The Temple Painter of Trang

The provincial city of Trang in southern Siam is used by a few tourists as a brief stop over on the way to such over-priced and over-rated locations as Phuket but is otherwise largely unknown to Western travelers. The present author arrived there a few days ago after journeying into the Kingdom by boat and by another short journey inland, but rather than using the city as a bus hub he has decided to camp there and explore for a while. The main reason for this is that, like George Town where he had stayed earlier, Trang has a large population of Straits Chinese and a strong Chinese culture; it is another instance where the local culture – in this case Thai rather than Malay – has been greatly enhanced by the admixture and influence of settlers from southern China. In the case of Trang the Chinese went to there to work in tin mines and have remained and intermarried. In general, the Chinese in Siam are well-integrated; the resulting Chinese-Siamese hybrid culture is rich and colorful, peaceful, clean, productive, industrious, cordial, relaxed, and with an excellent cuisine. 

* * * 

Just a few miles walk from the centre of Trang is a large Boodhist temple on a hill boasting a statue of the Boddhisatva Guanyin, the goddess of mercy. (Her prevalence in Asian spiritual life was the subject of a previous post, here.) It stands as a beacon over the city and so is an obvious place for a newcomer to investigate. After climbing a steep series of broken steps, however, you will discover that the temple is in advanced disrepair – in fact, abandoned. The author was greeted not by monks in prayer but by two cleaners – a man and a woman – who, rather than sweeping with their brooms, were happily groping and fondling each other somewhat immoderately in the shade of the temple walls. The goddess stood golden and merciful at the summit all the same, identifiable from her iconographical pitcher of water and her twig of willow, but everything else about the temple – a modern rather than traditional construction - is in ruin. It is a very odd structure. Evidently based on the architecturally ill-conceived idea of a giant cement-fabricated lotus pad it is a maze of circular forms, winding stairs and empty conference rooms, all of which is now crumbling and streaked with water stains, a dilapidated, melancholy monument to modern Boodhist decay. See:

* * * 

In the forest area below this temple, though, is another structure also dedicated to the great goddess of mercy, a small Chinese temple consisting of two simple buildings. See here:

If the Boodhist modernist monstrosity on the hill is disappointing, this traditional and modest Chinese temple is a hidden treasure. It is so inconspicuous that it does not even appear on google maps, nor on the otherwise infotmative local map of must-see temples and tourist spots entitled 'Prestiguous Merit Making'. This small temple is sheltered in concave landforms and overgrown forest and is accessed by an obscure pathway from the monastery at the foot of the larger temple. English-speaking locals could report little of it, except to say that it is a "joss house" - one of many in Trang - and that it is kept by the old Chinaman who is responsible for its paintings and iconography. 

The author found this old Chinaman on top of a small pagoda in the front of the temple, putting finishing touches to the enamel designs on the pagoda roof. Other than a few children playing near the caves at the back, he was the only person around. Here he is: 

He speaks very little English, for which he apologises, but in one way or another is able to communicate a few salient points about his temple. "Chinese temple!" he says - by which he means "as opposed to Thai." And as for how long he has been there painting he just says, "Long time." He is perhaps in his sixties or seventies - it is hard to tell and impolite to inquire. 

In any case, he has clearly been painting over the walls and fixtures of this temple from little tins of enamel for many years, and just as clearly it is a labour of dedication and love. The afternoon sun is very hot. He is perched on the pagoda roof protected only by a coolie hat. He is manifestly proud of his temple and very happy that a traveller would be bothered to step off the beaten path to see it. 

Although modest from the outside, the interior is a carnival of Chinese vermillion adorned with dozens of scenes from mythology and other paintings. It is all done in the same bright glossy enamels with which he is now painting the highlights of the padoga roof.  

The iconography of the temple is standard, and much of it can be seen in similar "joss houses", but the endearing feature of the temple is the somewhat naif mode of the painting. The artist is not idiosyncratic; he follows the canonical iconography, but he is - so it would seem, anyway - self-taught, or at least not a professional. The colours are bright and strong. The lines are intense and heavy. The medium is modern industrial enamels applied thick and without much subtlety. It is not a polished temple like others, but it has beauty and simplicity and power. Here is one of the door guardians:

  

Here are some panels showing Guanyin as one of the immortals:

Some scenes depict stories from the famous novel of Wu Chengen, Journey to the West - the story of 'Monkey' and Tripitaka who has been tasked by goddess Guanyin to journey from China to India to fetch the sacred scriptures:

As well as these familiar mythological depictions, there are also a number of panels near the front portal that seem to depict modern scenes of mining. The author surmises - though he might be wrong since it is a matter he was not able to clarify in the brief conversations with the old painter - that they concern the history and hardship of the Chinese tin miners who travelled from southern China to settle in the Trang region of the Siamese Kingdom in the XVIIIth and XIXth centuries. They are more cartoonish than the panels based on established iconography, presumably because the painter was creating scenes from his imagination:

The real delight of this temple, and this painter's work, however, is in the incidental depictions of birds and animals and flowers and fruit that fill the gaps between the formal panel paintings and that adorn the pillars and lintels thereabouts. These are really quite wonderful little nature studies - all in enamel - that are often signed and dated in both traditional Chinese dating and in the dating of the common (Western) calendar. Examples can be found below. As readers can see for themselves, the paintings of birds are especially successful:

Yours,

Harper McAlpine Black

The Goddess of Mercy: Tea and Temples

Temple of the Goddess of Mercy

Of all the many Chinese temples in George Town and throughout the Prince of Wales Island, the central temple, the oldest, and the acknowledged spiritual centre of the Straits Chinese is the temple of the Goddess of Mercy on Pitt Street. It is not as splendid as many of the more lavish temples - in fact it is small and humble - but it is regarded as the most auspicious and the most blessed. 

As is the usual practice, its location was chosen according to the requirements of sacred geomancy (feng sui); it was made to open onto a long vista towards the sea. Originally, it was sacred to seafarers, the temple of sailors and traders from South China who travelled to and from the Malacca Straits. 

At a certain juncture, however, Arab traders constructed a building in the line of sight of the temple, for which the Chinese put a curse on the building. Then, at much the same time, a large area of sea was reclaimed so that what is now Beach Street, which was once the foreshore, has ended up being further inland from the dock. In this process the entire feng sui of the Pitt street temple has been lost. 

Moreover, its function as a temple for seafarers has ceased to be relevant and instead it has become a temple for the great Goddess of Mercy, Guanyin. She is the patron goddess of seafarers, but her broader attributes as goddess of universal mercy have come to the fore and the whole Chinese community – not just sailors and traders – today see the temple as their spiritual home. Chinese come from far and wide to visit the temple. On any given day it is a busy hub of pilgrims and devotees. 

Cast-iron censors in the temple forecourt 

The site of the Goddess of Mercy temple in George Town is marked by two wells, known as the two 'Dragon Eyes' (although it is said there is a third well under the main altar, a third eye.) This is a picture of one of the wells in the forecourt of the temple, accessed from Pitt Street. 

* * * 

A few notes on this goddess:

*Guanyin is one of the major deities of Chinese religious practice in South Asia. She is extremely popular and widely venerated.

*In Boodhist reckonings this deity is the male boddhisatva Avalokiteśvara who appears in the Lotus Sutra in a masculine form but who may take other forms according to the requirements of ‘skilful means’. In China, the deity is feminine.

*The Chinese tradition gives many accounts of the origins of this goddess aside from the accepted derivation from Boodhist sources.

*The twenty-fifth chapter of the Lotus Sutra, the chapter concerning Guanyin, is often treated as a separate sutra by the Chinese. It is read, chanted and recited throughout the Sino-Asiatic world.

*The names of Guanyin in various languages refer to “he/she who hears crying” or similar. That is, the deity who hears human suffering.

*This goddess is known as Kannon to the Japanese (after whom the camera brand was named.)

*The goddess is assimilated into Taoism as one of the immortals, Cihang Zhenren, a woman who lived in the Shang Dynasty.

*The resemblance between Guanyin and the Christian Virgin Mary has often been noted and is sometimes made explicit in iconography. She is often depicted as a mother nursing an infant. When Christianity was banned in Japan, on pain of death, Christians would use statues of Guanyin as a substitute object of veneration.

*She is known as the ‘Guide to the Pureland’. Many believe she guides the souls of her adherents to the western Pureland after death. 

* * * 

IRON GODDESS OF MERCY TEA

There is a very fine Chinese tea called Tieguanyin, a name meaning 'Iron Goddess of Mercy' - Iron Goddess of Mercy Tea or Tea of the Iron Boddhisatva. It is an expensive premium variety of oolong tea from the Fujian province prepared by a complex curing process and is widely sought among tea connoisseurs. The present author was fortunate to find and sample some in a tea house in Cintra Street in George Town. Regarding the origins of the tea there are several legends. Here is one:

There was once a peasant farmer named Wei who every day would pass by a derelict temple containing an iron statue of the goddess Guanyin. Over the years he watched its condition deteriorate and felt very sorry that, being poor, he did not have the means to restore the temple. One day, though, he went to the temple, swept it out and lit candles, thinking it was the least he could do. That night the goddess came to him in a dream. She told him of a cave behind the temple and promised him that a treasure awaited him in return for his devotion. The next day he went to the cave and found a shoot of a tea plant. He took it, planted it in his field and nurtured it into a bush. Then he gave cuttings of the plant to his neighbours and they planted them out. Soon they began selling the rare tea as "Tieguanyin", the tea of the Iron Goddess of Mercy. They all prospered and grew rich and at length the temple was restored.

Yours,

Harper McAlpine Black

Gyanvapi - The Centre of the Centre of the Centre

The centre of the centre of the centre of Shaivite Hindooism is a small, unremarkable well in the courtyard of the Kashi Vishwanath Temple – the “Golden” Temple – popularly called ‘Gyanvapi’ (or Gyan Bajee) - ‘The Well of Knowledge’. Benares – or, to give the city its ancient name, Kashi – is as a whole the spiritual centre of the Hindoo world. All roads lead to Kashi, if only because it is here that Hindoos of all stripes come to die and be cremated and have their ashes committed to the Ganges. To die of natural causes in a certain area of the old city is considered to be so fortunate that the soul that meets this end is liberated from the cycle of birth and death. 

Within Kashi – the old city – there are literally hundreds of temples, but the most sacred of them is the Vishwanath, which is marked atop by golden domes. Within Vishwanath, there is the great lingam of Shiva over which hundreds of gallons of milk are poured every day by a priesthood and an unending stream of pilgrims. But the lingam is not, in fact, the most sacred place in the temple compound. That honour is given to a well nearby – Gyanvapi. There are many deep wells along the west bank of the Ganges, obviously fed underground by the river.

For pious Hindoos, the water of the well, Gyanvapi, is more holy than that of the Ganges. They understand that the location of the well marks the place where the world began and the place that will remain when the world ends. That is, Gyanvapi is the Hindoo axis mundi, the world-axis, the very centre of Hindooism’s extensive and madly complex sacred geography. 

Benares in itself is a microcosm with its own sacred geography. For example there are a network of Ganesh (Elephant) Temples around the Vishwanath Temple that are acting as protectors of the Well of Knowledge. There are also five pilgrim routes around to various places within the city - usually to sacred linga - and each route has the well of Knowledge at its centre. 

It is a location steeped in controversy. The Vishwanath Temple that accompanies the sacred well has been sacked and destroyed at several times in its history. The survival of the well in spite of this history is part of its sanctity. It is said that at one sacking the god Shiva himself retired into the well, ‘hiding’ from the invaders. Thus, his ‘presence’ is in the well itself.

The most recent desecration was at the hands of the Mughuls under Orangzeb who tore down the temple and used its stone to construct parts of the Gyanvapi mosque. The mosque is still standing on what (we think) was the original location of the Temple. The current Temple is more recent and sits very un comfortably next to the intruding mosque.

This had made it a flashpoint at several times for Hindoo partisans who seek to correct the historical impositions of the Mahometans. Some have proposed that the mosque should be reclaimed for the Hindoos. This is, after all, the single most sacred area in the cosmos for the Shaivite Hindoo, whereas for the Mahometans it is an undistinguished mosque built by a tyrant as a deliberate affront to the Hindoo faith. 

(The political expression of these Hindoos, let us note, is the BJP party. The official policy of the party is that Hindoos should be able to reclaim any mosque the Mahometans are no longer using. But as the Mahometans insist on keeping the Gyanvapi as an active mosque, the Vishwanath Temple compound is not in that category. Therein is the on-going but low-level friction.)

At the present time, as this author can report, the Vishwanath Temple – and the Gyanpavi Mosque – are under very tight security. There are walls of soldiers and checkpoints. This is India’s version of the ‘Temple Mount’ issue in Jerusalem – a Mahometan building has been constructed on top of someone’s most sacred temple creating a weeping sore of tension and disputes ever after.

The author is renting a room (for $8 a night) literally fifty yards from the Vishwanath Temple (and the Annapoona Temple which is part of the same complex.) He has been watching the pilgrims coming and going, and all the sundry paraphernalia connected with the temple, for three weeks. Every morning he steps out into the laneway to be greeted by long lines of eager pilgrims from all over India – whole familes of them - holding little cups of milk and garlands of flowers. On the corner are half a dozen soldiers with high-powered weapons. In amongst everyone are porters and wallahs and sadhus and beggars and cows.

There are areas of the Temple compound that are officially closed to foreigners, although many people seem to ignore the injunction. There is, all the same, a white marble marker on the side wall of one section saying, ‘GENTLEMEN NOT OF THE HINDOO FAITH ARE REQUESTED NOT TO ENTER’. The author, being a gentleman, and not of the Hindoo faith, respected the request. 

It is remarkable how much one can read about Shaivism – even by scholars who lived and worked in Benares – and yet never read an account of the utterly central importance of this place in Shaivite piety. The act of centring is fundamental to Shaivite piety. The lingham – the sacred icon of this mode of Hindooism – is in itself an emblem of (and functionally a marker for) the axis mundi – this is why the linga of Benares are aligned to the north pole. These dimensions of Shaivite piety are Hyperborean. The essential religious gesture of this piety is to turn to the centre, turn to the axis, turn to the source. Centre–axis–source is symbolized by the Gyanvapi well, the very Font of Knowledge. Shaivism is axial - and here in Benares is the axis.

The photos of this page are historical. Photography is absolutely point-a-machinegun-in-your-face forbidden anywhere near the Well of Knowledge today.

Yours

Harper McAlpine Black

Darshan

The prominence of the eyes of Hindu divine images… reminds us that it is not only the worshipper who sees the deity, but the deity sees the worshipper as well.

- Dianne Eck

In studies for his doctoral thesis the current writer observed (in the context, the correct word) that the Platonic cosmology as found in the dialogue called Timaeus is strikingly and surprisingly visual. It is surprisingly so because in every respect it is a thoroughly Pythagorean work, the Timaeus, and its central protagonist, Timaeus of Locri, is clearly being presented as a Pythagorean divine who is visiting Athens. One might expect a Pythagorean cosmology to be auditory in nature. The Pythagoreans are best known for their doctrine of the so-called ‘music of the spheres’ and the general proposition that music is at the heart of the cosmic order. And yet Plato’s cosmology – his distinctly Pythagorean cosmology – is entirely visual. The central elements, we are told, are fire and earth. Fire – which is to say light – shines upon earth – which is to say solid objects, and in this manner the visible cosmos comes into being. Timaeus explains it otherwise by the parallel terms ‘radiance’ and ‘solidity’. He makes it plain that it is a visible cosmos that the Demiurge constructs through these principles.

In accord with this, Timaeus’ account of eyesight takes a special place in the dialogue. He gives an account of how an internal light extends outwards from the eye and meets the external light reflected from solid objects by the ‘radiance’ of the cosmic ‘fire’. Moreover, as Timaeus – an astronomikos says - it is by the visual observation of the stars that all human knowledge is ultimately derived. Eyesight here, not hearing, is the primary faculty.

These matters have come to mind for this author at this time because he finds a compatible cosmological perspective implicit in the visual character of the Hindoo. Hindooism, as it is practiced, is an extraordinarily visual affair – bright, garish, variegated, multi-coloured, abundant – but more than that the very act of seeing is spiritual in itself to a degree that is quite striking to those not accustomed to it. This act of seeing is called darshan. One “takes” darshan. The word is used when, for example, one goes to see a king or a prince or a maharaja. One “takes darshan” with important authorities. By extension, one “takes darshan” with the gods. It is central to Hindoo piety. In English, we might say that one has an “audience” with a king or a prince or a maharaja, but “audience” is exactly the wrong word here. (Audience = audio, to hear.) Rather, for the Hindoo, seeing and being seen are the important things. The Hindoo world is extraordinarily visual. We might expect a tradition encapsulated by the sacred syllable AUM to be about sound and resonance. In fact, the religious cosmology of the Hindoo is intensely visual and based in the act of seeing. It has been so since the beginning. Its most primordial roots are in primal (Vedic) fire.

Darshan is what happens when the devotee goes to a Hindoo temple. There is a seeing. The devotee is there to look upon an image of the deity, and, moreover, to be seen by the deity in turn. Evidence that the latter has occurred is found when the priest in attendance places the tika – the vermillion mark – upon the third eye (forehead) of the devotee. Seeing, that is to say, is the devotional act. Just looking is the devotional act. For the Hindoo, this is a deeply tangible thing. In many ways, to look is to touch. And so, in turn, to be seen is to have been touched.

Indeed, this attitude is not exclusive to the Hindoo but can be regarded as more widely traditional. It prevails in the strongly auditory tradition of Islam, for instance. Seeing is touching – and thus we find the careful regulation of what is seen in, for example, the veiling of wives. Islam, like Judaism, and like Protestant Christianity, places emphasis upon the Word which is spoken and has, accordingly, a deep mistrust of the image. This was not so for Plato’s ancient Greeks, nor for other so-called “pagan” systems, and it is not so for the Hindoo. There is an often overwhelming profusion of images in Hindooism, to a degree that even exceeds the most image-laden manifestations of Catholic and Eastern Orthodox piety in the Christian faith. The Catholic and the Orthodox, though, are in some position to understand the Hindoo’s love of images. Their use of statues and icons is not dissimilar, but even so, not nearly so profuse and unrestrained. 

A good account of this is given in Dianne Eck’s small booklet from 1998, Darshan: Seeing the Divine Image in India. “When the Hindoo goes to the Temple, they do not commonly say, ‘I am going to worship’,” she explains, “but rather, ‘I am going for darshan.’” It means, as she says, that the devotee is going to “see the image of the deity – be it Krishna, or Durga or Shiva or Vishnu – present in the sanctum of the Temple.” And they go, as she says, “especially at those times of the day when the image is most beautifully adorned with fresh flowers and when the curtain is drawn back so that the image is fully visible.” This is the central act in common Hindoo piety. The deity is present in the image. “Beholding the image is an act of worship,” Eck relates, “and through the eyes one gains the blessings of the divine.”

Appreciating the importance of this assists the stranger in understanding the activities that are to be seen daily in a Hindoo mandir (Temple). Similarly, it is by this that we must understand the Hindoo practice of pilgrimage as it is undertaken by millions of souls every year. A Hindoo will traverse the sub-continent or travel high into the Himalayas in order to take darshan of his or her god – to see and be seen. It is an aspect of Hindoo worship that common Western portrayals of the Hindoo – chanting a mantra with eyes closed – overlooks. Mantras and interiority are part of the Hindoo order too, certainly, but in everyday experience they are not as important as darshan (“auspicious seeing”). In every Temple is the ancient Vedic fire pit. Images – iconic and aniconic – abound. There is an implicit cosmology of fire/light in which the faculty of eyesight is central. It is fully in accord with Plato’s account. When one goes to a Hindoo temple, this is mainly what is happening – the seeing of the sacred, and the being seen by the sacred in a world of fire and earth, radiance and solidity.

The present author recalls the mysterious “seeing” that he experienced at the Kalighat Temple in Calcutta only last month. At the very core of the Temple – the ultimate experience for devotees, many of whom have crossed the country in pilgrimage – is the terrible eternal gaze of the dark goddess of primordial night. Devotees, pushed and shoved in the tussle of the crowd, catch a fleeting glimpse of the goddess’ image. But, at the same time, she gazes back through the eyes painted upon her stone. There is a visual encounter. One sees. One is seen. That is darshan.

In this, let us note, there is an important contrast to be made with the tourist who is there with his own profane and uncomprehending forms of seeing as well as with the single mechanical and one-way eye of his camera.

Yours,

Harper McAlpine Black

The Place of the Thunderbolt

Called the ‘Queen of the Hill Stations’, Darjeeling, where the writer resides at present, is a town developed around the precincts of an ancient Boodhist monastery that once stood upon the site now called Observation Hill. The hill, just off the town’s central square and marketplace, is called thus because it is the highest vantage on this particular ridge and so affords direct observation of the mighty Kangchenjunga, which mountain stands snow-capped at over 28,000 feet and is barely fifty miles away. The site was once heavily forested, but from the hill one can obtain an unimpeded view of the sacred mountain. The monastery, it is said, was called ‘Dorje Ling’, a Tibetan name signifying ‘The Place of the Thunderbolt’, and it is from this, it is said, that the name Darjeeling has been derived. The ‘Queen of the Hill Stations’ known to the British, therefore - and most famous for her exceptional tea gardens - was, or is, ‘The Place of the Thunderbolt’ according, that is, to its original Boodhist inhabitants.

Suprisingly, though, this signification has continued under subsequent Hindoo occupation in a remarkable way; it has done so to the extent that it is here in Darjeeling that one finds a particularly unique synthesis of Hindoo and Boodhist sanctity. Where in other places the two creeds are parted, in Darjeeling they not only exist side by side but actually share sacred places with Brahmins and Boodhist Lamas working in concert as if theirs is a single religion. This is most notably the case in the splendid temple, the Mahakal Mandir, which is now found on Observation Hill. The Boodhist monastery that was supposedly once on the site in ancient times has now been relocated further down the slope, and where it was once supposed to stand there is a temple of Shiva, only this temple fully accommodates Boodhist devotions as well. Indeed, the central temple on the site is a combined Hindoo/Boodhist affair featuring the iconography and devotional supports of both religions in undivided combination. At the entrance one finds Tibetan lions along with the Hindoo bull Nandi. The Shiva temple is decorated with Boodhist dragons. Around the outside one find icons of Hindoo deities, Shiva and Ganesh and co. along with Boodhist prayer wheels inscribed with Tibetan mantras. 

The present writer has been assured that this syncretism is very unusual, and he has certainly not encountered it elsewhere. To be frank, it is quite odd. In the inner sanctum sit Lamas on the right and Brahmins on the left. The Lamas chant Boodhist scriptures and at the very same time the Brahmins recite Vedic mantras. In the outer courts are small temples to Kali and other Hindoo gods right next to Boodhist reliquaries and stupas. The entire thing is smothered in a wild array of Boodhist prayer flags. Devotees from both faiths make their way there and revere it as a place of special sanctity. 

So what, one wonders, is going on here? How did this unique synthesis come about? What historical development led to it and, more importantly, by what symbolism and what doctrine are the two religions united in this particular location? It is a very special place, certainly. It is both stunningly picturesque and palpably holy. Evidently, it was a sacred site since earliest times, both the hill (with its view of Kangchenjunga) and – let readers note here – a cave that is found beneath it. Why, when, in the course of its history, it changed hands from Boodhist occupation to Hindoo, was there such a degree of assimilation? This writer has marched up the steep hill several times now and spent hours there, exploring, watching and pondering. Very slowly, the secrets and the meaning of the place have become apparent.

* * * 

The first key to this place is to be found in the story of the Shiva temple that is now central to it. While there is really no historical evidence that there was ever a Boodhist monastery on Observation Hill, or that the current monastery lower down the slope was ever on Observation Hill, the Shiva temple’s origins are historically exact and revealing. In 1782, it is said, three Shiva lingams miraculously manifested on the site of the current Temple. This is the date at which the Boodhist occupation gave way to the Hindoo, and in effect the date of the founding of the Mahakal Mandir as it is. It is the date at which the name Mahakal was given to the site, the date at which it became a Hindoo holy place with Shiva claiming it over its pre-existing Boodhist associations. The three lingams are now at the very core of the complex. The stones themselves, though, are not visible, since they are encased in an alloy of eight metals called astdhatu. They represent, respectively, the triunity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, and in that, therefore, the three prongs of Shiva’s trident. The devotions of both Boodhists and Hindoos at Mahakal are focused upon these lingams. 

To understand the transition from and the synthesis of Boodhist symbolism to Hindoo/Shaivite in this case, it is simply necessary to appreciate that the trident of Shiva is here a substitute, or rather a parallel to, the vajra of Tibetan symbology. The weapons are interchangeable, and that is what has happened here. The Tibetan vajra is the Boodhist thunderbolt. Vajra is a cognate term for darje = thunderbolt. But in 1782, this Boodist order of symbolism was replaced, or subsumed, by a parallel symbolism from Hindooism, namely the trident of Shiva. When it is said that three Shiva lingams suddenly manifested on Observational Hill in 1782, we are to understand that it was, so to speak, struck by the trident of Shiva in the form of a thunderbolt, real or symbolic. The Temple marks the place where Shiva’s trident – his thunderbolt – struck and marked the ground. Thus, Dar + jeeling = the place of the thunderbolt – was now the place of Shiva’s thunderbolt, Shiva’s trident being to Hindooism what the vajra is to Lamaism. Ordinarily, the parallel made in Hindoo mythology is to Indra’s thunderbolt, but here the assimilation has been done through Shiva’s trident, the trishula. It is a parallel noted by Mr. A. K. Coomaraswamy in his commendable work The Elements of Buddhist Iconography. The town of Darjeeling has a Boodhist name, but the temple is devoted to the equivalent and corresponding cultus in Hindooism. The only odd thing is that the Boodhist elements were retained. 

As for the name Mahakal, it means “the Great Death” or the “Great Time” with the “Great Death” implied. This signifies the particular spirituality of vajraism, if we may put it thus. Namely, the notion of “thunderbolt” here refers to that form of spiritual awakening which is sudden and complete. One may think of St. Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus. There is a particular mode of enlightenment which is like a thunderbolt. Boodhists speak of the sudden falling away of the ‘self ‘ – or the illusion of ‘self’ – and the Tibetans specifically call it the “Great Death” as distinct from the lesser death that occurs at the end of a mortal life. This is to what the temple’s name refers. The “mahakal” – the Great Death – is the annihilation of the illusion of self. In the spirituality typical of this temple, devotees seek the “thunderbolt” of conversion, the sudden rupture of illumination, the death of the ego in a blast of enlightenment. Just as Shiva’s trident struck Observation Hill like a thunderbolt in 1782, so adherents hope to be struck with sudden transformation. 

The second key to understanding this remarkable place is to appreciate that the Shiva Temple – complete with its Boodhist iconography – is oriented very deliberately to the sacred mountain of Kangchenjunga. It is perhaps not so obvious today because of extra buildings and the profusion of prayer flags, but it is a certain fact that the temple points directly to the mountain, as can be checked on any clear day. The association is made explicit by a folkish wall painting in enamel paints on the back of the temple wall which shows the mountain with the trident and cobra of Lord Shiva. The mountain is what is really sacred here. The temple on Observation Hill is only sacred by extension, as it were. This is a key because it reveals the actual operations of the temple from a geomantic point of view and thus the full significance of the site. The entire symbolism, we realise, is axial in the primordial sense. The sacred mountain is the universal axis. The viewpoint from Observation Hill has been made a temple (a platform for seeing in the Latin sense) and acquires this axial significance. Thus do devotees to Mahakal Mandir circumambulate the Shiva Temple thrice. In fact, they are circumambulating the mountain. The temple represents the mountain and the whole iconography of the temple draws out the axial symbolism and significance of the mountain. 

This extends to the cave below, or rather inside, the hill. According to legend there is a ‘Lost Valley of Immortality’ on the slopes of Kangchenjunga. The mountain has its secrets. The secrets of the mountain – also the “esoteric” path to enlightenment – is symbolized by the cave, the inner dimension, the heart. It is, like any cave, a mysterious thing. One must crawl into the narrow opening. The present author did so but was reluctant to go too far into the darkness, lit as it was by only one or two votive candles. It is said, besides, that those who go too far into the cave never return. There is no telling how deep it goes. It clearly extends directly under the temple. There is an interesting local story about a British couple, a man and woman, who ventured into the cave one day and were never seen again. Can it be a coincidence that this story has a direct parallel in the Upanishads with the story of “two who entered the cave”? The two, as Mr Rene Guenon notes, are paramatman and atman, the universal and the individual self. Monsieur Guenon's exposition of the relevant symbolism in his essay The Heart and the Cave is, as usual, profound. It is worth quoting in this context:

..What resides in the heart is both from the standpoint of individual manifestation, and unconditioned Atma or Paramatma from the principial point of view; the distinction between individual and principle is no more than an illusory one; it only exists with regard to manifestation, but they are one in absolute reality. These are the 'two who have entered into the cave' and who at the same time are also said to 'dwell on the highest summit', so that the two symbolisms of the cave and the mountain are here united.


The symbolism of cave and summit are, in a sense, interchangeable. The cave and the temple are assuredly connected. The story illustrates the actual process of the steps to enlightenment. The exoteric adherents pray for the thunderbolt of enlightenment – in this life or in some other – in the temple on top of the hill, leaving their offerings of rice and incense and rupees, but the esoteric process (undertaken by only a few) is illustrated in the symbology of the cave below.

* * * 

There is, of course, much more that might be said about this. The symbolism of mountain and cave is extensive and rich, and this location gives an almost textbook case of its application. It would be possible to write an entire exposition on the symbolism and meaning of Mahakal Mandir in Darjeeling. The present sketch, however, is enough to set out the main lines such an exposition would need to explore. The first thing is to explain the unusual synthesis of Hindoo and Boodhist systems in this place. The second is to show the relation of the place to the sacred mountain that looms on the horizon only forty or so miles from Darjeeling and that can be seen with particular clarity from Observation Hill.


Yours,

Harper McAlpine Black