether the Prambanan concept was not ultimately derivative of an architecture implemented in South India, or alternately one initially implemented in the Matarām kingdom itself, some four decades before Nandivarman: the seventh strophe of King Sañjaya’s own 732 Canggal inscription, yet again displaying this phenomenological indifference between flowing and standing bodies of water, mentions the ‘wonderful place (yatrādbhuta) dedicated to Śambhu (śambho ’stu), a heaven of heavens (divyatama), surrounded by the Gaṅgā and tīrthas (gaṅgāditīrthāvṛta)’. It could very well be that one of Prambanan’s core symbolisms had been contrived by the kingdom’s dynast more than 120 years before, and the surroundings of Sañjaya’s temple on Gunung Wukir should therefore be investigated with great thoroughness by archaeo-geophysicists.41 A second identification thrown forth by the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa is that the temples are akin to Mount Mandara. Such would accord with contemporaneous South Indian conceptualizations of temples as mountains, where, for example, Rājasiṃha’s temple is named Kailāsanātha, Rājarāja Cōḻa’s Bṛhadīśvara temple is explicitly proclaimed to be the Dakṣiṇāmeru, the Meru of the South, while still other South Indian temples are named after Kedāra (see also Shulman 1980: 18). The tower of the Kālamukha Kedāreśvara temple of Karnataka is explicitly analogized to Kedāra and its bathing streams for the ascetics to the Ganges in an inscription of the 12th century (Lorenzen 1991: 103). 41. In a future publication, Peter Jordaan and I will examine linkages between features of the kingdom of Sañjaya c. 732 and not only the disposition of the lands and temples around the modern Prambanan village but also the modern kratons of the Sultan of Yogyakarta and the Susuhunan of Surakarta.

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Whether the Prambanan temple was also considered Mount Mandara by its Śaiva creators or whether it was conceptualized as a Meru—the specific mountains associated with Gaṅgā—is uncertain to me, but the notion of a mountain or mountains emerging from an ocean is firmly supported by one of the gold-foil consecration deposits found deep within the Śiva temple pit, directly under the yoni on which the Śiva statue stands. The instance of the gold foil reading varuṇaparvvata (Fig. 9.24) affirms the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa’s claims of the presence of temple-mountains protruding from the seas.42 Although the full set of foundation deposits Fig. 9.24: The gold foil foundation deposit from the Śiva temple pit. The two lines are entangled, with the r token would need to be evaluated before a proper holistic of parvvata intruding into the three syllables varuṇa on assessment of the ensemble can be undertaken, the line above. Detail reproduced from Ijzerman 1891, ideally exploiting the new knowledge base about volume 2, Plate XXII, Fig. 92. the Prambanan temple, it does seem that the name ‘Varuṇa’, the supreme aqueous god, is the dominant name, although the artifact upon which it is found The relationship between Varuṇa and a does require some explication. parvvata-mountain suggested by the Prambanan On the same consecration foil as the ‘Varuṇa’ gold foil deposit may be an echo of the myth that is the word parvvata, and in fact the spelling out of Gaṅgā,44 together with Śiva’s other wife Pārvatī, was ‘Varuṇa’ is interrupted by the superlinear r token the daughter of Meru. This may have some bearing— of parvvata: the parvvata intrudes into Varuṇa’s discussed below—not only on the understanding name, just as the temple protrudes from the of the Opak river which flows from Central Java’s courtyard waters. The significance of this deposit ‘Meru-api’ or the ‘Meru of Fire’, but also of the is substantial and multifarious, and bears upon the dynast Sañjaya and his ostensibly close association presence at Prambanan of a liṅgodbhava (‘Arising with Java’s Merapi volcano: the Old Sundanese of the Liṅga’), for as Kumar (1983: 30) notes, the Ṛg Carita Parahyaṅan reports that Sañjaya was born Veda records that it was none other than Varuṇa there, and Sañjaya analogizes himself to Meru in who placed a ‘column of lustre’ in the cosmos, and his own extant expression of his Śaiva religiosity, it is precisely this ‘column’ that features in the the 732 CE Canggal inscription of Sanskrit verse liṅgodbhava myth.43 from the Śaiva temple at Mount Wukir, a handful of miles to the east of the Borobudur stūpa. The evidence of the Ocean in the courtyard 42. This idea is further confirmed in the Pupus inscription, where a saṃ hyaṃ prasāda parvvata—a ‘holy temple- supports the conclusion of Jordaan and others that mountain’—is the descriptor offered for a Dieng-area a description of Prambanan underlay the Crystal temple that was allocated to the descendants of King Temple of the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa. Apart from Sañjaya. reinforcing the South Indian analogies of temples 43. Handelman and Shulman (2004: 83) note the difand mountains discussed above, this Rāmāyaṇa ferentiation of liṅgas at various prominent South Indian reference also seems to reinforce the liṅga conceptemples. There was a Liṅga of Wind at Kalahasti; of Fire at tualization: Soumya James (2011: 176–177) remarks Tiruvāṇṇamalai or in the Bhairava myth; of Earth at Kāñcī; of Water at Tiruvanaikka; and of Space itself at Chidam- on the readily-acknowledged and little-disguised baram. (In a future publication, I will propose that the fire contained within the pembakaran at the Ratu Boko escarpment may have participated in this—much as a sacred fire, intimately associated with the Liṅga of Fire, was staged at Tiruvāṇṇamalai on the lofty hilltop overlooking the town and the temple).

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44. Glynn (1972: 19) noted that ‘the reasoning for the marriage [between Śiva and Gaṅgā] may also revolve around the fact that she is carried in the jaṭā of Śiva, and consequently is always with him.’

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understanding of the churned nectar-producing the churning action and the fluid flows. At PramOcean and the churning stick as a sexual metaphor, banan, I observe, liquid gushes from 1,000 liṅgas, so the liṅga-festooned temples are themselves the including the master one directly over the head of churner Mount Mandara, which means that yet the Śiva embedded on the yoni in the garbhagṛha again they are to be interpreted as the phalluses of the temple. It is not implausible to suspect that the temple is a massive symbol of cosmic fecundity that do the churning. Continuing with the themes of temples as and fertility, a deep appreciation of the waters that mountains, mountains as churning sticks of the allowed the Matarām kingdom to be fertile. Ocean, and churning sticks as liṅgas, I should not The chief objection to this interpretation is the omit pointing out that the liṅga-studded temples temple’s very poor correlation to a praṇāla spout, themselves jut out of Prambanan’s oceanic tīrtha. with eight unembellished drainage spouts orientThe sequence of associations naturally segues into ed in all the cardinal directions and not just the the topic of liṅga-tīrthas. Kumar (1983: 359–383) single north-pointing one of the paradigmatic yoni. provides a listing of the liṅga-tīrthas of India as There are points to be made for and against this listed in the Skandapurāṇa. As noted above, liṅgas interpretation, and the tension will sadly never be were to be bathed in Chidambaram’s Śivagaṅgā resolved for want of conclusive evidence. tīrtha. Liṅga and lustral water are complementary quantities that together make a whole. Rajarajan the role of the ocean of milk (2016: 86), citing ‘the Liṅga in the Āṉaikkā garbhagṛha… eternally surrounded by a pool of water’, in prambanan’s ‘axis of cosmogony’ even explicitly invokes the Śeṣaśāyī of the Kbal Spean site that has so much parallel value for ex- In closing this detailed examination and expliplicating Prambanan. Davis (1991: 127, Fig. 9) no cation of Roy Jordaan’s thesis of the Prambanan doubt addresses the power of this pairing when courtyard as an Ocean of Milk, I turn now to the cosmological implications of the presence of that he observes that the liṅga and pīṭha constitute motif at Prambanan. As touched on above, it is the Divine Body and Divine Throne, or Pure and essential to note that as a conceptualization by Impure Domains, which ‘together substantiate an Śaivas, the Ocean of Milk represents but a phase entire cosmos’. in the cosmic cycle: in the bas-relief depiction of I come to the point in my conjecture and Anantaśāyin that temple celebrants will encounanalysis of the full dimensions of the Prambanan ter upon ascension of the primary staircase to courtyard tīrtha where I must address another the perambulation path of the Śiva temple, and possible lithic symbolism incorporated into the periodically re-encounter on the inner balustrade Prambanan temple: if the thousand liṅgas on the each and every time they make another round of superstructures and the balustrades of the eight worshipful circumambulation, Viṣṇu is no longer principal Prambanan devālayas are all producing ‘the lord reclining on his snake-couch, in the deep holy water with every raindrop that flows across yogic sleep out of which all creation proceeds’ of them, and the eight temples are themselves con- the Vaiṣṇavas’ own conceptualizations. (The Kbal ceptualized as giant liṅgas capped with a single Spean’s multiplicity of Viṣṇus and Brahmās in the bulb, is the courtyard conceptually the recipient replications of Ocean of Milk manifestations— yoni into which all of this holy water flows? This no fewer than nineteen of them—also seems to possibility seems supported by Cambodian Śaiva hold conceptually true at Prambanan, although practices where multiple liṅgas are depicted within at Kbal Spean they are encountered serially along a single yoni, an instance of which can be seen in the run of the river rather than periodo-cyclically Fig. 9.15 above. Accepting these as possible concep- as at Prambanan). The context promoted at the tual paradigms, the construal of Prambanan’s eight Prambanan temple almost certainly wrapped temples as liṅgas might make yet more sense, with this primordial act of Viṣṇu in a Śaiva myth of the courtyard itself as the yoni, the beneficiary of cosmic predominance, in which Viṣṇu’s acts of

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the creations of universes and Brahmā’s acts of the creation of mobile and immobile beings occurred repetitiously, as the initial unfoldings of new sṛṣṭi (emissive) processes directed by Śiva, as widely described in the major Śaiva purāṇas and āgamas. The witnessing of the Oceanic birth of Viṣṇu’s cosmos by a group of five Śaiva ṛṣis—in a future publication I identify them as the pañcakuśikas, headed in Java by Pātañjala in lieu of the Lakulīśa of the Indic Pāśupata texts (see Sarkar [1967: 641–642] and Acri 2014)—clearly shows it to be an episodic event particularized within a Śaiva narrative. The cosmogenesis and hierophany requires the intervention of saṃhāra—the cosmic dissolution— the recurrent point at which the old universe had been pulverized, incinerated, and inundated, with Śiva then unfolding himself into a Viṣṇu and a Brahmā for the subsequent and subsidiary expansion into the newly regenerated universe, an entity that Hudson (2008: 311) calls ‘spacetime’. Thus the Śaiva Ocean is the yugānta-toya, the water at the end of a yuga, and simultaneously the primordial samudra, also divinely provided through the activity of Śiva. The liminal Ocean of Milk stands between the saṃhāra and the renewed sṛṣṭi, and in the context of Prambanan whose Ocean is filled by cloudbursts sanctified by passage over its thousand Gaṅgāvatāraṇa-liṅgas, consideration of another passage of the Liṅgapurāṇa (54.32–40; Shastri 1951: 212–213) demonstrates a deep linkage to the mechanism that seems to both provide and sanctify the water that fills Prambanan’s courtyard: the conservation of matter and the generation of clouds out of the smoke of the burning of the world in the saṃhāra: The waters drunk by the sun penetrate the moon gradually and from the moon they drip down to the clouds. On being tossed about by the wind, the cluster of clouds causes shower on the earth…. There is no destruction of water. The same water revolves. For the welfare of creatures, the waters have been evolved by lord Śiva as their ultimate resort. The waters alone constitute Bhū, Bhuvaḥ, Svaḥ, anna (cooked rice) as well as nectar. The waters are the vital breaths of the worlds, the living beings, the worlds themselves. Of what avail is

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much talk? The world of mobile and immobile beings is constituted by the waters. Lord Śiva is the overlord of the waters. He is glorified as such. The universe is identical with him. What is there to wonder at in this? The designation Nārāyaṇa was acquired by Viṣṇu by the grace of the waters. Viṣṇu is the abode of worlds and the waters constitute his abode. When the mobile and immobile beings are being burned by the fire and tossed up as smoke by the wind, the vapours that go up urged by the wind form the clouds. Hence the mixture of smoke, fire and wind is called cloud. The word abhra (cloud) is derived as follows: ‘that which showers water’.

In the fuller version of this chapter, I will point to devices at the heart of Prambanan’s central Śiva temple that demonstrate both cosmology—the mastery and command of kāla, or spacetime, integrated into the great statue of Śiva on the yoni in the central garbhagṛha, primarily the Egg of Brahmā (Brahmāṇḍa), the prolate spheroid contained in the lower left hand of the statue (see Fig. 9.1). As well, I will argue, the temple points to an avenue for the transcendence of that spacetime, a soteriology indicated in the depiction of a very special bas relief figure—seemingly half man, half serpent, the top half being the torso of a man, the lower half a coiled snake, the human head shrouded by a serpent’s hood, with hands folded in his lap in the manner of the corresponding architrave figure at the nearby Buddhist Candi Kalasan, sitting in either in water or amidst clouds or even amidst both clouds and water—posed on the apex of the architrave directly above the entrance to the central garbhagṛha. This architrave figure is manifestly important—it is positioned above even the trio of the seated Śiva and consorts, demarcated by a Kāla-head—and likely highly diagnostic for the Prambanan temple; its importance was already signalled by Jordaan (1996b: 216, Photo 26). In the fuller version of this chapter—the considerations are too lengthy to be adequately presented here, but for the moment suffice it to point to quite similar painted and iconic depictions of the demiserpent Patañjali at the Chidambaram temple in South India—I will argue extensively that the figure is the yogin Patañjali, the author of the Yo-

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Figs. 9.25a, 9.25b: Top (a): The shrine positioned at the precise centrepoint of the inner courtyard, just to the left of the stairway that brings the worshipper laterally to the circumambulation promenade and vertically to the garbhagṛha of Śiva. Photo courtesy of Roy Jordaan. Bottom (b): A graphic depicting major elements of the cosmogenetic imagery at the heart of the Prambanan temple. Image courtesy of Peter Jordaan.

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Fig. 9.26: The demiserpent depicted above the entrance to the Śiva garbhagṛha. The author argues that this figure is to be identified as Patañjali, both the yogin as well as his mythic alter ego, the serpent who promoted Śiva’s fundamental cosmic activities. Image courtesy of Roy Jordaan as amplified by Peter Jordaan.

gasūtra and purportedly other erudite works, who in South Indian Śaiva texts acquired a mythicized dimension as a serpent integrally associated with the fundamental activities of Śiva, particularly with the Ocean and the dance that are the principal expressions of kāla at the Prambanan temple.45 The nāga Patañjali is attested in these Tamil myths as the principal promoter of Śiva’s cosmic tāṇḍava dance, and in his prior incarnation as the snake Ananda upon whom Viṣṇu slumbers on the Ocean of Milk (Handelman and Shulman 2004: 67–79), 45.  Of the dance and Kāla, Heinrich Zimmer (1933: 38) wrote that ‘Time itself is absorbed and carried by the movement of the image of Śiva Naṭarāja. His figure dances the flux of time and all it carries, produces, changes and devours. These images are far from showing one phase of the dance or one moment only of time. Dance in them is a state and suggests the totality of the flux of time.’ This elegantly phrased expression was used as the epigram to Wessels-Mevissen’s (2012: 298) own study of the Naṭeśa figure.

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and in both bodies we see Patañjali’s presence as nāga insinuating itself into the first segment of the Śiva shrine’s balustrade, on both its inward and outward facets. The architrave demiserpent I identify as the nāga-yogin Patañjali—perhaps Śiva’s principal or most consequential emanation for the purposes of the lore of the Prambanan temple, placed front-and-centre in the position that would be occupied by Lakulīśa in a Pāśupata temple—is a critical participant in an ‘triangle of cosmogenesis’ between the garbhagṛha and the Ocean on the Śiva temple, with both aspects of his alter egos overseeing and underpinning much of it. A further expression of Prambananian cleverness, then, is the architrave figure Patañjali surveilling his own subsidiary and simultaneous manifestations on the Ocean of Milk panel many metres below, where he incorporates himself organically as the nāga of the cosmogonic trio where Viṣṇu and Brahmā are introduced to the world as Kāla

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water and Kāla, and once again as the Śaiva yogin Pātañjala at the head of the other pañcakuśikas, not to mention his association with the cosmoregulatory tāṇḍava performance. I can think of no other candidate identification from the Śaiva world who matches the figure on the Prambanan lintel, much less one that carries as much explanatory power for the iconography of the centrepoint balustrades of Prambanan or elsewhere in the other temples within sight of the lintel figure. The identification of the figure as Patañjali, I believe, uniquely unlocks the symbolism at the centrepoint of Prambanan and allows its conceptual coherence to be appreciated. It also is sublimated into a yet-higher soteriological importance, for the serpent seems to implicate the Prambanan temple’s omnipresent Śaiva yogins—masters of transit and fluid transition—in the generations of the worlds as well as the technique of release from them.

conclusion One of the objectives of this chapter was to document the conceptual innovations of the Javanese Śaivas. The imposition of iconic Śiva upon the yonis in place of an aniconic liṅga, and the ideation of Brahmā and Viṣṇu as yoni-mounted mahādevas, is one innovation. The courtyard-as-tīrtha-asOcean depiction was yet another for which the Javanese Śaivas deserve credit as originators. The Gaṅgāvatāraṇa-sahasraliṅga array is a third in a tally of the temple’s innovations. The density and form of the cosmogonic imagery at the centre of its temple—the full explication waits for a future publication—is seemingly yet another, imaginative expression that retains conceptual fidelity to major Śaiva myths and theology of the day. The time is therefore ripe to look for further instances of Śaiva brilliance at the temple and on the island, and to look abroad for ripples from Prambanan’s gigantic tīrtha in the Śaiva world at large. In light of the considerations laid out above, and especially in light of the depictions of liṅgas at the Kbal Spean site, the author hopes to have substantially vindicated and further developed Roy Jordaan’s vision of the flooding of the Prambanan courtyard as an act of religious symbolism. He is very much a founder of a feast.

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the Danang Museum of Cham Sculpture, pp. 45–56. Bangkok: River Books. Chihara, Daigoro. 1996. Hindu-Buddhist Architecture in Southeast Asia. Leiden/New York/Köln: E.J. Brill. Crawfurd, John. 1820a. ‘The Ruins of Prambanan in Java’, Asiatick Researches; or, Transactions of the Society Instituted in Bengal for Enquiring into the History and Antiquities, the Arts, Sciences, and Literature of Asia 13: 337–368. . 1820b. History of the Indian Archipelago; Containing an Account of the Manners, Arts, Languages, Religions, Institutions, and Commerce of its Inhabitants. Two volumes. Edinburgh: Constable. Dagens, Bruno. 2005. ‘Le temple et le miroir à travers le monde indien’, in Bruno Dagens, Marie-Luce Barazer-Billoret, and Vincent Lefèvre (eds.), Traités, Temples et Images du Monde Indien. Études d’histoire et d’archéologie, pp. 181–201. Pondicherry/Paris: Presses Sorbonne nouvelle/Institut français de Pondichéry. Daud Aris Tanudirjo. 2011. ‘Pemugaran Kembali Candi Siwa pascagempa 2006: perspektif arkeologi’, Buletin Narasimha 4: 15–22. Davis, Richard. 1991. Ritual in an Oscillating Universe: Worshipping Śiva in Medieval India. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Degroot, Véronique. 2008. ‘Ancient Bathing Places of Central Java: A Short Survey’, Aziatische Kunst 38/4: 62–68. . 2013. Magical Prambanan. Yogyakarta: P.T. Taman Wisata Candi Borobudur, Prambanan & Ratu Boko. . 2017. ‘The Liangan temple site in Central Java’, Archipel 94: 191–209. Dhaky, Madhusudan. 2004. ‘Javanese pīthikās of Śivalingas’, South Asian Studies 20/1: 1–7. Dinas Purbakala Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta. 1993. Laporan Pembenahan Halaman Pusat Candi Prambanan Tanggal 15 Juni s/d 15 September, 1993. Bogem: Panitia Pemugaran Candi Wahana Candi Lorojonggrang Prambanan Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta, Dinas Purbakala. Eliade, Mircea. 1976. ‘The World, the City, the House’, in Mircea Eliade (ed.), Occultism, Witchcraft, and Cultural Fashions: Essays in

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Comparative Religions, pp. 18–31. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gillet, Valérie. 2010. La création d’une iconographie śivaïte narrative. Incarnations du dieu dans les temples Pallava construits. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry/École Française d’Extrême-Orient. Glynn, Catherine. 1972. ‘Some Reflections on the Origin of the Type of Gaṅgā Image’, Journal of Indian Society of Oriental Art, New Series 5 (Dr. V.S. Agrawala Commemoration Volume, Part 2): 16–27. Goudriaan, Teun and Christiaan Hooykaas. 1971. Stuti and Stava (Bauddha, Śaiva and Vaiṣṇava) of Balinese Brahman Priests. Amsterdam/ London: North-Holland Publishing Company. Griffiths, Arlo. 2011. ‘Imagine Laṅkapura at Prambanan’, in Andrea Acri, Helen Creese, and Arlo Griffiths (eds.), From Laṅkā Eastwards: The Rāmāyaṇa in the Literature and Visual Arts of Indonesia, pp. 133–148. Leiden: KITLV Press. Guy, John. 2014. ‘Introducing Early Southeast Asia’, in John Guy (ed.), Lost Kingdoms: Hindu-Buddhist Sculpture of Early Southeast Asia. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Handelman, Don and David Shulman. 2004. Śiva in the Forest of Pines: An Essay on Sorcery and Self-Knowledge. New York: Oxford University Press. Hooykaas, Christiaan. 1966. Sūrya-Sevana: The Way to God of a Balinese Śiva Priest. Amsterdam: Noord-Hollandsche Uitgevers Maatschappij. Hudson, D. Dennis. 2008. The Body of God: An Emperor’s Palace for Krishna in Eighth-Century Kanchipuram. New York: Oxford University Press. Ijzerman, J.W. 1891. Beschrijving der Oudheden nabij de Grens der Residentie’s Soerakarta en Djogdjakarta. Two volumes. Batavia: Landsdrukkerij. Jacques, Claude. 1999. ‘Les inscriptions du Phnom Kbal Spãn (K. 1011, 1012, 1015 et 1016) [Études d’épigraphie cambodgienne XI]’, Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 86: 357–374. James, Soumya. 2011. The Symbiosis of Image, Monument, and Landscape: A Study of Select Goddess Images at Prasat Kravan, Kbal Spean,

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The Prambanan Temple as a Sahasraliṅga Mechanism for the Consecration of Water and Banteay Srei in Cambodia. PhD dissertation, Cornell University. Jordaan, Roy. 1989. ‘A Holy Water Sanctuary at Prambanan’, Amerta: Berkala Arkeologi 11: 17–41. . 1991. ‘Text, Temple, Tīrtha’, in Lokesh Chandra (ed.), The Art and Culture of SouthEast Asia, pp. 165–181. Delhi: Aditya Prakashan. . 1993. Imagine Buddha in Prambanan: Reconsidering the Buddhist Background of the Loro Jonggrang Temple Complex. Leiden: Vakgroep Talen en Cultures van ZuidoostAzië en Ocienië, Reiksuniversiteit te Leiden. . 1995. ‘Prambanan 1995: A Hypothesis Confirmed’, IIAS Newsletter 6: 37. . 1996a. ‘Candi Prambanan: An Updated Introduction’, in Roy E. Jordaan, In Praise of Prambanan. Dutch essays on the Loro Jonggrang temple complex, pp. 3–115. Leiden: KITLV Press. . 1996b. In Praise of Prambanan. Dutch essays on the Loro Jonggrang temple complex. Leiden: KITLV Press. . 2011. ‘The Causeway Episode of Prambanan Reexamined’, in Andrea Acri, Helen Creese and Arlo Griffiths (eds.), From Laṅkā Eastwards: The Rāmāyaṇa in the Literature and Visual Arts of Indonesia, pp. 179–207. Leiden: KITLV Press. Kaimal, Padma. 2013. ‘Lakṣmī and the Tigers: A Goddess in the Shadows’, in Charlotte Schmid and Emmanuel Francis (eds.), The Archaeology of Bhakti I, pp. 143–175. Pondicherry: École française d’Extrême-Orient/Institut français de Pondichéry. Kapoor, Shivani. 2019. ‘Iconography of Pashupata Ascetics in Cambodia’, Orientations 50/1: 122–131. Karunaratne, Kusuma. 2008. Rājaratnākaraya (The Gem Mine of Kings) by Venerable Mahathera Abhayaraja Pirivanea Valgampaya. Colombo: Ministry of Cultural Affairs. Karunaratne, T.B. 1990. ‘The Healing Power of the Waters of Anavatapta’, Sri Lanka Journal of Humanities 16: 137–155. Kim, Bo-Kyung. 2007. Indefinite Boundaries: Reconsidering the Relationship Between Borobudur and Loro Jonggrong in Central Java.

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PhD dissertation, University of California at Los Angeles. Krom, N.J. 1923. Inleiding tot de Hindoe-Javaansche kunst, Volume I (2nd ed). ’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff. Partially republished in translation in Jordaan 1996b: 147–152. Kumar, Savitri. 1983. The Paurāṇic Lore of Holy Water-Places: With Special Reference to Skanda Purāṇa. Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal. Levin, Cecelia. 2011. ‘The Grand Finale: The Uttarakāṇḍa of the Loro Jonggrang temple complex’, in Andrea Acri, Helen Creese, and Arlo Griffiths (eds.), From Laṅkā Eastwards: The Rāmāyaṇa in the Visual Arts and Literature of Indonesia, pp. 149–178. Leiden: KITLV Press. Lippe, Aschwin. 1971. ‘Divine Images in Stone and Bronze: South India, Chola Dynasty (c. 850-1280)’, Metropolitan Museum Journal 4: 29–79. van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, J.E. 1955. ‘The Dikpālakas in Ancient Java’, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Landen Volkenkunde 111: 356–384. Lokesh Chandra. 1989. ‘Preface’, in Willem F. Stutterheim, Rāma Legends and Rāma Reliefs in Indonesia, pp. 9–15. Delhi: Abhinav Publications. Lorenzen, David. 1991. The Kāpālikas and the Kālāmukhas: Two Lost Śaivite Sects. Second revised edition. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Mevissen, Gerd. 1996. ‘The Suggestion of Movement: A Contribution to the Study of Chariot-shaped Structures in Indian Temple-architecture’, in Debala Mitra (ed.), Explorations in Art and Archaeology of South Asia: Essays Dedicated to N.G. Majumdar, pp. 477–512. Calcutta: Directorate of Archaeology and Museums, Government of West Bengal. . 2002. ‘The Nṛtta-sabhā at Chidambaram: Some Remarks’, in R. Nagaswamy (ed.), Foundations of Indian Art: Proceedings of the Chidambaram Seminar on Art and Religion, February 2001, pp. 61–71. Chennai: Tamil Arts Academy. Michell, George. 2003. Temple Towns of Tamil Nadu. London: Sangam. Mills, Libbie. 2019. Temple Design in Six Early Śaiva Scriptures: Critical Edition and Translation

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of the Prāsādalakṣaṇa-portions of the Bṛhatkālottara, Devyāmata, Kiraṇa, Mohacūrottara, Mayasaṃgraha & Piṅgalāmata. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry/École Française d’Extrême-Orient. Monius, Anne. 2001. Imagining a Place for Buddhism: Literary Culture and Religious Community in Tamil-speaking South India. London: Oxford University Press. Pigeaud, Theodore. G. Th. 1924. De Tantu Panggelaran. ’s-Gravenhage: H.L. Smits Poerbatjaraka. 1932. ‘Het Oud-Javaansche Rāmāyaṇa’, Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 72: 151–601. Rajarajan, R.K.K. 2016. ‘“Tirukkuḷam” or “Teppakkuḷam” of South India: “Jalavāstu”?’, Pandanus 16: Nature in Literature, Art, Myth and Ritual 10/2: 83–104. Rita Margaretha Setianingsih. 1998. ‘Dua batu berhias dari ruas Sungai Opak, data tambahan pembangunan percandian Prambanan’, in Seminar Sehari Manfaat Kajian Prasasti dalam Penelitian Arkeologi dan Sejarah. Yogyakarta: Balai Arkeologi – Suaka Peninggalan Sejarah dan Purbakala Yogyakarta. . 1969. ‘South-India in Old Javanese and Sanskrit inscriptions’, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 125/2: 193–206. Sarkan, Himansu. 1967. ‘The evolution of the Śiva-Buddha cult in Java’, Journal of Indian History 45/3: 637–646. . 1969. ‘South-India in Old Javanese and Sanskrit inscriptions’, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 125/2: 193–206. . 1971. Corpus of the Inscriptions of Java (Corpus inscriptionum Javanicarum), up to 928 A.D. Two volumes. Calcutta: K.L. Mukhopadhyay. [Two volumes]. Sarma, I.K. 1999. ‘Beginnings of Temple Architecture at Kanchipuram, Raw Materials and Religious Impacts’, in B.M. Pande, Brajadulal Chattopadhyaya, and A. Ghosh (eds.), Archaeology and History: Essays in Memory of Shri A. Ghosh, Vol. 2, pp. 545–551. Delhi: Agam Kala Prakashan. Sharrock, Peter. 2009. ‘Hevajra at Banteay Chhmar’, The Journal of the Walters Art Museum (‘A Cu-

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rator’s Choice: Essays in Honor of Hiram W. Woodward, Jr’) 64/65: 49–64. Shastri, J.L. 1951. The Linga Purāna. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Shulman, David. 1980. Tamil Temple Myths: Sacrifice and Divine Marriage in the South Indian Śaiva Tradition. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Smith, David. 1996. The Dance of Śiva: Religion, Art, and Poetry in South India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sokrithy, Im, Chhay Rachna, Kim Samnang, and Darryl Collins. 2004. Kbal Spean: Ancient Stone Artifacts, 1st Edition. Siem Reap: Apsara. Sundberg, Jeffrey. 2011. ‘The Old Sundanese Carita Parahyangan, King Warak, and the Fracturing of the Javanese Polity, c. 803 A.D.’, in Manjushree Gupta (ed.), From Beyond the Eastern Horizon: Essays in Honour of Professor Lokesh Chandra, pp. 143–157. New Delhi: Aditya Prakashan. . 2016. ‘Mid-9th Century Adversity for Sinhalese Esoteric Buddhist Exemplars in Java: Lord Kumbhayoni and the “Rag-wearer” Paṃsukūlika Monks of the Abhayagirivihāra’, in Andrea Acri (ed.), Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, pp. 349–380. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. Tawa, Michael. 2001. ‘At Kbal Spean’, Architectural Theory Review 6/1: 134–155. Vogel, J.Ph. 1921. ‘Het eerste Rama relief van Prambanan’, Bijdragen tot de taal-, land- en volkenkunde 77/1: 202–215. Wessels-Mevissen, Corinna. 2012. ‘The Early Image of Śiva Naṭarāja: Aspects of Time and Space’, in Dietrich Boschung and Corinna WesselsMevissen (eds.), Figurations of Time in Asia, pp. 298–348. Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Yocum, Glenn. 1976. ‘Manikkavacakar’s image of Śiva’, History of Religions 16/1: 20–41. Zimmer, Heinrich. 1933. ‘Some Aspects of Time in Indian Art’, Journal of the Indian Society of Oriental Art 1: 30–51.

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Chapter 10

New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java HADI SIDOMULYO

P

enanggungan is the name of an extinct volcano lying in the province of East Java near the city of Surabaya. Although rising just 1,650 m above sea-level, the mountain forms an impressive landmark on the northern plains, where it serves as a natural boundary separating the regencies of Pasuruan and Mojokerto (Fig. 10.1). To the east, at a distance of some 25 km, can be found the ancient site of Majapahit at Trowulan (Mojokerto), while to the south lie the majestic peaks of the Arjuna-Welirang massif. One only has to glance at Penanggungan’s unique form, comprising four minor prominences arranged symmetrically around a steep conical summit, to understand how the mountain came to be identified with the sacred five-peaked Mahāmeru of Hindu and Buddhist tradition. Available historical sources confirm that Mt Penanggungan was formerly known as Pavitra1 (‘pure’, ‘holy’, ‘purifying’), a name referred to in both early Javanese and Sundanese literature, as well as in at least one 10th-century inscription from eastern Java.2 According to a legend immortalized in the Old Javanese Tantu Paṅgәlaran, the holy Mahāmeru was removed from its original position in the Himalaya and brought to Java through the combined effort of the gods. During the journey, however, the 1. In this chapter I conform to the transliteration system used throughout the volume for Sanskrit and Old Javanese. It should be pointed out, however, that the letter v is customarily written and pronounced as w by the people of Indonesia, hence Pawitra instead of Pavitra, Wiṣṇu rather than Viṣṇu, etc. 2. Fns. 23 and 24 below.

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topmost section became detached and fell to earth, forming the mountain Pavitra, while the remaining mass was set down in the Tengger highlands at the eastern end of the island, becoming known as Mt Semeru (3,676 m), Java’s highest peak. Given the mountain’s supreme sanctity, as well as its proximity to the former Majapahit capital, it is hardly surprising that Penanggungan preserves an abundance of archaeological remains. Curiously, however, it was not until about eighty years ago that this rich cultural legacy began to attract serious attention. While it is true that a number of ancient sites located at the foot of the mountain, such as Jolotundo, Belahan and Jedong, had already been documented during the 19th century, there was little knowledge of the conditions on the upper slopes. Early published field reports are limited to a brief note concerning the remnants of a structure on the mountain’s summit by the vulcanologist H. Zollinger (1846: 134) and a romantic description of Candi Selokelir by F.L. Broekveldt (1904: 23–27), who visited the site in 1900 while serving as controleur at Trawas (Mojokerto). There are, in addition, a few references to Mt Penanggungan in the bulletins of the Archaeological Service of the Dutch East Indies from 1914 onwards, but they comprise for the most part rather vague second-hand reports, which are often insufficient to identify precisely the places described.3

3. Cf. Oudheidkundig Verslag 1914: 203; 1915: 2; 1921: 150; 1923: 8, 80–82; Bosch 1918: 211 (no. 1710), 224–226 (nos. 1754, 1755).

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Fig. 10.1: Mt Penanggungan, viewed from the village of Trawas, Mojokerto. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

It is not until the fourth decade of the 20th century that some clarity begins to emerge. In 1936 a systematic exploration of the upper slopes of Mt Penanggungan was initiated by W.F. Stutterheim, who had in that year succeeded F.D.K. Bosch as head of the Archaeological Service of the Dutch East Indies. The programme was initially undertaken in collaboration with A. Gall, a like-minded enthusiast residing in Surabaya.4 This combined effort yielded spectacular results, aided partly (to quote Stutterheim) by the ‘untiring activity of Mr Gall’, as well as the fortuitous occurrence of a forest fire which cleared extensive tracts of long grass (glagah) on the mountain slopes (Stutterheim 1936: 26). No less than thirty hitherto unknown archaeological sites could immediately be added to those already listed, along with several minor 4. Gall had already conducted a preliminary survey of the villages surrounding the base of the mountain in 1935. For a report of his findings, see Oudheidkundig Verslag 1936: 15–17.

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discoveries. Each site was provided with a Roman numeral, and by the time the exploration came to an end in 1940 the number officially registered had reached eighty-one. Tragically, Stutterheim never published the results of his exploration, making it exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to verify each and every one of his discoveries today—a fact which becomes painfully evident when we examine the post-war literature on the subject. An illustrated report, published in 1951 by the newly established Dinas Purbakala Republik Indonesia, remains the standard introduction to the archaeology of Mt Penanggungan. Compiled by a team under the direction of the architect V.R. van Romondt, the work was an attempt to salvage the surviving data from the 1930’s exploration in the wake of the Japanese occupation and subsequent struggle for Indonesian independence. As van Romondt himself announces with regret in the opening paragraph, the Archaeological Service suffered ‘enormous losses’ in the turbulent years following Stutterheim’s death in 1942,

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java and among them was much documentary material pertaining to Mt Penanggungan. The scale of this loss becomes apparent when we examine the individual descriptions of the archaeological remains, a task delegated to a man named Ichwani, who had himself worked under Stutterheim as a senior draughtsman. Of the original eighty-one sites registered, no more than fifty are described in the text, and of those only thirty-five are marked on the appended hand-drawn map. As to the remainder, no information whatsoever is provided.5 Yet despite its shortcomings, the 1951 publication is a valuable reference and provides a solid foundation for further study. As to progress made during the second half of the 20th century, field surveys on Mt Penanggungan tended to be sporadic and short-lived. A brief expedition led by Drs Tjokro Sudjono in 1975 succeeded in documenting some hitherto unreported fragmentary remains on the mountain’s northern side, notably on the minor summit of Gajahmungkur. Then, eight years later, a team of archaeology students from the University of Indonesia conducted a two-week survey aimed principally at compiling an updated inventory of Penanggungan’s ancient monuments. Using van Romondt’s publication as a guide, the expedition succeeded in documenting forty-four archaeological sites, thirty-five of which were identified with those originally listed by Stutterheim.6 This was followed up in 1991–1992 by a comprehensive field study involving the collaboration of several scientific institutions, coordinated by Drs Maulana Ibrahim. The final report included an appended map displaying fifty-five sites. In all of the above cases, however, the data submitted tended to be unreliable; a problem observed and for the most part remedied by Agus Aris Munandar in his MA thesis of 1990, but even that work is not free of errors. Such was the situation when the present writer set out to investigate the terraced sanctuaries on Mt Penanggungan in May 2012. It could hardly 5. An additional sixteen Roman numerals are, in fact, visible on the map, but these are not supported by any further explanation in the text. 6. Agus Aris Munandar et al. 1983.

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have been conceived then that it would lead to a full-scale exploration now entering its eighth year. Over that period the mountain slopes have revealed an extraordinary wealth of archaeological remains, far exceeding all expectations.

exploration of mt penanggungan, 2012–2018 In retrospect, the present survey shares quite a few similarities with the exploration in the 1930s. To begin with, it has been blessed consistently with the same spirit of unflagging enthusiasm as that exhibited by Gall, who is reported to have ‘pursued, often in vain, even the vaguest traces reported by peasants and foresters working on the upper slopes’ (Stutterheim 1936: 26). Another interesting parallel is the extensive fire on the mountain in 2015, which effectively cleared all the obstructing vegetation and thus greatly facilitated the search for archaeological sites, precisely as it had eighty years earlier. It seems, however, that the fire of 1935–1936 did not extend to the southern and eastern slopes, for which reason perhaps almost no discoveries were reported in those areas at the time. As will be seen, a number of significant monuments have been documented on both the northeastern slope of Penanggungan and the adjacent hill of Kemuncup in the last few years, while the south and southeastern sections are certainly not lacking in archaeological remains. Turning now to specifics, the following is a brief progress report of the survey conducted on Mt Penanggungan by the present writer between the years 2012 and 2018, with a focus on some of the highlights of the expedition:

2012 Beginning in the month of May, attention was focused on the monuments described in van Romondt’s publication of 1951. The aim was to confirm their locations, as well as verify the data compiled by previous visitors. By the end of the year a total of sixty-one sites had been documented, forty of which could positively be identified with those originally listed by Stutterheim, along with

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Fig. 10.2: Site A19. Cave hermitage on the northeastern slope of Mt Penanggungan. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

a further four question marks. As to the rest, nine had already been reported during various expeditions between 1975 and 1992, while the remaining eight appeared to represent new data. The year saw three significant discoveries, the first of which was a group of monuments comprising the remnants of two terraced sanctuaries (A20, A21) and two cave hermitages (A19, A22), situated above the village of Kunjorowesi on the mountain’s northeastern slope (Fig. 10.2). One of the terraced structures (A20) appeared to cover an extensive area and will be discussed in more detail below. Another highlight was the rediscovery of a monument first reported by H.L. Leydie Melville in 1915 and subsequently labelled no. V in Stutterheim’s registry.7 Lying on the slope of 7. Reported by N.J. Krom in Oudheidkundig Verslag 1915: 2.

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the minor peak named Sarahklopo in the southwest, this impressive structure (A45) formerly comprised a series of terraces crowned by three substantial altars containing niches. Curiously, the monument was not recorded during any of the expeditions conducted in the latter half of the 20th century. Lastly, mention should be made of the site named Watu Tulis (A49) on the hill of Bekel, Penanggungan’s northwestern satellite (Fig. 10.3). This can likewise be considered a rediscovery, as its existence was already known to the expeditionary team led by Maulana Ibrahim in 1991–1992. At that time, however, the team members apparently did not include a specialist in epigraphy, hence the vague report of a rock inscription displaying ‘two lines of unidentifiable script’ (Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1991–1992: 54). Upon reaching the location in December 2012, however, there was no doubting that the inscribed characters were Old Javanese, including a date in figures which indicated the Śaka year 1312 (1390–1391 CE).8 Upon further investigation it turned out that the enormous boulder upon which the inscription was carved had once formed the roof of a cave hermitage, long since buried under a landslide. It should be added that the survey of 2012 was able to clarify once and for all two former cases of mistaken identity. The sites which are today popularly labelled KAMA 1 (A31) and KAMA 4 (A12) were in fact already registered by Stutterheim and appear on van Romondt’s map as numbers XLV and LXIX respectively (Figs. 10.4, 10.5).9

2013 Exploration continued with an additional nineteen sites recorded, seven of which could be 8. The final cipher is rather weathered, allowing for a possible alternative reading of 1311. 9. Confirmed by the photographs H-561 (Claire Holt collection) and OD-13027 (see fn. 10 below). KAMA is an acronym of Keluarga Mahasiswa Arkeologi, referring to the archaeology students from the University of Indonesia who conducted the 1983 survey (cf. Agus Aris Munandar et al. 1983: 26; Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1991–1992: 34–35; Agus Aris Munandar 1990: 78 [tabel 1]).

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Fig. 10.3: Site A49. Rock inscription ‘Watu Tulis’, on the northern slope of Mt Bekel. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

Fig. 10.4: Site A31 (Stutterheim XLV). Terraced monument on the western slope of Mt Penanggungan. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo, courtesy of the University of Surabaya)

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Fig. 10.5: Site A12 (Stutterheim LXIX). Cave hermitage on the western slope of Mt Gajahmungkur. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

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positively identified with those discovered in the 1930s. Crucial to this endeavour was the availability of eighty previously unpublished photographs preserved in the library of the University of Leiden, kindly supplied by Marijke Klokke at the writer’s request.10 As to new finds, the remains of an important monument (A63) were encountered on the summit of Kemuncup, while the hill of Bekel yielded two caves (A53, A58) and the foundations of a terraced sanctuary (A62) constructed from unworked stones. Lower down, at the foot of the mountain, discoveries included a collection of massive candi stones (B12) in the village of Wonosunyo (Gempol), as well as the remnants of a brick structure (B13) on the northern slope of the hill of Semodo at Kedungudi (Trawas).11 By the end of this second year in the field the sites plotted began to exhibit a consistent pattern. It became apparent that the terraced sanctuaries on the upper slopes were invariably separated from the nearest settlements by at least an hour’s climb, regardless of the direction of approach. This curious fact prompted the decision to adopt a dual system of classification, namely A, remnants of sanctuaries and cave hermitages situated at an elevation of 750 m and higher, and B, a less uniform group of remains, including bathing places, gateways, brick foundations etc., found scattered among the villages located lower down at the foot of the mountain.12

10. These photographs are from the collection of the former Oudheidkundige Dienst (OD), as listed by J. Oey-Blom in van Romondt et al. 1951: 13. 11. It seems not impossible that these remains can be connected with the now vanished site numbered XXIV in Stutterheim’s registry, which according to van Romondt et al. (1951: 25–26) was located on the summit of the hill, about 100 m distant. An altar stone bearing the Śaka date 1265 was said to originate from this same site. The stone is currently preserved in the Trowulan Museum (Mojokerto Museum no. 573). 12. To what extent this system is justifiable in the long term remains to be seen, but for the time being it is useful inasmuch as it allows us to view the remains preserved on the mountain’s upper section as an homogenous unit, with a clearly defined boundary.

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2014 The survey of 2014 resulted in the documentation of ten more sites, two of which were among those registered by Stutterheim.13 Most spectacular was the discovery of two previously unreported cave hermitages (A74, A75) high up on Penanggungan’s northeastern slope (Figs. 10.6, 10.7). It turned out that they formed a group with a third cave (A19) discovered in 2012, all three lying at an elevation of ± 1,200 m and located 250 m from each other. More caves would be encountered nearby as the exploration progressed, raising the question of whether in former times a source of fresh water had existed in the vicinity.14 This would be a sig-

Fig. 10.6: Site A74. Entrance to a cave hermitage on the northeastern slope of Mt Penanggungan. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo, courtesy of the University of Surabaya) 13. One of these, no. II, had in fact been reported by Tjokro Sudjono et al. (1976: 13, No. 9), but wrongly labelled site LXVIII. 14. During the survey in 2014 water was, in fact, observed oozing from the rocks in a dry river bed located just 60 m from one of the caves. This phenomenon, however, still requires further investigation.

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Fig. 10.7: Site A75. Cave hermitage on the northeastern slope of Mt Penanggungan. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo, courtesy of the University of Surabaya)

nificant discovery in itself, as natural springs are virtually non-existent on Mt Penanggungan’s upper section.

2015 There is no doubt that the year 2015 will be remembered as a turning point in the history of research on Mt Penanggungan. Two devastating fires on the upper slopes, one in August and another in November, cleared virtually all of the vegetation surrounding the summit, allowing an unobstructed view of the archaeological remains lying above ±1,000 m. Scattered across the landscape was a sophisticated network of embankments and retaining walls, interspersed with the remnants of ancient stairways and low-lying terraced foundations, for the most part fashioned from unworked stones. This surprising spectacle at once rendered our carefully compiled inventory, as well as that of Stutterheim, quite obsolete. Confronted with the difficulty in establishing where one group of

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remains began and another ended, it was evident that truly accurate classification was still a long way off (Fig. 10.8).15 The most extraordinary feature exposed by the fire was a broad ‘carriageway’ which encircled the mountain, ascending 600 m to the summit in the form of a spiral.16 Varying from two to three metres in width, the path was supported by strong retaining walls designed to last for centuries. Particularly impressive were the solid embankments constructed from piled up stones, enabling safe passage across the numerous ravines on Penang15. To note just one example, a series of remains on the mountain’s western slope originally numbered XLVII, XLVIII and IL, comprising two terraced structures and a cave hermitage, turned out to represent a single complex covering an area of no less than 4,000 m². 16. The existence of this carriageway (jalur kereta) has long been known to the mountain’s local inhabitants, who offer a variety of fanciful explanations for its origin and purpose.

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Fig. 10.8: Mt Penanggungan; surface of the western slope following the fire of 2015. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

gungan’s upper slopes. Many of these structures remained intact. As to the original purpose of the carriageway, one can surmise that it served primarily as a processional path to the mountain’s summit, as well as for the transport of supplies to the terraced sanctuaries and hermitages (Figs. 10.9, 10.10).17 As far as was possible to estimate, the survey of 2015 counted eleven new additions, two of which could be identified positively with the monuments labelled IV and LXVIII by Stutterheim. The complete list comprised seven terraced sanctuaries, one cave hermitage, three stone stairways and numerous fragmentary remains (Fig. 10.11). Of particular interest was the discovery of an important monument (A76) on Penanggungan’s southern slope, an 17. It should be added here that Mt Penanggungan and its four satellites possess an intricate network of ancient trails and footpaths, the mapping of which will doubtless help to shed light on the functions of the various monuments, as well as their relationship to one another.

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area which had in the past received little attention. During investigation of the site local villagers uncovered close to three thousand Chinese copper coins (kepeng), a number of which were datable to the first quarter of the 15th century.18

2016–2018 For the past three years attention has been concentrated on the above-mentioned carriageway and its offshoots; a task which has been greatly facilitated by the discovery of a hand-drawn map of Mt Penanggungan in the office for the Preservation of Cultural Heritage at Trowulan.19 Although undated, it appears to represent an earlier version of the map 18. I am grateful to Lim Chen Sian of ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute, Singapore, for taking the trouble to examine a few random samples, all of which were found to date from the reign of the Ming emperor Yongle (1402–1424). 19. The map is entitled Voorloopige Schetskaart der Oudheden op het Penanggoengan Gebergte, with reference to De Bouwk. Insp. B/D Oudheidkundigen Dienst.

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Fig. 10.9: Mt Penanggungan; ‘processional path’ on the southeastern face (aerial view). (Photo courtesy of the University of Surabaya)

Fig. 10.10: Mt Penanggungan; a strong retaining wall supports the principal carriageway. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo, courtesy of the University of Surabaya)

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Fig. 10.11: Remains of a former stairway (A83) on the southwestern slope of Mt Penanggungan, revealed by the fire of 2015. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

appended to van Romondt’s 1951 publication, and as such was probably drawn up in the 1940s. Of interest is the fact that the map not only reveals an uncertainty, even at that time, regarding the identification of some of the monuments, but it also shows that van Romondt and his colleagues were fully aware of the network of roads and pathways on the mountain. Curiously, however, their report makes no mention whatsoever of the processional path leading to the summit, despite the fact that it is marked clearly on the map, matching precisely our own GPS tracking data of 2015. Whatever the reason for this silence, the map itself has demonstrated its value in the field, and has at least on one occasion been directly responsible for the rediscovery of a previously unconfirmed site in Stutterheim’s list.20 20.  This is the site numbered LV, marked on van Romondt’s map without any further explanation in the text.

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Combining the map data with direct field observation, the following is a rough description of the principal carriageway on Mt Penanggungan. The path comprises three levels, each one separated from the next by a distance of between 300 m and 400 m. Starting from the site named Candi Sinta (A6), which occupies a strategic position in the northwest, the track ascends gradually in a clockwise direction (pradakṣiṇa), making two complete circuits of the mountain before reaching the summit on the south side. Based on the ground surveys undertaken, it can be calculated that the pathway is approximately 6 km in length, displaying a consistent gradient of about one in twelve. This almost imperceptible incline would have posed no difficulty for wheeled vehicles drawn by horses or oxen in the past. Turning now to the network of carriageways as a whole, it appears that its purpose extended far beyond mere ritual. Judging by the way in which the tracks intersect, divide and branch off, one can imagine that they were in constant use, both for communication and the delivery of supplies. Assuming, moreover, that these same pathways served to facilitate the work of numerous builders and architects, their construction probably dates from the same period as that of the terraced monuments, which reached a peak in the 15th century. An additional, and perhaps not entirely unforeseen, benefit provided by the carriageways was the possibility for swift mobilization in the event of war. So far we have discussed conditions on the mountain above an elevation of about 1,000 m. Below that level the visible evidence becomes less certain, mainly because the landscape has altered drastically as a result of human activity. Transformation of land once covered by forest into farms and plantations makes it extremely difficult to identify the original points of entry with any confidence. Yet some traces still remain. Observation in the field suggests that access to the lowest of the carriageways circling the mountain was by way Located below the summit of Sarahklopo on the western side of Mt Penanggungan, the visible remains point to a terraced sanctuary of considerable size. The site (A89) was visited and plotted in October 2017.

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java of long, zigzag paths which ascended gradually through the foothills. It was during a field survey of the southeastern access in May 2017 that word was received of a great quantity of candi stones preserved near the hamlet of Guci.21 Upon investigating further, it turned out that the site in question (B17) displayed all the signs of a stonemasons’ open-air workshop at the foot of the mountain. Numerous rectangular stone blocks could be seen scattered across an area extending no less than 500 m from east to west. These were interspersed with several larger stone items in varying stages of completion, among them a seated statue and makara spout, as well as an exceptionally large half-finished yoni pedestal measuring almost two metres in length. The remains had only recently become exposed following the conversion of the forest into farmland (ladang) and the cleared area was still covered with stone flakes, providing evidence of the craftsmen’s activity centuries ago. Doubtless there was much more to be found hidden in the undergrowth. With regard to other significant discoveries in the period 2016–2018, two sites in particular should be mentioned. The first (A88) is situated in the east, high on the hill of Kemuncup. Lying just 100 m north of a terraced structure (A63) documented in 2013, this monument features the bold image of a male figure riding an elephant, carved in relief on a large boulder. The fact that the rider wears the headdress known as tәkәs might provide a reason for an identification with the legendary hero Pañji (Fig. 10.12). The second and most recent find on Mt Penanggungan, in May 2018, originates from the site numbered A20, mentioned earlier. Situated at an elevation of a little over 1,000 m, this is the largest of three terraced sanctuaries forming a more or less straight line on the mountain’s northeastern slope. Upon first examining the remains in 2012 it 21. This settlement belongs to the village of Kesiman in the district of Sukoreno, Pasuruan Regency. It lies directly below the hill named Bende, discovery site of an urn containing a large quantity of metal items, including eleven inscribed sheets of gold foil, all preserved in the National Museum, Jakarta (Inv. Nos. 6997–7030). For a description, see Jaarboek, Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap van kunsten en wetenschappen VII (1940): 95–96.

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was impossible to gain a clear impression, mainly because the site was exceedingly overgrown and the steep terrain difficult to negotiate. Attention was drawn, however, to a few statue fragments, as well as some isolated reliefs displaying human figures, possibly representing part of a narrative. Since then, the local caretakers have made efforts to determine the approximate size of the area by clearing the undergrowth, while ensuring the safety of any important items discovered in the process. The results have been both surprising and significant. According to the most recent estimate, site A20 measures no less than 5,000 m², making it effectively the largest known monument on Mt Penanggungan. Judging by some of the individual items recovered, such as roof tile fragments and numerous stone pillar supports of varying sizes, we can conclude that the site comprised a variety of structures, suggesting the presence of a religious community. Among the more significant discoveries is what appears to be a naturalistic stone liṅga, as well as an inscribed stone bearing a date in figures, which would seem unequivocally to indicate the Śaka year 1271 (1349–1350 CE). This is the oldest date from the Majapahit period yet to be found on a structure from Mt Penanggungan, and as such provides convincing proof of building activity on the mountain’s upper slopes in the mid14th century (Fig. 10.13). To sum up, the exploration of Mt Penanggungan conducted over the past seven years has contributed significantly to our knowledge of the historical legacy preserved on its slopes, with the current list of archaeological sites now totalling one hundred and seventeen (see Appendix 10.1). Of some sixty-seven monuments discussed or mapped by van Romondt and his colleagues in 1951, fifty-three have been positively identified, with an additional five uncertainties. Together they comprise forty-five terraced sanctuaries and the remains of five additional structures, six cave hermitages, one bathing place and one decorated boulder. Further documentation includes seventeen sites reported during various expeditions in the past but not listed in the 1951 publication, among them eight terraced sanctuaries, four caves, one stone stairway, one miniature candi, as well as the important remains at Jedong, Belahan and Candi Pasetran. The remaining forty sites may be

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Fig. 10.12: Relief image at the entrance to site A88, on the summit of Mt Kemuncup. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

Fig. 10.13: Remnants of site A20 on Penanggungan’s northeastern slope, comprising a dated stone, damaged liṅga, relief ornament and pillar supports. (Photo: Hadi Sidomulyo)

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java regarded as new discoveries, or at least unpublished data, as follows: Terraced sanctuaries Cave hermitages Brick foundations Stone stairways Miscellaneous structures Altar sites Stonemasons’ workshop

17 12 4 3 2 1 1

To these can be added the following list of isolated objects, as well as the partial remains of structures whose precise function still needs to be determined: Stone terracing, retaining walls etc. 40 Concentrations of candi stones 12 Stone mortars (lumpang) 6 Miscellaneous stone items 8 This is not to mention the network of carriageways discussed earlier, along with countless ceramic and terracotta shards, ancient coins and other fragmentary evidence scattered over the mountain slopes.

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Mahāmeru was apparently well established at least three hundred years before the founding of Majapahit. An ornamental top piece originating from the 10th century bathing-place of Jolotundo (B1) on Penanggungan’s western foot provides clear evidence of this early association.22 It follows, therefore, that any serious study can hardly be considered complete without an investigation of the role played by the mountain in the broader context of pre-16th century East Javanese history. It is thus time to turn to the historical record. Despite the fact that more than eighty per cent of the relevant epigraphical data belongs to the age of Majapahit, there are nonetheless a few useful documents which have survived from the preceding centuries. One important source of information is the so-called stele of Cuṅgraṅ, issued by King Pu Siṇḍok in the year 929 CE.23 Not only does this inscription contain the first known reference to Mt Penanggungan, but it also provides an insight into the East Javanese ruling family at the time. The contents concern the granting of sīma, or tax exempt status, to the residents of Cuṅgraṅ, specifically for the benefit of a sacred domain comprising a hermitage (saṅ hyaṅ dharmāśrama), ancestral shrine (saṅ hyaṅ prāsāda siluṅluṅ) and holy spring (saṅ hyaṅ tīrtha pañcuran) at Pavitra.

Taken as a whole, this substantial body of fresh 22.  See Stutterheim 1937: 214–250. This stone, which forinformation demands a re-examination of some merly served as a fountain, comprises nine liṅga shaped of the popular assumptions inherited from an ‘peaks’, encircled by a crowned serpent. As such, it may earlier generation of scholars, which has tended be viewed as a miniature representation of both Mt Pento confine discussion of the terraced sanctuar- anggungan, with its multiple summits, and the Mahāmeru, specifically in connection with the well-known episode of ies on Mt Penanggungan to the closing years of the ‘Churning of the ocean of milk’ (Samudramanthana), as Majapahit. It would seem, in fact, that the entire depicted in the Viṣṇu and Matsya Purāṇas (Zimmer 1946: theory connecting these monuments with a so- 105). It is interesting to find that the composition date of called ‘re-emergence’ of ancient pre-Hindu beliefs the Old Javanese Ādiparva (Juynboll 1906: 31–33), which needs to be reconsidered, or at least rephrased. preserves the same legend, corresponds almost precisely Insofar as the evidence now points to the estab- with the completion of the Jolotundo monument in 977–978. The popular legend of the transport of the Mahāmeru from lishment of religious communities on the moun- India to Java, itself an adaptation of the Samudramanthana, tain during Majapahit’s heyday in the mid-14th could thus have been firmly established as an oral tradition century, it might be more accurate to speak of a before being committed to writing by the author(s) of the gradual embracing by royalty of local elements Tantu Paṅgәlaran (cf. Pigeaud 1924: 62–66). which formerly lay outside the sphere of court 23. Transcription in Krom 1913: 72–73 (Oud Javaansche culture. These problems will be explored in more Oorkonden XLI). A later copy of the same charter, inscribed on two copper plates and known as Cuṅgraṅ II, was trandetail later on. scribed and discussed at some length by Stutterheim (1925: It should not be forgotten, moreover, that the 208–281). The plates are preserved today in the Catholic identification of Mt Penanggungan with the holy church at Kayutangan in the city of Malang.

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The former village of Cuṅgraṅ is identifiable The royal apanage of Bavaṅ was especially preswith present-day Bulusari, which lies on the eastern tigious during the first half of the 10th century, foot of Mt Penanggungan in the district of Gempol representing a geographical unit which appears to (Pasuruan Regency).24 As to Pavitra, we know from have encompassed the districts lying to the north later textual sources, such as Prapañca’s Deśavarṇa- and northwest of Mt Penanggungan. The choice na and the anonymous Tantu Paṅgәlaran, that this of the mountain as a place of enshrinement for the is the name by which the mountain was known rakryān Bavaṅ of the Cuṅgraṅ inscription was thus during the Hindu-Buddhist period. Considering the appropriate. It can be added that Pu Siṇḍok’s margeographical position of Cuṅgraṅ, it seems probable riage to the princess Dyah Kәbi served to ensure that the sacred domain of the inscription is identi- an increasingly prominent role in government for fiable today with the extensive archaeological site the East Javanese nobility, who probably encourat Belahan (B8), which lies just 4 km southwest of aged the incorporation of local elements in the Bulusari. The remains at Belahan, after all, display art and architecture of the period. The resulting the vestiges of a former hermitage and Śaiva temple emergence of a new style in the decades following foundation, as well as a sacred bathing-place. It finds its clearest expression in the terraced bathing might even be this same site that received a visit place of Jolotundo. Despite the lack of concrete from King Rājasanagara of Majapahit during the evidence, we find no reason to doubt that this imroyal progress of 1359 CE, as recorded by Prapañca pressive monument was commissioned by one of (Deśavarṇana 58.1). The poet reports that the king Pu Siṇḍok’s immediate successors. halted briefly at Cuṅgraṅ, before continuing on to As noted above, the charter of Cuṅgraṅ is the ‘a ṛṣi sanctuary on the slope of Mt Pawitra’.25 The oldest known document to mention the holy mounpurpose of the stop at Cuṅgraṅ, aside from ‘enjoy- tain Pavitra. A still earlier inscription, however, was ing the scenery’, could well have been to examine recovered from the archaeological site at Jedong the historic charter preserved in the village, before (B5) on the northern foot of Mt Penanggungan. ascending to the hermitage. This is the so-called charter of Kambaṅ Śrī, which Turning now to the ancestral shrine (prāsāda takes the form of a large stela currently preserved in siluṅluṅ) referred to in the inscription, we are the museum at Trowulan (Mojokerto Museum no. informed that it was dedicated to a high-ranking 402). The surface of the stone is badly weathered, member of the nobility entitled rakryān of Bawaṅ. but a partial transcription of the Old Javanese text Since this figure is described as the father (yayah) reveals two separate edicts, labelled Kambaṅ Śrī A of Pu Siṇḍok’s queen Dyah Kәbi, it follows that and B.27 The first bears a date equivalent to 926 CE, he was none other than the king’s father-in-law.26 thus placing it within the reign of the Matarām King Dyah Tuloḍoṅ, who succeeded Pu Dakṣa in around 919. Kambaṅ Śrī B, on the other hand, is 24. The inscribed stone itself stands to this day in the undated, but there are indications that it was issued hamlet (dusun) of Sukci, under Bulusari. at some time in 928–929.28 25. Translation follows Robson 1995: 66. 26. I note that the same conclusion was drawn by Pauline Lunsingh Scheurleer (2009: 192, note 15). In fact, it is possible to go a step further and propose an identification with the Rakryān Bavaṅ named Pu Uttara, who is listed among the highest-ranking officials in the charter of Barāhāśrama, issued by King Dakṣa sometime after the year 915 CE (Cohen Stuart 1875, no. XVII). A study of the inscriptional record shows that Pu Uttara’s son and successor, Dyah Sahasra (the brother of Siṇḍok’s queen Dyah Kәbi), was promoted to the exalted rank of rakai Halu in around 929, before holding the highest position under the king as rakai Hino in 934. His mother, the widow of Pu Uttara, apparently outlived her husband by more than a decade. Bearing the title of rakryān Kabayān, she appears as the recipient of a sīma

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grant in the 939 charter of Ālasantan (Abu Sidik Wibowo 1979: 3–50). 27. Published in Krom 1913: 49–50, Oud Javaansche Oorkonden XXXIII, and Damais 1955: 138–140. The latter noted that Kambaṅ Śrī, the only place name clearly visible in the text, was not necessarily the subject of the charter; an observation supported by the current position of a village named Kembangsri on the banks of the river Porong, some 4 km north of Jedong. Damais further discovered a reference to a bhaṭāra i parhyaṅan i Maṅgabuddhi (?), which indicates the presence of a sacred place of worship. 28. The text is too fragmentary to allow any certainty, but the fact that it refers to Pu Siṇḍok as rakryān mapatih

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java In fact, the position of the date on the stone (lines 30–31 recto) allows room for yet another, even earlier inscription, as noted by Jan Wisseman Christie some years ago.29 Observing ‘similarities in textual structure’ with the stele of Hariñjiṅ (from Kediri), which preserves three individual but related edicts dated 804, 921 and 927, the same writer suggested that the Kambaṅ Śrī charter might follow the same pattern.30 As to which ruler was responsible for bestowing the original grant upon the community at Jedong, we have reason to favour the King Dyah Balituṅ (r. 898–c. 910). It was this royal figure, after all, who can be credited with initiating the process which culminated in the shift of the royal seat of power from central to eastern Java, and the establishment of a new capital by Pu Siṇḍok in the year 929. On the basis of information gleaned from the 907 charter of Mantyāsih, it is generally accepted that Dyah Balituṅ ascended the throne on the strength of his marriage to a princess of Matarām.31 The origins of this king, however, have until now remained obscure. Attempts in the past to identify the former location of Vatukura, Balituṅ’s apanage title, have resulted in some rather speculative suggestions which do not inspire much confidence.32 An examination of the toponyms occurring in the Vatukura charter of 902, on the other hand, would seem to point unequivocally to a district lying on the southern bank of the Surabaya River in the East

suggests that this figure had not yet succeeded to the throne. If such was the case, Kambaṅ Śrī B must have been inscribed before 20 April 929, the date of the first charter issued by Siṇḍok as an independent sovereign. 29. Wisseman Christie 2004, III: 200. This argument is based on the fact that it was customary for the date to occupy the opening line(s) in Old Javanese inscriptions. 30. Wisseman Christie 2004, III: 200. For a transcription and discussion of the stele of Hariñjiṅ, see Sukarto Kartoatmodjo 1985: 47–65. 31. Cf. Stutterheim 1927: 179; Boechari 2012: 90–91. 32. See, for instance, Rouffaer 1921: 132; Poerbatjaraka 1933: 514–516. Both scholars proposed locations on the southern coast of Java, respectively in the regencies of Pacitan and Purworejo. Aside from a lack of concrete evidence to support these claims, the districts themselves seem altogether too remote for serious consideration.

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Javanese regency of Sidoarjo.33 If this identification is correct, it places the site of Vatukura in the heart of the ancient land of Jaṅgala, and as such explains how, in just a few years, Dyah Balituṅ was able to establish sovereignty over an area extending eastward as far as present day Malang.34 Aside from the Vatukura charter, which concerns the maintenance of a royal ancestral shrine (dharma paṅasthulan), two more inscriptions issued by Dyah Balituṅ are known to originate from the region of Sidoarjo. Both were recovered from Mt Penanggungan, to where they had probably been removed to safety during the closing years of Majapahit. One is of particular interest in the context of the present discussion, as it was found in the village of Jedong. Apparently copied from an original during the Majapahit period, this single copper plate, dated Śaka 832 (910 CE), refers to a land grant made by the king to the inhabitants of Tulaṅan. In view of the discovery site of the inscription, it can be assumed that the place referred to is the present village of Tulangan, a former river port of some importance located just 10 km north of Jedong.35 The information supplied above thus supports the conjecture that the ancient settlement of Jedong itself was likewise established as a sīma 33. The Vatukura inscription, consisting of five copper plates forming part of the Danish ‘Klampenborg collection’, was published with a Dutch translation by F.H. van Naerssen in 1941 (pp. 82–105). It represents a copy of one of Dyah Balituṅ’s original edicts, reissued in 1348 during the reign of the queen Tribhuvana Vijayottuṅgadevī of Majapahit. With regard to the toponyms occurring in the inscription, at least three are found to correspond with the present villages of Babadan, Boharan and Bareng near Krian (Sidoarjo), a district which has yielded significant archaeological remains. According to Prapañca (Deśavarṇana 77.1c), Vatukura was the site of a Buddhist Bajradhara establishment in the 14th century (Robson 1995: 80). 34. The surviving inscriptional evidence further suggests that this policy of expansion was achieved through a peaceful integration of the eastern regions within the greater Javanese realm, rather than an aggressive campaign aimed at annexation by the court of Matarām; a likelihood which lends further support to Balituṅ’s East Javanese ancestry. 35. Tulaṅan is listed among the ferry crossings on a tributary of the Surabaya River in the inscription of Caṅgu, issued by King Rājasanagara of Majapahit in 1358. Cf. Pigeaud 1960–1963 I: 110 (Va: 3).

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domain by Dyah Balituṅ at the beginning of the 10th century. Having ventured about as far into the past as the available data permit, it is now time to examine some of the myths connecting the early monuments on Mt Penanggungan with the famous King Airlaṅga (r. 1019–c. 1050). Much of this material owes its origin to G.P. Rouffaer, whose creative imagination has helped considerably to establish Airlaṅga’s mythical presence on the mountain.36 Despite an almost complete lack of authentic documentation, these popular assumptions have since become so deeply ingrained in the local body of tradition that they have, to use the words of Th. Resink (1968: 2), ‘become unassailable’. Beginning with the remains at Belahan, mentioned earlier in connection with Pu Siṇḍok’s inscription of Cuṅgraṅ, the relationship with Airlaṅga has from the outset rested upon the premise that the principal ornament at the ancient bathing place was a stone image of Viṣṇu on Garuḍa, flanked by a pair of goddesses. Now that it has become increasingly apparent that this was not the case, the entire theory loses its foundation, and thereby its credibility.37 A more extreme example of misrepresentation is to be found on the opposite side of Mt Penanggungan at the bathing place of Jolotundo. The mythical association of this site with Airlaṅga has here become so firmly entrenched that it is unequivocally acknowledged by the Indonesian Ministry of Culture. It has apparently escaped the attention of all but a handful of academics that the Śaka date 899 (977–978 CE), inscribed on the rear wall of the bathing place, predates Airlaṅga’s birth by more than two decades.38 36. See, for example, Notulen van de algemeene en bestuursvergaderingen van het Bataviaasch genootschap van kunsten en wetenschappen 47 (1909): 180–185. 37. Aside from various technical objections, as well as the fact that the statue has been fashioned from a peculiar reddish stone which is not to be found at Belahan, the proposed placement can be rejected on stylistic grounds, as argued convincingly by Lunsingh Scheurleer (2009: 190–198). 38. It should be added that attempts by an earlier generation of scholars, notably J.L. Moens (1950) and F.D.K. Bosch (1961), to establish a connection between Jolotundo and Airlaṅga’s Balinese father Śrī Dharmodayana are equally

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Yet another fantasy is the one regarding Mt Penanggungan as the discovery site of Airlaṅga’s 1041 inscription of Pucaṅan, popularly referred to as the ‘Calcutta Stone’. Once again, the origin of this supposed connection can be traced back to Rouffaer, whose identification of Pucaṅan with one of Penanggungan’s minor summits was apparently accepted without question by scholars such as H. Kern and N.J. Krom, despite the absence of any official report describing the circumstances of the stone’s discovery.39 The single authentic document linking Mt Penanggungan with the King Airlaṅga, albeit indirectly, is the copper plate inscription of Tәrәp, dating from 1032.40 Recovered from an unspecified location on the mountain, this royal charter concerns the granting of sīma status to the inhabitants of Tәrәp at the request of the king’s brother, the rakai of Paṅkaja.41 The sambhanda, or ‘reason’ for the charter’s existence, is especially valuable for its reference to a number of important historical events, among them the invasion of the royal palace at Vvatan Mas, which forced Airlaṅga to flee to unconvincing. Aside from the fact that Dharmodayana himself had barely reached the age of about seven at the time of the monument’s completion, the inscriptional record shows that even in later years his official status was no more than that of prince consort to the reigning queen in Bali, Guṇapriyadharmapatnī, who was a direct descendant of Pu Siṇḍok. It thus seems more likely that the bathing place was constructed on the order of one of the queen’s Javanese forbears. 39. See for example the article by Kern (1917: 83–114), ‘De steen van den berg Pĕnanggungan (Surabaya), thans in ‘t Indian Museum te Calcutta’. Looking at the available evidence, it seems more likely that the stele of Pucaṅan was originally located further west, quite possibly in the regency of either Jombang or Lamongan, where the majority of inscriptions from the reign of Airlaṅga have been found. There is in fact a hill named Pucaṅan in the district of Kudu (Jombang), which overlooks an archaeological site long associated by tradition with this same historical period. A visit to the region is recorded in the journal of Colin Mackenzie, who was responsible for the stone’s acquisition during his brief sojourn in East Java between February and April 1812 (cf. Weatherbee 1978: 67–68). 40. Transcription in Boechari 1985–1986: 160–164. 41. The prestigious administrative unit (vatәk) of Paṅkaja apparently comprised an extensive tract of land to the north and west of Mt Penanggungan, in the present regencies of Sidoarjo and Mojokerto.

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java the safety of Patakan. Unfortunately, the description is too vague to allow any certainty about the location of the palace in question. The position of Tәrәp itself, however, can be determined with some confidence, as it is described as belonging to the village of Kambaṅ Śrī, a name attached to the stone inscription from Jedong discussed earlier. The sīma foundation must therefore have been situated on the northern foot of Mt Penanggungan, where it is perhaps identifiable today with the settlement of Ngetrep at Sedati, in the district of Ngoro.42 To sum up, despite the paucity of evidence to connect Airlaṅga directly with any of the known monuments on Mt Penanggungan, there is nonetheless a well-established local tradition claiming the king’s presence on the mountain, which should perhaps not be attributed entirely to the speculations of early 20th-century scholars. One literary source offering a possible historical foundation for this tradition is Mpu Kaṇva’s Arjunavivāha, which has for long been regarded as an allusion to the life of Airlaṅga.43 The penance performed on the mountain Indraparvata by the Pāṇḍava hero Arjuna, for the purpose of destroying the demon king Nivatakavaca, may be compared to Airlaṅga’s retirement to a forest hermitage prior to embarking on his mission to unite a divided kingdom.44 If Indraparvata is identifiable with the holy Mahāmeru, as argued convincingly by Suryo Supomo (1972: 289–290), it would seem not at all impossible, perhaps even likely, that the site of Airlaṅga’s hermitage lay on the slopes of Mt Penanggungan. With regard to the 12th and 13th centuries, a shortage of data recovered from the mountain makes it difficult to draw any firm conclusions. This period saw the centre of government shift to the interior of the island, first to the region of Kediri in the south, and later to the east of Mt Kawi (vetaniṅ kavi), where the palace of Siṅhasāri was established. The discovery of dated stones in the vicinity of Jedong and Jolotundo attests to contin42. The hamlet of Ngetrep has yielded some fragmentary archaeological remains which require further investigation. 43. For a synopsis of this kakavin, see Zoetmulder 1983: 298–302. 44. Described in lines 8–15 of the Old Javanese portion of the Pucaṅan inscription (Kern 1917: 104).

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uing activity at those sites, while a cave entrance on the hill of Bekel preserves the earliest inscription yet discovered on Penanggungan’s upper slopes.45 It is perhaps noteworthy that this last mentioned document was inscribed just two years before the King Sarveśvara II (Śṛṅgalañcana) of Kaḍiri established the sacred foundation at Palah (Candi Panataran) near present-day Blitar.46 The site of Palah was in later years to become the state temple of Majapahit, constructed as a replica of the holy Mahāmeru and presided over by hyaṅ Acalapati, the ‘Lord of the Mountain’.47 Aside from the fragmentary epigraphical data mentioned above, the area surrounding the foot of Mt Penanggungan preserves a number of massive objects carved from stone, all of which remain unfinished. The impression is one of an ambitious construction programme which was for some reason suddenly abandoned. As to the figure responsible for this project, a likely candidate would be the last of the Siṅhasāri kings, Kṛtanagara (r. 1268–1292), whose reign came to an abrupt end when his capital was conquered by a rival.48 Among the remains worth noting is a gigantic image of the Buddha Akṣobhya, as well as three yoni pedestals of unusually large dimensions.49 Viewed in conjunction with the nearby Śaiva-Buddhist 45. The stones from Jedong and Jolotundo, dated respectively Śaka 1041 (1019–1020 CE) and Śaka 1168 (1246–1247 CE), are preserved today in the Trowulan Museum (Mojokerto Museum nos. 547 and 469). The inscription above the entrance to the cave known as Gua Buyung (A24) displays the Śaka date 1117 (1195–1196 CE) in figures, accompanied by the words maharṣi guha (reading by Agus Aris Munandar 1990: 86). 46. The stele of Palah dates from Śaka 1119 (1197 CE). Transcription in Krom 1913, Oud Javaansche Oorkonden LXXIV. 47. For a discussion of hyaṅ Acalapati, see Supomo 1972: 290–292. 48. Kṛtanagara’s predilection for large scale statuary is well known, the most famous examples being the two colossal dvārapāla which formerly guarded the 13th-century palace of Siṅhasāri. Standing nearly four metres in height, these images are among the largest pieces of stone sculpture ever produced in Java. 49. One of these pedestals was discovered among the remains of the extensive stonemasons’ workshop (B17) referred to earlier in this article. For a discussion of Kṛtanagara’s special affinity for the Buddha Akṣobhya, see Hadi Sidomulyo 2011: 124–129.

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monument of Jajava (Candi Jawi), described by Prapañca (Deśavarṇana 56.1b) as ‘a pious work of King Kṛtanagara’, these scattered remains in the vicinity of Mt Penanggungan naturally invite us to speculate on the extent to which this monarch’s religio-political philosophy influenced, or even motivated, the building activity on the mountain in the following century. In order to answer this question it is necessary to review the contemporary inscriptional record, as well as examine a number of later works of literature, especially the Deśavarṇana and Pararaton, both of which allude to the Siṅhasāri period. These sources allow us to envisage an organized strategy aimed at the political and spiritual unification of the lands of Jaṅgala and Kaḍiri.50 The construction of fortifications at Caṅgu-lor by King Viṣṇuvardhana (d. 1268), followed by the planting of a bodhi tree (1281) and inauguration of the Akṣobhya image ‘Joko Dolog’ (1289) at Trowulan by his successor Kṛtanagara, provide concrete evidence of this initiative.51 Increased activity in the region of Mt Penanggungan may in turn be regarded as part of the same effort, the holy Pavitra serving as the exemplary symbol of unity. For this reason, presumably, the mountain was chosen as the backdrop for the temple at Jajava, itself designed as a place of worship for both the Śaiva and Buddhist communities.52 Viewed from this perspective, it is hardly surprising that the earliest known monument from 50. In an earlier publication (Hadi Sidomulyo 2010: 101) I have already drawn attention to ‘the remarkably dense concentration of mid to late thirteenth century inscribed stones from the region of present-day Mojokerto’, indicating a marked shift of attention to the former region of Jaṅgala from about 1250 onwards. 51. The reference to Caṅgu-lor (later the river port of Majapahit) is found in Pararaton 18.8–9 (Brandes 1920: 24). For a note on the connection between the bodhi tree and the ‘Joko Dolog’ image, see Hadi Sidomulyo 2014: 102 (B.1: Fig. 8). 52. These observations allow us to trace the origin of the religious doctrine expounded by the 14th-century court poet Mpu Tantular back to the figure of Kṛtanagara, who bore the epithet ‘Bhaṭāra Śiva-Buddha’. Tantular’s doctrine of unity is encapsulated in the famous phrase bhinneka tuṅgal ika tan hana dharma maṅrva, from the kakavin Sutasoma (139.5). For further discussion, see Kern 1888; Zoetmulder 1983: 415–437.

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the Majapahit period on Penanggungan’s upper slopes dates from the reign of the queen Tribhuvana Vijayottuṅgadevī (1329–1350), Kṛtanagara’s granddaughter and spiritual successor. Entering the 14th century, the region of Mt Penanggungan has so far yielded very few archaeological remains datable to the reigns of the first two rulers of Majapahit. This is perhaps understandable when we consider the turbulent events which followed the death of Kṛtanagara in May–June 1292, culminating in the Mongol invasion and defeat of the usurper Jayakatyәṅ. The evidence further suggests that the newly established court at Majapahit was plagued by intrigues and rebellions, which only came to an end with the assassination of King Jayanagara in 1328. Leaving aside the complex political and social dynamics of this period, it is sufficient to observe a shift of attention back to the land of Kaḍiri. Whereas Kṛtanagara appears to have recognized in Mt Penanggungan a symbol par excellence for the ‘Lord of Mountains’, hyaṅ Girinātha, this same mountain deity was later to become the principal object of worship at the temple of Palah, mentioned earlier (fn. 47). Archaeological evidence at the site suggests that expansion of the original complex was initiated by King Kṛtarājasa (1294–1309) and extended further by his son and successor Jayanagara.53 The reign of the queen regent Tribhuvana Vijayottuṅgadevī (1329–1350) may rightly be regarded as the high point in the history of Majapahit. Almost immediately after ascending the throne she set about crushing rebellious elements with the help of the able minister Gajahmada. These harsher measures apparently went hand in hand with a wise policy of diplomacy, attested by a broad distribution of royal edicts in key areas.54 53. This observation finds support from an inscribed pillar dated Śaka 1220 (1298–1299 CE), now preserved in the Panataran Museum, as well as the pair of dvārapāla guarding the entrance to the temple complex, both of which display the Śaka date 1242 (1320–1321 CE). Cf. Brandes 1901: 15; Knebel 1908: 86. In later years, succeeding sovereigns made their own contributions to the temple. 54. Examples are the charters of Gәnәṅ II (Damais 1955: 81); Batur (Pigeaud 1960–1963, I: 113–114); Himad-Valaṇḍit (Muhammad Yamin 1962, II: 83–84), and the so-called charter of Palungan (Lely Endah Nurvita 2002).

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The fact that at least two of these charters concern from 1389–1428.58 As to his daughter and successor, ṛṣi establishments in the mountains suggests a the queen Suhita (r. 1429–1446), there is not a single continuation of the programme initiated by Kṛtan- contemporary document confirming her existence, agara, the queen’s grandfather.55 Tribhuvana’s son knowledge of her reign being confined solely to and successor, Rājasanagara, likewise followed the text of the Pararaton. As a consequence, we suit, visiting two prominent communities of are largely dependent upon foreign sources for an ascetics during his eastern progress of 1359, the understanding of this period, backed up by the second of which was located on the mountain surviving archaeological remains. In the cultural sphere, native Javanese elements Pavitra.56 It is, in fact, at around this time that become increasingly prominent in the fields of dated monuments begin to make their appearance architecture, literature, and the visual arts, while on the upper slopes of Mt Penanggungan. Aside narratives belonging to the literary genre known from the recently discovered site numbered A20, as kiduṅ start appearing alongside kakavin in the discussed earlier, we can mention the terraced sanctuary Candi Gajah (A14) on the minor summit form of relief carving on brick and stone monuof Gajahmungkur, where a relief image depicting ments. On Mt Penanggungan, a growing number of a scene from the Arjunavivāha, dated Śaka 1282 terraced sanctuaries and cave hermitages likewise (1360–1361 CE), was observed by visitors in the tend to exhibit distinctly local characteristics, exlast century.57 One could even speculate that the pressing what Stutterheim (1936: 29) described as a ‘combination of early indigenous ancestor-worship construction of this monument, which lies not far with Hinduistic beliefs.’ from site A20, was motivated by the royal visit a These observations bring us back to the quesfew months earlier. tion raised earlier, concerning the so-called revival Entering the later chapters of Majapahit history, of ancient, pre-Hindu religion during the late we leave the literary works of Prapañca and Mpu East Javanese period. Although a decline in direct Tantular behind, along with the lengthy royal contact with the Indian subcontinent might offer charters which characterized the earlier period. a partial explanation, I am rather more inclined to In fact, from the 1360s onwards the inscriptional consider the growing prestige of the religious estabrecord from the court becomes increasingly frag- lishments in the countryside, notably the maṇḍala, mentary, and virtually disappears altogether after which served as repositories of local wisdom and the year 1418. Although a few inscribed copper oral tradition. As relations between the maṇḍala plates have survived from the last quarter of the and the centre of power grew closer during the 14th century, we know of only three edicts issued by 14th century, one can surmise that an increasing king Vikramavardhana during his thirty-year reign number of indigenous cultural elements began to find concrete expression under royal patronage, eventually becoming formally incorporated within 55. Kṛtanagara is known to have issued royal decrees the hieratic art of the court.59 pertaining to the regulation of religious communities, among them the 1269 Sarvadharma charter, as well as the undated Rajapatiguṇḍala. The latter was directed specifically to the ṛṣis, yogīśvaras and spiritual lords (devaguru) of the maṇḍala establishments, which had hitherto remained largely outside the sphere of court influence. For commentaries on these texts, see Pigeaud 1960–1963 IV: 360–367, 381–390. 56. Commenting on Rājasanagara’s journey to the forest hermitage at Sāgara, Suryo Supomo (1972: 295), following Pigeaud (1960–1963 IV: 99), suggested that the king was motivated in part by ‘a longing for spiritual guidance which was not given him by his court priests’. The visit to Pavitra is described in Prapañca’s Deśavarṇana, 32.2–34.2, 58.1 (Robson 1995: 46–48, 66). See also fn. 25 above. 57. Van Romondt et al. 1951: 23; Photo OD-12734.

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58. These comprise the undated copper plate of Satyapura (Boechari 1985–1986: 100–101) and the charters of Patapan I and II (Van Stein Callenfels 1918: 171; Boechari 1985– 1986: 88–89). Although Patapan I dates from 1385, before Vikramavardhana ascended the throne, there is good reason to believe that the extant copy (present whereabouts?) is a re-issue from the year 1418, thus coinciding with the date of Patapan II. 59. The finely carved series of narrative relief panels adorning the walls of the so-called ‘pendopo terrace’ at Panataran, dated Śaka 1297, provides a pertinent example of the process described above. For a summary of the contents of the reliefs, see Satyawati Suleiman 1980.

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Returning now to Penanggungan, another point made by Stutterheim (1936: 29) when summarizing his exploration of the mountain concerned the possibility that the terraced sanctuaries ‘were connected with the worship of deified kings, queens and gurus belonging to the later dynasties.’ It is certainly noteworthy that quite a number of inscribed dates discovered among the ruins on the mountain’s upper slopes appear to match those marking significant events recorded in the Pararaton. This curious correspondence becomes especially noticeable in the second half of the 15th century, raising the possibility that Mt Penanggungan became a preferred place of enshrinement for the later rulers of Majapahit and their families. The following are a few examples: Śaka 1373 (1451–1452) Death of Kṛtavijaya and accession of Śrī Rājasavardhana (Pararaton 32.8–10) Date on the entrance steps to site A46 Śaka 1378 (1456–1457) Accession to the throne of Śrī Girīśavardhana, Hyaṅ Pūrvaviśeṣa (Pararaton 32.15–16) Dated stone from site A36. Stone displaying a chronogram from site B5 Śaka 1386 (1464–1465) Death of the queen Jayavardhanī, Bhre Daha (Pararaton 32.18) Dated stone from site A37 Śaka 1388 (1466–1467) Deaths of Śrī Girīśavardhana and Śrī Vijayendudevī (Pararaton 32.18–20) Accession of Śrī Siṅhavikramavardhana (Pararaton 32.21–2) Dated stone from site A6 Śaka 1400 (1478–1479) Death of Śrī Siṅhavikramavardhana in the kraton of Majapahit (Pararaton 32.24–25) Dated stone from site A56 While it is still too early to draw any certain conclusions, these observations clearly warrant further investigation. One could begin, for example, by searching for corresponding dates on the approximately fifty documented stones recovered from the former Majapahit capital. As noted in a previous article (Hadi Sidomulyo 2014: 108), dated

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stones at Trowulan begin to make their appearance shortly after the year 1350. This period would have seen the passing of Majapahit’s first generation, of whom the Rājapatnī was the most well-known figure. The fact that the dates recorded are distributed evenly over a period spanning five generations, supports the likelihood that at least a few of them once represented shrines dedicated to deceased royal family members. To conclude, despite the fall of the palace of Majapahit in the last quarter of the 15th century, terraced sanctuaries continued to be constructed on Mt Penanggungan. Five inscribed stones recovered from the mountain’s northern slope bear dates spanning the period 1486–1512, while further incomplete fragments point to the same period, or perhaps even later. According to the Babad ing Sangkala, a Javanese court chronicle deemed trustworthy by historians such as H.J. De Graaf and M.C. Ricklefs, it was not until the year 1543 that the sacred mountain Penanggungan was finally abandoned, its inhabitants capitulating to the forces of the Islamic Sultanate of Demak.60

afterword The exploration of Mt Penanggungan is an ongoing process. In the course of preparing this chapter I have on several occasions found it necessary to update the information gathered in the field, and even while typing this final section there are still more additions to be made. During the month of October 2018 yet another extensive fire swept across the northern slope of the mountain, revealing no less than four hitherto undocumented terraced sanctuaries, one impressive cave hermitage and the fragmentary remains of numerous unidentifiable foundations. Field conditions in the weeks following, moreover, allowed the possibility to continue the survey of the principal ‘carriageway’, which had ended abruptly almost three years earlier.61 60. Graaf and Pigeaud 1985: 64–66; Ricklefs 1993: 2, 261 (note 6); 1998: 213–214. 61. A sudden accident on the mountain, suffered by the writer in January 2016, coupled with unfavourable weather throughout the following year, effectively put an end to

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java These recent expeditions have led to fresh insights, as well as raised important questions which need to be explored further. Of particular interest are the long access paths, or ‘stairways’, constructed from unworked stones and extending for several hundred metres below some of the monuments. The significant point here is that these pathways are in many cases intersected by the wider carriageway, implying that the former, most of which appear to provide access to less sophisticated structures, belong to an historical period predating the Majapahit era. This, in turn, opens the possibility that the more elaborate sites from the 14th and 15th centuries simply represent the final phase of an ongoing construction programme which stretches back to the dawn of history. As a final word, I would like to emphasize that, despite a number of significant discoveries, the surveys undertaken on Mt Penanggungan during the last seven years have done little more than literally ‘scratch the surface’. This fact became plainly apparent in the month of July 2018, when a team from the East Java office for the Preservation of Cultural Heritage conducted the first ever excavation (to my knowledge) on the mountain’s upper slopes.62 The site chosen was the terraced structure labelled A1 (Candi Selokelir), itself the subject of some of the earliest photographs

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from Penanggungan taken by the Archaeological Service in 1915. The results were astounding, for the excavation revealed that virtually the entire monument as witnessed today, excluding the entrance steps and lowest retaining wall, was no more than an arbitrary reconstruction by the local inhabitants, thus rendering earlier assessments of the site largely irrelevant. As it turns out, much of the original structure remains buried beneath the earth, providing an excellent opportunity for archaeologists to determine the monument’s original form and dimensions. This initial excavation offers on the one hand an exciting glimpse of the possibilities lying ahead, but at the same time presents a formidable challenge. If Mt Penanggungan’s 40 km² archaeological landscape is to be preserved for posterity, a clear and united vision based on firm scientific principles will be necessary to ensure long term benefits. This in turn will require a concerted effort by specialists in the fields of history, archaeology, epigraphy, art and architecture, as well as Old Javanese language and literature. It is sincerely hoped that the new data presented in this chapter will serve towards that end by eliciting an active response from the international academic community.

further exploration of the carriageway until conditions improved. 62. While it is true that a number of monuments on Mt Penanggungan were restored by the Archaeological Service during the 1930s, there is no record of any systematic excavation at that time.

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Appendix 10.1 Table 10.1 MT PENANGGUNGAN – List of Archaeological Sites (provisional) A

Description and local name

Location

Roman numeral

A1

Terraced monument Candi Selokelir

Sarahklopo, SW slope

A2

Terraced monument Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 4463

Sarahklopo, SW slope

A3

Terraced monument Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 5

Bekel, NW slope

A4

Terraced monument Candi Kendalisodo

Bekel, NW slope

LXV

A5

Terraced monument Candi Sadel

Bekel, SE slope

LXVI

Terraced monument Candi Sinta, Candi Gentong

Penanggungan, NW slope

XVII

A7

Terraced monument Candi Pura

Penanggungan, NW slope

LVII

A8

Terraced monument Candi Putri

Penanggungan, NW slope

LVI

A9

Terraced monument Candi Bayi

Penanggungan, NW slope

XV

A10

Terraced monument Candi Umpak Wolu

Penanggungan, N slope

LXXXI

A11

Terraced monument Candi Griya

Gajahmungkur, NW slope

XX

A12

Cave hermitage Gua Rante

Gajahmungkur, W slope

LXIX

A13

Terraced monument Candi Wayang

Gajahmungkur, S foot

VIII

A14

Terraced monument Candi Gajah

Gajahmungkur, SW slope

XXII

A6 (a-b)

XXIII

Śaka date(s) 1356, 1364 13.., 1346?

1385, 1388

1282

63. These numbers refer to the map (Peta tata letak candi) appended to the publication of 1991–1992.

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java A

Description and local name

Roman numeral

Location

231 Śaka date(s)

A15

Terraced monument Candi Dharmawangsa

Gajahmungkur, S summit

XIX

A16

Terraced monument Candi Kerajaan

Gajahmungkur, E slope

III

A17

Stone stairway Agus Aris Munandar 1990: 104–105

Gajahmungkur, SE slope

A18

Terraced monument Candi Bhuto

Gajahmungkur, S foot

A19

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, NE slope

A20

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, NE slope

A21

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, NE slope

A22

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, E slope

A23

Stone altar Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 8

Bekel, NW slope

XXXV?

1371?

A24

Cave hermitage, Altar Gua Buyung

Bekel, NW slope

LXIII

1117, 1326

A25

Cave hermitage, Monolith Gua Kursi

Bekel, NW slope

XXXIV?

1336?

A26

Terraced monument

Bekel, NW slope

LXII

A27

Terraced monument

Bekel, NW slope

LXI

A28

Structural remains

Penanggungan, Summit

XI

A29

Cave hermitage Gua Widodaren

Penanggungan, W slope

LXXX

A30

Cave hermitage Gua Botol

Penanggungan, W slope

X

A31

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

XLV

A32

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

XLVI

A33

Terraced monument Candi Wisnu

Penanggungan, W slope

IL

A34

Terraced monument Candi Guru

Penanggungan, W slope

L

A35

Terraced monument Candi Siwa

Penanggungan, W slope

LI

A36

Terraced monument Candi Lurah

Penanggungan, W slope

LII

1378, 1391 1380?

A37

Terraced monument Candi Carik

Penanggungan, W slope

I

1386, 1380?

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136.

IX

1271

1336

131.?

1358

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232 A

Description and local name

Roman numeral

Location

A38

Terraced monument Candi Naga

Penanggungan, W slope

XVI

A39

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, N slope

LXXVI

A40

Terraced monument Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 40

Penanggungan, N slope

A41

Terraced monument Candi Merak

Penanggungan, N slope

LXVII

A42

Terraced monument Candi Lemari

Penanggungan, N slope

LIX

A43

Terraced monument Candi Yudha

Penanggungan, N slope

LX

A44

Terraced monument Candi Pandawa

Penanggungan, N slope

LVIII

A45

Terraced monument

Sarahklopo, SE slope

V

A46

Terraced monument

Bekel, NW slope

LXIV

A47

Structural remains

Gajahmungkur, Saddle

XVIII?

A48

Terraced monument Tjokro Sudjono et al., No. II64

Penanggungan, N slope

A49

Cave hermitage, Inscription Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 54

Bekel, N slope

A50

Terraced monument Candi Triluko

Penanggungan, W slope

LIII

A51

Terraced monument

Bekel, W summit

LXX

A52

Terraced monument

Bekel, Saddle

LXXV

A53

Cave hermitage

Bekel, S slope

A54

Cave hermitage Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 47

Penanggungan, W slope

A55

Terraced monument Candi Menara

Gajahmungkur, NW slope

A56

Terraced monument Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 43

Gajahmungkur, N slope

Śaka date(s)

14.. 1433

1408

1373, 1334?

1312

XXI 140065

64. This site is plotted on the map appended to the 1976 publication by Tjokro Sudjono et al. The position is accurate, but the identification with the monument numbered II in Stutterheim’s registry is incorrect. 65. The placement of this dated stone at our site A56 must be regarded as tentative, as the precise spot where it was observed is not entirely clear. A photograph of the stone (printed upside down) is published in Tjokro Sudjono et al. 1976: 16 (No. 16).

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java A

Description and local name

Roman numeral

Location

A57

Terraced monument Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 45

Sarahklopo, SW slope

A58

Cave hermitage

Bekel, NW slope

A59

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

XLVII

A60

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, W slope

XLVIII

A61

Terraced monument Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 46

Sarahklopo, SW slope

A62

Terraced monument

Bekel, E slope

A63

Terraced monument

Kemuncup, S summit

A64

Cave hermitage Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 49

Penanggungan, W slope

A65

Cave hermitage Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 48

Penanggungan, W slope

A66

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

A67

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, NE slope

A68

3 stone altars

Sarahklopo, W slope

A69

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

LIIa

A70

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, NE slope

LXXIX

A71

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, NE slope

A72

Cave hermitage

Bekel, N slope

A73

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, N slope

A74

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, NE slope

A75

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, NE slope

A76

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, S slope

A77

Stone stairway

Penanggungan, S slope

A78

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, S slope

A79

Terraced monument

Wangi, S slope

IV

A80

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, N slope

LXVIII

A81

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

A82

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

A83

Stone stairway

Penanggungan, SW slope

A84

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, N slope

A85

Stone stairway

Penanggungan, N slope

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233 Śaka date(s)

LIV

II

1385

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Hadi Sidomulyo

234 A

Description and local name

Location

A86

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

A87

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, NE slope

A88

Terraced monument

Kemuncup, N summit

A89

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

A90

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

A91

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, W slope

A92

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, NE slope

A93

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, NW slope

A94

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, NW slope

A95

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, NW slope

A96

Cave hermitage

Penanggungan, N slope

A97

Terraced monument

Penanggungan, N slope

A98

Cave hermitage66

Gajahmungkur, W slope

B

Description and local name

Location

Roman numeral

Śaka date(s)

[1]362 LV

VII Roman numeral

1421 Śaka date(s)

B1

Bathing place Pemandian Jolotundo

Biting (Seloliman) Trawas, Mojokerto

XVII

899

B2

Foundation, pillar supports Suku Domas

Balekambang (Seloliman) Trawas, Mojokerto

XII

B3

Decorated boulder Watu Gambar

Balekambang (Seloliman) Trawas, Mojokerto

XIII

B4

Terraced monument, statue Reco Macan

Balekambang (Seloliman) Trawas, Mojokerto

XIV

B5a (a-b)

Ancient gateways Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 29

Jedong (Wotanmasjedong) Ngoro, Mojokerto

848, 1189 1237, 1248 1298, 1308 1350, 1378

B5b

Cave, sacred spring Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 54

Jedong (Wotanmasjedong) Ngoro, Mojokerto

1041

B6

Brick temple structure Candi Pasetran Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 28

Jedong (Wotanmasjedong) Ngoro, Mojokerto

B7

Temple remains, lumpang, brick foundation

Jedong (Wotanmasjedong) Ngoro, Mojokerto

126.

66. Rediscovered in December 2020. The date 1421, initially read by de Casparis, seems not entirely certain.

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java B

Description and local name

Location

B8a

Ancient bathing place Candi Belahan Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 38

Belahan (Wonosunyo) Gempol, Pasuruan

B8b

Gateways, temple foundation Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, Nos. 36, 37

Belahan (Wonosunyo) Gempol, Pasuruan

B9

Brick remains, jaladwara

Belahan (Wonosunyo) Gempol, Pasuruan

B10

Structural remains, candi stones Mbah Wiyu

Genting, Ngoro Mojokerto

B11

Terraced monument, lumpang Mbah Sentono

Genting (Wotanmasjedong) Ngoro, Mojokerto

B12

Brick structure, bathing place Pemandian Kilisuci

Biting (Seloliman) Trawas, Mojokerto

B13

Brick structure

Mt Semodo (Kedungudi) Trawas, Mojokerto

B14

Statue, candi stones Punden Reco

Wonosunyo Gempol, Pasuruan

B15

Miniature candi Maulana Ibrahim et al. 1992, No. 55

Genting (Wotanmasjedong) Ngoro, Mojokerto

B16

Brick structure, lumpang Punden Selumpang

Duyung Trawas, Mojokerto

B17

Stonemason’s workshop, Unfinished yoni etc.

Guci, Kesiman (Sukoreno) Prigen, Pasuruan

B18

Brick foundations Sumbersuko

Kedungudi, Trawas, Mojokerto

B19

Inscribed boulder

Genting (Wotanmasjedong) Ngoro, Mojokerto

10_CreSouthV2_5P_22Jun22.indd 235

Roman numeral

235 Śaka date(s)

LXXXI?

XXIV?

1265

1245

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Hadi Sidomulyo

236

Table 10.2 MT PENANGGUNGAN – The inscriptional evidence. Dated monuments in the framework of history No.

Description

Śaka Date

Kingdom/Reigning monarch

References

Matarām B5a

Stele of Kambaṅ Śrī

848 (926–927)

Rakai Sumba/Paṅkaja dyah Vava

Damais 1955: 138–140

Īśānavaṅsa B1

Bathing place

899 (977–978)

Unknown descendant of Pu Siṇḍok Śrī Īśānavikrama

Bosch 1915, No. 1753

Kaḍiri B5b

Inscribed stone

1041 (1119–1120)

Śrī Bāmeśvara

Bosch 1915, No. 1696

A24

Cave entrance

1117 (1195–1196)

Śrī Sarveśvara II (Śṛṅgalañcana)

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 36, 52

Siṅhasāri – B5a

Inscribed stone from Biting

1168 (1246–1247)

Anuṣanātha?

Bosch 1915, No. 1753

Inscribed stone

1189 (1267–1268)

Śrī Jayaviṣṇuvardhana

Bosch 1915, No. 1696

Majapahit B5a

Inscribed gateway

1237 (1315–1316)

Śrī Jayanagara

Bosch 1915, No. 169667

B19

Inscribed boulder from Genting

1245 (1323–1324)

Śrī Jayanagara

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 52

B5a

Inscribed gateway

1248 (1326–1327)

Śrī Jayanagara

Bosch 1915, No. 1696

Inscribed zodiac bowl

1253 (1331–1332)

Śrī Tribhuvanavijayottuṅgadevī

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 52

B13

Inscribed stone

1265 (1343–1344)

Śrī Tribhuvanavijayottuṅgadevī

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 26, 52

B7

Stone lumpang

126. (1338–1348)

Śrī Tribhuvanavijayottuṅgadevī

Hadi Sidomulyo, field observation 2015

A20

Terraced monument

1271 (1349–1350)

Śrī Tribhuvanavijayottuṅgadevī

Hadi Sidomulyo, field observation 2018

A14

Terraced monument

1282 (1360–1361)

Śrī Rājasanagara

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 23, 52

B5a

Inscribed stone

1298 (1376–1377)

Śrī Rājasanagara

Bosch 1915, No. 1696

–

67. Uncertain. Bosch’s report is not corroborated by any other source known to the present writer.

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java No.

Description

Śaka Date

Kingdom/Reigning monarch

References

B5a

Inscribed gateway

130868 (1386–1387)

Śrī Rājasanagara

Bosch 1915, No. 1696

A49

Cave hermitage

131269 (1390–1391)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Hadi Sidomulyo, field observation 2013

A31

Terraced monument

131. (1388–1397)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Hadi Sidomulyo, field observation 2015

–

Inscribed stone from Biting

1319 (1397–1398)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Bosch 1915, No. 1753

A24

Stone altar

1326 (1404–1405)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 37, 52

A46

Terraced monument

133470 (1412–1413)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 37, 52

A27

Terraced monument

1336 (1414–1415)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 36, 52

A25

Cave entrance

133671 (1414–1415)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Munandar 1990: 85

–

Inscribed stone

1340 (1418–1419)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 52

–

Inscribed stone

1344 (1422–1423)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 18, no. VI

A1

Terraced monument

[1]34672 (1424–1425)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Damais 1957: 398

B5a

Inscribed stone

1350 (1428–1429)

Śrī Vikramavardhana

Damais 1957: 374 (Fig. 14d), 396

A1

Terraced monument

1356 (1434–1435)

Devi Suhita

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 25, 52

A33

Terraced monument

1358 (1436–1437)

Devi Suhita

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 32 and Fig. 3873

A88

Terraced monument

[1]362 (1440–1441)

Devi Suhita

Hadi Sidomulyo, field observation 2020

237

68. Published sources consistently give this date as Śaka 1307, based on the chronogram brāhmaṇa nora kaya bhūmi. Since the word brāhmaṇa has the value of eight, however, a reading of 1308 seems preferable. 69. Possibly to be read as 1311. 70. Uncertain reading. 71. Read as 1336 by Agus Aris Munandar, perhaps on the basis of an erroneous identification with Stutterheim’s site LXI (A27 above). The figure for the decade is extremely weathered, making the reading not completely certain. 72. This date, initially read as [1]356 (cf. van Romondt et al. 1951: 25), was questioned by Damais, who argued in favour of [1]346. The correct reading remains debatable. 73. The association of this dated stone with Stutterheim’s site LI (Candi Siwa) would appear to be incorrect. A photograph taken by Claire Holt in 1936 (no. 569) makes it clear that the stone was recovered from site IL (Candi Wisnu), A33 according to our inventory.

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Hadi Sidomulyo

238 No.

Description

Śaka Date

Kingdom/Reigning monarch

References

A1

Terraced monument

1364 (1442–1443)

Devi Suhita

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 25, 52

A16

Terraced monument

136. (1438–1448)

Devi Suhita

Hadi Sidomulyo, field observation 2014

A23?

Stone altar

1371 (1449–1450)

Śrī Vijayaparākramavardhana dyah Kṛtavijaya

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 26, no. XXXV

A46

Terraced monument

1373 (1451–1452)

Śrī Rājasavardhana Saṅ Sinagara

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 37, 52

B5a

Inscribed stone

1378 (1456–1457)

Śrī Girīśavardhana Hyaṅ Pūrvaviśeṣa

Bosch 1915, No. 1696

A36

Terraced monument

1378 (1456–1457)

Śrī Girīśavardhana Hyaṅ Pūrvaviśeṣa

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 32, 52

A36 or 37

Terraced monument

1380 (1458–1459)

Śrī Girīśavardhana Hyaṅ Pūrvaviśeṣa

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 52

A73

Terraced monument

1385 (1463–1464)

Śrī Girīśavardhana Hyaṅ Pūrvaviśeṣa

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 18, 52

A6

Terraced monument

138574 (1463–1464)

Śrī Girīśavardhana Hyaṅ Pūrvaviśeṣa

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 22, 52

A37

Terraced monument

1386 (1464–1465)

Śrī Girīśavardhana Hyaṅ Pūrvaviśeṣa

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 17, 52

A6

Terraced monument

1388 (1466–1467)

Śrī Siṅhavikramavardhana dyah Suraprabhāva

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 22, 52

A36

Terraced monument

1391 (1469–1470)

Śrī Siṅhavikramavardhana dyah Suraprabhāva

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 22, 52

A56

Terraced monument

1400 (1478–1479)

Śrī Siṅhavikramavardhana dyah Suraprabhāva

Tjokro Sudjono et al., 1976: 16 (No. 16)

A43

Terraced monument

1408 (1486–1487)

Śrī Girīndravardhana dyah Raṇavijaya

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 35, 52

–

Inscribed stone

1409 (1487–1488)

Śrī Girīndravardhana dyah Raṇavijaya?

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 44, 52, no. LXXI

A98

Cave hermitage

1421 (1499–1500)

?

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 19, no. VII

A97?

Terraced monument

1422 (1500–1501)

?

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 26, 52, no. XXVI

A41

Terraced monument

1433 (1511–1512)

Batara Vigiaja75

Van Romondt et al. 1951: 43, 52

74. This date has been read alternatively as 1386 (Krom in Oudheidkundig Verslag 1915: 4) and 1389 (Ichwani in van Romondt et al. 1951: 22). In our opinion the last figure represents a five. 75. This is the name of the reigning ‘heathen’ king of Java, as recorded in the Suma Oriental of Tome Pires (Cortesão 1944: 230), compiled shortly after the fall of Malacca to the Portugese in 1511.

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java

239

Diagrams showing the distribution of archaeological sites on the upper slopes of Mt Penanggungan (Hadi Sidomulyo 2019–2020) 1.  NW quadrant

■ Terraced structures Cave hermitages

10_CreSouthV2_5P_22Jun22.indd 239

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240

Hadi Sidomulyo

2.  SW quadrant

10_CreSouthV2_5P_22Jun22.indd 240

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java

241

3.  NE quadrant

10_CreSouthV2_5P_22Jun22.indd 241

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242

Hadi Sidomulyo

4.  SE quadrant

10_CreSouthV2_5P_22Jun22.indd 242

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New Archaeological Data from Mt Penanggungan, East Java

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THE CONTRIBUTORS

Sonali Dhingra (BA and MPhil in History, Delhi University; MA in Ancient Indian History, Jawaharlal Nehru University) earned her doctorate in the History of Art and Architecture at Harvard University (2021), specializing in South and Southeast Asian Art. Her dissertation, ‘Cult and Colossus: Buddhist sculpture from Odisha in History and Memory (ca. eighth to twelfth centuries)’ considers the role of scale and materiality in the making and reception of devotional sculpture from Buddhist sites in Odisha. She was one of two recipients of the 2022 South Asia Art & Architecture Dissertation Prize, awarded by the South Asia Art Initiative, UC Berkeley. In 2021, she was awarded the ACLS/Robert H.N. Ho Family Foundation Postdoctoral Fellowship in Buddhist Studies. She was also a curatorial assistant of the exhibition Dharma and Puṇya: Buddhist Ritual art of Nepal (2019), and guest curator for an exhibition on South Asia at the Davis Museum, Wellesley College (2018). Michel Gauvain is an associate researcher at the Italian School of East Asian Studies (ISEAS Kyoto), and is currently collaborating with the Department for the Ethnological Collections of the Vatican Museums. Previously, he has been ‘cultore della materia’ (instructor) and adjunct lecturer in East Asian Religions and Philosophies at the Department of the Italian Institute of Oriental Studies, Sapienza University of Rome. He holds a PhD in Civilizations, Cultures and Societies of Asia and Africa (Sapienza University of Rome), an MA in Religions (Buddhist Studies) (SOAS, University of London), and an MA in Buddhist Art: History and Conservation (The Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London). His main

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research interests include the history, doctrines, rituals and art of East Asian Esoteric Buddhism. Hadi Sidomulyo is an independent writer and historian, focusing on Javanese history of the pre-colonial period. His years spent as consultant to the Indonesian Department of Culture and Tourism, first in Yogyakarta (1986–1989), and later in Surabaya (1989–1994), stimulated a special interest in the field of historical topography. Between 1998 and 2001 he made a ground survey of the route followed by the 14th century King Rājasanagara of Majapahit through eastern Java, as recorded in Prapañca’s Deśavarṇana. The results were later published under the title Napak Tilas Perjalanan Mpu Prapañca (2007). Since then he has written a series of articles dealing with various problematic aspects of early Javanese history, as well as conducted an ongoing exploration of the archaeological remains on Mt Penanggungan, a programme supported by the University of Surabaya (Ubaya). His latest publication is a new edition of the Old Javanese Tantu Paṅgәlaran, prepared in collaboration with S.O. Robson (ISEAS, 2021). Hudaya Kandahjaya, born in Bogor, Indonesia, is currently employed at the BDK America in Moraga, California, USA. He graduated from the Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley, in 2004 with a PhD in Buddhist Studies. In addition to scholarly and literary study particularly on Indonesian Buddhism, he has engaged in practical aspects of Buddhism. All these gear his interests in Buddhism, education, and theoretical and practical understanding of engaged Buddhism.

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The Contributors Roy E. Jordaan (1947–2019) was an independent scholar. A graduate of Leiden University, he obtained a PhD in medical anthropology in 1985. Shortly thereafter, his main interest shifted to ancient Javanese history and culture. His publications include a reader of Dutch essays on the Prambanan temple complex, In Praise of Prambanan (KITLV, 1996), which was later translated and published as Memuji Prambanan (2009), the monograph The Mahārājas of the isles: The Śailendras and the problem of Śrīvijaya (with B.E. Colless; Leiden University, 2009), and a number of articles in academic journals focusing on the art history and architecture of premodern Java. Mimi Savitri (PhD SOAS, University of London, 2015) is an Assistant Professor in the Archaeology Department at Universitas Gadjah Mada, Yogyakarta, Indonesia. She teaches Old Javanese Epigraphy, Paleography, Landscape Archaeology, and Cultural Resource Management. Her main research interest is landscape archaeology, with a focus on Javanese landscape. Umakanta Mishra (PhD, JNU, 2006) is an Assistant Professor in Ravenshaw University, Cuttack. The author has been associated with various research projects, namely Boats of South Asia Project, Oxford University, 1996; Digital Temple Atlas of Odisha, Tubingen University, 2002; and Religion and Development Research Program, Birmingham University, 2005–2006. His publications include Vajrayāna Buddhism: Study in Social Iconography, New Delhi, 2009. His main research interests are the religious landscape

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of early mediaeval South Asia and archaeology of early farming communities of Odisha. Saran Suebsantiwongse was initially trained as an opera singer in Europe and USA, and took Master and PhD degrees in Sanskrit Studies at the University of Cambridge. Upon the completion of his dissertation, he was awarded the Dr Hettie Elgood Scholarship to study in the Postgraduate Diploma in Asian Art History at SOAS. His PhD dissertation focused on the Sāmrājyalakṣmīpīṭhikā, a compendium on kingship and tantric rituals from 16th century Vijayanagara. His research focuses on the material culture of South and Southeast Asia in connection with Sanskrit texts and epigraphy as well as on Hindu and Buddhist iconography in the premodern era. He currently works as a freelance art director for River Books and as an artistic advisor for the Royal Bangkok Symphony Orchestra. Jeffrey Sundberg is an independent researcher. His primary interest lies in Central Javanese history and religious culture, but his investigations into the background of the Śailendra sponsorship of Abhayagirivāsins have led to recent collateral publications on the Esoteric Buddhist monk Vajrabodhi (in collaboration with Rolf Giebel) and the dedication of a number of early Second Lambakaṇṇa kings to an esoteric Buddhism promoted at the Abhayagirivihāra in Rājarattha. In prior publications, he has addressed the gold-foil mantra unearthed on the Ratu Boko prominence, the dating of the Borobudur stūpa, and an evaluation of the historical claims of the Old Sundanese Carita Parahyaṅan in light of the new dynastic data in the Vanua Tәṅah III inscription.

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Index

A Abhayagiri, 29, 39–41, 47, 74–76 Abhayagirivihāra, 2, 40, 74–76, 82–84, 91, 108, 123 ācārya, 28, 31, 61 ādhāra vedī, 60 Aggabodhi, King, 39 Airlaṅga, King, 182, 224, 225 Akṣobhya, 2, 27, 30, 32–38, 42, 45–47, 94, 100, 124, 225–226 Amitābha, 30, 32, 34–36, 45–46, 124 amitavala (infinite power), 68 Amoghapāśa, 1–2, 7–9, 16, 119 cultic associations of, 10–15 funerary rites, and, 17–23 Amoghapāśahṛdayadhāraṇī, 12, 14–15 Amoghavajra, 12, 30–31, 61–62, 64, 70, 97–99, 103, 107, 109, 110, 124 Ānandagarbha, 99, 105, 123 Anāthapiṇḍada/Anāthapiṇḍika, 65, 77 animistic beliefs, trees and, 78–80 Apadāna Commentary, 64–65 Archaeological Heritage Preservation Office, Yogyakarta, 121–122 archaeological sites Belahan, 209, 219, 222, 224, 235 Mount Penanggungan, 3, 230–242 Archaeological Society, Yogyakarta, 56 architectural change, 57 ‘Arjuna temple’, 140–141 Arjunavivāha, 225, 227 Asanpat inscription, 29 Aśoka, 80 Aśoka-grove, 158–161 Aśokāvadāna, 80 Aṣṭamahābhaya Avalokiteśvara, 14–15, 17–18 aṣṭāṅga-mārga (Eightfold path), 60

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Avadānakalpalatā, 65 Avadānas, 66 Avalokiteśvara, 7–10, 12, 14–18, 21, 31–32, 36, 42–43, 98, 109–110, 119, 124 Avataṃsakasūtra, 45, 67 B Babad ing Sangkala, 228 Bālakāṇḍa, 149–150 Bālaputradeva, 75 Bali, 8, 12, 58, 95, 103, 113, 124 Baliadari, 151, 163 Balinese stuti, 58, 103 balustrade, 3, 57, 63, 86, 88, 145, 153, 168, 175, 192–193, 201, 204–205 Bavarian State Museum of Ethnology, Munich, 114 Beilin Museum, 98 Belahan, archaeological site, 209, 219, 222, 224, 235 Bhadracarī, 41, 45, 66, 69 Bhadrakalpa, 44 bhagavats, 61, 68 Bhaṭāra Śiva-Buddha, 126 bhikṣu, 86, 88, 137, 140 bhūdhara, 69 Bhūmisaṃbhāra, 69–70 Bhūvācārya, 38 Bianhong, Javanese monk, 41, 62, 64, 69 Bihar, 1, 7–8, 10, 12, 64, 96, 119 Bimbisāra, King, 64 Blue Annals, 28–29 Bodhigarbhālaṃkāralakṣadhāraṇī, 39–40 Bodhimaṇḍa (Bodhi shrine), origin of, 78–80, 82

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Index bodhisattva, 1–2, 7–17, 23, 27, 29–38, 42, 45–47, 98, 107, 109–110, 114, 124 name categories, and, 65–66 Bodhisattvāvadānakalpalatā, 65 Boechari, 58 Boko, King, 75 Borobudur, 2, 36, 41–42, 44–46, 48, 55, 69, 86–88, 102 hidden foot, 56–58, 60–61 numerical arrangement of, 61–64 original scheme of, 56–61 stūpa, comparison with, 59–61 ‘boundary stones’, 101, 104, 106, 109 Brahmā, 3, 119, 137, 145–146, 151, 158, 160, 162, 168, 170–171, 174–175, 189–191, 201–202, 204–205 British Museum, The, 95, 98, 104, 115–117 Buddha, 15, 17, 21, 28, 30–32, 34, 36–37, 44–47, 58–59, 61–70, 74, 77–82, 84–87, 94, 102, 107, 110, 118, 120–121, 125–126 Buddha Akṣobhya, 2, 94, 225 Buddha Amitābha, 36 Buddhabhadra, 67 Buddha Bhasmeśvaranirghoṣa, 126 buddhacarita, 70 buddha-circle, 61 Buddhadharma, 45 Buddhaguhya, 99 Buddhakṣetra, 15 Buddha Mahāvairocana, 2, 94 Buddha, translation of fo, and, 68 Buddha Vairocana, 30, 125 Buddhavaṃsa, 79 ‘Buddha’s conduct’ (vuddhacarita), 66 Buddhāvataṃsaka, 67, 68 Buddhism Esoteric, 2, 27–31, 39–41, 45, 47, 48, 62, 122, 124 Mahāyāna, 16, 75 Mantranaya, 58 Pali, 76 Shingon, 30–31 Tantric, 38, 58 Vajrayāna, 16, 58, 75 Buddhist architecture, 2, 41, 58, 76, 78 Buddhist Asia, 23 Buddhist ‘diamond triangle’, 29 Buddhist doctrine, 2, 23, 135

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Buddhist maṇḍala, 30, 41, 47–48 see also maṇḍala Buddhist Pure Land, 15 Buḍur, 58 ‘Burning Temple’, 76 C caitya, ‘shrine’, 39–40, 45, 58, 65, 68, 194–195 see also stūpa caityavandana (worship of caitya), 58–59 Caityavibhaṅgavinayoddhṛtasūtra, 69 Cakrasaṃvaratantra, 38 Cakravartin (universal overlord), 79 ‘Calcutta Stone’, 224 Candanapāla, King, 29 Caṇḍavajrapāṇi, 58, 75, 103 Candi Abang, 104 Candi Apit, 171 Candi Bayi, 230 Candi Belahan, 235 Candi Bhuto, 231 Candi Bongkol, 104–105 Candi Borobudur, 180 see also Borobudur Candi Brahmā, 189 Candi Canggal, 180 Candi Carik, 231 Candi Dharmawangsa, 231 Candi Gajah, 227, 230 Candi Gentong, 230 Candi Griya, 230 Candi Guru, 231 Candi Jago, 8–10, 16 Candi Jawi, 226 Candi Kalasan, 136–137, 202 see also Kalasan Candi Kendalisodo, 230 Candi Kerajaan, 231 Candi Lemari, 232 Candi Loro Jonggrang, 3, 137 Candi Lurah, 231 Candi Menara, 232 Candi Mendut, 42, 86–87, 89 Candi Merak, 232 Candi Naga, 232 Candi Panataran, 146, 225, 227

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Index

Candi Pandawa, 232 Candi Pasetran, 219, 234 Candi Pawon, 76, 86–87, 89 Candi Pembakaran, 2–3, 74–76, 82–85, 86, 91 bodhighara, as, 83–90 historical background, 74–76 Candi Plaosan, 194–196 Candi Prambanan, 134, 145, 147, 149, 153–154, 156, 162–164, 179, 185, 187 see also Prambanan Candi Pura, 230 Candi Putri, 230 Candi Sadel, 230 Candi Selokelir, 209, 229–230 Candi Sewu, 44, 195 Candi Sinta, 218, 230 Candi Śiva/Siwa, 189, 231, 237 Candi Sojiwan, 194–195 Candi Triluko, 232 Candi Umpak Wolu, 230 Candi Viṣṇu, 189 Candi Wayang, 230 Candi Wisnu, 231, 237 Candi Yudha, 232 Candrakīrti, 36 Central Java, Esoteric Buddhism in, 41–47 central square, in maṇḍala gridwork, 62 charity, accumulations of, (dāna-saṃbhāra), 69 Chihara, Daigoro, 57, 195 circular terrace, 45, 57, 60–61, 63–64, 68 clay stūpikā, 58–59 Clinton, Hillary, 179 ‘Conqueror of the Three Worlds’, 94 Cosmic Mountain, 80 Covesa Kalpa, 29 ‘Crystal Palace’, 173–174 ‘Crystal Temple’, 199 Cullavagga, 77 cultic associations, of Amoghapāśa, 10–15 Cuṅgraṅ inscription, 221–222, 224 D Daizong, Emperor, 31 Dānapāla, 12, 98, 122, 124 dāna-saṃbhāra (accumulations of charity), 69 daśa kuśala, 59–60 Daśaratha, King, 147–155, 161, 163–164

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Viśvāmitra visit, 152–154 death-related ritual, 7 de Casparis, Johannes G., 69–70, 74–75, 138, 173, 175–176, 234 Deśavarṇana, 58, 222–223, 226–227 Descent from Trayastriṃśa, 60–61 Descent of the Ganges, 170, 181, 192, 194 Devānaṃpiyatissa, King, 81 dge-ba bcu, 59 dhāraṇī, 12, 16, 21, 30–31, 39–41, 47–48, 58, 75, 99, 102–103, 109, 124 dharma, 12, 14, 20, 40, 58, 65, 69, 102, 113, 139, 223 Dharmadhātu Vāgīśvara, 44 Dharmagupta, 30–31 dharmakāya-caitya (caitya of the Dharma body), 58 dharmālokamukha, 69 Dharmarakṣa, 68 Dharmaśaṅkhasamādhi Mañjuśrī, 36–37, 44–45 Dharma wheel, turning of, 65 Dharmmottuṅgadeva, King, 75 diamond throne (vajrāsana), 78, 82, 84 Dinas Purbakala Republik Indonesia, 210 Divine Throne, 201 Divyāvadāna, 67–68, 70, 80 double miracle, 67 Dummedha Jātaka, 79 Dutch Indies Archaeological Service, 150, 209–210 dvārapālas, 140 dvitīyā vedī, 60 Dyah Balituṅ, King, 223–224 Dyah Kәbi, Queen, 222 Dyah Lokapāla, King, 138–140 Dyah Tuloḍoṅ, King, 222 E Eastern Chin dynasty, 67 Eightfold path (aṣṭāṅga-mārga), 60 ‘Eight Great Fears Saviour’, 14 eight stūpas, 59, 61 enlightenment, 14, 35–36, 41, 45, 60–61, 64, 67, 70, 74, 77–80, 82, 85–86, 171 Enlightenment throne, 79 Esoteric Buddhism, 2, 27–31, 39–41, 45, 47–48, 62, 122, 124

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Index Esoteric Buddhism in Mediaeval Maritime Asia: Networks of Masters, Texts, Icons, 1 eyes, categories of, 65–66 F Faxian, monk, 74, 81 Feng-xian temple, 39 Five Continents Museum, Munich, 113–115 Five faculties (pañcendriyāni), 60 Five powers (pañca balāni), 60 fo, and translation of Buddha, 68 Four awareness (catvāri smṛtyupasthāna), 60 Four renunciations (catvāri prahāṇani), 60 Four spiritual powers (catvāri ṛddhipādā), 60 funerary rites, 17–23 G Gāgak Nāsir, 164 Gāgak Svāra, 150, 154, 164 gaṇḍa, 67 Gaṇḍavyūha, 41, 45, 65–70, 86, 88 Gaṇḍavyūhasūtra, 15, 65, 67, 69–70 Gaṇeśa, 27, 119 Gaṅgāvatāraṇa-liṅga, 192, 195–196, 202, 205 Ganges, River, 17 Garbhadhātu maṇḍala, 30–32, 34, 36, 42, 47, 62–64, 70 garbhagṛha, 170, 196, 201–204 garbha (womb), 65–66 ‘garland of buddhas’, 68 Garuḍa, 147, 224 generals of the yakṣas, 102–103, 110, 124–125 ghana, 68, 70 Gobushinkan, 31 Godaison Zuzō, 99 gongde ju, 69 Grand Miracle, 60–61 Great compassion (mahākaruṇā), 60–61 ‘Greatly Ferocious Spell, The’, 58, 103 gridwork, and maṇḍala construction, 62–64 Guardians of Time and Space, 171 Guhyasamāja teachings, 28–29, 36–37, 122–123 guṇagaṇa (multitude of virtues), 69–70

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H Hanumān, 164, 175 Sītā, search for, 157–160 harmikā, 59–60, 79–80 Hevajratantra, 38, 47 hidden foot, at Borobudur, 56–58, 60–61 Hikayat Sәri Rama (HSR), 150–152, 154–155, 158, 161, 163–165 Hindu art, 1–3 Hindu-Buddhist period, 58, 101, 111, 154, 167, 222 Hindu doctrine, 135 Hinduism, 96 Hindu rites, 16, 21 Hu, Empress, 39 Huiguo, 62, 64, 99 human sacrifice, 134 hungry ghosts (preta), 22 Hybrid Buddhist Sanskrit, 75 I Ijzerman, J.W., 56, 170 Ikṣvāku Dynasty, 79 India, 1–3, 7–11, 15–18, 20–23, 27–31, 39, 41, 44–45, 47–48, 64, 66, 78, 80–82, 85, 95–96, 99, 111, 118–121, 123, 135, 145, 149–150, 155, 158, 163–164, 167–168, 171, 173–175, 180–181, 183, 188, 190, 197–202, 204, 221, 224, 227 Indic Middle Ages, 27 Indonesia, 3, 9, 12, 57–58, 104, 113, 121, 135, 145, 164, 179, 209–210, 224 National Museum of, 104, 112, 124, 137–138, 142, 168 Indonesian Archaeological Service, 172 Indonesian Epigraphist Association, 104 Indriyeśvara, 69–70 Indus Valley Civilization, 78 In Praise of Prambanan, 167 insight (vidarśanā-saṃbhāra), 69 International Symposium on Chandi Borobudur, 55, 57 Islam, 154 Islamic Sultanate, 228

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Index

J Jagannath temple, 31 Jajpur Collectorate Museum, 32, 35 Jambudvīpa, 61, 65–66 Janaka, 147, 155–156 Jātakas, 66 Java, 1–4, 8–10, 16, 23, 27, 37, 39, 41–42, 44–45, 47–48, 55–56, 58, 61, 64–66, 68–69, 74–76, 78, 82, 87, 90–91, 94–95, 101–102, 104–106, 108, 111–115, 117, 119–124, 134–140, 142–143, 145–146, 149–150, 154–155, 158, 162–165, 167, 170–174, 177, 179–180, 182–183, 186, 189, 191, 195–197, 199–200, 202, 205, 209, 221–225, 227–229, 238 ‘Javanisation’, 113–114 Jeta Grove, 65 Jetavana-Śrāvastī, 61 jeweled sanctum (ratnavyūha), 65 Jizō, cult of, 15 jñāna-saṃbhāra (accumulations of knowledge), 69 Jōjin, monk, 98 Jolotundo, bathing place, 209, 221–222, 224–225, 234 Juruṅan inscription, 142 K kabajradharan, 58 Kailash, Mount, 192 Kāla, 16, 85–87, 90, 136, 158, 160, 192, 202, 204–205 Kālacakrayāna, 37 kalaśa, 34 Kalasan, 3, 134–137, 139–140, 142–143, 202 establishment of, 139–143 inscription, and, 135–137 see also Candi Kalasan Kālikā Purāṇa, 27 Kaliṅga Bodhi Jātaka, 80 kalyāṇamitra, 66 Kandahjaya, Hudaya, 103 Kānyakubja-Sāṃkāśya, 61 Kapilavastu, 61 Kāraṇḍavyūhasūtra, 15 Karmavibhaṅgasūtra, 58–61 Kawi, Mount, 225

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Kawi script, 102, 106, 108 Kayumvuṅan inscription, 64, 66, 68–70 Kayuvaṅi, King, 184 Kbal Spean, riverine site, 3, 167–168, 170, 174, 184–192, 194–195, 198, 201, 205 Keśarī dynasty, 29 Khmer, 1, 3, 100, 170, 172–173, 186, 188, 195, 198 King of Eulogies of Vajragarbha-Trailokyavijaya, 99 Kläring Collection, 112 knowledge (jñāna-saṃbhāra), 69 Koṇāgamana Buddha, 79 Koryŏ Dynasty, 98 Kriyāsaṅgraha, 106, 107 Kṛtanagara, King, 41, 225–227 Kṣemendra, 65 Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva, 15 Kūkai, Kōbō Daishi, 41, 99–100, 122 Kuśinagara, 61 kūṭāgāra, 45–46, 65–66, 68, 70 kūṭāgāra-prāsāda, 68 L Lalitavistara, 41, 65–70, 79, 87 ‘Laṅkāpura’, 195 lasso, interpretation of, 13–14, 16 law of causation, 58 lead-bronze plate, 58, 102, 109 Lévi, Sylvain, 45, 59 liṅga, 3, 167–168, 170–173, 186, 188–192, 194–201, 205, 219–221 liṅga-pīṭhikā, 180 Liṅgapurāṇa, 170–171, 192, 197–198, 202 lion throne, 59 Liu Sung dynasty, 67 Lord of All Virtues, 68–70 Lotus Sūtra, 45 Lu Xiang, 30 M Mahada Copper Plates, 28 Mahākāla temple, 17, 20, 38 mahākaruṇā (Great compassion), 60–61 Mahāmeru, Mount, 3, 209, 221, 225 Mahānāga, King, 84

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Index Mahānāman, monk, 82 Mahāpadāna Suttanta, 80 Mahāraudranāmahṛdaya, 58, 75 Mahārisī Kali, sage-king, 163 mahāstūpa, 32–33, 76 Mahāvagga, 77 Mahāvairocana, 2, 30–31, 40, 62, 94 Mahāvairocanābhisambodhi, 36 Mahāvairocanābhisambodhisūtra (MVS), 30–32, 36–37, 41–42, 47–48, 62, 64, 70, 98 Mahāvaṃsa, 77, 80–81, 84, 181–182 Mahāvastu, 79 Mahāvihāra, 37, 76–77, 182 Mahāyakṣasenāpati, 58, 75, 103 Mahāyāna Buddhism, 16, 75 Maheśvara, 95–96, 105, 107–109, 113, 115, 117–118, 120–121, 124–126 Maitreya, 30, 32, 34, 37, 43, 66 Majapahit, 3–4, 41, 209, 219, 221–223, 225–229, 236 mālāmantra, 75 Mānasāra-śilpaśāstra, 139 maṇḍala, 2, 27, 29–37, 39, 41–42, 44–48, 61–64, 70, 96, 99–100, 103, 107, 111–112, 114, 118, 122, 125–126, 227 see also Buddhist maṇḍala Mandara, Mount, 174, 200–201 Mandodarī, Queen, 145–146, 151, 154–155, 158, 160–162, 164 Maṅgalarāja, 23 maṅilala dravya haji, 137, 143 Mañjuśrī, 10, 30, 32, 34, 36–37, 44–45, 66, 99, 100, 103, 118 Mañjuśrīvāstuvidyāśāstra, 76, 78, 82, 91 Mantranaya Buddhism, 58 Maritime Asia, 1–2, 9, 27, 29–30, 39, 41, 47–48 Matarām, 138, 140, 170, 184, 199, 201, 222–223, 236 Mәḍaṅ i Mamrati, 139 Melville, H. Leydie, 145 Merapi, Mount, 74, 91, 200 merits (puṇya-saṃbhāra), 69 Meru, Mount, 45–46, 199–200 Milk, Ocean of, 167, 170, 173–174, 181, 189, 190, 197–199, 201–202, 204, 221 miniature candi, 184, 219 miniature stūpa, 17, 20, 59

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253

Ministry of Culture, Indonesia, 224 Mohenjodaro, 78 Mojokerto Museum, 214, 222, 225 morality (śīla-saṃbhāra), 69 Mother Goddess, cult of, 78 Mount Kailash, 192 Mount Kawi, 225 Mount Mahāmeru, 3, 209, 221, 225 Mount Mandara, 174, 200–201 Mount Merapi, 74, 91, 200 Mount Meru, 45–46, 199–200 Mount Pawitra, 209, 222 Mount Penanggungan, 209–210, 222–229 archaeological sites at, 3, 230–242 carriageway on, 215–217, 221, 228–229 exploration of, 211–221 Mount Sumeru, 105, 124–125, 209 Mpu Kaṇva, 225 Mucalinda, 79, 85 Musée Guimet, 104 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 117 N Nāgarī-script, 9 Nairañjanā-Magadha, 61 Nālandā Museum, 97 Nandivarman II, 181, 199 Nara National Museum, 98, 117 Narasiṃhadeva, ruler, 9 Nationaal Museum van Wereldculturen, 106, 118 National Museum, New Delhi, 96 National Museum of Bangkok, 100–101, 168 National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, 106, 114, 117–118 National Museum of Indonesia, 104, 112, 124, 134, 137–138, 168, 173, 219 Nāṭyaśāstra, 175 Navakampa, 58, 103 nayaka, 140, 143 Newark Museum, 10 Nidānakathā, 79 Ninefold Tremble, The, 58, 103 Niṣpannayogāvalī, 8, 37, 44 Nivatakavaca, demon king, 225 Notulen, 113

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Index

O Ocean of Milk, 167, 170, 173–174, 181, 189, 190, 197–199, 201–202, 204, 221 Odisha, 1–2, 7–18, 20–23, 42, 45–48, 96–97, 119 Esoteric Buddhism, as centre of, 27–41 identification of, 27–29 Odisha State Museum, 39, 96 Old Javanese, 2, 58, 91, 95, 101, 113, 134, 137–138, 149, 170, 173–176, 195, 197, 199–200, 209, 212, 221–223, 225, 229 oṃ ye te svāhā, 58 P Pag Sam Jon Zang, Tibetan text, 28–29 Palah, temple of, 225–226 Pali Buddhism, 76 Pallava, 119, 171, 180–181, 183, 199 paṃsukūlikas, 76 Panaṅkaran, King, 108–109, 137, 140 Panataran Musem, 226 Pañcatathāgata system, 27, 29 paṅkur, 137 panti, 140–141 Pararaton, 226–228 Paraśurāmeśvara temple, 16 parinirvāṇa, 21, 59–61 Pārvatī, 95–96, 102–103, 200 pāśa, 7, 14–15 Patna Museum, 97 Paümacariya, 164 Pawitra, Mount, 209, 222 Penanggungan, see Mount Penanggungan Plaosan, 41, 44–48 Prajña, 36, 38, 67, 69 Prajñāpāramitā literature, 82, 99 Prajñāpāramitānayasūtra, 36 Prambanan, 3, 9, 47, 106, 108, 134–135, 137–140, 142–143, 145–147, 149, 151, 153–154, 156, 162–165, 167–170, 187–196 establishment of, 139–143 inscription, and, 137–139 overview of, 171 Rāma, descent and lineage, 147–152 water feature at, 173–186, 197–205 see also Candi Prambanan Pramodavarddhanī, Princess, 67 Prasenajit, King, 67

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Pratītyasamutpāda gāthā, 12 preta (hungry ghosts), 22 Pūjopakaraṇas, 40 puṇya-saṃbhāra (merits), 69 Pūrṇavarman, King, 183 Pu Siṇḍok, King, 123, 221–224, 236 R Rāhularuci, 31 Raigō, 15 Rājagṛha, 61, 64 Rājarānī temple, 16 Rājaratnākaraya, 181 Rājasanagara, King, 222–223, 227, 236–237 Rājgir (rājagṛha), 64 Rakai Kayuvaṅi, see Dyah Lokapāla Rakai Panaraban, King, 108–109, 111, 124 Rakai Pikatan, King, 139 rakryān, 137, 222 Rāma, 154–157, 163–164, 175 descent and lineage, at, 147–153 Rāmakīen, 155, 165 Rāmāyaṇa, 3, 145–147, 149, 151–152, 154, 158, 160, 163–164, 170, 173–176, 189, 197, 199–200 Rāmāyaṇa kakavin, 138, 149, 151, 160, 163 Rāṇaka Vajranāga, 21 raṅkaṅ, 140 Ratnagiri Site Museum, 11, 20 ratnavyūha (jeweled sanctum), 65 Ratubaka inscription, 74–75 Ratu Boko, 2, 41, 44, 74–76, 78, 82–83, 85, 91, 108–111, 123–124, 172, 184–186, 189, 191, 195–198, 200 Rāvaṇa, 3, 145–147, 150, 153–155, 158, 161–165 Rijksmuseum, 112, 153, 162 Rin chen bzang po, 99 Robson, Stuart, 163 Royal Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, 106, 113 S sacred word (śruta-saṃbhāra), 69 Saddharmapuṇḍarīka-sūtra, 45 Sādhanamālā, 8, 27, 36 sahasraliṅga, 3, 167, 179, 186–192, 195–196, 198, 205

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Index Śailendra Dynasty, 39, 41, 56, 75, 108, 119, 137, 190, 196–197 Śailendravaṃśatilaka, 137 ‘Śaiva-Śākta’, 16 Śaivism, 39, 96, 109, 124, 170, 192 Śākyamuni, 42, 45–46, 65–67 Samādhirājasūtra, 69–70 śamatha-saṃbhāra (tranquility), 69 saṃbhāra, 69–70 Samudramanthana, 174, 221 Saṃvarodayānāmamaṇḍalopāyikā, 38 saṅ ādimantri tama tritaya, 140 saṅgha, 22–23, 137 Saṅghadāsa, poet, 146 Saṅ Hyaṅ Kamahāyānikan, 68, 70 Sañjaya, King, 180 Saṅ Rāja Śailendravaṃśatilaka, 137 Sanskrit, 2, 9, 12, 14, 27, 31, 39, 67–70, 75–78, 80, 82, 91, 95, 101–102, 105, 124, 134–136, 139, 168, 184, 187–188, 190–192, 195, 200, 209 Śāntigarbha, 69 sapta bodhyaṅgāni (seven factors of enlightenment), 60 Saraha, 29 Sarvatathāgatatattvasaṅgraha (STTS), 30–32, 35–37, 40–42, 45–48, 75, 95–96, 98–99, 105–106, 123–124 Sarvavajrodaya, 105–106, 123 Sarveśvara II, King, 225 Śatrubhañja, King, 29 Second World War, 108 Selokelir, 209, 229–230 Sena, King, 39, 76, 84 Serat Kanda, 155 shadow-puppetry, 87 Shingon Buddhism, 30–31 shizun, 68 Shore Temple, 181 Śikṣānanda, 67 Sinclair, Iain, 8, 62, 106 śīla-saṃbhāra (morality), 69 Śilpa-prakāśa, 139 śilpins, 140, 143 sīma, 101–102, 104, 107, 139–140, 142–143, 221–225 Sītā, 3, 145–147, 153, 175, 161–165, 175 birth and descent, 154–156 Hanumān’s search for, 157–160

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255

svayaṃvara, 156–157 Śiva, 3, 41, 95–97, 102–103, 119, 124, 134, 137, 147, 153–155, 157–158, 161–164, 167–168, 170–179, 184–186, 188–190, 192, 194, 197–198, 200–205 Śiva–Buddha cult, 41, 226 Śivagaṅgā, 198–199, 201 Śivagṛha inscription, 75, 134–135, 137–140, 142, 173, 176, 196 Śivaliṅga, 168, 170, 188, 197 Śiva Mahādeva, 186 Snodgrass, Adrian, 79–80, 107 Soehamir, 108 Solar Dynasty of kings, 79 Someśvaradeva, Prince, 28 Song gaoseng zhuan, 30 South Seas, islands of the, 69 Śraddhākaravarman, 99 Śrāvastī, 61, 65, 67–68 śrīgarbha (illustrious womb), 65 Śrīghana, 68–69 Śrīghananātha, 68, 70 Śrī Kumbhayoni, 75, 184–185, 195, 198 Śrī Mahābodhi Temple, 83 Śrī Mahābodhi tree, 78, 87 Śrīvijaya, 8, 119, 190 stūpa, 17, 20–23, 29, 31–34, 36, 39, 41, 45–46, 57–60, 62–64, 68–70, 74, 77–81, 83–84, 91, 181–182, 191, 195–196, 200 Borobudur, comparison with, 59–61 structure of, 60 types of, 61 see also caitya stūpa of Descent, 60 stūpa of Parinirvāṇa, 60 stūpa of Preaching, 60 stūpa of Reconciliation, 59, 61 stūpa of Victor, 60 stūpa-prāsāda, 64–68, 70 stūpa tsa-tsa, 59 stūpa, votive, 20–21, 23 stūpikā, 58–59 Stutterheim, Willem F., 104, 146–147, 149–153, 156–158, 160–161, 163–164, 210–216, 218, 221, 227–228, 232, 237 Śubhākarasiṃha, monk, 30–31, 122 Sudhana, 41, 66, 86, 88 sugataguṇagaṇa, 70 Suhita, Queen, 227

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256 Sumeru, Mount, 105, 124–125, 209 Sūryavaṃśa, 79 Sūryavarman I, King, 186, 190, 196 Susiddhikarasūtra, 109, 122 Sūtra for Humane Kings, 99 Sūtra for Recitation Abridged from the Vajraśekhara Yoga, 99 ‘Sūtra of the Great Dhāraṇī for Extinguishing the Five Heinous Sins’, 47 suvarṇavarṇa (golden colour), 58–59 svayaṃvara, 147, 155–157, 163 Synopsis of the Eighteen Assemblies in the Vajraśekhara Yoga, 97 T Ṭakkirāja, 75, 105–106, 109, 124 Tang dynasty, 67 Tang period, 30 Tantric Buddhism, 38, 58 Tantu Paṅgәlaran, 209, 221–222 Tārādevī, 136 Tāranātha, 28–29, 105 tavān, 137 Tathāgata Buddha, 32 tathāgatabhūmi, 69 Tattvālokakarī, 105, 123 ‘Temple of Ash’, 74 ten knowledges, 60 ten virtues, 59, 60–61 terrace, circular, 45, 57, 60–61, 63–64, 68 Thousand-Armed Avalokiteśvara, 98 Thousand Buddhas, abode of, 44 Three Jewels, 103, 125 throne of Enlightenment, 79–80 tīrip, 137 tīrtha, 3, 21, 139, 167, 173, 176–177, 179–180, 186, 188–190, 197–199, 201, 205, 221 tīrthikas, 65 Todaji temple, 39 Trailokyavijaya, 2, 38, 75, 94 iconography of, 95–101 Java, in, 101–126 tranquillity (śamatha-saṃbhāra), 69 ‘transference of merit’, 23 Trapuṣa-bhallika, 68 trees, and animistic beliefs, 78–80

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Index Tribhuvana Vijayottuṅgadevī, Queen, 223, 226–227, 236 Triple Jewel, 75, 102–103 Tri Tәpusan inscription, 69 Tropenmuseum, 90 Trowulan Museum, 214, 222, 225 tṛtīyā vedī, 60 Tuṣita heaven, 65–66 U Udayādityavarman II, King, 186, 190, 196 Udayagiri stūpa, 27, 29–41, 47 Uḍumbara tree, 79 umbrella pinnacle, 57 UNESCO, 57 universal overlord (Cakravartin), 79 Universitas Gadjah Mada, 1 University of Indonesia, 211–212 Uṣṇīṣavijayādhāraṇī, 31 Uttarapurāṇa, 146 uttuṅgaśailasthaśūro (Hero abiding on mountain), 68 V Vāgīśvara Mañjuśrī Dharmadhātu, 99, 100, 103, 118 Vairocana, 27, 30–32, 34–37, 39–40, 42, 44–47, 66, 105, 124–126 Vairocanābhisambodhi, 31, 96, 99 Vaiśālī, 61 vajra, 32, 34, 36–37, 39, 42, 45–46, 58, 61, 95, 98, 102–103, 106, 108, 113–116, 119–120, 122–123, 125–126 Vajrabuddhi (aka Vajrabodhi), 30–31, 41, 61–62, 99 vajra circle, 61 Vajradhara, 36, 37, 47, 58 Vajradharma, 35–36 Vajradhātu maṇḍala, 30–32, 35, 44–47, 61–62, 64, 99 Vajrahūṃkāra, 2, 94–95, 99, 106, 124 vajralepa, 136 vajra line, 61–62 Vajramālātantra, 123 Vajrapāṇi, 2, 28, 32, 34, 36–37, 39, 42, 58, 94, 99, 102–103, 105, 110, 124–126

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Index vajrāsana (diamond throne), 78, 82, 84 Vajrasattva, 2, 30–32, 35–37, 45–47, 94, 100 Vajraśekharasūtra, 61 Vajraśekhara Yoga, 97, 99, 109 Vajratīkṣṇa, 32, 35 Vajrayāna Buddhism, 16, 58, 75 van Erp, Theodoor, 57, 60–61 van Kinsbergen, 56, 112 van Romondt, V.R., 210, 212, 214, 218–219, 236–238 varabuddharūpa, 70 Varak, King, 184 Vārāṇasī, 61 Vāsudevahiṇḍi, 146 Vayuku inscription, 139 Veṇuvana, 30, 64–65 Victoria and Albert Museum, 90 vidarśanā-saṃbhāra (accumulations of insight), 69 vihāra, 28–30, 70, 104, 121, 137, 139 vinayamahāyānavidām, 137 vipaśyanā, 69 Virtual Museum of Images & Sounds, 88 virtues, multitude of, (guṇagaṇa), 69–70 Vishnupad Temple, 8 Viṣṇu, 119, 137, 147, 153–154, 163, 168, 170–172, 174–175, 181, 189–191, 198, 201–202, 204–205, 209, 221, 224

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257

Viṣṇuvardhana, King, 226 Viśukalpa, King, 28–29 Viśvāmitra, 147, 149, 156 visit to Daśaratha’s court, 152–154 votive stūpa, 20–21, 23 vuddhacarita (‘Buddha’s conduct’), 66 vyaktaliṅga, 170–171 W water feature, at Prambanan, 173–186, 197–205 wheel-turning king, 61 womb (garbha), 65–66 Y yakṣas, generals and, 102–103, 110, 124–125 Yama, 16, 105 yamakapātihāriya, 65, 67 yamakaprātihārya, 65, 67 Yijing, Chinese monk, 21, 58 Yixing, 31 yojana, 61 Yongle, emperor, 216 Z Zanning, 30

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