Bodh Gaya Jataka

Cross-disciplinary Perspectives on
a Contested Buddhist Site
Bodh Gaya, in the north Indian state of Bihar, has long been recognized as the
place where the Buddha achieved enlightenment. This book brings together the
recent work of twelve scholars from a variety of disciplines—anthropology, art
history, history, and religion—to highlight their various findings and perspectives
on different facets of Bodh Gaya’s past and present.
Through an engaging and critical overview of the place of Buddha’s enlighten-
ment, the book discusses the dynamic and contested nature of this site, and looks at
the tensions with the ongoing efforts to define the place according to particular histo-
ries or identities. It addresses many aspects of Bodh Gaya, from speculation about
why the Buddha chose to sit beneath a tree in Bodh Gaya, to the contemporary strug-
gles over tourism development, education and non-government organizations, to
bring to the foreground the site’s longevity, reinvention and current complexity as a
UNESCO World Heritage monument. The book is a useful contribution for students
and scholars of Buddhism and South Asian Studies.
David Geary is a Postdoctoral Research Associate at the University of Oxford.

His research interests include religion, diaspora and transnationalism, inter
national development and the politics of World Heritage in South Asia.
Matthew R. Sayers teaches religion at Lebanon Valley College in Pennsylvania,

USA. His research focuses on the rituals of ancestor worship in the transition
from Vedic to Classical expressions of Indian religiosity, focusing particularly on
the ritual of śrāddha.
Abhishek Singh Amar works in the Department of Religious Studies at

Hamilton College, USA. His research interests include archaeological history of
Buddhist and Hindu religious traditions in pre-modern India.
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Cross-disciplinary Perspectives on a Contested Buddhist Site

Bodh Gaya Jataka
Edited by David Geary, Matthew R. Sayers, and Abhishek Singh Amar
Cross-disciplinary Perspectives
on a Contested Buddhist Site
Bodh Gaya Jataka
Edited by David Geary, Matthew R.

Sayers, and Abhishek Singh Amar
First published 2012
by Routledge
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Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
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© 2012 David Geary, Matthew R. Sayers and Abhishek Singh Amar
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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Cross-disciplinary perspectives on a contested Buddhist site :
Bodhgaya jataka / [edited by] David Geary, Matthew R. Sayers,
Abhishek Singh Amar.
p. cm. – (Routledge South Asian religion series)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Sacred space–Social aspects–India–Buddh Gaya. 2. Buddha Gaya
Temple. I. Geary, David, 1976– II. Sayers, Matthew R. III. Amar,
Abhishek Singh.
DS486.B9C76 2012
954'.123–dc23
2011044410
ISBN: 978-0-415-68452-1 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-203-12035-4 (ebk)
Typeset in Times New Roman

by Keystroke, Station Road, Codsall, Wolverhampton
Contents
List of illustrations vii

Contributors viii
Acknowledgments xi
List of abbreviations xii
Introduction
The multiple lives of Bodh Gaya: defining views and
changing perspectives 1
DAVID GEARY, MATTHEW R. SAYERS, AND ABHISHEK SINGH AMAR
PART I
Empowering the landscape of the Buddha 11
1 Gaya–Bodh Gaya: the origins of a pilgrimage complex 13

MATTHEW R. SAYERS
2 Sacred Bodh Gaya: the Buddhakṣetra of Gotama Buddha 29

ABHISHEK SINGH AMAR
3 The changing landscape at Bodh Gaya 43

JANICE LEOSHKO
4 Bodh Gaya and the issue of originality in art 61

FREDERICK M. ASHER
PART II
Monumental conjectures: rebirths and retellings 77
5 Established usage and absolute freedom of religion at

Bodh Gaya: 1861–1915 79
ALAN TREVITHICK
vi Contents
6 Queen Victoria beneath the Bodhi Tree: Anagarika
Dharmapala as anti-imperialist and Victorian 94
NOEL SALMOND
7 Bodh Gaya in the 1950s: Jawaharlal Nehru, Mahant Giri,

and Anagarika Munindra 110
C. ROBERT PRYOR
8 “Why cause unnecessary confusion?”: re-inscribing the

Mahabodhi Temple’s holy places 119
TARA N. DOYLE
PART III
Universal dreams and local departures 139
9 World Heritage in the shadow of zamindari 141

DAVID GEARY
10 Maitreya, or the love of Buddhism: the non-event of

Bodh Gaya’s giant statue 153
JESSICA MARIE FALCONE
11 Universal education and social transformation in

Bodh Gaya 172
KORY GOLDBERG
12 NGOs, corruption, and reciprocity in the land of

Buddha’s enlightenment 189
JASON RODRIGUEZ
Index 202
Illustrations
Figures
2.1 Sacred sites in and around Bodh Gaya 31
3.1 View of Dalai Lama at Bodh Gaya, 1980 44
3.2 View of the Vajrāsana next to Mahabodhi Temple and
Bodhi Tree, Bodh Gaya, 2005 45
3.3 View of Yunshu’s stele, originally erected at Bodh Gaya, dated
1021 ce 51
3.4 Detail of Yunshu’s stele, showing three figures at the top 52
3.5 Sculpture of Mārîcî, c. ninth century 53
3.6 Seated Buddha flanked by Avalokiteshvara and Maitreya, from
Bodh Gaya, c. ninth century 55
3.7 Relief depicting Sūrya on railing pillar, Bodh Gaya, c.50 bce 57
4.1 Mahabodhi Temple from east 62
4.2 Buddha image in sanctum of Mahabodhi Temple 64
4.3 Model of the Mahabodhi Temple. Indian, Pāla period,
tenth–eleventh century 65
4.4 Stone replica of the Mahabodhi Temple 66
4.5 Stone replica of the Mahabodhi Temple 67
4.6 Terracotta plaque depicting Buddha image in the Mahabodhi
Temple 69
Temple 70
Temple 71
4.9 Mahabodhi Temple, Bagan. Originally constructed 1215,
reconstructed after 1975 earthquake 73
4.10 Wat Ched Yot, Chiang Mai, Thailand, constructed 1477 74
8.1 Ajapala Tree and Pillar 120
8.2 Muchalinda statue 130
Table
1.1 Reference to different types of śrāddha in the Gṛhyasūtras 15
Contributors
Abhishek Singh Amar is currently working as a Visiting Assistant Professor at

the Hamilton College, Clinton, NY, where he teaches South Asian Religions.
His current research focuses on the history of interactions between Buddhism
and Hinduism in Early Medieval India. His doctoral dissertation, entitled
“Contextualising the Navel of the Earth: Emergence, Sustenance and Religious
transformation of Buddhism in the Bodh Gaya region (circa 300 bce–1200
ce),” explores the history of Buddhism in the South Bihar region and how
Buddhism sustained itself at Bodh Gaya from its emergence as a monastic site
in the third century bce to the twelfth century ce.
Frederick Asher is a specialist in South Asian art. His current research considers
the architecture of contested religious space and the issue of copying/
originality in Indian art. Recent scholarship has focused on contested religious
space, issues related to art as commodity, particularly looking at patterns of
trade as they relate to works of art in India, and the site of Bodh Gaya. He also
has examined present-day artists working in traditional modes both because
they are interesting in themselves and because they offer models for pre-
modern modes of artistic production; they further offer the opportunity to
think about the role of the artist in art history that has focused primarily on
the product. He has just completed a term as Editor-in-Chief of caa.reviews,
the electronic journal of the College Art Association, and a term as Chair
of the Board of Trustees of the American Institute of Indian Studies. He is
currently President of the National Committee for the History of Art, and
South Asia editor for Archives of Asian Art.
Tara N. Doyle is a senior lecturer in the Religion Department at Emory
University, Atlanta, where she teaches classes on contemporary Hinduism and
Buddhism and serves as director of Emory’s Tibetan Studies Program in
Dharamsala, India. Her research interests and articles focus on contested
South Asian religious sites (especially Bodh Gaya), ex-untouchable Buddhist
converts, Tibetan activism in exile, and Socially Engaged Buddhism. Before
coming to Emory, Doyle was the founding co-director of the Antioch Buddhist
Studies Program in Bodh Gaya.
Contributors ix
Jessica Marie Falcone received her PhD in Anthropology from Cornell
University in 2010. Later that year, Dr. Falcone joined the faculty of Kansas
State University as an Assistant Professor of Anthropology. She is currently
revising her dissertation, “Waiting for Maitreya: Of Gifting Statues, Hopeful
Presents, and the Future Tense in FPMT’s Transnational Tibetan Buddhism,”
for publication. She serves on the board of the American Anthropological
Association’s Society for Humanistic Anthropology.
David Geary received his PhD in Anthropology from the University of British
Columbia in 2009. He is currently a Postdoctoral Research Associate at the
University of Oxford on a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities
Research Council of Canada (SSHRC). At the Institute for Social and Cultural
Anthropology his research focuses on religion, diaspora and transnationalism,
international development and the politics of World Heritage in South Asia.
This program involves a comparative study of other monumental Buddhist
sites such as Lumbini and the revival of Nalanda University. He is also
completing a book manuscript based on his doctoral research entitled
“Destination Enlightenment: From the Hermitage of Shakyamuni Buddha to
World Heritage.”
Kory Goldberg recently completed his doctorate in religious studies at the
Université du Québec à Montréal. He currently teaches courses on education,
religion, ethics, and the environment in the Humanities department at
Champlain College in St-Lambert, QC. He has published articles on Buddhist
pilgrimage in peer-reviewed journals and edited volumes. He co-authored
with his wife, Michelle Décary, Along the Path: The Meditator’s Companion
to the Buddha’s Land (Onalaska, WA: Pariyatti Press 2009).
Janice Leoshko is an Associate Professor in the departments of Asian Studies
and Art History at the University of Texas at Austin. Before joining UT she
was the associate curator in the department of Indian art at the Los Angeles
County Museum of Art. Issues in Buddhist and Jain art form the major focus
of her research, and publications include Sacred Traces: British Explorations
of Buddhism in the Nineteenth Century. Leoshko also serves as the American
Chair for the Center of Art and Archaeology in Gurgaon, India which is part of
the American Institute of Indian Studies.
C. Robert Pryor is Professor of Buddhist Studies at Antioch University and
Director of the Buddhist Studies in India Program with Antioch Education
Abroad. He designed this program held each fall in Bodh Gaya, and since
1979 has been program director. In 1987 he founded Insight Travel, offering
pilgrimages to Buddhist and Hindu sites in northern India, Nepal, Bhutan and
Tibet. He served as consultant for the BBC documentary, In the Footsteps of
the Buddha, and collaborated on the book Living This Life Fully: Stories and
Teachings of Munindra. His interests include: South Asian cultures, pilgrimage,
the history of Indian Buddhism, meditation and Buddhism in the West.
x Contributors
Jason Rodriguez is Assistant Professor of Anthropology at Hobart and William
Smith Colleges, Geneva, NY. He is currently working on a manuscript based
on his dissertation research entitled, “Translating Desires in Bodhgaya, India:
Buddhism and Development in the Land of Buddha’s Enlightenment,” and
articles entitled, “NGOs and Buddhist Social Engagement in Bodhgaya,
India” and “The Police are Coming!: Buddhism, Development, and
Governance in Bodhgaya.” He is also formulating a new research project
concerning Naxalism in Bihar and the revival of Nalanda University.
Noel Salmond is Associate Professor of Religion and Humanities in the College
of the Humanities at Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada. He holds a
doctorate in Asian religions form McGill University, has been a Shastri Indo-
Canadian Institute Faculty Fellow in India, and is the author of Hindu
Iconoclasts (2004).
Matthew R. Sayers teaches religion at Lebanon Valley College in Pennsylvania.
His research focuses on the rituals of ancestor worship in the transition from
Vedic to Classical expressions of Indian religiosity, focusing particularly on
the ritual of śrāddha. His other interests include the interaction of different
ideological systems of thought in the development of Indian religions, particu-
larly Hinduism and Buddhism. He is currently working on revising his disser-
tation, “Feeding the Ancestors: Ancestor Worship in Ancient Hinduism and
Buddhism,” for publication.
Alan Trevithick is an anthropologist who completed his PhD at Harvard
University in 1988. His broad research interests include British Indian colo-
nial history and the establishment of new religious movements, specifically in
regard to the use of strategic rhetoric, the construction of histories, and
Orientalist discourse. He is one of the founding board members of New
Faculty Majority, in whose interests he is actively engaged. He also frequently
teaches anthropology, at Fordham University and elsewhere in New York.
Acknowledgments
David Geary would like to thank the Social Sciences and Humanities Research
Council of Canada (SSHRC) for their support in this project. Abhishek Singh
Amar would like to acknowledge the Kate Hamburger Collegium on the
Dynamics in the History of Religions at Ruhr University at Bochum where he
served as a Fellow during 2009 and 2010 which allowed him to work on this
project, and Hamilton College where he currently works.
Abbreviations
A Aṅguttara Nikāya
ADC The Colombo diaries and notebooks of Anagarika Dharmapala
AŚ Arthaśāstra
ASEAN Association of Southeast Asian Nations
ASI Archaeological Survey of India
ĀśGS Āśvalāyana Gṛhyasūtra
BIA British Indian Association
BJP Bharatiya Janata Party
BTMC Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee
CCBG Curzon Collection, Volume 242, Report and Proceedings of a
Commission to Budh Gaya
CCIA Curzon Collection, Indian archaeology
CCIC Curzon Collection, Indian correspondence
CCOC Curzon Collection, Indian correspondence, original letters
CII Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum
CPMT Committee for the Protection of the Mahabodhi Temple Against the
Bodhgaya Temple Management Committee
ECCI Elgin Collection, correspondence with persons in India
EDBO Government of Bihar and Orissa, Proceedings of the Education
Department
EI Epigraphia Indica
FDPB Government of India, Foreign Department, Political Branch, Part A
FPMT Foundation for the Protection of the Mahayana Tradition
GP Garuḍa Purāṇa
HUDCO Housing and Urban Development Corporation
ICS Indian Civil Service
ICSE Indian Certificate of Secondary Education
ILR The Indian Law Reports, Calcutta Series, 1896 Vol. 23
LCCI Lansdowne Collection, correspondence with persons in India
M Majjhima Nikāya
MBh Mahābhārata
MBJ Mahabodhi Journal
MBS Maha Bodhi Society
Abbreviations xiii
MDhŚ Mānava Dharmaśāstra
MP Matsya Purāṇa
MPI Maitreya Project International
Mv Mahāvagga
NGO Non-governmental organization
NIOS National Institute for Open Schooling
PHDI Government of India, Proceedings of the Home Department
Pv Petavatthu
S Saṃyutta Nikāya
SN Sutta Nipāta
TB The Buddhist, Colombo
Thera Theragāthā
U Udāna
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization
VDhS Vasiṣṭha Dharmasūtra
VS Viṣṇu Smṛti
YS Yājñavalkya Smṛti
Introduction
The multiple lives of Bodh Gaya
Defining views and changing
perspectives
David Geary, Matthew R. Sayers, and
Abhishek Singh Amar
evaṃ me sutaṃ │ ekaṃ samayaṃ bhagavā uruvelāyaṃ viharati najjā nerañjarāya
tīre bodhirukkhamūle paṭhamābhisambuddho │ tena kho pana samayena bhagavā
sattāhaṃ ekapallaṅkena isinno hoti vimuttisukhapaṭisaṃvedī │
Thus I have heard. On a certain occasion the Exalted One, soon after the attain-
ment of Buddhahood, dwelt at Uruvelā, on the banks of the stream Nerañjarā, at
the foot of the tree of Enlightenment. At that time the Exalted One, after remaining
in a sitting posture for seven days, experienced the joy of Emancipation.
(Udāna 1.1, Strong)
Bodh Gaya, in the north Indian state of Bihar, has long been recognized as the
place where the Buddha achieved enlightenment, though, as this quote shows, it
has not always been known by that name. For many, Bodh Gaya represents the
most sacred place in the Buddhist imagination, and as such it is surprising that
such little scholarship exists that addresses the complex and varied history of this
most sacred site. This volume seeks to rectify this to a certain extent; it brings
together the works of twelve scholars at various stages in their careers from a
variety of disciplines—anthropology, art history, history, and religion, to name a
few—to highlight their various findings and perspectives on different facets of
Bodh Gaya’s past and present.1
This volume is not a comprehensive retelling of the roughly 2500 years of
Bodh Gaya’s history. It is a selective portrayal in the sense that Jatakas are, that
is, the tales can illustrate a particular lesson, tell a story, and highlight specific
aspects of the Buddha’s previous lives that illuminate his nature, but in no way do
the Jatakas paint a comprehensive picture of the Buddha. The metaphor of a
Jataka also serves as a vehicle for expressing the dynamic nature of the history of
Bodh Gaya. Like the stories of the previous ‘births’ of the Buddha, or the Jataka
(birth) tales, each story extols a certain virtue in the trajectory of one’s life, in this
case the multiple lives of Bodh Gaya. This volume brings together a collection of
essays that aim to illustrate the lesson of historical hindsight and the ways in
which pasts become meaningful in the present. Rather than a sweeping history
aimed at a comprehensive picture of Bodh Gaya, this work gathers varied
perspectives and stories related to the sacred site over time. Although the volume
2 Introduction: The multiple lives of Bodh Gaya
is organized thematically, reflecting different temporal frames, our focus is
the stories and retellings that point to the dynamic nature of this site, a dynamism
in tension with the ongoing efforts to define the place according to particular
histories or identities.
This tension is central to our cross-disciplinary analysis in that we illustrate the
manner in which the history and identity of Bodh Gaya is repeatedly contested
over time. Like many other sacred sites in contemporary India and throughout the
world, Bodh Gaya can be categorized as a “contested space” where “conflicts in
the form of opposition, confrontation, subversion, and/or resistance engage actors
whose positions are defined by differential control of resources and access to
power” (Low and Lawrence-Zuniga 2003: 18). Telling these particular stories of
Bodh Gaya, we attempt to capture particular moments in its long history, often
points of rupture, dislocation or convergence through which we seek to illuminate
some of the underlying tensions, while acknowledging broader themes and devel-
opments that may be attributed to other sacred sites in South Asia and around the
world. Scholars in this volume address many aspects of Bodh Gaya, from specula-
tion about why the Buddha chose to sit beneath a tree in Bodh Gaya, to the contem-
porary struggles over tourism development, education and non-governmental
organizations, to bring to the foreground the site’s longevity, reinvention and
current complexity as a UNESCO World Heritage monument. Like other place-
based volumes, this collection of essays seeks to incorporate a range of perspec-
tives, in this case academic perspectives within an international arena, to create a
critical and engaging overview of the place of Buddha’s enlightenment.
This perspective characterized the last edited volume to highlight the site of
Buddha’s Enlightenment, Bodh Gaya: The Site of Enlightenment (1988), edited
by Janice Leoshko. This book, a valuable collection of articles and images,
reveals different facets of the architectural and artistic composition of Bodh Gaya
and the surrounding Gaya area. Although the authors provide an overview of the
emergence of the sacred site and its ritual significance, the edited volume is
designed to showcase and analyze the historical material culture of the region.
Since Bodh Gaya is a living cultural site, there have been numerous changes to
its landscape since this work was published in 1988. New questions have also
arisen over conservation, development, and the role of ritual behaviour at the site
that our critical anthology will provide.
More recent monographs on Bodh Gaya have also made valuable contribu-
tions to our understanding of Bodh Gaya’s history, but have been more focused
or generalized in nature. Fredrick Asher’s work, Bodh Gaya: Monumental Legacy
(2008), extends our knowledge of the archaeological evidence at Bodh Gaya,
focusing on the monuments, sculptures and images as they appear today. Central
to his work is an overview of the Mahabodhi Temple Complex and its archaeo-
logical and architectural history that is designed for a broad audience. Similar to
Leoshko, Asher’s book is invaluable for someone interested in the history of
material culture at the site, but for those seeking more insight into the social,
political and economic dimensions that underpin this contested religious space,
this book is limited in scope.
Introduction: The multiple lives of Bodh Gaya 3
Recent works by Alan Trevithik and Toni Huber also offer valuable back-
ground information on the modern revival of Buddhism in South Asia. Alan
Trevithik’s book, The Revial of Buddhist Pilgrimage at Bodh Gaya (1811–1949):
Anagarika Dharmapala and the Mahabodhi Temple (2006), provides a compre-
hensive overview of the administrative, legal and legislative activities that shaped
the Mahabodhi Temple’s current status as the place of Buddha’s enlightenment.
He reviews the historical period from 1811 to 1949 and details some of the key
forms of contestation underlying the British colonial reinvention of the site and
how this spawned a revival in Buddhist pilgrimage activity, focusing largely on
the activities of Anagarika Dharmapala. The current volume seeks to augment
Trevithik’s work not only by incorporating the authors’ recent insights on this
topic, but also by discussing the ways in which these earlier forms of contestation
shape current tensions over Bodh Gaya as a World Heritage site.
Similarly, in The Holy Land Reborn: Pilgrimage and the Tibetan Reinvention
of Buddhist India (2008), Toni Huber explores the long and pervasive history of
connections between Tibet and India from the mid-seventh century until the
present. Central to this vital relationship is the elevation of India as a sacred
Buddhist terrain and the practice of pilgrimage that has sustained this long-
standing veneration over time. Although Huber does not focus entirely on Bodh
Gaya, he does provide a significant contribution to our understanding of the
multiple lives of Bodh Gaya through the symbolic and ritual connections between
Tibet and India, especially during the twentieth century. In this current collection,
we will show that the Tibetan Buddhist community is one community of interest
among many seeking to establish sacred authority and international claims at the
site of the Buddha’s enlightenment.
These works, along with many older publications such as: Banerjee (2000),
Chakravarty (1997), Kumara (1997), Doyle (1997), Dhammika (1996), Aitken
(1995), Ahir (1994), Narayan (1987), Vidyarthi (1961), Barua (1981), Barua
(1931, 1934), Cunningham (1998 [1892]), and Mitra (1972 [1878]) have enriched
our understanding of the site though they do not reflect the current critical perspec-
tives that this complex site deserves. Moreover, within the last two decades there
has been rapid social and developmental change to Bodh Gaya and India more
broadly. Following the liberalization of the Indian economy, this has resulted in
increased pilgrim and tourist traffic alongside an explosion of hotels, shops, guest
houses, monasteries and NGOs all within close proximity to the Mahabodhi
Temple. Given the accelerated pace of development and the increasing interna-
tional character of this sacred site, this volume seeks to enrich our understanding
of Bodh Gaya and speak to a central theme that the sum of this work attests to:
contestation. The history of Bodh Gaya is ethnographically rich in the varied
stories of groups and individuals that are coalescing and competing over a range
of issues: identity, ownership, access to spiritual resources, religious expression,
economic benefits, conservation, development and many others. An appreciation
of these tensions is crucial for understanding the seat of enlightenment today.
With the benefit of historical hindsight this collection makes it possible for us to
illustrate the ways in which the past lives of Bodh Gaya influence its current,
ever-changing life as a sacred Buddhist pilgrimage site. The first few papers
address this very issue.
The first section, entitled “Empowering the landscape of the Buddha,” begins
with a question. Sayers asks: “Why did the Buddha choose to go to Bodh Gaya to
strive for enlightenment?” Though ostensibly sacred places for two different
religions, there has been a long shared history of pilgrimage in the surrounding
landscape. Drawing equally upon Brahmanical and Buddhist textual sources, he
compares the treatment of Gaya in the Brahmanical sources and Uruvelā in the
Buddhist tradition to determine the rationale behind the attribution of the
Buddha’s enlightenment to this sacred site. The intersection of the Hindu
pilgrimage circuit and the Buddhist site is but one example of the way that tradi-
tional boundaries between Hindu and Buddhist fail to capture, or even obscure,
the potential influences of the traditions of Gaya on the history of Bodh Gaya, or
vice versa. In other words, Sayers suggests that the Brahmanical tradition
may have co-opted the Gaya complex in reaction to the Buddhist ascription of
the site as the seat of enlightenment.
Following the work of Sayers, Amar provides an analysis of the earliest
structural remains of the site after the third century bce. He argues that existing
scholarship and histories have neglected the ways in which the Mahabodhi
Temple has been part of a larger sacred terrain. It is for these reasons that the term
“landscape” can be useful, in that it transcends the narrow view of sacred sites as
discrete locations and encompasses the wider physical and socio-cultural nuances
that change over time. Through a critical examination of some biographical texts
and archaeological materials from around Bodh Gaya, such as the Bakror stūpa
and Dungeshwari caves, Amar suggests that the development of this Buddhkṣetra
(“field of Buddha”) did not emerge in isolation but was a result of a long-drawn
interaction between the saṅgha and the local socio-religious context. The
monastic community played an imaginative role in planning and developing new
shrines by rooting the life-story of the Buddha on the landscape of Bodh Gaya
and its surrounding area.
One of the main concerns raised in the volume is the extent to which defining
views of Bodh Gaya privilege the construction of an authentic and singular
Buddhist orientation to the site and its history in contrast to a multi-vocal or
multi-religious one. This is especially the case in the nineteenth century when a
select group of Orientalists and British archaeologists such as Alexander
Cunningham laid the groundwork for an authoritative account and defining
image of the Mahabodhi Temple that emphasized its past glory in contrast to its
present deterioration. According to Leoshko, the ruinous state of Bodh Gaya had
a significant impact on certain Western attitudes about India and about religion
more generally. As a place of imagined sanctity that privileged Western historical
accounts of an “originally” Buddhist site, scholars have often overlooked later
adaptations reflected in the devotional images and frequently dismissed actual
religious practice. This is especially the case for those sculptures and votive
stūpas dated between the eighth and twelfth centuries which subsequently
mirrored the most active time of devotion at the site. Providing a case study of a
stone stele written by a Chinese named Yunshu, Leoshko shows how this was
part of an evolving creativity and innovation that fits into the changing landscape
of Bodh Gaya during the eleventh century and is representative of its sacred
power at that time.
Although it is widely known that the decline of Buddhism in north India began
during the Pāla dynasty, it was not until after the twelfth century that pilgrimage
to Bodh Gaya became increasingly difficult. Due to the changing geopolitical
realities of Asia over the next five centuries, the place of Buddha’s enlightenment
came to be located elsewhere. Building on John Guy’s (1991) study of pilgrim
souvenirs, Asher analyzes a number of inscriptions found on the miniature stone
stūpas to suggest that the traffic in Mahabodhi miniatures and the reproduction of
large-scale replicas served as geographic surrogates during this timeframe.
Moreover, the reproduction of Mahabodhi Temples in Buddhist areas as distant
and diverse as a Bagan in Myanmar and Chiang Mai in Thailand, challenges
some of our commonly held views of pilgrimage centres as being fixed
geographic coordinates. Rather, according to Asher, these replicas constituted a
fluid geography that satisfied the need for continuing pilgrimage and could
metaphorically transport the devotee to a distant place.
In the second section of the book, entitled “Monumental conjectures: rebirths
and retellings,” we begin by looking at the ways in which the Mahabodhi Temple
presented a challenge to British administrators on two fronts: (1) as an archaeo-
logical property, and (2) as the site of both Hindu and Buddhist religious activi-
ties. As Trevithick shows, many of the conflicts surrounding the Mahabodhi
Temple today have their roots in the British colonial period when a certain
political-religious pattern was first established. Beginning with Victoria’s
Proclamation of 1858 there has been a conflicted and often contradictory attempt
to uphold a British imperial policy of “non-interference” when it comes to reli-
gious matters. This imperial policy was certainly tested between 1861 and 1915
when the British government became embroiled in a series of legal contests over
the Mahabodhi Temple involving the Shaivite monastic under the Bodh Gaya
Math and the Maha Bodhi Society. Through an analysis of these legal interven-
tions during this time, Trevithick shows how a “special legislation” based on a
policy of disengagement structured the legacy of the Mahabodhi Temple during
British India and well beyond.
The ambivalence over the “established usage” and “absolute freedom of
religion” at Bodh Gaya also plays out in the ambivalence of Dharmapala, the
undisputed leader of the modern Buddhist revival movement in the late nine-
teenth and early twentieth centuries. Given his reputation as an anti-imperialist, it
comes as a surprise that the Maha Bodhi Society would publish a letter written by
Dharmapala to Lord Curzon on January 22, 1901 regarding the Society’s plan to
erect a memorial under the Bodhi Tree at Bodh Gaya for the late Queen Victoria.
In this chapter, Salmond explores the apparent contradictions within Dharmapala
and asks whether or not this letter should be construed as an attempt to ingratiate
himself to the imperial authorities in order to strengthen his legal battles for
Buddhist control of the Mahabodhi Temple or understood as expressing a deep
ambivalence in Dharmapala himself who paradoxically was both anti-Imperialist
and Victorian, both a despiser and admirer of Western culture and British rule.
Moving from colonial India to the decade following independence, Pryor
identifies the ways in which the 1950s were a pivotal time in the history of
Bodh Gaya and the future development of the Mahabodhi Temple. The decade
included the transition of the temple from the Shaivite Mahant to government
administration under the Bodh Gaya Temple Act, and the 1956 Buddha Jayanti,
an international event marking the 2500th anniversary of Shakyamuni Buddha’s
parinirvana. Focusing on three influential figures in this historical milieu, Prime
Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, Mahant Giri, and Anagarika Munindra, Pryor
describes how the different values and actions by these figures set in motion
changes at Bodh Gaya that continue to reverberate in the present. One important
difference in the 1950s, according to Pryor, was the struggle between Hindu and
Buddhist paradigms over the definition of the Mahabodhi Temple whereas, at
present, the primary issue is a contest between those who view Bodh Gaya as a
tourist site to be exploited for profit and those who see it as a religious site that
should be protected for pilgrims.
Concluding this section, Doyle examines the efforts to redefine the Mahabodhi
Temple as a Buddhist site in the late 1980s. Building on Amar’s archaeological
analysis of the early symbiotic relationship between sacred place and sacred
story, Doyle shows how the Mahabodhi Temple Complex was re-inscribed with
Buddhist meaning through the establishment of stone signboards that identify
and concretize key events that occurred during the seven weeks after the
Buddha’s awakening. As Doyle demonstrates, the function of these signboards
was to locate the very place where the Buddha engaged in particular actions, but
also to reinforce the religious significance of the Mahabodhi Temple as a
Buddhist site. Despite the wide variety of interpretations surrounding the
biographical traditions of the Buddha in relation to the surrounding landscape,
this chapter shows how the seven-week scheme became officially sanctioned as
the master narrative and why there was no resistance to its establishment.
In the final section of the volume, entitled “Universal dreams and local depar-
tures,” we examine a number of themes that link contemporary Bodh Gaya with
its wider international and global traffic in meaning. Geary begins by showing
how the recent enlisting of the Mahabodhi Temple Complex as a UNESCO World
Heritage site is the latest historical layering that has reinforced a dominant memory
linking Bodh Gaya with an authentic Buddhist past. After decades of legal battles
and contests between “Hindus” and “Buddhists” over land ownership and rights
of worship at the sacred site, Bodh Gaya has now entered the global cultural
commons as a site of “outstanding universal value.” But despite these social and
legal transformations over the management of the Mahabodhi Temple, the place
continues to be an object of competing claims by various groups seeking control
of the sacred and economic resources of this world famous shrine. Showing the
contradictions and antagonisms between the universal and local, the religious and
economic, Geary questions whether or not we are seeing the return of a new form
of zamindari through the state management of the Mahabodhi Temple today.
Although the Mahabodhi Temple was designated a UNESCO World Heritage
site in 2002, other universal aspirations and proposals have been put forth by
international Buddhist communities in Bodh Gaya. In the following chapter,
Falcone examines the non-event of the great Maitreya statue that was proposed by
the Foundation for the Preservation of the Mahayana Tradition. She asks, why was
the 150m statue of the Maitreya that is supposed to represent the future Buddha,
the Buddha of “loving-kindness,” not welcomed at Bodh Gaya? Drawing attention
to the importance of drafts, proposals and failures, this chapter shows how the
Maitreya statue, despite its lack of fruition, was full of meaning. Through a poetic
analysis of the events that unfolded in Bodh Gaya in recent years, Falcone explores
the various and sundry explications given by project administrators, government
officials, non-profit workers and locals echoing the methodology of “scientifica-
tion” that Bruno Latour (1996) utilized in “Aramis, or The Love of Technology.”
Although Bodh Gaya continues to be regarded as a site of profound religious
significance, scholars have tended to neglect the ways in which pilgrimage
activities impinge upon social development factors at the local level. This is
particularly important in Bihar which has long been described as one of the
poorest and most corrupt states in India. Challenging the dominant paradigms in
the anthropology of pilgrimage by Turner and Turner (1974) and Eade and
Sallnow (1991), Goldberg shows how traditional forms of expressing devotion
such as meditation, devotional offerings and prayer have recently expanded to
include social and civic service, exemplified by pilgrim-sponsored schools,
health clinics, and vocational training centres for this impoverished area in south
Bihar. He argues that these expressions of socially “engaged” Buddhism based
on a holistic curriculum of “Universal Education” are not in opposition to their
religious motivations as pilgrims, but form an integral part of their journey
towards liberation, healing and transformation of both self and other.
From another perspective, Rodriguez explores the moral consequences of
NGOs and transnational Buddhist activity in Bodh Gaya that depend upon local
villagers and bilingual Bihari staff for their implementation. The prevalence, as
signalled by the estimated 500 NGOs in Bodh Gaya points to the contested forms
of “development” and the competing immoral narratives of “corruption” that
circulate through them. According to Rodriguez, NGOs provide opportunities for
pilgrims and tourists to engage in activities that facilitate a narration of their time
in India in terms of “social work,” “giving back,” and as a practice of compas-
sion, while providing important employment opportunities for locals that
contribute to their social and geographical mobility. He also contends that NGOs,
here understood as “contact zones,” also have a reputation for being “just busi-
ness” and have produced a host of unexpected outcomes in this regard. These
outcomes include, both for locals and non-locals, strong sentiments of longing,
belonging and entanglement fostered through the pursuit of “development”
including education, health clinics, and tourism.
Together, this collection brings to the foreground the ancient and contempo-
rary vitality of Bodh Gaya as a sacred site laden with social and cultural meaning.
That vitality speaks to the symbolic and ritual importance of pilgrimage and the
myriad ways in which the place of enlightenment is imbued with sacred power
that carries the force of transcendent possibilities and potentialities. As this
volume shows, despite the repeated efforts to authorize and affix a particular
history and identity to this site over time, it continues to be a place of multiple
stories and lives that are invested with religious, social, and economic signifi-
cance that extends well beyond its local moorings.
Note
1 This edited volume grew out of a session from the XVth Congress of the International
Association of Buddhist Studies held in Emory University, Altanta, Georgia, June
23–28, 2008. The title of the session was “Universal claims/Postcolonial frames: an
interdisciplinary session on Bodh Gaya.” The session was organized by David Geary
and Tara Doyle.
Bibliography
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York: Riverhead Books.
Asher, F. M. (2008) Bodh Gaya: Monumental Legacy, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Banerjee, Naresh. (2000) Gaya and Bodh Gaya: A Profile, New Delhi: Inter-India
Publications.
Barua, Benibadhab. (1931 and 1934) Gaya and Buddha-Gaya (Early History of the Holy
Land, 2 Vols.), Calcutta: Indian Research Institute.
Barua, D. K. (1981) Buddha Gaya Temple: Its History, Buddha Gaya: Buddha Gaya
Temple Management Committee.
Chakravarty, Kalyan Kumar. (1997) Early Buddhist Art in Bodh Gaya, New Delhi:
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Burlington Magazine, 133: 356–67.
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Anagarika Dharmapala and the Mahabodhi Temple, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
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Vidyarthi, Lalita Prasad. (1961) The Sacred Complex in Hindu Gaya, London: Asia
Publishing House.
Part I
Empowering the landscape

of the Buddha
1 Gaya–Bodh Gaya
The origins of a pilgrimage complex1
Matthew R. Sayers
The pilgrimage sites of Gaya and Bodh Gaya, though ostensibly sacred places for
two different religions, have a long, shared history. In this chapter I examine the
earliest available evidence of these two sites in order to better understand the
place they held in the Indian imagination during the life of the Buddha. I intend
to bring the history of the Hindu traditions of śrāddha to bear on the history of
Gaya and Bodh Gaya in order to answer a deceptively simple question: Why did
the Buddha choose to go to Bodh Gaya to strive for enlightenment?
Assuming the ancient fame of Gaya as a place where pilgrims went to liberate
their ancestors, Fred Asher suggests, “Possibly, then, the Buddha came to the
outskirts of Gaya specifically because it was the place where pilgrims sought an
escape from the fetters of death—albeit on behalf of deceased relatives rather
than themselves” (1988: 87; see also 2008: 1). DeCaroli accepts this view as the
foundation for his reading of the narratives about the Buddha’s enlightenment
(2004: 106–7) as do others (e.g., Barua 1975; Bhattacharyya 1966). These
scholars presuppose that the Brahmanical association between śrāddha and Gaya
predates the lifetime of the Buddha. I aim to show that this view is mistaken.
First, I address the history of śrāddha as relevant to the cultural background
for this time frame and discuss the earliest references to Gaya in both Brahmanical
and Buddhist sources. I hope to correct some misconceptions about the develop-
ment of śrāddha in ancient India and indicate how a more nuanced view is instru-
mental in understanding the significance of Gaya from the time of the Buddha to
the beginning of the Common Era. Specifically, an analysis of the textual mate-
rials of both traditions shows that there is no unambiguous reference to the
śrāddha at Gaya until well after the Buddhist narratives of enlightenment become
popular. With respect to Uruvelā (later called Bodh Gaya), I offer a different
interpretation of the Pāli texts’ descriptions of the Buddha’s time there, specifi-
cally addressing his reason for going to Uruvelā to strive for enlightenment.
Finally, I will synthesize this evidence and argue that the Buddha went to Uruvelā
in order to distance himself from the traditional associations with Gaya, which
was at the time a popular ascetics’ haunt.
I will begin with a discussion of the ancestral rites. While one can find hints of
the practice of ancestor worship in the Ṛg Veda, the śrāddha is not described in
the ritual texts until the Gṛhyasūtras, domestic ritual manuals composed during
14 Empowering the landscape of the Buddha
the second half of the first millennium bce. The older rituals, the piṇḍapitṛyajña
and the pitṛyajña, belong to the corpus of large-scale, public Vedic ritual that
dates to the second millennium bce. The Gṛhyasūtras mark a significant moment
in the history of ancestor worship in India; they codify the domestic ritual tradi-
tion that is alluded to in the older ritual literature, but finds no formal expression.
References to domestic rituals in the Brāhmaṇas attest to a lively domestic ritual
life (Gonda 1977: 547; Oldenberg 1967: 1.xv–xxii), but Oldenberg successfully
demonstrates that no sustained literature on the household ritual predated the
Gṛhyasūtras (Oldenberg 1967: l.xviii). The domestic rites grew and developed
during the same time frame as the śrauta rites; that is, both domestic and śrauta
traditions of ancestor worship thrived within the same larger tradition. However,
these two traditions are not merely recorded in the Gṛhyasūtras; these texts
demonstrate an innovative spirit and evidence significant cross-pollination. The
śrāddha owes a debt to Vedic ancestral ritual, but is ultimately a product of the
formative stages of classical Hinduism, a transition characterized by the waning
popularity of Vedic ritual and an increase in the concern with private domestic
ritual.
The public śrauta and domestic gṛhya rites differ in two significant ways.
First, while the Vedic ritual requires the full complement of Vedic priests, and
considerable money, the śrāddha is a private ritual, performed by a householder.
This made ritual accessible to a broader spectrum of religious actors and
contributed to the increase in the importance of domestic ritual to Indian reli-
gious identity. Second, whereas in the piṇḍapitṛyajña offerings are made into the
ritual fire, in the śrāddha the householder makes the offerings to Brahmins who
stand in for and represent the Pitṛs, the ancestors. The Brahmin takes on the role
of mediator, enacting the exchange between householder and ancestor,
supplanting Agni, the divine mediator of the Vedic ritual.
Domestic ritual certainly predates the composition of the Gṛhyasūtras, but it is
clear from the evidence in those texts that the śrāddha was a relatively new
phenomenon, at least in the form that survives. My argument rests on a compar-
ison of the rituals in the different Gṛhyasūtras, seen in Table 1.1, which suggests
that the conception of the śrāddha was contested—or, perhaps better, under
construction—during the period of the composition of these texts. Several
aspects of the descriptions of the śrāddha found in the Gṛhyasūtras support this
hypothesis.
Most significant in this respect is the fact that the authors do not all describe
the same types of śrāddha or use the same terminology to describe the rituals
they do discuss. In classical Hinduism the four types of śrāddha are: the pārvaṇa,
the monthly offerings to one’s ancestors; the ekoddiṣṭa, the ritual that sustains
the preta for the first year after death; the sapiṇḍīkaraṇa, the ritual that
transforms a preta into a pitṛ; and the ābhyudayika, a śrāddha that celebrates an
auspicious occasion. Only one Gṛhyasūtra explicitly deals with all four types;
ironically it is Śāṅkhāyana, who fails to employ the term pārvaṇa to describe the
monthly feeding of the ancestors, the only śrāddha common to all the Gṛhyasūtras
I examined. More significantly, two authors don’t even use the word śrāddha in
The origins of a pilgrimage complex 15
Table 1.1 Reference to different types of śrāddha in the Gṛhyasūtras
ŚGS ĀśGS GGS PGS ĀpGS HGS
śrāddha ○ • • ○ • •
parvaṇa ○ • ○ ○ ○ ○
ekoddiṣṭa • • ○
sapiṇḍīkaraṇa ○ ? ○
ābhyudayika • •
śrāddha first • •
Notes
• indicates that the text describes that ritual with that term.
○ indicates that the text describes that ritual without that term.
At least one commentary suggests that ĀśGS 4.7.5 refers to the sapiṇḍīkaraṇa, but I see no strong
evidence for this interpretation.
their description of the ritual. The gradual integration of the popular rites of
ancestor veneration into the Brahmanical theology, their textualization so to
speak, involved some innovation and considerable contestation over the concep-
tualization of the ritual cycle as a whole. For the earlier Gṛhyasūtra authors, then,
the śrāddha did not occupy as central a place in the Indian ritual life as it does for
the later tradition. The ritual experts who composed the domestic ritual manuals,
however, worked to change this.
The organization of the gṛhya texts evidences this effort to make the śrāddha a
more central part of a ritual life. The first four authors deal with the śrāddha as a
special instance of the aṣṭakā rituals, rites performed on the new moon and
having a close connection to the end-of-year/new year celebrations, but
Āpastamba, one of the later authors, identifies the aṣṭakā as a special case of the
śrāddha. Understanding the conception of ancestor worship in the period under
discussion requires a discussion of the transition from ancestor worship occur-
ring on one of the aṣṭakā days to the aṣṭakā being but one form of the śrāddha.
By the time of Āpastamba śrāddha had become the paradigm for ancestor
worship, but this formulation of the śrāddha, which is so consistent in classical
Hindu texts, is still under construction in the Gṛhyasūtras.
Central to this particular innovation in the conceptualization of ancestor
worship is the conception of the aṣṭakā. W. Caland (1893), who wrote the defini-
tive work on ancestor worship in India, operates on the assumption that the aṣṭakā
are ancestral rites, but at least one scholar besides myself has called that into
question. M. Winternitz suggests that the character of the aṣṭakās in the earlier
Gṛhyasūtras is ambiguous and suggests that Caland treats the aṣṭakās as ancestral
rites based on “the fact that so many ceremonies and mantras related to the Manes
occur in the Ashṭakâ rites” (1890: 205). This is clearly anachronistic reasoning,
which is, unfortunately, all too common in studies of ancestor worship in India.
The older2 Gṛhyasūtras consider only one of the three aṣṭakās unambiguously
dedicated to the ancestors (Winternitz 1890: 205). For example, Āśvalāyana,
whom I place in the earlier group, indicates that there is some debate over the
object of veneration for the aṣṭakā. “This (Ashtakâ) some state to be sacred to the
Viçve devâs, some to Agni, some to the Sun, some to Pragâpati, some state that
the Night is its deity, some that the Nakshatras are, some that the Seasons are,
some that the Fathers are, some that cattle is” (ĀśGS 2.4.12, Oldenberg 1967).
While there is no way to pin down specific lines of influence or to understand
the absolute chronology of these developments, the contested nature of these rites
is suggestive. The popular domestic rites, previously untextualized, gradually
integrated into the Brahmanical tradition during the composition of the
Gṛhyasūtras, may very well have always been done at this time of year, but we
cannot tell with any certainty. It is clear, however, that the Brahmanical tradition
did not make this association unambiguously before the third century bce.3
By the time of the Dharmasūtras, the śrāddha is conceived of in a consistent
fashion and is firmly entrenched as a key aspect of the householder’s dharma.
Additionally, the Arthaśāstra supports the impression that the śrāddha was a
common part of religious life in ancient India by the beginning of the
Common Era. The phrase daivata-upahāra-śrāddha-prahavaṇa, offerings to
gods, ancestral rites, and festivals, suggests ancestral rites are a part of the
author’s conception of regular religious activities (AŚ 3.20.16). Thus, it is not
until the beginning of the Common Era that we can understand the śrāddha as
either a common religious practice or central to the Brahmanical self-conception.
Now let us consider the Buddhist materials on śrāddha. In the Jāṇussoṇisutta
of the Aṅguttara Nikāya, Jāṇussoṇi approaches the Buddha and asks whether
offerings he makes in the saddhas (Pāli for śrāddha) actually benefit his ances-
tors (A 5.269). The Buddha takes the opportunity to expound upon the behaviour,
good and bad, that leads to the many different realms of rebirth, and concludes
that the offerings made in the saddha, intended as they are for the deceased
relatives, will reach those in the petti-visaya. In the end, Jāṇussoṇi praises the
Buddha and the Buddha affirms the efficacy of the śrāddha and assures Jāṇussoṇi
that his gift will be fruitful for him (A 5.273).
From this clear example of śrāddha in a Buddhist context, we turn to a later
practice that evidences a cultural memory of śrāddha. The Petavatthu, literally
Ghost Stories, offers many examples of offering made to petas, ghosts, often
relatives. This collection of stories aims to illustrate the fate of those who fail to
make religious gifts during their life.
The tale entitled “The Ghosts Outside the Walls” (Pv 1.5) exemplifies the
memory alluded to above. A king presents a ritual meal to the Buddha while his
deceased ancestors, now ghosts, watch on. To their dismay the king fails to
dedicate the meal to them. In grief the ghosts roam about the king’s home wailing
and making terrifying noises. The Buddha, through his supernatural insight,
understands and explains the situation. The king immediately invites the Buddha
to a second meal the next day. That day he dedicates the offerings to his deceased
ancestors and gives them to the Buddha, who concluded with these verses:
23. Neither weeping, nor sorrow, nor any other lamentation benefits the peta
even though their relatives persist.
24. But this gift, made and firmly planted in the Saṅgha, will serve, with
immediate effect, their long-term benefit.
25. Now this duty to one’s relatives has been pointed out and the highest
honour has been paid to the petas; strength has been dedicated to the monks
and not trifling the meritorious deed pursued by you.
(Pv 1.5.23–5)
The offerings made to the ancestors have immediate and long-term benefits for the
ancestors as long as they are made through the mediation of the Saṅgha. Details of
the gifts made illustrate the parallels between the Brahmanical and Buddhist tradi-
tions. The gifts made to the noisy petas are food, clothing, and lodging, the same
gifts made in the śrāddha of the Brahmanical tradition. The parallel is clear: in the
Brahmanical tradition the householder gives food to the learned Brahmin and
through him, feeds his ancestors. In the Buddhist narratives, the householder feeds
the Buddha, and through him, feeds his ancestors. The ancestral offerings made
into the fire in the oldest rituals of ancestor worship are now offered to human
intermediaries, the learned Brahmin in the Brahmanical tradition, and the Buddha,
or the Saṅgha as his representative, in the Buddhist tradition.
Beyond the structural parallel to śrāddha these narratives highlight the
Buddhist tradition’s efforts to advocate their own religious experts as superior. In
“The Ghosts outside the Walls,” the king gave rice gruel and hard and soft foods,
but the ghosts received heavenly versions of the same and were refreshed
(piṇitindriyā). He gave clothing and lodging, but the ghosts received heavenly
clothing and palaces. The Buddhist author tries to show that the Buddhist medi-
ator is better qualified than his Brahmanical counterpart. This should make clear
the cause of the concern over the qualifications of a Brahmin who receives ances-
tral offerings expressed in the dharma literature. The Brahmanical and Buddhist
religious experts are in competition for the role of religious expert, specifically
the role of the mediator, who enacts the exchange between the householder and
the supernatural entities he seeks to propitiate through ritual.
Clearly the Pāli Canon exhibits a familiarity with the śrāddha, but it also
evidences efforts made by Buddhist ideologues to move beyond the sacrificial
model of religiosity offered by the Brahmanical tradition. The transition from
practice to a cultural memory helps us understand the role of the śrāddha ritual in
the development of the dāna tradition (Egge 2002; Heim 2004). The examples
examined here also indicate an interesting point of comparison: the Buddhist
tradition moves away from a practice of ancestor worship that the Brahmanical
tradition embraces more strongly in the last centuries before the Common Era.
These opposing trajectories are central to undermining the general assumption
that the Buddha went to Gaya because it was already established as a pilgrimage
place of wide renown.
Another study of the Buddha’s life attempts to bridge the gap between this
discussion of the śrāddha and the site of the Buddha’s enlightenment. Robert
DeCaroli has read later accounts surrounding the enlightenment of the Buddha as
evidence for a specific connection between the śrāddha and events surrounding
the Buddha’s enlightenment. He interprets narratives from the Buddhacarita,
Lalitavistara, and Nidānakathā revolving around a village woman named Sujātā
feeding the Buddha his first meal after attaining enlightenment and finds
“funerary overtones” (DeCaroli 2004: 108). Unfortunately, I think that the
connections that DeCaroli makes between these narratives and the śrāddha
procedures of the Manusmṛti are mistaken and are better explained by broader
cultural norms. I consider here only the more suggestive aspects of his argument.
DeCaroli suggests that the manner in which the Buddha accepts and eats the
food brought to him by Sujātā reveals a reference to the śrāddha rites (DeCaroli
2004: 108). He summarizes the encounter in this way: “In the Nidānakathā, the
young woman, Sujātā, places the food she intends to feed Śākyamuni in a golden
bowl and brings it to him while he is seated under a nyagrodha tree” (109). He
then tells us that the Manusmṛti enjoins making the offerings in “bowls made of
precious metals” and be “performed under trees and in secluded places that
are sloped to nearby rivers” (109). Manu is very specific—as is the entire later
tradition—that the offerings are to be made in silver bowls, not bowls of any
precious metal (MDhŚ 3.202). Further, Manu indicates that the ground upon
which offerings are made should be sloped to the south (MDhŚ 3.206), and near
the water’s edge (MDhŚ 3.207) not toward a river. The association of the ances-
tors with the south, which is very old, is also consistent through the rituals of
ancestor worship.4
Additionally, DeCaroli correlates the manner in which the Buddha partakes of
the food with the procedure for offering śrāddha food to Brahmins, in particular
that the Buddha washes before partaking of the offering. While this is an aspect
of the śrāddha, bathing prior to eating must have been rather common, and likely
indicates a cultural norm rather than a funerary custom. Finally, the structure of
the encounter does not parallel the śrāddha at all. The offerings made to the
Buddha are not made on someone else’s behalf, or to another through the Buddha,
as the śrāddha is conceived in the Brahmanical tradition and the peta-offerings
are in the Petavatthu. In short, I believe that DeCaroli is mistaken in seeing
“funerary overtones” in this narrative. This seems to be merely a more significant
example of the common practice of giving to religious experts. If the authors of
these later texts, composed after the śrāddha was a significant part of the Indian
ritual lifestyle, did not make connections between the Buddha’s experience at
Bodh Gaya and the performance of śrāddha, how can we understand those
connections to have been clear in an earlier period, when śrāddha had not yet
become so integral to the householder life?
With the development of śrāddha understood a little better, I now turn to the
evidence available about Gaya. The first Brahmanical mention of Gaya appears
not in the Gṛhyasūtras, but in the Vasiṣṭha Dharmasūtra, probably composed
some time in the first century ce (Olivelle 2000: 10). In his section on ancestral
offerings, Vasiṣṭha includes, among many ślokas culled from a vast cultural
reservoir, the following verse: “When someone offers food to his ancestors at
Gaya, they rejoice, just as farmers rejoice at fields that have received abundant
rain; in him his ancestors are blessed with a true son” (VDhS 11.42).
It is significant that the first mention of Gaya in the Brahmanical sources
associates it explicitly with ancestor worship, and conversely, that the first time a
specific place is mentioned for performing the śrāddha it is Gaya.
In general, the early dharmaśāstra tradition tells us little about pilgrimage
(Ensink 1974: 72). Manu does not mention Gaya in his section on the śrāddha,
but does make a reference to pilgrimage elsewhere. In his discussion of
witnesses at trial, Manu indicates an awareness of the Ganges and Kurukṣetra
as destinations for purification of sin: “This god, Yama the son of Vivasvat,
dwells in your heart. If you have no quarrel with him, then you do not have to
go to the Ganges or the Kuru land” (MDhŚ 8.92, Olivelle 2005: 172). Ensink
reads this as disparaging of pilgrimage (71), but I suggest that such a reading
is unwarranted. This śloka appears in a list of warnings about giving honest
testimony. In short, if you don’t lie, then there is no need to go on pilgrimage
to assuage this sin. This implies, at least, a reluctant acknowledgement of
the practice, at best, a tacit advocacy. In either case, the evidence in Manu is
slight and certainly indicates an awareness of the practice. Pilgrimage, however,
is not as central to Manu’s conception of dharmic behavior as it is for later
authors.
Subsequent dharmaśāstra authors give the association between Gaya and
śrāddha greater attention. Yājñavalkya mentions only one place in his discussion
of śrāddha, Gaya, indicating that what is offered there lasts forever (YS 1.261).
Bṛhaspati includes another verse, versions of which become common in the later
tradition: “Fearing hell, ancestors long for sons. (They think,) ‘Whoever goes to
Gaya will become our Rescuer”’ (Bṛhaspati Smṛti 1.26.89).5
Later dharmaśāstra authors who mention śrāddha consistently mention Gaya
in that context (Barua 1975: 66–7). For example, the Viṣṇusmṛti, likely composed
in the third century ce, gives us a great deal more detail. The section on ancestral
offerings begins: “An ancestral offering at Puṣkara is inexhaustible” (VS 85.1)
and continues with a list of fifty-three specific places and eleven types of places.
Viṣṇu includes in this list Gayāśīrṣa, Vaṭa (perhaps the akṣayavaṭa), Phalgutīrtha,
and Viṣṇupada, each a possible reference to a site at Gaya. Immediately after this
list there occur three verses attributed to the Pitṛs themselves, two of which
specifically mention Gaya in connection to the śrāddha.
70. Would that an excellent man be born in our family who would diligently
make an ancestral offering to us at Gayāśīrṣa or Vaṭa.
71. A man should desire many sons, so that at least one may go to Gaya, or
offer a horse sacrifice, or release a black bull.
(VS 85.70–1, Olivelle 2009)
The first verse mentions Gayāśīrṣa and Vaṭa a second time, possibly indicating
the relative importance of Gaya by this time. The second verse, however,
certainly indicates a continuation of the renown of Gaya seen in the earlier
dharma literature. This śloka became, or was already by this time, a trope
commonly employed to invoke the importance of Gaya for the performance of
ancestral rites. This is the earliest text to mention sites at Gaya, hinting at the
details of the tīrtha-śrāddha there, but evidence in the Mahābhārata abounds.
Throughout the Tīrtha-yātra-parvan, the section of the Epic that describes
the pilgrimage sites across India, many tīrthas are mentioned as good places to
perform the śrāddha, continuing the tīrtha-śrāddha tradition. Although we do
find two significant segments dedicated to the gayā-yātra, MBh 3.82.71–88
and 3.93.9–27,6 the most common activity at any tīrtha included in this parvan
is ancestor worship. But, as in the dharma literature, we see within the tradition
of tīrtha-yātra, pilgrimage, a strong emphasis on performing the śrāddha at
Gaya. The śloka quoted by Viṣṇu above appears three times in the Epic, and
regularly attests the association between śrāddha and Gaya in the later
tradition.7 The third instance of this trope also appears in a context that explicitly
connects it to the akṣayyavaṭa, explaining the name. “A man should desire
many sons, so that at least one may go to Gaya, where the world-renowned Vaṭa
stands, making [food offered under it] imperishable (akṣayya)” (MBh 13.88.14).8
No other tīrtha develops a similar cliché about the efficacy of a śrāddha
performed there.
By the end of the first half of the first millennium ce, Gaya is clearly estab-
lished as the preeminent tīrtha for performing one’s ancestral rites. For the
purpose of this essay I emphasize that this association develops in the early
centuries of the Common Era, only slightly later than the increased importance of
the śrāddha itself over and against older forms of ancestor worship. The antiquity
of pilgrimage tradition, however, is unclear. Textual evidence attests to this
pilgrimage site as early as the second century of the Common Era, but this offers
us little insight into how old these traditions are. The practice of pilgrimage may
predate these texts by centuries, or more.
I now turn to the Buddhist sources and examine evidence that may better illu-
minate the period under consideration. Gaya finds mention in the Sutta literature
eleven times, and in the Vinaya a handful of times, though in the latter merely as
the home of Gayākassapa, the ascetic. The instances from the suttas tell us three
things about Gaya: (1) yakkhas dwelt there, (2) some part of or near Gaya was
known as Gayāsīsa, and (3) it enjoyed a certain renown as both a centre of ascetic
activities and a place to perform purificatory baths.
As a yakkha haunt, Gaya is where Sūciloma and Khara presume to question
the Buddha (S 1.206). The only feature of this Gaya is the ṭaṅkitamañca, often
translated as Stone Bench, where the yakkhas reside.9 In his commentary on this
text, Buddhaghosa describes the structure as four vertical stones with a flat stone
rested on top (quoted in Jacques 1979: 23). Barua identifies the feature with the
Brahmayūpa mentioned in the Mahābhārata, suggesting that the tradition simply
renamed “a lithic structure with an aboriginal halo about it” (Barua 1975), but
there seems to be little beyond his supposition to support this. While Jacques
asserts that the word ṭaṅkita might suggest that the stones are adorned with
bas-reliefs (Jacques 1979: 23), this seems pure speculation. In the end, most
explanations rest upon anachronistic understandings of the smallest of clues,
giving us little to understand the site at the time the Buddha encountered it.
The second clue revolves around a different feature, called gayāsīsa. Saṃyutta
Nikāya 4.19, Aṅguttara Nikāya 5.302 and Udāna 1.9 describe Gayāsīsa as a
particular location at Gaya, a location that many scholars have understood to
refer to Gayāśiras or Gayāśīrṣa, a prominent site on the later Gaya pilgrimage
(e.g., Barua 1975: 86). This gives us the earliest bit of information that may
connect to the later tradition and suggests a continuity in the tradition of Gaya
that stretches back to the last few centuries bce, though the exact import of
Gayāśīrṣa, so clear in the later tradition, is far from clear in the Pāli Canon. Only
the last of these three references tells us anything beyond the fact that the Buddha
resided there; that passage mentions bathing to rid oneself of sin.
Purifying baths, our third clue about Gaya, appear in both the Udāna and the
Theragāthā. Both describe Gaya as a place where ascetics bathe to purify them-
selves of sins committed in a past life.10 The descriptions of the baths at each
place, however, differ. Udāna 1.9 tells of matted-haired ascetics plunging into
and out of the cold water of winter nights or early morning and sacrificing into
fire, purifying themselves by these actions. The Theragāthā (Thera 287, 345,
350, and 374) mention bathing and that those baths are intended to purify sins
(Thera 345). There is a consensus that Gaya was a place of pilgrimage, with
purificatory baths as the primary activity of the pilgrimage, but there is debate
over the identity of the pilgrims.
In his commentary on the Theragāthā, Budhaghosa suggests that the Kassapa
brothers take their names—Uruvelā Kassapa, Nadī Kassapa, and Gayā Kassapa—
from the places where they became ascetics, indicating that this area was an
important centre of ascetic activities in that time (quoted in Barua 1975: 85). I am
not certain whether such conclusions are warranted, but the names are suggestive
of the location’s significance for ascetics.
More specific references to the gayāphaggu, have been interpreted to indicate
that Gaya was a pilgrimage place of some import with wide appeal. Theragāthā
287 and 345 mention bathing in the context of gayāphaggu, but the word’s
meaning is debated. It may refer to a festival held during the month of Phagguṇa,
as the commentators on the Theragāthā suggest, possibly related to the new year
ceremonies of the Cāturmāsya sacrificial cycle described in the Brāhmaṇas and
the Śrautasūtras (Bhide 1979: 185). It may also refer to the Nerañjarā river, which
is later called the Phalgu, as Johnston (1931: 581) suggests. Given the context of
bathing, bathing to purify sins, both associations make sense. Relying on
Buddhaghosa’s interpretation and drawing on what he sees as allusions in the
Mahābhārata, Barua argues that gayāphaggu is a pilgrimage site of far-reaching
fame, not only for ascetics, already in the time of the Buddha. Unfortunately, his
only sources for such an interpretation, Buddhaghosa and the Epic, are signifi-
cantly later (1975: 87). The Pāli sources themselves are removed from the
Buddha by several centuries and they offer little evidence of such a broadly
appealing tīrtha. Only yakkhas and ascetics appear in the descriptions of bathing
at Gaya; it seems thus to be a tīrtha of limited appeal at this early stage.
In one possible exception to this conclusion, Majjhima Nikāya 1.39, the
Buddha responds to a question from the Brahmin Sundarika-Bhāradvāja about
the benefits of bathing in rivers, presumably sacred rivers. Sundarika-Bhāradvāja
claims that “many people,” bahujana, claim that bathing in the Bāhukā river
purifies sin.
Bāhukā and Adhikakkā, Gaya and Sundarika too,

Sarassatī and Payāga, and the Bāhumati river:
A fool may bathe there forever, but not purify his black deeds.
What can the Sundarikā accomplish? Or Payāga? Or the Bāhukā river?
They cannot purify an evil-doer, a man who has been cruel and done
wrong.
One pure of heart will always have the Phaggu Day, the Day of
Preparation;
One pure in heart and pure in deed will always succeed, indeed.
Bathe in this, Brahmin; make yourself a refuge for all beings.
If you speak no lies, nor harm a living being;
If you do not take what has not been offered, with faith and free from
greed,
What will you accomplish having gone to Gaya? Gaya is merely a well for
you.
(M 1.39)
Barua is certainly correct to argue that this passage indicates a tradition of

pilgrimage, with several later tīrthas recognizable on the list, but I suggest he goes
too far when he says that Gaya “stands out in the Pāli couplet as chief” (1975: 87;
see also 240). Barua follows Buddhaghosa again in this assessment, identifying
the penultimate question (kiṃ kāhasi gayaṃ gantvā) as the locus of the author’s
emphasis (87, fn.1). Read in any other context, besides an investigation into the
history of Gaya, I suggest, this passage would not be read as emphasizing Gaya
over the other places of pilgrimage. It certainly supports the notion that pilgrimage
was common in this era, but I see no compelling evidence to read this as a valida-
tion of Gaya as the most significant of the tīrthas during the Buddha’s lifetime.
One might read this passage as implying that pilgrimage to Gaya was attrac-
tive to some besides ascetics, but this seems to put too much weight on an
academic question asked of the Buddha by a Brahmin. Sundarika-Bhāradvāja
begins the discourse with a specific inquiry about Bāhukā, but the Buddha turns
the discourse to pilgrimage more generally. The emphasis in the question that
Barua reads as indicating Gaya’s preeminence, seems better read as a shift in
emphasis. In the fourth line the Buddha asks “What can the Sundarikā accom-
plish? Or Payāga? Or the Bāhukā river?” (kiṃ sundarikā karissati kiṃ payāgo
kiṃ bāhukā nadī), and in the last he says “What will you accomplish having gone
to Gaya? Gaya is merely a well for you” (kiṃ kāhasi gayaṃ gantvā udapānopi te
gayāti). The Buddha shifts the emphasis, marked by the subject of the verb, from
the tīrtha to the pilgrim. The tīrtha won’t effect change; being ethical will. If one
is ethical, then the tīrtha is merely a well. In the end, Barua’s interpretation seems
to overreach, but he does exercise caution in another respect.
He recognizes that while this evidence shows that Gaya was a pilgrimage site,
it does not support the association of Gaya with ancestral rites. Acknowledging
that bathing is ubiquitous of tīrthas, Barua relies on other evidence to indicate
the association of Gaya with the rituals of ancestor worship. He shows that the
Mahāvagga uses the term antar-aṭṭhaka (Mv 1.20.15) to indicate the time of the
bathing at Gaya, then argues that the word aṭṭhaka, Skt. aṣṭhakā, “is a familiar
technical term” for a Brahmanical Hindu festival that is “solely concerned with
funeral rites” (Barua 1975: 243). Two points arise from this interpretation. First,
as I have shown above, the association between the aṣṭakā and ancestral rites is
not firm until after the earliest parts of the Pāli Canon were composed, so relying
upon this connection is anachronistic. Second, Buddhaghosa and Dharmapāla
interpret this term to refer to the eight days between the months of Māgha and
Phālguna, but Barua argues that they miss the crucial connection to the ancestral
rites of the Brahmanical tradition (quoted in Barua 1975: 242). The previous
discussion of the term gayāphaggu seems relevant here. Both terms, found in the
context of bathing at Gaya, infer ceremonies occurring at the new year, during
which seeking purification of sins would seem uniquely appropriate. Barua is
correct that the new year ceremonies involve ancestor worship, but he goes too
far when he asserts that the new year rituals are exclusively associated with ances-
tral rites. Both the aṣṭakās and the rituals associated with the month of Phālguna
in the Śrautasūtras include ancestral rites, but also include several other rituals
not associated with the Pitṛs (Bhide 1979; Oldenberg 1967; Winternitz 1890).
In the end, the Pāli Canon gives us little information about Gaya. The occa-
sional yakkha is to be found and converted, as are ascetics of a certain bent, but
this hardly justifies the close association with spirits of the dead that DeCaroli
suggests or the specifically śrāddhic associations that Barua asserts. I believe
both authors make the same mistake: anachronism; they fail to refrain from using
significantly later sources to understand the Buddha’s historical context. The
evidence about the śrāddha and Gaya in the literature of both traditions supports
my interpretation of the differing trends with respect to ancestor worship in
Buddhist and Brahmanical traditions: that is, as Buddhist tradition deemphasizes
the practice of ancestor worship in favour of a broader conception of dāna, the
Brahmanical tradition embraces ancestor worship more strongly in the last
centuries of the Common Era. Thus, the likelihood of the early Buddhist authors,
much less the Buddha, making an association between Gaya and śrāddha is
extremely low.
The earliest archaeological evidence at Bodh Gaya available to us dates to
around the first century bce, though that does not stop scholars from inferring
older structures or practices (Myer 1958: 278 and 283; Malandra 1988: 16). In
the end, it seems that textual evidence, Brahmanical and Buddhist, as well as the
archaeological evidence, both point to the last century or so before the Common
Era as the genesis of Gaya/Bodh Gaya as a pilgrimage centre of broad appeal.
If the authors of the Pāli Canon chose Gaya as the place to narrate the Buddha’s
conversion of ascetics intent upon washing away their sins in sacred waters, we
can presume that Gaya was a sacred centre of some repute. Further, the people
who populate this locale—the Buddha and his monks, two yakkhas, groups of
ascetics—tell us something about the nature of the site. I suggest that Gaya is
probably not a pilgrimage site with broad appeal as it is later; it is an ascetics’
haunt.
One more point about the Brahmanical and Buddhist conceptions of Gaya
bears mentioning. Only the Buddhist texts mention Gaya in a context unrelated to
the performance of śrāddha. From its first mention in the Brahmanical sources
Gaya is associated with śrāddha, though the earliest literature that mentions it
recommended performance at all tīrthas. The Buddhist sources, on the other
hand, describe a Gaya with a reputation for purity and removal of sin, but bathing
is common to nearly all pilgrimage sites, especially tīrthas and rivers.
DeCaroli addresses the area encompassing modern Gaya and Bodh Gaya as a
whole, arguing that this area more closely matches the conception of the contem-
porary Buddhist community (107). This certainly helps us understand the inter-
face of Buddhism and popular religious practice, which is DeCaroli’s aim, but I
suggest that the authors of the Pāli Canon had just the opposite in mind when
they situated the Buddha’s enlightenment at Uruvelā. Let us consider Uruvelā’s
description in the Pāli Canon.
Unsurprisingly, of the twenty-six occurrences of Uruvelā in the Tipiṭika, all
but four are explicitly in connection to his attainment of enlightenment; and of
those, two are in the context of his struggle with Māra.11 Only one of these occur-
rences includes a description that will help create an image of Uruvelā. In the
Majjhima Nikāya the Buddha describes his arrival at Uruvelā prior to his enlight-
enment. He calls Uruvelā a senānigama, a camp-village,12 and describes the loca-
tion in this way: “There I saw a delightful stretch of land and a lovely woodland
grove, and a clear flowing river with a delightful ford, and a village for support
nearby” (M 1.167). This pleasant description seems to intentionally contrast with
the relative hustle and bustle of Gaya. It is a simple environ, unmolested by
yakkhas or ascetic groups, perfect for his intended purpose, as the Buddha says
immediately after describing his view.
This is not the supernatural hot-spot that DeCaroli describes, it is just the
opposite. The description of Uruvelā as a senānigama suggests that this was a
large enough settlement for an ascetic to reasonably expect the material support
that he needs to survive, making it even more appealing to a renouncer like the
Buddha. The word tīrtha seems here to refer merely to a river ford, not yet a
pilgrimage site proper, and I suggest this contrast is intentional. Were the Buddha
to attain enlightenment at Gaya, or any other tīrtha for that matter, he would be
indebted to the traditional associations there. The power to overcome death is not
derived from the purity of a tīrtha or from traditional rituals; it is by the Buddha’s
singular achievement that he conquers death. He escapes all attachment to
the actions of past lives not at Gaya, which has a tradition of removing sins, but
at Uruvelā.
One aspect of the formulaic references to Uruvelā is striking. In the majority of
the references to Uruvelā, the Buddha sits at the foot of a tree. There are only
four variations in the formula:
S 1.103 uruvelāyaṃ viharati najjā nerañjarāya tīre ajapālanigrodhamūle
paṭhamābhisambuddho
S 1.136 uruvelāyaṃ viharati najjā nerañjarāya tīre ajapālanigrodhamūle
U 1.1 uruvelāyaṃ viharati najjā nerañjarāya tīre bodhirukkhamūle
U 2.1 uruvelāyaṃ viharati najjā nerañjarāya tīre mucalindamūle
Asher hazards a guess about the tradition of trees at both Gaya and Bodh Gaya;
he says: “I would surmise that Gaya’s Akshayavat served as the model for
Bodhgaya’s tree, though there is no evidence to verify that guess” (1988: 87). I
have to admit I was intrigued by this suggestion; in fact, Asher’s idea motivated
my inquiries. While he is correct that a tree is central to both the pilgrimage at
Gaya and the Buddha’s experience at Bodh Gaya (1988: 87), I suggest the inclu-
sion of the tree in the Buddha’s enlightenment narrative does not derive from its
place in the Gaya narrative. Like Gaya and the Gaya-śrāddha, the akṣayavaṭa of
Gaya doesn’t occur in the Brahmanical sources until after the Buddhist narrative
is already popular. The akṣayavaṭa is not mentioned until the Mahābhārata,
though Viṣṇu does mention gayāśirṣa and vaṭa, presumably referring to the
akṣayavaṭa (VS 85.70, see above).
I assert that this is a part of the Buddhist programmatic appropriation of older
and popular religious practices, including icons, divinities, and venues, as its
own. The connection between yakkhas and trees is commonly known, and I
suggest that this is the association that the Buddhists stress with the Buddha’s
repeated presence beneath the tree. Two of the names support an argument against
Asher’s supposition. The first and most frequent appellation, ajapālanigrodha,
the goat-herder’s tree, suggests a local name, probably not a famous tīrtha. The
second, bodhirukka, invokes the story of the Buddha’s enlightenment. The last,
mucalinda, the (tree) of Mucalinda, is much more suggestive. The authors attach
this name to the tree only once, after the Buddha’s enlightenment, on a
subsequent visit to Uruvelā when he encounters the Nāga king, Mucalinda. The
narrative incorporation of the nāga into the Buddhist fold is echoed in the author’s
use of the nāga’s name in reference to the tree. DeCaroli’s work (2004) highlights
well the Buddhist appropriation and incorporation of popular religious traditions.
Ensink also argues for the non-Brahmanical origin of the “cult of holy sites”
(1974: 73). Remarking on the Brahmanical adoption of pilgrimage he says
“Hindu pilgrimage essentially continues practices of non-ārya sedentary peoples
of India” and that pilgrimage practices “were incorporated in brahmanic tradition
with the only major modification that they were in various ways connected and
compared with Vedic sacrifice” (74). This seems to fit well with how I have
understood the development of Uruvelā.
In conclusion, I return to the question with which I began my inquiry: Why did
the Buddha choose to go to Bodh Gaya to strive for enlightenment? My review of
the ancestral rites in the Brahmanical literature suggests that the conception of
śrāddha was still under construction during the life of the Buddha. No textual
evidence indicates that Gaya was a place of pilgrimage associated with śrāddha
until the beginning of the Common Era. Gaya finds no mention in the earlier
Brahmanical literature, though this may be explained by the dictates of the genres
of literature available to us, which, arguably, don’t mention pilgrimage at all. On
the other hand, the Buddhist sources are unequivocal on the primary practice asso-
ciated with Gaya: purificatory baths said to remove sin. The Pāli Canon does
include references to the śrāddha, and the cultural memory of those rites influ-
ences the offering to the petas in the Petavatthu, but neither exhibits any associa-
tion with Gaya. In short, it seems there is no evidence to suggest that Gaya had any
connection to the śrāddha until after the tradition of the Buddha achieving enlight-
enment at Uruvelā was already established. Is it possible, then, that the increase in
popularity of pilgrimage, coupled with the Buddha’s defeat of death, and thereby
rebirth, motivated the Brahmanical tradition to associate the śrāddha with Gaya?
My research suggests that instead of the Buddha being drawn to Gaya because
of a tradition of tīrtha-śrāddha, he was drawn there because of its general sanc-
tity and reputation as an ascetics’ haunt. He intentionally left the hubbub of Gaya,
disassociating his achievement from the older tradition, and went to a nearby
place fit for striving after enlightenment. At Uruvelā he explicitly appropriated an
older tradition connected with the Banyan tree, though the details of this connec-
tion evade me. After the Buddha’s enlightenment narrative was widespread, and
pilgrimage in general had become more popular, the Brahmanical tradition—
perhaps educated Brahmin authors or perhaps the local religious experts, I cannot
say—chose to establish a tradition of tīrtha-śrāddha at Gaya, a tradition that
eventually grew to pan-Indic proportions.
Notes
1 An earlier version of this paper was presented at the XVth Congress of the International
Association of Buddhist Studies at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia in June 2008
and subsequently appeared in Religions of South Asia 4.1 (2010) 9–25; © Equinox
Publishing Ltd 2010.
2 There is also a śākhā difference here. The Gṛhyasūtras belonging to the Black
Yajurveda speak about the aṣṭakās as ancestral rites (Winternitz 1890: 205).
3 I reach this conclusion based on Winternitz’s assertion that the Kalpasūtra of
Āpastamba is a unitary work and Olivelle’s dating of Āpastamba (Olivelle 2000: 10;
Winternitz 1996: 258).
4 DeCaroli also understands the episode of the Buddha eating forty-nine piṇḍas in the
Nidānakathā as “an esoteric statement of the Buddhist power to appease the dead”
(2004, 110). Unfortunately, understanding this connection between the Buddha’s
consumption of the piṇḍas and the dead rests on resonances with “modern Hindu
rites” and understanding that the number forty-nine may refer to the “maximum
number of generations aided by the Brahmanical śrāddha.” While these are both true,
they are both anachronistic, and the latter rests on devaluing the more obvious connec-
tion to the length of the Buddha’s time without food (110).
5 The first three pādas of this śloka appear in the Gayā Māhātmya (1.7cd–8a).
6 Barua cites the Vaiśampāyana recension, which is numbered differently and includes a
few minor differences (1975: 70–8).
7 The critical edition preserves this śloka at 3.82.85, but corrupts it at 3.85.7 and 3.88.14.
Purāṇic examples include: GP 1.84.33–4 and MP 22.6.
8 This passage is an example of the corruption mentioned in the previous footnote. The
editors of the Critical Edition of the Mahābhārata omitted the second half of the śloka
seen in VS 85.71, which becomes so popular in the later tradition. The second half of
the śloka is relegated to the apparatus:
13.88.14a eṣṭavyā bahavaḥ putrā yady eko ‘pi gayāṃ vrajet
13.88.14b*406 yajed vā aśvamedhena nīlaṃ vā vṛṣam utsṛjet
13.88.14c yatrāsau prathito lokeṣv akṣayyakaraṇo vaṭaḥ
9 The narrative at SN 2.5 mentions this feature as well.
10 Compare to Manu’s use, mentioned above, which infers forgiveness for sins, specifi-
cally perjury, committed in this life.
11 I omit the occurrences that refer to the ascetic named Uruvelā Kassapa.
12 This term occurs at Mahāvagga 11.1 also.
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Caland, Willem. (1893) Altindischer Ahnencult: Das Çrāddha nach den verschiedenen
Schulen mit Benutzung handschriftlicher Quellen, Leiden: E. J. Brill.
DeCaroli, Robert. (2004) Haunting the Buddha: Indian Popular Religions and the
Formation of Buddhism, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Egge, James R. (2002) Religious Giving and the Invention of Karma in Theravāda
Buddhism, New York: Routledge.
Ensink, J. (1974) “Problems of the Study of Pilgrimage in India,” Indologica Taurinensia,
2: 57–79.
Gonda, J. (1977) Ritual Sūtras, History of Indian Literature Vol. 1, Wiesbaden: Otto
Harrasowitz.
Heim, Maria. (2004) Theories of the Gift in South Asia: Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain
Reflections on Dāna, New York: Routledge.
Jacques, Claude. (1979) “Gayā Māhātmya—Introductions etc.,” trans. Giorgio Bonazzoli,
Purāṇam, 21.2: 1–32.
——. (1980) “Gayā Māhātmya—Introductions etc. (Cont.),” trans. Giorgio Bonazzoli,
Purāṇam, 22.1: 33–70.
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of Great Britain and Ireland, 3: 565–92.
Leoshko, Janice. (ed.) (1988) Bodhgaya: The Site of Enlightenment, Bombay: Marg.
Malandra, G. H. (1988) “The Mahabodhi Temple,” in J. Leoshko (ed.) Bodhgaya: The Site
of Enlightenment, Bombay: Marg.
Myer, Prudence R. (1958) “The Great Temple at Bodh-Gayā,” The Art Bulletin, 40.4:
277–98.
Oldenberg, Hermann (trans.) (1967 [1886 and 1892]) The Grihya-Sûtras: Rules of Vedic
Domestic Ceremonies (Sacred Books of the East series, Vols. 29 and 30), Delhi:
Motilal Banarsidass.
Olivelle, Patrick. (ed.) (2000) Dharmasūtras: The Law Codes of Āpastamba, Gautama,
Baudhāyana, and Vasiṣṭha, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
——. (ed. and trans.) (2005) Manu’s Code of Law: A Critical Edition and Translation of
the Mānava-Dharmaśāstra, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
——. (trans.) (2009) Viṣṇu’s Code of Law: A Critical Edition and Translation of the
Vaiṣṇava Dharmaśāstra, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Winternitz, Maurice. (1890) “Notes on Śrāddhas and Ancestral Worship among
Indo-European Nations,” Vienna Oriental Journal, 4.1: 199–212.
——. (1996) History of Indian Literature, Volume 1, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
2 Sacred Bodh Gaya
The Buddhakṣetra of Gotama Buddha
Abhishek Singh Amar
Located in the Gaya district in south Bihar region is Bodh Gaya, the place of
Buddha’s enlightenment. Being one of the earliest (or probably the earliest
Buddhist sacred site), Bodh Gaya became an important model that was repro-
duced in the expansion of Buddhist traditions across South Asia (Asher, this
volume). In fact, the earliest archaeological structure found at the Mahabodhi
Temple Complex, the Bodhi-seat (referred to later as Vajrāsana), dates from the
time of the famous Mauryan king Aśoka in the third century bce. This initial
process of monumentalization led to the construction of numerous sacred features
in and around the Bodhi Tree that marked various events in the life of the Buddha.
These events are also recounted in the biographical accounts of Pāli and Sanskrit
literature. Through a critical examination of the archaeological materials from
Bodh Gaya and some biographical accounts, this chapter maps the emergence of
Bodh Gaya as a sacred site.
For many pilgrims today, it is the Mahabodhi Temple Complex at Bodh Gaya
that is the central object of devotion. Yet, the restoration of the Mahabodhi
Temple Complex is a relatively recent phenomenon, which was undertaken by
Sir Alexander Cunningham in the nineteenth century. Cunningham’s (1892: plate
XVIII) reconstruction of sacred features within the temple complex, specifically
the seven spots marking the seven-weeks stay of the Buddha at the site after his
enlightenment, was based exclusively on the account of Chinese monk-pilgrim
Xuanzang, who visited the site in the seventh century ce.1 A number of questions
need to be asked regarding the restitution of the temple complex during this time.
First, its restoration was based on a seventh-century description of the complex,
but as indicated above, Bodh Gaya emerged as a sacred center in the third century
bce after the construction of the Bodhi-seat. Although Cunningham did trace the
history of the site from the time of King Aśoka, drawing from the textual accounts
of the Mahāvaṃśa, the Lalitavistāra and Xuanzang’s account, these sources date
to a much later period. Therefore, these sources may not be adequate in providing
an account of the early historical growth of the site itself.
Second, Cunningham’s understanding of the Bodhi-seat shrine at Bodh Gaya
was based on depictions of the site found at other major Buddhist centers of the
time, particularly the Bharhut railing depictions, which are dated to the second–
first centuries bce. Therefore, Cunningham’s reconstruction of the Mahabodhi
Temple Complex may provide an authentic account of seventh-century Bodh
Gaya but fails to map the successive layers of material growth over several
centuries between the third century bce and seventh century ce.
Third, Cunningham’s legacy is also visible in the continued research focus on
the temple complex by later scholars, who have not examined other important
archaeological features in and around Bodh Gaya. While Cunningham himself
reported many archaeological sites in and around Bodh Gaya, such as the Bakror
stūpa located on the eastern bank of Nirañjana river, the seven stūpas and a cave
on the Mora hills located 6km northeast of the Mahabodhi complex (Fig. 2.1), the
significance of this sacred network in relation to the Mahabodhi Temple has not
been studied at all. Drawing on Ashmore and Knapp (1999: 6), in this chapter, I
argue that sacred landscapes should be approached as a total set rather than
simply a mere collection of discrete sites. A holistic approach also foregrounds
the relationship between people and landscape and explains the process through
which sacrality is implanted on the landscape by people. Based on the geograph-
ical proximity of the Mahabodhi Temple Complex, Sujata stūpa and Mora hills,
this chapter will examine all of these sites as an integral part of the sacred land-
scape of Bodh Gaya. Furthermore, all of these sites were built to commemorate
life-events of the Buddha and therefore marked his sacred presence in the
surrounding landscape of Bodh Gaya. This network of sites and the layering of
these sacred features on the landscape did not emerge until around the third
century bce, and continued over successive centuries up until the fourteenth
century ce, which will be examined now.
Biographical accounts and Bodh Gaya

What constitutes Bodh Gaya as a sacred site is its powerful association with the
founder of the religion, Gotama Buddha. It is for this reason that many texts
including the Lalitavistāra use the term Buddhakṣetra (literally “the field of
Buddha”) to describe Bodh Gaya. Almost all the structures within the temple
complex at Bodh Gaya are directly linked to the events attributed to the Buddha’s
spiritual life. Many details of the Buddha’s pre- and post-enlightenment stay at
Bodh Gaya have been narrated in the Pāli Canon as well as a number of Sanskrit
biographies within the Buddhist literary tradition. According to these textual
accounts, the Buddha stayed in and around Bodh Gaya for six years before his
enlightenment. He later returned to Bodh Gaya after the first sermon and
convinced the Kaśyapa brothers to join him in his ultimate goal to spread the
dhamma. This return trip to the place of enlightenment is also mentioned in
the Pāli Canon and later Sanskrit biographical texts, though the description of the
stay differs.
Several Pāli texts provide short and non-miraculous accounts of the Buddha’s
stay at Bodh Gaya in varying contexts. For example, the Mahāvagga discusses
the Buddha’s stay in Bodh Gaya.2 The Mahāparinibbāna Sutta also twice refers
to events at Bodh Gaya.3 The Mahāpadāna Sutta also provides an account of the
last seven lives of the Buddha, including that of the present Gotama Buddha,
The Buddhakṣetra of Gotama Buddha 31
Figure 2.1 Sacred sites in and around Bodh Gaya.
briefly referring to the place and tree of enlightenment (Walshe 1987: 199–222).
Buddhavaṃṣa discusses the Buddha’s journey from Bodhisatta to Buddha during
the reign of the previous twenty-four Buddhas and provides biographical
accounts of these as well as Gotama Buddha.4 The Sanskrit biographical texts,
including the Buddhacarita, the Mahāvastu, and the Lalitavistāra, provide a
more detailed description.5 Of these texts, the Buddhacarita and Lalitavistāra are
complete biographies and discuss the life story of the Buddha elaborately and
exclusively, whereas the Mahāvastu also discusses the life events of previous
Buddhas. None of these texts provide reference to any sacred structures at the
Bodh Gaya except the Bodhi Tree.
All of these biographies of the Buddha were compiled in the early centuries of
the Common Era, though the stories of Buddha’s stay at Bodh Gaya may have
existed in some form from a much earlier time. This is affirmed by the archaeo-
logical structures at Bodh Gaya that were built to commemorate those stories
from the third century bce onwards. Walters, while studying the emergence and
growth of Buddhist stūpas, argues that “the ideology and practice presuppose
each other and that a study of the ideology (in the biographical texts) and the
structures (constructed as a result of religious practices) can help reconstruct the
historical situation(s) in which they were, simultaneously, produced, used, and
considered” (2008: 247). Walters’s argument provides a valuable framework to
examine the archaeological structures in relation to these textual biographies,
both of which were produced as a result of the intersection between religious
ideology and ritual practice. Rather than relying exclusively either on textual
descriptions or analysis of archaeological materials, a combined study of the two
will help us understand the complicated processes by which Bodh Gaya emerged
as a sacred landscape and the subsequent development, over centuries, of that
landscape. Furthermore, this will also demonstrate how a standard biography
with new details emerged as a result of the construction of new commemorative
structures around Bodh Gaya.
Pre-Buddhist context of Bodh Gaya

In the surrounding region of Bodh Gaya, Gotama Buddha spent over six years
before he attained enlightenment. Why the Buddha chose to settle in Bodh Gaya
has been recently discussed by two scholars, DeCaroli (2004) and Sayers (this
volume). Bodh Gaya is located 10km south of Gaya (district headquarter of south
Bihar). Gaya is and has been an important Hindu pilgrimage center – known
primarily for the śrāddha (funerary/ancestor worship) from the early centuries of
the Common Era. This has led Robert DeCaroli (2004: 117) to argue that the
ancient Gaya area including Bodh Gaya was a sacred center due to its important
links to spirit deities and the dead. By examining three Buddhist texts, the
Buddhacarita, the Lalitavistāra, and the Nidānakathā, all dated between the first
and fifth centuries ce, DeCaroli attempts to link the biographical account of
Sujāta’s donation of milk-rice to the funerary ritual of śrāddha. Through this
reading of the biographical narrative, he further emphasizes the importance of
Bodh Gaya in terms of its associations with śrāddha, spirit deities and ancestor
worship, which may have led the Buddha to Bodh Gaya in the first place.
In response to DeCaroli, Matthew Sayers (this volume) has analyzed the ritual
of śrāddha as explained in the early Brahmanical and Buddhist texts. Sayers
argues that there is no evidence to suggest that Gaya had any connection with
śrāddha at the time of the Buddha and in fact Gaya begins to emerge as a place of
śrāddha only from the early centuries of the Common Era. However, he argues
that Gaya is mentioned eleven times in the Sutta literature and a few occasions in
the Vinaya literature. Furthermore, the analysis of these literary references
suggests that Gaya was in the time of the Buddha a sacred place of some signifi-
cance, probably due to its ritual association with purificatory baths. This also
suggests that the Buddha may have been attracted to Gaya because of its general
sanctity and its reputation as a place frequented by ascetics.
The Mahāvagga also supports this argument by highlighting the presence of
fire-worshipping ascetics, the Kaśyapa brothers, who lived in this region (Horner
1993: 32–4).6 Other biographical accounts also suggest that the first five disci-
ples of the Buddha preceded him to Gaya to practice austerities. They may have
also been drawn to the Gaya region because of its sanctity which also attracted
ascetics of various traditions to this region, including Ājīvikas. All these refer-
ences are drawn from texts, most of which were compiled at least four centuries
later than the Buddha’s enlightenment and hence may not provide a complete
explanation.
An examination of the archaeological evidence surrounding the Mahabodhi
Temple Complex at Bodh Gaya provides some valuable insight on this issue.
The Taradih mound, for example, is located 20m west of the Mahabodhi
Temple Complex and has been excavated on numerous occasions between 1980
and 1999 by the Directorate of Bihar State Archaeology. Though the results of
these excavations were briefly reported in the annual report of the Archaeological
Survey of India (ASI), the detailed reports of these excavations are yet to
be published. Based on the archaeological findings at the mound as reported in
the annual report of the ASI (Prasad 1987–88: 9–11), the site contains the remains
of a settlement dated as early as the Neolithic period (c.1500 bce). The excava-
tions have revealed a Neolithic settlement (c.1500 bce) and its continuing habi-
tation through the Pāla period (c.1200 ce). Though the mound has not been
excavated in its entirety, the partial excavation indicates that the settlers of
Neolithic (c.1500–1000 bce), Chalcolithic (c.1000–650 bce) and Iron Age
period (c.650 bce–200 ce) were involved in farming and craft production. Apart
from growing a number of crops such as rice (wild and domesticated), barley,
wheat, lentils (grass-peas, horse gram, masur, and other), they also relied on
hunting and fishing (proved by the discovery of fish-hooks and other imple-
ments). The above details, drawn from the Taradih excavations, suggest a number
of possibilities which may have contributed to the Buddha’s decision to settle in
the area.
First and foremost, it would appear that this area had a settlement with an
abundance of food supply and resources, that may have provided the Buddha
with sustenance during his stay in the surrounding area for six years. The proxi-
mate distance between the site of the enlightenment and the settlement affirms
this link. Second, the place may have had some sacred significance as several
fire-pits were revealed in the excavation, which may indicate some form of
fire-worship, as cited by A. K. Prasad (1987–88: 9). Related to the religious
significance of the site, the excavations have also revealed nāga figurines,
suggesting that nāga worship may have been prevalent in the region (1987–88:
10).7 Lastly, the settlement, though located at a distance from Gaya, was likely
situated on a trade route and connected to other settlements. Though it is difficult
to attribute any specific reason for the Buddha’s decision to choose Bodh Gaya
based on the archaeological findings of the Taradih mound, the above findings do
suggest they may have had some relevance. The points raised here also suggest a
pre-existing “settlement” and “socio-religious” context that preceded the
Buddhist influence at Bodh Gaya.
Early Historic Buddhakṣetra (c.270 bce–550 ce)

For a period of almost two hundred years after the life of the Buddha, there exists
no archaeological evidence to suggest any activity within the temple complex-
area at Bodh Gaya. The first structure, the Bodhi-seat, was constructed in the
third century bce, to which was added a jeweled-walk and sixty-four railing
pillars over the next two hundred years. A large stūpa was also built across the
river Nirañjana. Together, these two sets of structures constituted the sacred
landscape of Bodh Gaya in the first century bce.
The monumentalization of the site was initiated by the Mauryan king Aśoka in
the third century bce, who constructed the Bodhi-seat to commemorate the
enlightenment of the Buddha (Cunningham, 1892: 3–4). This is affirmed by the
Girnar VIII rock edict of Aśoka, which mentions his visit (dhamma-yātra) to
Saṃbodhi. This Bodhi-seat was converted into a shrine by the first century bce.
A plaster facing was added to the Bodhi-seat, which was evidenced by the
discovery of a shattered and broken plaster facing on the previous sandstone seat
(Cunningham 1892: 5). A Ratanacaṃkama (jeweled walk) and sixty-four railing
pillars were also erected around the Bodhi-seat shrine. This jeweled walk is a
brick wall and measures 16m long, 1m broad and a little more than 1m tall. On
each side of this wall, there is a row of eleven Persopolitan pillar-bases decorated
with the well-known vase pattern placed above three or four steps and surmounted
by a parabolic molding with an octagonal top for the reception of an octagonal
shaft (Cunningham 1892: 8–9). The sandstone polish and letters inscribed on
these steps also suggest a first century bce date for the structure.
The railing-pillars have been critically examined over the last century and
dated conclusively to the first century bce.8 The tree-caitya shrine, called
Bodhimaṇḍa, originally consisted of sixty-four pillars with a circuit of 80m, and
a single 2.5m-wide eastern entrance. The pillars are approximately 2m high and
are topped with a 30cm coping. These pillars depict episodes from the life of the
Buddha, local legends, tree and spirit deities such as yakshas and yakshīs, Vedic
gods and the worship of Buddhist shrines by men, animal and gods. There are
eight depictions of the Bodhi-seat and Tree in the railings found at the site, which
hints at an earlier replication of the sacred shrine. For example, one of these rail-
ings depicts the Bodhi-seat and Tree within railings, with two chhatras (royal
canopies) and two garlands on both sides. Another one, commonly accepted as a
shrine, is broken on top and depicts Sūrya on the bottom panel (Leoshko 1991:
234). All the other depictions show a seat, a tree, and kneeling worshippers. Two
of the railing pillars depict the seat and tree being worshipped by mythical
creatures, and elephants.
Besides the iconographic replication of the site itself, the pillars also portray
mythical water animals, nāga (snakes), and devas (gods) offering garlands and
paying respect to the Bodhi Tree (Chakravarty 1997: 53). These railings suggest
a conscious attempt by the Buddhist saṅgha to incorporate existing religious
beliefs and practices. I would argue that, through these depictions of local deities,
Vedic gods and other figures, the Buddhist saṅgha attempted to appeal to the
larger socio-religious context. This attempt to incorporate local deities and stories
was motivated by two major reasons. First, the Buddhist expansion brought the
monks and monasteries in closer contact with the existing settlements in the
surrounding as well as faraway regions, the inhabitants of which probably
worshipped these deities in some form or another. This is indicated by the nāga
figurines found at the Taradih excavations, suggesting that snake worship may
have been prevalent in the region. Similarly, yaksha and yakshī plaques have
been reported from the region, which suggest similar practices. In addition, the
Buddhist texts also refer to the Vedic gods including Brahma and Indra, indi-
cating their popularity. By consciously giving space to these Vedic gods on the
railing pillars of a Buddhist shrine, the saṅgha attempted to develop an inclusive
iconography by incorporating them within the Buddhist fold to attract a larger
social following. The depiction of this inclusive iconography at the site of Bodh
Gaya facilitated the saṅgha’s propagation of its ideas to a broader section of the
society. Second, as a major pilgrimage center, Bodh Gaya attracted Buddhist
monks, followers as well as non-followers, who saw the inclusive iconography of
the site. Therefore this inclusive iconography also acted as a didactic tool for the
Buddhist community.
These developments illustrate the early formation of the Buddhakṣetra, which
grew out of its existing socio-religious context. Considering that the pillars at the
Bodhi Tree shrine were erected in the first century bce, almost four centuries
after the time of the historical Gotama Buddha, the depictions of the pillars
suggest the transformative process which resulted in the development of an inclu-
sive iconography of the Buddhist shrines.
A short distance from the Mahabodhi Temple Complex is the Sujata stūpa
which was built on the other side of the river Nirañjana in the village known as
Bakror today. The stūpa has been dated to the second century bce on the basis of
fragments of Dark Grey polished ware and a punch-marked coin, which was
found in a partially exposed monastery-like structure to the northeast of the stūpa
(Srivastava 1973–74: 10). Based on the inscribed seals found from the stūpa,
scholars have suggested that this stūpa was built to commemorate Sujata, the
daughter of the village chief, who offered milk-rice to the Buddha prior to his
enlightenment. Though this story is mentioned in early Pāli and Sanskrit biogra-
phies, the earliest dated textual reference to the milk-rice offering comes from the
“Senior collection” of Kharosthi manuscripts which were recovered from a stūpa
in Hadda near Jelalabad in eastern Afghanistan in c.140 ce (Solomon 2003:77).
Two inferences can be drawn from the fact that the details of this story, written in
Kharosthi script and Gandhari language, were interred within the stūpa. First, the
Sujata stūpa predates this dated textual reference of the second century ce and
therefore the stūpa may have played a role in the development of this story into
an important constituent of the biography of Buddha. Subsequently, the story was
compiled, written and used as a sacred relic to be interred within the stūpa.
Second, the story had traveled from Bodh Gaya to eastern Afghanistan, which
indicates circulation of ideas between distant Buddhist establishments. This also
suggests how the development of sacred landscape played an agentive role in the
consolidation of biographical account.
Thus, by the first century bce, the sacred landscape at Bodh Gaya consisted of
a large stūpa across the river Nirañjana, a jeweled-walk and a Bodhi-seat at the
base of the Tree surrounded by sixty-four railing pillars. In the later centuries,
both these shrines underwent significant repairs and reconstructions. The Sujata
stūpa was also enlarged by adding new molded bricks to the facing, raising its
height and providing a new 5m circumambulation path (pradakṣiṇa paṭha) of
thick lime plaster for the ritual circumambulation of the structure in the third–
fourth centuries ce (Srivastava 1973–74: 7). Subsequently, the stūpa was also
enlarged with new casing and gateways in all four directions in the eighth–ninth
centuries as well.
Similarly, the Bodhi Tree shrine also underwent numerous changes in the later
period. The Bodhi seat itself was enlarged at least twice, first in the third–fourth
centuries of the Common Era when a new layer was added with numerous
remains including a coin-copy from the second century ce. The presence of a
gold coin-copy from the reign of Huvishka (late second century as terminus post
quem) beneath this new layer proves that the slab was definitely added after this
period. A partly defaced inscription at the edge of the seat also supports this
dating (Cunningham 1892: 58). A second layer was also added when the
Mahabodhi Temple was constructed in the latter half of the sixth century. In order
to place a Buddha image on an east-facing platform inside the sanctum sanc-
torum of the temple, the Bodhi-seat was enlarged on its northern, southern and
eastern sides to merge it with the platform of sanctum sanctorum.
Another important sacred site mentioned in the biographical accounts and
considered part of the Buddhakṣetra is Gayaśīrṣa hill. The historical importance
of this site has been emphasized at least from the early centuries of the Common
Era, as indicated in the Pāli literature (Mahāvagga). Xuanzang also mentions a
large stūpa on top of this hill and another two at its base in the seventh century
(Beal 1906: 344). However, the hilltop has not revealed any archaeological
remains, which may be attributed to the constructions in the nineteenth and later
centuries.
Mora hill, located about 5km northeast of Mahabodhi Temple Complex, is
another important sacred site, which may be considered as a part of the sacred
landscape of Bodh Gaya. The earlier name of the hill based on Faxian and
Xuanzang’s account is Prāgbodhi hill (Patil 1963: 290). Halfway up the western
slope is a cave which contains a partially broken and inscribed image of a
goddess. The image, which has been dated to the ninth–tenth centuries, is
worshipped as Dungeshwari Devī. There is no evidence to date the cave, save its
mention in Faxian and Xuanzang. We only know that the cave existed as a sacred
place in the fourth–fifth centuries at the time of Faxian’s visit (c.399–415 ce). At
the top of the hill, there are also remains of seven brick stūpas. Two of them are
rectangular stūpas (measurements are 6.5m x 9.5m and 4.2m x 4.2m) whereas
the other five are circular brick stūpas (diameters varying between 3m and 5m).
The smallest of these has a height of 2m, and the highest is 10m. The survey of
these stūpas did not reveal any ceramic or other archaeological evidence which
can be used to date these structures. However, Xuanzang’s mention of the cave
and the stūpa-structures on the hilltop suggests they were in existence by the
mid-seventh century. On the slope of the hill, below the cave, is a large,
artificially leveled terrace, about 65m long, with traces from the original founda-
tion of two buildings—a rectangular and a circular stone building. Based on the
account of Xuanzang (Beal 1906: 344), who describes religious offerings at the
site at the end of the rainy season every year, it is possible to infer that there was
a small monastic community living next to this shrine which looked after it by
performing religious duties. The dates of these stūpas are unclear as they are yet
to be excavated. However, it may be speculated that they may have been erected
between the fifth and seventh centuries as Faxian, who visited and described
Mora hill and cave, does not mention any stūpa at this time. Concrete dates for
the construction of these stūpas can only be developed through their excavations
in future.
The first Buddhist sculptures appeared at Bodh Gaya in the third–fourth
centuries ce. One of these is an inscribed sculpture found near the remains of an
old temple to the south of the Bodhi Tree and is currently housed in the Indian
Museum, Kolkata. Dated to the third-fourth centuries on paleographic and
stylistic grounds, the inscription mentions that a monk, with the help of a lay-
woman (upāsikā), set up two lion-vehicle statues (sīharaṭha patimā) during the
reign of King Trikamāla (in the saṃvat 64) (Barua 1931: 70). King Trikamāla
remains unidentified in the early historic period whereas saṃvat 64 can be
either the Śaka or Gupta period. Therefore, the exact date for the installation
of this sculpture at the site remains inconclusive. This sculpture belongs to the
Mathura style and therefore must have been transported from Mathura to
Bodh Gaya.
The early medieval Buddhakṣetra (c.550–1200 ce)

By the time of Xuanzang’s visit in the seventh century, the site had undergone
major transformation. The most important development during this time was
the construction of the Mahabodhi Temple, which has been attested by the
Mahanaman inscription. The inscription was issued in the 269th year of the
Gupta era (c.320 ce), which suggests that it was installed in c.588–89 ce. Written
in the Siddhamātṛkā script, it mentions that a new temple (bhavanam) at the
Bodhimaṇḍa was constructed by Mahanaman (CII 3 (1888): 277). Another
inscription by Mahanaman found at the site mentions his donation of a Buddha
image, which may have been installed in the new temple (CII 3 (1888): 278–9).
This is also supported by a tenth-century Sri Lankan inscription from Ramkale
near Sigiriya (Sohoni 1976: 190–204). This inscription mentions that one
Mahanaman went to the Bodhimaṇḍa vihāra thrice in his lifetime and on his last
visit made the donations for constructing a new temple and installing a new
sculpture in the shrine (Buddhapratimālayam). This inscription, though
composed in the tenth century, provides a eulogy of the Mahanaman and suggests
his active role in the construction of the Mahabodhi Temple. The fact that the
temple was built by a Sri Lankan monk indicates the enormous value attributed
to the sacredness of the site, which motivated pilgrims to contribute to the devel-
opment of the sacred structures at Bodh Gaya.
The building of the temple at the site of the Bodhi Tree shrine also meant that a
new dimension of ritual practice emerged at the site (Asher 1980: 27–8).9 It
resulted in the shift of ritual-focus from the tree-shrine to the image of Buddha
seated on his seat of enlightenment within the Mahabodhi temple. As a result, the
place began to be referred to as either Vajrāsana or Mahabodhi. This is attested
by the repeated use of these terms in local inscriptions such as the Ghosarawa
inscription of Viradeva (Kielhorn 1888: 310) (who mentions his pilgrimage and
adoration to the Vajrāsana at Mahabodhi), and royal charters issued by the Pāla
kings, such as the Khalimpur grant of Dharmapala (Kielhorn 1896–97: 249). The
Tibetan monk-pilgrim Dharmasvāmin, who came to Bodh Gaya in the third
decade of the thirteenth century, also uses the terms Vajrāsana and Mahabodhi to
refer to Bodh Gaya.
The construction of the temple also led to the donation and installation of
numerous Buddhist sculptures at the temple complex between the seventh and
twelfth centuries (Leoshko 1988). Of all the sculptures, the most popular form
seems to have been the bhūmisparśa mudrā Buddha which emerged in the sixth–
seventh centuries. This representation was clearly linked to the enduring impor-
tance of the event of enlightenment and the Vajrāsana, which led to the large-scale
production of this image and its popular worship at Bodh Gaya. Besides the
bhūmisparśa mudrā Buddha, the site also contained numerous images of
Bodhisattvas such as Padmapāṇi Avalokiteśvara, Vajrapāṇi, Khasarpaṇa, Tārā,
Marīchī, Yamāntaka, Jāmbhala, and Vajra-Varāhi, all dated between the eighth
and twelfth centuries on stylistic grounds (Leoshko 1988: 53). The discovery of
diverse sculptural assemblage from the temple complex indicates they were
installed and worshiped by the monastic and non-monastic communities. These
sculptural remains also demonstrate an extensive Mahāyāna presence at the site
which is reinforced by the discovery of two local inscriptions with Mahāyāna
formulas (Schopen 2005: 240).10
The first inscription, inscribed on a sculpture donated by Sri Lankan monk
Mahānaman in c.588–89 ce, clearly mentions the Mahāyāna formula: “Yad-atra
puṇyaṁ tad-bhavatu sarvvasattvānām-anuttara-jňān-āvāptayē-stu” (CII 3 1963:
279). The formula can be translated as “whatever religious merit (there is) in this
(act), let it be for the acquisition of supreme knowledge of all sentient beings.”
This verse is also repeated in the second inscription, which was found on an
image donated by sthāvira Viryendra from Somapura in the tenth century ce. In
this inscription, Viryendra clearly presents himself as a follower of Mahāyāna
(Mahāyāna-yāyin) (Sircar 1983: 59). Even Dharmasvāmin attests to a Tārā
temple at the site and the presence of forty Mahāyāna monks at Vajrāsana in his
account (Roerich 1959: 74). Similarly, the presence of innumerable miniature
stone stūpas (or burial ad sanctos) with bodily remains suggests “Mahāyāna”
practices at the site.
This picture is in contrast to the general perception that Bodh Gaya was prima-
rily a Theravadin-controlled site on the basis of the presence of Sri Lankan monks
at the site. Even if there was a local sthāvira group at the site, the material remains
indicate a borrowing and mixing of doctrines and religious practices between these
two schools of Buddhism.11 This suggests a much broader outlook of the Buddhist
saṅgha, also reflected in the documentation of several Hindu sculptures from the
precincts of the Mahabodhi Temple Complex between the sixth and twelfth
centuries. For example, three Viṣṇu sculptures along with an inscribed four-faced
Mahādeva were documented from the Mahabodhi Temple Complex (Huntington
1984: 205–6). In other words, the appropriation of Hindu gods through installation
and active worship of those images within a Buddhist shrine suggests a conscious
attempt by the saṅgha to speak to its local socio-religious context, which ulti-
mately resulted in the selective appropriation and acceptance of some of these
Hindu gods as minor deities within the Buddhist tradition. This clearly points to
the development of an inclusive Buddhakṣetra as a result of the interaction of the
Buddhist order with other existing religious orders in the local region.
Conclusion: the agentive role of the saṅgha

In this chapter I have mapped the chronological growth of the Buddhakṣetra of
Bodh Gaya, which was carried out by the saṅgha community based at Bodh
Gaya. The development of this Buddhakṣetra in and around Bodh Gaya demon-
strates the active and imaginative role of the monastic community in planning
and developing new shrines. This process involved a physical marking of the
landscape through commemorative structures that reinforced the life-story. These
material structures also played an important role in the consolidation of the story
and its subsequent maturation into the legendary biography of the Buddha.
Therefore, the saṅgha, by inscribing the story of the Buddha’s life on the land-
scape, embedded Buddhist meaning at and around Bodh Gaya. This effort of the
saṅgha was actively supported by the lay community as it provided them an
opportunity to gain merit by patronizing and worshipping those shrines. Therefore
the Buddhakṣetra of Bodh Gaya emerged as a result of the intersection and
overlap of the religious practices of the monastic and lay communities and the
development of Buddha’s biography.
The role of the saṅgha is attested by archaeological evidence of monastic pres-
ence, which is also substantiated by the textual accounts of Chinese and Tibetan
pilgrims. The excavations at Sujata mound revealed a small-sized monastery,
suggesting the presence of monks at the site in the second–first centuries bce
(Srivastava 1973–74: 10). Fa-xian (Beal 2003: 126) refers to the presence of
three monasteries, whereas Xuanzang (Beal 1906: 356) refers to a Sri Lankan
monastery at the site. Dharmasvāmin, a Tibetan pilgrim who visited Bodh Gaya
in the thirteenth century, mentions twelve monasteries at the site (Roerich 1959:
73). The increase in the number of monasteries points to the development of the
monastic community, which may be attributed to the sacredness and religious
importance of the site. It also indicates an increased economic support for the
monastic community. Two monasteries were also exposed, one towards the
northeast of the Sujata stūpa dated to the second–first centuries bce and a second
at the Prāgbodhi hill. The presence of a monastic community at every shrine of
Bodh Gaya signals their important role in ritual upkeep, worship, regulation and
maintenance of the site.
In a nutshell, this chapter outlines the complex process of the development of
the Buddhakṣetra of the Gotama Buddha. The Buddhakṣetra of Bodh Gaya did
not emerge in isolation but was a result of a sustained interaction between the
saṅgha and the local socio-religious context. The process probably began with an
appropriation and reformulation of an existing sacred place into a sacred Buddhist
center. The dynamic nature of this Buddhakṣetra is reflected in the layered devel-
opment of numerous features including the Mahabodhi Temple, the presence of
numerous images of Bodhisattvas and Tārā as well as the incorporation and
placement of Vedic and Hindu religious figures within the temple complex by the
saṅgha.
Notes
1 For Xuanzang’s account, see Samuel Beal (1906).
2 For Mahāvagga, see Horner (1993). The Mahāvagga may have been compiled much
later but the first section, containing a biographical account of the Buddha after his
enlightenment, may have existed in the second–first centuries bce.
3 For Mahāpadāna Sutta and Mahāparinibbāna Sutta, see Walshe (1987). The
Mahāparinibbāna Sutta and Mahāpadāna Sutta may have existed in some form in the
Aśokan period, but they were compiled probably around (or after) the first century bce.
4 For Buddhavaṃsa, see Horner (1975). Buddhavaṃsa, in one sense, is a biography of
the Gotama Buddha. It details the process of his self-perfection, during which he
became Buddha and set forth the monastic “disciplinary rules” (Vinaya) and “teach-
ings” (dhamma) for the enlightenment of his followers. But the Buddhavaṃsa, is also
a “biography” of the other Buddhas (Bodhisatta/Bodhisattva). Twenty-four of these
preceded Gotama in time, six of whom lived in the present world age (kappa/kalpa),
whereas the reminder lived before this world, in previous Buddha-eras. The last seven
Buddhas are also mentioned in Mahāpadāna Sutta and Āṭānāṭiya Sutta of the Dīgha
Nikāya. Both these texts are dated to the second–first centuries bce. For details on the
dating of these texts, see Walters (2008: 238–40).
5 These three texts were composed in the early centuries of the Common Era. See
Johnston (1972), Jones (1949), and Goswami (2001).
6 Though the Vinaya literature was probably composed in the last centuries bce, the
first few chapters of the Mahāvagga, dealing with the biographical account after
enlightenment, may have existed in some form in the second–first centuries bce. For a
detailed description of the Buddha’s meeting with the Kaśyapa brothers and their
conversions, see Mahāvagga I.15–20.
7 Considering that the various versions of the biography of the Buddha suggest a strong
link between the Buddha and Nāga Mucalinda, the region may have had a strong nagā
cult.
8 For a detailed discussion on the dating of railing pillars of Bodh Gaya, see Chakravarty
(1997: 58) and Dehejia (1997: 135–9).
9 Fredrick Asher has noted that the construction of the temple led to the reconceptuali-
zation of the site as its central focus was shifted from the Bodhi Tree to a shrine
housing an image of the Buddha.
10 Schopen includes these two inscriptions from Bodh Gaya in this study of the refer-
ences to the Mahāyāna formulas and argues for their Mahāyāna nature. He also
discusses the validity and emergence of the Mahāyāna formula and argues that these
formulas began to be engraved on inscriptions from the fourth century ce onwards.
11 For a detailed discussion on the interaction between various sects of Buddhism and the
nature of Buddhism after the emergence of Mahāyāna, see Ruegg (2004: 27–61).
Ruegg has also discussed the distinction between the Mahāyāna and Hīnyāna Schools.
In addition, he has also explored the terminology and how these different sects
interacted and influenced the ever-evolving Buddhism.
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3 The changing landscape at
Bodh Gaya
Janice Leoshko
I saw the Dalai Lama at Bodh Gaya in February 1980 when he came to perform
ceremonies for the Tibetan New Year as he has done since he left Tibet. The audi-
ence was not big, but clearly included devotees who had journeyed from very far
to be there for this event (Figure 3.1). There were other special occasions at Bodh
Gaya throughout the year, such as the Buddha Jayanti, which would temporarily
swell a small resident population largely composed of Indian villagers and
international Buddhist monastics. Back then relatively few visitors otherwise
travelled there. In 1980 the tree and the seat beneath, which is often called the
Vajrāsana or Bodhimaṇḍa, were significant aspects of the site, but showed little
sign of ongoing veneration, quite unlike the situation today (Figure 3.2). In less
than twenty-five years, a visit to Bodh Gaya became quite a different experience,
demonstrating how swiftly change can occur even at the place where Shakyamuni
is believed to have achieved enlightenment. Given the possible speed of such
developments, it is surprising how many still privilege some sense of an
“authentic” or “singular” Buddhist appearance of the site over a multivocal one.
Sacred sites such as Bodh Gaya may be best viewed as both a palimpsest
where periods of distinct devotions have been laid one atop another, sometimes
after deliberate erasure of an earlier state, and at the same time, a place of delib-
erate accretions that are promoted as part of a timeless totality. If such layering
can be better understood, some of the choices that were made over time might
become visible. This is difficult, however, for sites with such rich but confusing
pasts that are moreover only partially preserved. Although much survives still at
Bodh Gaya, most of its present structures are incomplete or reconfigured into
new forms. This is also true for some sculptures as fragments not originally
belonging together have been joined to create whole images. Many other sculp-
tures, architectural fragments and miscellaneous objects were moved or taken
elsewhere, preventing any understanding of their original contexts at the site.1
Among the now large number of visitors as well as residents, few probably
wonder what Bodh Gaya looked like in other times. This is not just a reflection of
the modern age’s lack of interest in the past as much as the managed way in
which significant sites are so often promoted as places that have not changed.
Somehow “authentic” has come to mean “original,” which is most often not
the case. Many who visit Bodh Gaya today may know that the site was largely
Figure 3.1 View of Dalai Lama at Bodh Gaya, 1980 (photo by author).
The changing landscape at Bodh Gaya 45
Figure 3.2 View of the Vajrāsana next to Mahabodhi Temple and Bodhi Tree, Bodh Gaya,
2005 (photo by author).
abandoned after the thirteenth century. It became the residence of Shaivite practi-
tioners by the sixteenth century. While revived Buddhist practice today dominates
the site, Shaivite ascetics still dwell there in what is known as the Mahant’s
compound (Asher 2008).
Most visitors, however, will not realize the degree to which this means that the
Mahabodhi Temple they experience is a heavy-handed renovation based on prob-
lematic procedures and incorrect assumptions of the late nineteenth century.2
Even fewer will know that the grounds in the Mahabodhi Temple Complex
preserve only the barest traces of earlier structures as these were mostly swept
away by a well-meaning but wrong-headed rehabilitation of the site. Loss over
time is inevitable, but these significant interventions in the nineteenth century
now make seeing Bodh Gaya’s layered past especially difficult. This is an
increasing problem for many places in the world as concepts of “heritage” and
historical memory gain importance and value. For example, the noted scholar
Stephen Bann has written with much consternation about the way in which a
public body like the National Trust in England as the custodian of historic homes
and gardens promotes a timeless vision of the English country house (Bann
1990). Such an approach to famous sites may foster appreciation, but it also
undermines the perception that there has been change and loss.
Although much is known about Bodh Gaya, many things are not. Now thriving
with its World Heritage Monument status, there are great gaps in information.
For instance, little is really known about the building of the Mahabodhi Temple
and its patrons. Although there are images of Hindu deities, one even with an
inscription that specifies it was for the inhabitants of Mahabodhi, nothing is
known about Brahmanical practices there before the site was abandoned. Bodh
Gaya received much attention even in the nineteenth century with two books and
many notices, but it was not well excavated and now will probably never be.
Nonetheless discoveries continue to be made, such as with a nearby excavation
that identified a stūpa erected to commemorate Sujata’s offering to Shakyamuni;
this excavation also uncovered evidence of later patronage there (Srivastava
1977). We can hope that such discoveries will be allowed to reshape the histor-
ical view of Bodh Gaya and not just be fitted into an understanding that might be
thought appropriate for a World Heritage Monument.
By 1890 with more than one hundred years of Western attention to Bodh Gaya,
protests mounted to contest the current Hindu ownership of the site that had
occurred after Buddhist practice largely ceased there (Trevithick 2006). The fact
that the practice of Buddhism had largely died out in India helped to mask the
peculiar nature of this international debate about ownership as well as the very
definition of this site of the Buddha’s enlightenment. While there were different
struggles over Bodh Gaya in the nineteenth century, it is the scholarly struggle
that may have been the biggest winner for such discussions created an image of
Bodh Gaya that promoted a very narrow view that still endures. It is a view that
was unfortunately based on problematic assumptions about what constitutes
useful evidence and who, in fact, has the authority to define its value. I have long
been interested in how the study of the Buddhist past is tied to larger issues
concerning the construction of knowledge. My interest grew from realizing how
previous studies of Bodh Gaya’s imagery were often constrained by assumptions
of the site’s necessarily conservative nature (Leoshko 1996). I had not at first
considered the impact of the ruinous condition of Bodh Gaya upon those who
saw it, both Buddhists and non-Buddhists, but this now seems a crucial factor in
how certain Western attitudes about India and about religion could so heavily
influence the way in which its remains were studied and interpreted.
The ruined character of this Buddhist site and the lack of actual Indian
Buddhists—as the Indian devotion at the site was Hindu, not Buddhist—in the
early nineteenth century allowed it to become easily part of Western antiquarian
inquiry. The realization of Bodh Gaya’s extensive ruins paralleled the
discovery of Buddhism’s importance in India’s past. After finally deciphering
very ancient inscriptions, in 1837 James Prinsep learned that the royal title
“Piyadassi” used in those inscriptions was identified in Buddhist chronicles from
Sri Lanka with Aśoka, an Indian king thought to be a major supporter of
Buddhism (Kejariwal 1988). The way in which Prinsep came to associate Aśoka
with these inscriptions still significantly colors the study of India’s past as textual
sources are often given more credence than material remains (Trautmann and
Sinopoli 2002).
An awareness of Bodh Gaya’s international importance also developed early
in the nineteenth century. In his 1811 report of a survey of eastern India, Francis
Buchanan noted that a Burmese Buddhist delegation had been there several years
earlier, a fact described to him by one of the Shaiva ascetics there who had been
converted by the Burmese. This underscored the way that information about
Indian Buddhism and Bodh Gaya could be furnished by those from outside India.
Attention to the character of the Burmese, Chinese and Sri Lankan activity at
Bodh Gaya further developed as inscriptions recording past visits of individuals
from these countries were subsequently discovered at the Mahabodhi Temple site
before the end of the nineteenth century. This knowledge of the presence of early
foreign visitors likely abetted a sense of some greater authority for the views of
non-Indian Buddhists, especially in the nineteenth century since they rather than
Indians seemed to venerate the site in what was deemed by Westerners to be an
appropriate manner.
Ruins, especially religious ruins, are not always perceived as neutral traces of
history. In particular, in Britain, abbeys that were no longer used were literal sites
of the past repression of Roman Catholic practices there; they became part of a
past whose image needed to be carefully managed. The potential power from the
true facts of their ruination fueled romanticized evocations of decay rather than
leading to frank appraisals of often self-serving violent acts (Charlesworth 1994).
The roofless state of most abbeys is usually due to the early and deliberate strip-
ping of their valuable lead, and seizure of the monasteries’ lands and property
literally shifted the fortunes of many participating in the dissolution of
monasteries in England. Carefully managed images of other lands came to be
expected by many Europeans in the nineteenth century, fueled by spectacular
archaeological discoveries as well as increasing colonialism. For instance, the
nineteenth-century French author and poet Gérard de Nerval, who published an
account of his travels in the Middle East, notes how the truth of a situation is
often little evident as the present does not measure up to expectations “only in
ruins can the image one is looking for be found” (Mitchell 1989).
One step in pursuing the effect of such politically charged views on activities
in the South Asia subcontinent, and in particular on the creation of the image of
Bodh Gaya, is to consider how often studies of this famous site have emphasized
its past glory in contrast with its present deterioration. It is from this image that
knowledge about the past international significance of the site developed, in turn
supporting assumptions about the legitimate right of non-Indian Buddhists
instead of non-Buddhist Indians to control Bodh Gaya and the right to promote a
particular view of its past. Many subsequent discussions of Bodh Gaya empha-
size its importance only in terms of its role in the biography of Shakyamuni,
which then accorded with the Western perception of the later decadence of all
religious practice within India itself. For many nineteenth-century Western
scholars and visitors, Bodh Gaya could not be a place of Hindu devotion or even
of contemporary Buddhists practice, accorded instead an imagined sanctity like
that given to abbeys whose lands ironically were never deconsecrated. Such view
acknowledges their special power as sacred space, but does not allow them to be
operative sanctified places. This eventually changed with respect to Bodh Gaya,
a change initiated by the efforts of non-Indians, most especially those of
Anagarika Dharmapala (Trevithick 2006).
Desires to resolve controversies propelled various studies concerning the
extant remains of Bodh Gaya in the nineteenth century. Often these underpin
seemingly straightforward questions about dates, origination of forms as well as
the legitimacy of certain practices, the issues that characterize most discussions
about the site. The views that were promoted privileged information like that
used in Western historical accounts and neatly allowed the dismissal of most
evidence of actual religious practice in favor of a purified view that valorized
earlier forms and privileged textual sources. Such constraints in the early studies
of Buddhism arising from Protestant perspectives of Western authors have been
trenchantly noted by Gregory Schopen (1991). As these early studies lamented
the lack of Indian textual sources that might reveal Bodh Gaya’s past, detailed
Chinese pilgrim accounts were immediately valued when they became available
in Western languages as, for example, the publication in 1857 of the record of
Xuanzang who traveled to India in the seventh century. These pilgrim accounts
provide more sustained, coherent accounts of the history of the Buddhist holy
land than offered by the extensive yet puzzling remains to be found at sites such
as Bodh Gaya; Chinese inscriptions found at Bodh Gaya seemed to lend further
credibility to these literary accounts.
Valuing evidence of international pilgrimages to the subcontinent from former
times is certainly reasonable as it demonstrates the past regard for sacred sites in
India and enriches the perspective concerning past devotion. It is also certainly
true that such accounts of past visitors aided the identification of Buddhist sites
throughout India at which Buddhist activity had long ceased. But these foreign
accounts became entangled in constructing an authoritative history of Buddhism
in India that did not primarily rely on Indian evidence. Why such records were
used and often continue to be without real critical reflection on the possible limi-
tations of the information they contained is a question still rarely asked, and such
acceptance suggests continuing biases.
Evidence of early artistic activity was most highly valued by nineteenth-
century explorers at the site such as Alexander Cunningham. At Bodh Gaya the
remains of pillars thought to form a railing around the tree and other traces of an
Ashokan temple mentioned by the Chinese pilgrim accounts received much
attention by him. He also gives detailed accounts of known inscriptions. In
contrast, Cunningham gives only summary descriptions of other ruined shrines at
the site and barely notes the presence of numerous sculptures as well as vast
quantities of votive stūpas of varying size. These he dismisses because they
are simply too late to be of any interest, even though their large number
suggests that the period in which they were made might have been the most
active time of devotion at the site. Indeed, it seems remarkable that this time of
great activity (the eighth through twelfth centuries) could be so little valued. It is
especially puzzling since it was part of significant artistic production when
eastern India was controlled by powerful Pāla rulers, some of whom seemed to
favor Buddhism.
Later attention to the artistic remains of Bodh Gaya often continues the focus
either upon the large temple that marks the place where Shakyamuni reputedly
sat when he achieved enlightenment, or on the few remnants of early Common
Era date. Aspects of the remains that testify to a more complex past were not seri-
ously considered even though much of this was repeatedly noticed in the nine-
teenth century. Ruined places of this later devotion were still evident surrounding
the Mahabodhi Temple, but little was documented before the nineteenth-century
refurbishment of the site leveled the ground; Rajendralala Mitra was really the
only one to give these remains any attention (Mitra 1878). Throughout much of
the twentieth century surviving images at Bodh Gaya were seldom considered,
and especially the small stūpas of a similarly late date were almost completely
ignored. For example, Ananda Coomaraswamy’s book on Bodh Gaya published
in 1935, La Sculpture de Bodhgayā, does not address any of this Pāla-period
material, concentrating only on the early railing pillars and their reliefs. This
has more than a slight resemblance to a long-held bias by some textual scholars
for purported early or original forms of Buddhism. There are now serious
and important art historical studies of this production of sculptures found
throughout eastern India during the Pāla period (Huntington 1984; Bautze-Picron
1998).
While it may be more usual to think of change and development at a site in
terms of what happens over time, there is in fact a significant complexity to
behold within a synchronic perspective. It is for such perspective that the term
“landscape” can be useful. Landscape might most readily bring to one’s mind the
idea of a view containing some combination of features that can be both natural
and constructed, but it is actually a concept with many nuances. An important
aspect of thinking about landscape highlights the relationships among its
elements and their resulting effects. Some might wish to view this as a type of
intertexuality, and indeed Bodh Gaya is clearly more than just the sum of its
parts.
I want to focus now on one work from the eleventh century in order to consider
how we might glean something of the process of change from what survives. The
work is a stone stele (Figure 3.3), typical of the shape and size used for sculptures
produced in eastern India during the Pāla period. It is a remarkable stele for it
presents an unusual inscription both in terms of its content and its form. It is a
eulogy written by a Chinese Buddhist named Yunshu who traveled to India.
Ironically, the stele is no longer present at Bodh Gaya. Found behind the
Mahabodhi Temple in 1880, it has long resided on the upper floor of the Indian
Museum in Calcutta with other examples of old inscriptions.
Yunshu’s stele
We do not know what the site looked like when Yunshu visited it in the eleventh
century. His inscription, which includes the date 1021, tells us how his experi-
ence of Bodh Gaya moved him to write a hymn and have it engraved. He likely
saw many small constructed stūpas and shrines at the site in addition to the
Mahabodhi Temple and the tree. Many of the surviving sculptures date from the
eleventh century or before so he likely saw them too. While the most numerous
were Buddha images, other forms including esoteric deities, also appear in these
sculptures. Sadly, we have no evidence of how images were grouped or where
they were located; some may have been installed in niches on the temple as is
true today. Yunshu gives no specific details of what he saw, just that it greatly
affected him. The stele he had made was meant to acknowledge this, and although
the erection of steles as memorials is not uncommon in China, this is not an
Indian practice. There are, however, stone panels at Bodh Gaya dating from this
time that depict figures kneeling in devotion with objects of worship such as
flowers and incense. These depictions resemble small figures, usually called
donors, that are sometimes found in steles beneath the feet of the deity. These
stone panels have not yet been fully studied.3 It is interesting that they are not
found at other Indian Buddhist sites, so perhaps this is the Indian equivalent of
Yunshu’s gesture.
Yunshu’s stele was found in situ behind the Mahabodhi Temple and thus on
the side where the tree and seat are located. He states that it was to be erected
some thirty paces north of the seat. His inscription was published in the nine-
teenth century by Cunningham and also Édouard Chavannes, but has received
little attention since then.4 Among Chinese inscriptions found at Bodh Gaya,
Yunshu’s is by far the most distinctive evidence we have of such visits, but there
could well have been other such elaborate records as many Chinese Buddhists
supposedly traveled to India between the tenth and twelfth centuries. One scholar
has found in Chinese texts the names of 183 monks listed as making such a
journey (Yun-Hua 1966: 138). Yunshu’s inscription even mentions the names of
Figure 3.3 View of Yunshu’s stele, originally erected at Bodh Gaya, dated 1021 ce.
Stone, H: about 92cm. Indian Museum, Calcutta (photo by author).
other Chinese Buddhists in India, one of whom seems to have stayed for
several years.
Yunshu describes how he decided to use what extra funds he could manage to
have his hymn inscribed and then decides to dedicate the memorial to the
thousand Buddhas. It is lengthy praise of the three bodies of the Buddha and then
their three thrones/seats, but the text has yet to be studied in terms of what it
reflects about Buddhist beliefs and literary forms as well as the practice of raising
memorials. The elements in it that may refer to Bodh Gaya further suggest it
would prove an interesting investigation.
The depictions at the top are typical of imagery found at the site, both in terms
of content and in style; the three figures make however an unusual combination
(Figure 3.4). In the center is a Buddha making the gesture of touching the earth
(bhūmisparśa mudrā), flanked by two depictions of a six-armed, multi-headed
figure of the goddess Mārîcî. Mārîcî, whose name means “shining,” became a
popular deity in Pāla-period art, and a number of large sculptures depicting her
survive from Bodh Gaya (Leoshko 1987). A particularly well-preserved example
is now in the Museum für Indische Kunst in Berlin (Figure 3.5). This sculpture
was collected by L. Austine Waddell, along with a number of other works from
Bodh Gaya and other eastern Indian sites, many of which are also in Berlin; they
have been well studied by Claudine Bautze-Picron and their inscriptions trans-
lated by Gouriswar Bhattacharya (Bautze-Picron 1998). Waddell is best known
as a scholar of Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism, but he spent much of his medical
service for the Indian government in eastern India.
Figure 3.4 Detail of Yunshu’s stele, showing three figures at the top (photo by author).
Figure 3.5 Sculpture of Mārîcî, c. ninth century, H: 55cm. Museum für Indische Kunst,
Berlin (photo and permission to publish courtesy of Museum für Indische
Kunst, Berlin).
Claudine Bautze-Picron has written persuasively about the form of Waddell’s
striking sculpture of Mārîcî and suggests that the first images of this goddess
were actually produced at Bodh Gaya (Bautze-Picron 1998). This sculpture in the
Indische Kunst stylistically dates from the ninth or tenth century and could well
be one of the earliest made, as there are several features that suggest the iconog-
raphy was not yet settled. It is an unusual example in that her three faces are all
human; usually one side face is that of a sow. The work also shows seven horses
in the base which are meant to pull her chariot through the sky. The concept is
closely modeled on the sun god Sūrya who rides a chariot through the heavens
that is pulled by horses. While another Mārîcî sculpture at Bodh Gaya also has
horses, all other known examples depict pigs instead. The Indische Kunst sculp-
ture of Mārîcî has six arms, which display three pairs of attributes. These are the
same for all other Bodh Gaya examples. Mārîcî sculptures from other sites some-
times have eight arms. In the Bodh Gaya sculptures the lowest pair presents the
needle and noose (held with a threatening gesture); the middle pair holds the
arrow and bow; the upper pair displays the vajra (thunderbolt implement) and an
ashoka flower. The popularity of this goddess is indicated by the fact that there
are sixteen sādhanas for her given in the Sādhanamāla, a number of which note
that she appears within a caitya. The caitya (or stūpa) is indicated on the back
slab of this sculpture as if opened to reveal the goddess. A number of small stūpas
at Bodh Gaya are carved with one niche framing a depiction of Mārîcî, literally
then presenting her as within the stūpa.
Both figures of Mārîcî in Yunshu’s stele accord with the form depicted in other
Bodh Gaya sculptures. The central and larger figure of the Buddha making the
earth-touching gesture is also a form commonly seen in surviving Bodh Gaya
sculptures. It is, in fact, the most popular form of a Buddha found in eastern
Indian sculptures although rarely encountered as a single sculpture before the
ninth century. It was also part of a popular triad, but the flanking figures are male
bodhisattvas, Avalokiteshvara and Maitreya, as seen in a Bodh Gaya sculpture
now in the Patna Museum (Figure 3.6). Like the Mārîcî sculpture this work dates
from the ninth century. It seems reasonable to assume that the Chinese pilgrim
responsible for the creation of the stele was comfortable with its imagery. Buddha
figures as well as those of Mārîcî could have been seen repeatedly at the site. But
who was responsible for the unusual combination used in the stele showing them
together, and what might this signify?
The location of Yunshu’s stele may aid in our understanding of its imagery.
The stele was placed behind the temple and northwest of the tree, which meant it
as also adjacent to the stone railing (vedika) that had first surrounded the tree.
This railing is assumed to have been part of an earlier tree-shrine at Bodh Gaya,
much like that depicted in famous reliefs from Bharhut and Sanchi. In the nine-
teenth century, some of these railing pillars were found in situ although others
had been moved to the Mahant’s compound. Pilgrim accounts indicate that the
railing still stood even after the Mahabodhi Temple was constructed (believed to
have happened in the fifth or sixth century). It is interesting that there are some
railing pillars that date from the time of the temple’s construction, while the
Figure 3.6 Seated Buddha flanked by Avalokiteshvara and Maitreya, from Bodh Gaya, c.
ninth century, stone, H:139 cm. Patna Museum, Patna (photo by author).
majority are much earlier, dating from 50 bce. Various explanations have been
offered about these later pillars as, for example, Ananda Coomaraswamy assumed
that additional pillars were required so that the railing could enclose a larger area
(necessitated by the newly built temple). More recently Joanna Williams
suggested that they were replacements rather than additions (Williams 1982). In
either case the later pillars demonstrate the continued importance of the railing
much beyond the time of its creation. When studies of early Buddhist art discuss
the significant presence of this railing and its reliefs, they focus only on the early
pillars. There has been virtually no attention to the later pillars and what they
may reflect about regard held for earlier works; little notice has also been given
to the unusual subjects in the later pillar reliefs, which include Brahmanical
deities. Yunshu would have seen the railing as it was most likely still in place,
and its survival from a much earlier time might have affected him too.
Among the early railing pillars, the corner pillar on the northwest side
(Figure 3.7) is especially intriguing in the context of Yunshu’s much later stele.
This corner pillar has received a great deal of attention since it includes an early
representation—perhaps the earliest—of the Indian sun god Sūrya. When first
encountered by Westerners in the nineteenth century, many linked it to ancient
Mediterranean solar deities. The fascination with a seeming Western influence
on Indian imagery overwhelmed a perceptive comment made by Ananda
Coomaraswamy in his book on Bodh Gaya sculpture. He discerned that the
damaged relief above the panel with Sūrya likely depicted a tree shrine similar to
the famous Bharhut and Sanchi examples (Coomaraswamy 1935). Interestingly,
the subject is otherwise not found in the reliefs on the Bodh Gaya railing pillars.
The depiction of an early tree shrine in conjunction with the Sūrya relief could
explain the solar god’s presence here as various Buddhist texts describe
Shakyamuni’s enlightenment as like the coming of the dawn when rays of light
dispel the darkness of ignorance. The depiction of Sūrya shows him flanked in
his chariot by smaller female figures shooting arrows; although identical in form,
they represent the dawn and predawn goddesses. These goddesses shoot arrows
of light to break up darkness as Sūrya’s chariot moves through the sky.
It must have been quite an accomplished stonemason who so carefully chis-
eled the unknown forms when copying Yunshu’s Chinese text, but what can we
discern about the creative juxtaposition of the two figures of Mārîcî so that they
flank the Buddha figure at the top of the stele? Repeated figures of deity within a
single work that seemingly serve as attendants are not otherwise encountered in
Pāla-period sculpture. In the case of the Buddha touching the earth, such as in the
Patna Museum (see Figure 3.6), the Buddha is flanked by two bodhisattvas, but
they are distinctly different ones. What might be the significance of the resem-
blance of the two Mārîcî figures (whose attributes include an arrow and bow) to
the two goddesses flanking Sūrya? The visual depictions in Yunshu’s stele seem
to quote aspects of this earlier imagery yet with new iconographic forms, demon-
strating a degree of manipulation and awareness of other elements at the site that
seems remarkable. But perhaps this seems so only because we have not thought
about the creation of imagery from this perspective.
My previous work on the site led me to see how Shakyamuni and his path
remained important even in the last centuries of Buddhist practice in India, not
displaced but layered with further developments. I differed with those who saw
Bodh Gaya as only a place of conservative practice. The twelfth-century
Sādhanamāla is one example that shows this layering as it names the image of
Bodh Gaya in its three sādhanas for the form called the Vajrāsana Buddha. One
Figure 3.7 Relief depicting Sūrya on railing pillar, Bodh Gaya, c.50 bce, stone. Bodh
Gaya Site Museum (photo by author).
sādhana also specifically refers to this Buddha as Shakyamuni who is attended
by two bodhisattvas, Avalokiteshvara and Maitreya. This is the same triad so
frequently depicted in Pāla-period sculptures. The two bodhisattvas do not appear
in narrative accounts of Shakyamuni’s enlightenment, and the sādhana texts only
note that compassion (karuṇā) is personified by Avalokiteshvara and that friend-
liness (maitri) is personified by Maitreya. It would seem that these bodhisattvas
personify the pre-enlightenment practice of Shakyamuni. His enlightenment
finally results from the perception of the concept of pratîtyasamutpāda
(co-dependent origination), which he realizes during the night that he sat on the
Vajrāsana beneath the Bodhi Tree at Bodh Gaya. With this realization he becomes
a Buddha (an awakened one) at sunrise.
Considering there is a marked emphasis upon the pratîtyasamutpāda after the
sixth century, it may be significant that activity at Bodh Gaya increases too
(Leoshko 2001). This perspective allows images at Bodh Gaya to align with a
heightened sense of power at the site that might be seen by those who journey
there, either literally or metaphorically. And this is the use of thinking how works
of art might operate like elements in a landscape, affecting the beholder so as to
have a new perception. This is not just seeing an image, but seeing that is enabled
by beholding an image. The purpose of images could be thought as somewhat
different than their function (which is also not explained simply by their subject).
Here is where Yunshu’s stele is of further interest. Might the figures of Mārîcî in
this stele also be analogous to the bodhisattvas described in the Vajrāsana
sādhanas as defining the power of the Buddha that they flank?
Yunshu would have seen much imagery at Bodh Gaya. While many sculptures
would present established forms such as the Buddha touching the earth or Mārîcî,
there would also have been more unusual subjects (Leoshko 1996). He may also
have seen examples of forms just beginning to be depicted, and around the time
of his visit emerge two that may be relevant to the meaning of the unusual config-
uration of imagery in his stele. One occurs with respect to depictions of Buddha
figures; a number of sculptures that date from the eleventh century show the
Buddha with ornaments. He still wears monastic garments but now has a crown,
necklace and earrings. These depictions represent Shakyamuni, not the esoteric
forms known as Jina Buddhas. Sculptures of ornamented Buddhas (some very
large in size) are more numerous at Bodh Gaya than other Buddhist sites in
eastern India. Perhaps they convey notions of the Buddha’s multiple bodies that
are resonate with Yunshu’s eulogy. The other new form in the eleventh century
that may be relevant to the sentiments inspired in Yunshu depicts the bodhisattva
Avalokiteshvara without his usual rich dress and ornaments, an interesting coun-
terpoint to the new form of the ornamented Buddha.
Presented as an ascetic, the bodhisattva sits atop a lion and bears some aspects
of Shiva’s iconography, the Hindu deity whose ascetic nature was also sometimes
emphasized. This form of Avalokiteshvara seems to have become especially
popular in the region of Bodh Gaya, and two are now kept in the Shaivite
compound (Asher 2008). Named in the Sādhanamāla as Simhanāda Lokeshvara,
meaning Lokeshvara with the lion’s sound (or roar), it is interesting how the
power of this form is conveyed in part by its contrast to Avalokiteshvara’s normal
appearance (Leoshko 1996). The bodhisattva with the lion’s sound literally
delivers the power of the Buddha, while in his more usual form and as an
attendant to Shakyamuni he personified the compassionate practice that resulted
in the achievement of Buddhahood. So in the eleventh century at Bodh Gaya,
Yunshu’s stele may reflect evolving creativity that in part results from further
emphasis upon certain concepts as well as the juxtaposition of visual forms in
that place. While it is not likely that we can determine the one responsible for
combining two figures of Mārîcî with a Buddha making the gesture of touching
the earth to convey the power of enlightenment and the site where this happens, it
is an innovation that fits into the changing landscape of Bodh Gaya that increas-
ingly emphasizes the power of the Buddha. Certainly, there have been many new
expressions resulting from the effect of seeing Bodh Gaya. While we will never
know all of them we can at least appreciate how the Western view created in the
nineteenth century was not the first reimagining of the truth of the site.
Notes
1 For instance, an important and large sculpture of a Buddha, which can be dated to the
seventh century, was removed to the Indian Museum where its provenance was listed
only as Bihar so the knowledge of its specific place of origin was not preserved. It can,
however, be identified as from Bodh Gaya because Rajendralala Mitra (1878) published
a description and its inscription (but not an illustration of the image) in the nineteenth
century shortly before the sculpture was moved; see also Leoshko (2001).
2 The history of rebuilding is discussed by Cunningham in his book on the site, but this is
sketchy and excavation reports as well as an account of the “restoration” were never
published. For a good article on early depictions of the Mahabodhi Temple, see J. P.
Losty (1991).
3 Bautze-Picron (1998) makes some important observations about such panels.
4 For Yunshu’s hymn, see Chavannes (1896: 7–17). Susan Huntington (1984) includes it
in her appendix of dated inscriptions from Bodh Gaya, repeating Cunningham’s
presentation.
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4 Bodh Gaya and the issue of
originality in art
Frederick M. Asher
Great value is generally attached to “originality” in the post-Enlightenment world,

an extension of the notion that each human being is a unique creation and there-
fore has the ability to create unique objects. It also suggests the power of individ-
uals to create rather than attribute creation to a divine power. The very word
“copy” carries the notion of slavish imitation or outright fake or forgery. That is
also true of art that was created before the Enlightenment in the West. But it has
been far less true in India, except in the case of forgeries intended to deceive a
potential purchaser, that is, a person who considers the work of art a commodity
whose price tag is, to a large extent, based on the uniqueness, as well as quality, of
the piece. Thus when art historians see two almost identical works, a great deal
of effort is devoted to determining which of the two is the original, from the hand
of a master creator, and which is the copy. Not only is originality valued, but so is
age. That is, older is generally assumed to be better than more modern, especially
in societies that are cast as traditional, as India most definitely is. Those older
works are seen as closer to authentic, unsullied by any sort of external influence,
as if India were once an isolated and protected garden akin to Eden.
My sense, however, is that in India the notion of copies is quite different and
has been rather consistently. I am not persuaded that there is a single attitude
toward copies, but as I focus on some that replicate the Mahabodhi Temple at
Bodh Gaya, I propose that they are intended to create a sense of place-ness that is
distinct from a geographical locus. They thus become a means of metaphorically
transporting the beholder to a distant place, as well, frequently, as a time that may
not be lodged in linear time but rather in quasi-mythic time.
Beginning with copies that replicate the Mahabodhi Temple, I build on the
work of John Guy (1991), the first scholar to examine them as a body. His work
allows me to raise questions that have not yet been addressed.
It might be useful to start with the Mahabodhi Temple itself, as it appears today
(Figure 4.1), recognizing that, like all works of art, it has had multiple lives, and its
present-day appearance was significantly altered in the course of late nineteenth-
century restorations (Cunningham 1892). But even before that, it had been repeat-
edly altered both in form and even in function, as Prudence Myer shows very
effectively (Myer 1958). So as we look at the replicas, we need to think about what
version of the temple they seek to replicate. Essentially, the temple is, at present,
Figure 4.1 Mahabodhi Temple from east (photo by author).

Bodh Gaya and originality in art 63
east-facing and square in plan. The recent descendent of the Bodhi Tree is located
on the west side; beneath the tree is a stone slab dating to about the third century
bce that marks the site of the Vajrāsana. A very small manḍapa, really just a flat
roof supported by four pillars much as we see in some very early temples such as
Sanchi temple 17, stands before the doorway. That leads to the sanctum, that is, the
garbha-griha, which enshrines a very large image of the Buddha (Figure 4.2),
2.5m in height. That image was situated at the compound of the Bodh Gaya Mahant
when the nineteenth-century restoration was undertaken. It then was returned to
what was probably its original location. The Buddha image likely dates to the tenth
century, that is, during the Pala period, when a great many of Bodh Gaya’s stone
images were made. There is, however, no evidence at all for Pala patronage of the
site, which is significantly different from many other Buddhist sites in the realm, at
which Pala patronage was provided. Around the temple’s exterior walls is a series
of niches, each with an image—generally a seated image—dating to the Pala
period. Although the sculptures presently in the niches were placed there during
the temple’s nineteenth-century restoration, it seems very likely that very much
earlier the niches accommodated images such as the ones now there.
Above the square sanctum is a platform with four corner towers each enshrining
a large image. At the center of this platform is the temple’s superstructure, triangular
in section rather than parabolic like the customary north Indian temple śikhara. This
format recalls several terraced stūpas that are probably contemporary with the phase
of reconstruction—about the eighth century—that resulted in this format. Paharpur
(Dikshit 1938) and Vikramaśila (Asher 1975) are two good examples of such
stūpas, generating a question: Were they a model for this phase of the Mahabodhi
Temple, or, as seems more likely, is their form modeled on that of the temple? In
any event, they are quite different from the hemispheric form of earliest stūpas and
even of the miniature stūpas found at Bodh Gaya itself, among many other places.
If there is a relationship between the format of the Mahabodhi Temple and stūpas
constructed in the Pala realm, then it might be fruitful to explore the perimeter of the
Mahabodhi compound for possible evidence that it, like the Paharpur and
Vikramaśila stūpas, once was situated at the center of a monastic complex.
Before examining full-size replicas of the Mahabodhi Temple, I will examine
the miniature replicas, described as pilgrim-souvenirs by John Guy (Guy 1991:
356). He identified some twenty-three miniature replicas of the Mahabodhi
Temple. Although others have come to light since Guy wrote, the number is less
important than their significance. Typical of the group is a replica housed in the
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (Figure 4.3). It is made of soapstone and is 13.5cm
high. Its art-historical legacy is marked by the donor: It was a gift from Harvard
art historian Benjamin Rowland in memory of Ananda Coomaraswamy, long the
curator of Indian art at the Museum of Fine Arts. Unfortunately, how it came into
Rowland’s possession is not clear. One of the serious drawbacks to museumified
or otherwise commodified works is that they treat the object as a work of art
rather than a historical or religious object.
This replica, like the others, is quite close to the temple’s present appearance.
The only major difference is the form of the porch, somewhat larger and more
Figure 4.2 Buddha image in sanctum of Mahabodhi Temple (photo by author).

Figure 4.3 Model of the Mahabodhi Temple. Indian, Pāla period, tenth–eleventh century.
Object place: Bodhgaya, Bihar, Eastern India. Soapstone with traces of
pigment and gilding, 13.5cm × 7.3cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Gift of
Benjamin Rowland, Jr., in memory of Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, 47.1343
(photo © 2011 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston).
integral to the temple’s sanctum. It even shows the corner shrines on the elevated
level and the niches on the exterior wall containing seated figures. And, finally, it
reveals, as others do, too, a projection on the rear, that is, the west side, on which
the Bodhi Tree is said to have stood, elevated from ground level. Given the tree’s
elevation, however, I fail to understand how the roots of the tree penetrated soil.
Importantly, traces of this platform were also found when the temple was being
prepared for renovation in the late nineteenth century. Not shown in this replica,
or the others for that matter, is the seated Buddha on the interior. It is the architec-
tural form that is clearly emphasized in these miniature replicas, not the image
enshrined within the temple. As John Guy has shown, there are nearly identical
replicas found in other museums. For example, one replica some 12cm high
(Figure 4.4) is housed in the Victoria and Albert Museum, and a slightly smaller
one, that is 10.8cm high (Figure 4.5), is now in the British Museum. That one,
Figure 4.4 Stone replica of the Mahabodhi Temple. Victoria and Albert Museum, London.
Figure 4.5 Stone replica of the Mahabodhi Temple. British Museum, London.
significantly, is said to have been found in Tibet. I say “significantly” because
Tibet has been a repository for other such replicas of the Mahabodhi Temple—
for example two of them in the Potala Palace, Lhasa, both made of sandalwood,
not stone like the others.1 The sandalwood replicas are also a great deal larger
than the stone replicas. One of these replicas is 48.5cm high, four times the size
of the stone ones; it is ascribed to the eleventh century. This object shows the
seated bhūmisparśa Buddha within the temple. The other replica in the Potala
Palace is very much more intricate than any of the others and is ascribed to the
fifteenth century. Puzzling, however, is its incorporation of features that are not
present in others, most notably a smaller superstructure in front of the main one.
John Guy suggests that these replicas are souvenirs “analogous to the mass-
produced lead and tin-lead alloy badges produced for Christian pilgrims in medi-
eval England.” They were, further, he suggests, mementoes “through which the
benefits of their visit could continue to be enjoyed” (Guy 1991: 356). He may
very well be right, but I think they are much more than that.
Before coming to their function, we might examine two other forms of
Mahabodhi Temple replicas, one more complex than these miniature versions,
the other much less complex. That latter group, the less complex images, consists
of mold-cast low-fired terracotta images that focus on the Buddha within the
temple rather than on the external structure of the temple. One terracotta plaque
(Figure 4.6) now in the British Museum and found at Bodh Gaya, is quite typical
of the group. It emphasizes the bhumisparśa Buddha, and like many such plaques
is inscribed with the creed, here written at the summit of the temple which is
evident above the Buddha’s head. That the structure is the Mahabodhi Temple is
suggested by the branches behind it as much as by its architectural form. There
are also numerous small stūpas that surround the temple. This image is nearly
identical to the plaque (Figure 4.7) found at Bodh Gaya and presented to the
British Museum by Alexander Cunningham, founder of the Archaeological
Survey of India. Similarities extend to the treatment of architecture, the numerous
stūpas that surround the replica of the temple, as well as the Buddhist creed
inscribed below the seated figure. The surrounding stūpas also are seen on a
series of deeply recessed terracotta plaques that, like the two in the British
Museum, are formed from a mold and thus commonly replicated. In the case of
these plaques—for example, one in the Victoria and Albert Museum (Figure 4.8)
—the central figure is generally the bhumisparśa Buddha seated within the
Mahabodhi Temple. In some cases additional figures also appear, as they do in
this one, likely Dipankara Buddha and Maitreya. All of those images that are
deeply recessed were found in Burma, usually at Bagan sites, and several features
of the style suggest that they were made in Burma, not at Bodh Gaya. If that is
the case, of course, these cannot be souvenirs of pilgrimage. Could they, then,
serve as a substitute for pilgrimage, perhaps serving as votive offerings made at
the time of a death?
We have evidence, though much earlier in time, that the miniature brick stūpas
at Kanheri, probably dating to the fifth or sixth century, are commemorative
works, recording the death of arhats and apparently holding their ashes (Gokhale
Figure 4.6 Terracotta plaque depicting Buddha image in the Mahabodhi Temple. British
Museum, London.
1985: 55–9). Might these earlier funerary stūpas, then, suggest a function for the
numerous miniature stūpas at Bodh Gaya? That suggestion is supported by an
inscription of 1033 composed at Bodh Gaya by the Chinese Buddhist priest
Hui-wen. He reports in the inscription that he was directed by the Sung emperor
Figure 4.7 Terracotta plaque depicting Buddha image in the Mahabodhi Temple. British
Museum, London.
Figure 4.8 Terracotta plaque depicting Buddha image in the Mahabodhi Temple. Victoria
and Albert Museum, London.
and empress to erect a stūpa beside the Diamond Throne in memory of the
deceased Sung monarch, Tai Tsung (Barua 1931–34: 201–2). I thus propose that
we consider the possibility that these terracotta plaques served as less expensive
funerary votive works, ones that could be purchased and deposited either—in the
case of those at Bodh Gaya—in the course of a pilgrimage made for memorial
purposes or—in the case of those found in Burma—as a substitute for a
pilgrimage to Bodh Gaya and perhaps the other major pilgrimage sites, Lumbini,
Sarnath, and Kuśinagar. I think we need to look at the inscriptions on those rare
inscribed miniature stone stūpas for further evidence of this. Most of the inscribed
miniature stūpas carry only the so-called Buddhist creed. But some of these
miniature stūpas also carry additional inscriptions, and they need to be reviewed
with care.
If the terracotta plaques found beyond Bodh Gaya, so easily duplicated, func-
tioned in lieu of pilgrimage to the site, then what about the full-scale buildings that
replicate the Mahabodhi Temple, that is, the more complex replicas? There are
several such structures, though the Mahabodhi Temple at Bagan (Figure 4.9) is
probably the best known and replicates in most detail the temple at Bodh Gaya.
This structure, completed in 1215, was largely destroyed in 1975 and subsequently
reconstructed. More than the appearance of this temple associates it with the one
at Bodh Gaya. Like the Bodh Gaya temple, this one, too, has seven sites within the
temple compound identified by signage as the seven places at Bodh Gaya where
the Buddha spent his first seven weeks. One site, for example, is identified as the
Animeshalochana Chaitya, where the Buddha sat unblinking during his second
week after enlightenment, a location at Bagan that is no less fabricated than it is at
Bodh Gaya. Another nearby place is identified as the Rajaratana Tree, where
during the seventh week after enlightenment, two merchants offered the Buddha
rice cakes and honey. Modern signage identifies the seven sites at Bagan, creating
a sense of authenticity—“here the Buddha did this, nearby he spent another
week”—just as signage does in close proximity to the Mahabodhi Temple at Bodh
Gaya. In other words, being at this temple site in Bagan becomes a sort of meta-
phoric transport to Bodh Gaya itself, a geographic surrogate.
The Bagan temple is by no means the only one to replicate the Mahabodi
Temple. Another instructive example is the Wat Ched Yot (Figure 4.10),
constructed in Chiang Mai, Thailand in 1477 by King Thilokanat. Again, the struc-
ture, though on a much smaller scale, clearly recalls the Bodh Gaya Mahabodhi
Temple with its square sanctum surmounted by a triangular superstructure and
small towers at the corners of the second story. Images on the exterior walls are
fashioned in stucco, not stone sculptures set in niches as we currently see at the
Bodh Gaya temple. But this may be closer to the appearance of the Bodh Gaya
temple, for reports on the restoration of the temple published by Cunningham—
even though Rajendralal Mitra did the restoration—discuss stucco images on the
temple walls, and photos from that time actually show them.2 Brick temples in
India, and apparently their replicas in Thailand, customarily were adorned with
stucco images.
As at the Bagan Mahabodhi Temple, so here at Wat Ched Yot in Chiang Mai,
the places surrounding the temple are identified as those where the Buddha spent
his first seven weeks after enlightenment. One, just north of the temple, is the
place identified as the Jewel Walk, which is also just north of the Mahabodhi
Temple at Bodh Gaya. Signage at Wat Ched Yot does not suggest that this repli-
cates the Jewel Walk at Bodh Gaya. Rather, it is identified as the Jewel Walk.
And the signage further invokes archaeological evidence, noting that “from the
Figure 4.9 Mahabodhi Temple, Bagan. Originally constructed 1215, reconstructed after

1975 earthquake (photo by author).
Figure 4.10 Wat Ched Yot, Chiang Mai, Thailand, constructed 1477 (photo by author).
excavations in ad 2002 the archaeologists discovered two brick paths from the
north of the Bothi throne.” In a sense, then, Bodh Gaya comes to be located right
here in Chiang Mai, as it is in Bagan. It is a moveable locus, not a place with
fixed coordinates. Thus one can perform pilgrimage to Bodh Gaya without
traveling to India to do so. Might that have been part of the function of the
miniature shrines as well?3
One other aspect of Wat Ched Yot might be instructive here. The patron of this
temple, King Thilokanat, had his ashes placed in a shrine at the temple site,
perhaps in the very year that the temple was constructed. Had he been alive
earlier, when pilgrimage to Bodh Gaya was somewhat easier, would he have
directed that his ashes be taken to Bodh Gaya itself? If we think of Bodh Gaya as
the site of the Buddha’s second birth, his spiritual birth, then it seems odd to
imagine a funerary function for the site. As the memorial stūpa gallery at Kanheri
shows, this would not be the only Buddhist site—though the only one associated
with the Buddha’s life except for Kuśinagar—to have had a funerary function. If
there was something, at least among Buddhists outside of India, that associated
Bodh Gaya with funerary practices, then the stūpa-laden clay votive plaques
might have had a role in this.
Finally, we might also note that the temples replicating the Mahabodhi Temple
all date to the twelfth century and later. This is also, largely, the case for the mini-
ature shrines that replicate the Mahabodhi Temple. The sole exception is the
shrine in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, but this date is not secured by inscrip-
tional evidence. Why are there no earlier replicas of the Mahabodhi Temple?4 I
would suggest that by the late eleventh century, and certainly after the twelfth,
pilgrimage to Bodh Gaya became extremely difficult. Inscriptions of a few
Burmese pilgrims to Bodh Gaya in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries indicate
that the flow of visitors to the site had not ceased altogether, but they were rare,
so rare that when the first Bodh Gaya Mahant settled there, he saw an essentially
abandoned temple. His appropriation of the temple was thus not a forceful act.
By the twelfth century, all of Bihar was under threat of siege. Not long after,
much of the Buddhist population that was based in eastern India, who would
have provided sanctuary to pilgrims making the long trek to Bodh Gaya, had
either left or, possibly, converted to Islam. Thus this was not a hospitable envi-
ronment for Buddhist pilgrimage. As a surrogate, then, Bodh Gaya came to be
located elsewhere: in Bagan, Chiang Mai, and several other places, all partici-
pating in a fluid geography.
Notes
1 I am indebted to the Huntington Archive for the reference to these two Mahabodhi
Temple replicas.
2 Cunningham, Mahâbodhi. No trace of these stucco images remains.
3 I am grateful to Matthew Sayers for pointing out one other instance of surrogate
pilgrimage: the metaphorical transport of Himalayan pilgrimage sites to Braj for four
months of the year, that is, the monsoon months. See Haberman (1994: 147–8). I am
also reminded of attending Hindu ceremonies in Minneapolis, my home, at which the
Mississippi has been temporarily designated the Ganges for the purpose of conducting
the ceremony at an appropriately sacred locale.
4 An exception might be the Kumrahar plaque whose Kharoshti inscription suggests a
date of the second or third century. The plaque is widely believed to represent the
Mahabodhi Temple, although this is by no means certain. See Mukherjee (1984–85).
Bibliography
Asher, F. M. (1975) ‘Vikramaśila Mahavihara’, Bangladesh Lalit Kala, I: l07–l3.
Barua, B. M. (1931–34) Gaya and Buddha Gaya, Vol. I. Calcutta: Chuckervertty
Chatterjee.
Cunningham, Alexander. (1892) Mahâbodhi; or, The Great Buddhist Temple under the
Bodhi Tree at Buddha-Gaya, London: W. H. Allen.
Dikshit, K. N. (1938) Excavations at Paharpur, Bengal. Memoirs of the Archaeological
Survey of India, No. 55. Delhi: Manager of Publications.
Gokhale, Shobhana. (1985) “The Memorial Stūpa Gallery at Kanheri,” in Frederick M.
Asher and G. S. Gai (eds.), Indian Epigraphy and its Bearing on Art History, New
Delhi: Oxford and IBH/American Institute of Indian Studies.
Guy, John. (1991) “The Mahābodhi Temple: Pilgrim Souvenirs of Buddhist India,” The
Burlington Magazine, 133: 356–67.
Haberman, D. L. (1994) Journey through the Twelve Forests: An Encounter with Krishna,
New York: Oxford University Press.
Mukherjee, B. N. (1984–85) “Inscribed Mahabodhi Temple Plaque from Kumrahar,”
Journal of the Indian Society of Oriental Art, 14: 43–6.
Myer, Prudence R. (1958) “The Great Temple at Bodh-Gayā,” The Art Bulletin, 40:
277–98.
Part II
Monumental conjectures
Rebirths and retellings
5 Established usage and absolute
freedom of religion at Bodh
Gaya: 1861–1915
Alan Trevithick
In the years 1861–1915, there were three sets of players in contest over the
Mahabodhi Temple at Bodh Gaya: (1) the Saivite monastics under the Bodh Gaya
Math, (2) the British government, and (3) the Mahabodhi Society. For each of
these we can specify different interests and versions of history, not unchanging,
that sometimes opposed and sometimes overlapped with the other two. Inside
each group, considerable variation existed and, moreover, as was often the case
in British India, the players shared many values and assumptions, so that no
group was able to dictate the rules by which the game was played.
This chapter will be divided into three sections. I will begin by introducing the
key players and groups who are implicated in a series of temple-centered legal
cases between 1895 and 1896. Following this overview, I will then discuss a
British Indian political strategy devised during Curzon’s viceroyalty, and its
defeat. Finally, I will examine the post-Curzon period up until 1915, and argue
that by then a certain political-religious pattern had been established which
continues to have implications for the place of Buddha’s enlightenment today.
The Giris, their multi-religious site, and their

Anglo-Indian allies
Bodh Gaya in the early nineteenth century was primarily a Hindu site with
considerable but variable Buddhist traffic being tolerated or even encouraged.
Indeed, Lahiri has pointed out, I believe uniquely, that Krishna Dayal, the
Mahant, or abbot, of the Giri order in the 1890s, was a staunch advocate for a
multi-religious approach to the place, when others were trying to box it into
either a “Hindu” or “Buddhist” category (Lahiri 1999: 42). Certainly, one of the
standard British sources shows an earlier Mahant warmly welcoming Burmese
Buddhists pilgrims, and even protecting, among his own monks, one who had
been converted by the Burmese (Hamilton-Buchanan 1937: 140).
On another point, if the Giris were a religious order, they were also landowners,
with interests that overlapped those of non-religious actors. They relied, for instance,
on the support of Raja Peary Mohan Mukherjee, a large landowner and an active
member of the British Indian Association (BIA), known in his time as “the greatest
living authority in Bengal on questions of land management” (Cotton 1909: 223).
80 Monumental conjectures
Another Giri supporter was Evan Cotton, a BIA fixture himself, a High Court
lawyer, and the son of a distinguished Indian civil servant (ICS) once mooted as
candidate for Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal. Cotton junior’s connections
included links to the British Indian government. However, “government” atti-
tudes were far from homogeneous.
Cotton senior, for instance, was obviously “government”—he ended his ICS
career as Chief Secretary of the Government of Bengal (1891–96) but during
that time there was issued an official statement, possibly even penned by
him, endorsing “perfect freedom of worship for all Buddhists at Budh Gaya,”
and noting that this had long been happily facilitated by the resident
“Hindu Sannyasis”—the Giris (MBJ, Vol. 3, #3, 1894: 22–3). He also,
therefore, deserves credit for defending the multi-religious nature of the place.
As a member of a dwindling group of Anglo-Indians who associated freely with
and enjoyed the company of “educated Indians,” he was a “mid-Victorian
liberal,” in Seal’s words. He presided over the 1904 session of the Indian
National Congress, and he wrote critically about the failings of British Indian
government, and particularly of Curzon’s viceroyalty (Seal 1971: 271; see also
O’Donnell 1903: 93).
Evan Cotton no doubt inherited some of his father’s attitudes, and though he
was never ICS, he was attached to the “government,” as a member of the Calcutta
Municipal Corporation. Evan was also close to Manmohan Ghose (sometimes
Ghosh), and both were among a group of younger men in an “exceptionally
strong” Calcutta bar (Cotton 1909: 123). Evan Cotton and Ghose were intimately
familiar with official British culture, but were often in conflict with it. These
tensions are evident in an anecdote from Cotton senior, who reported once
hearing a High Court barrister wish that “the whole of the Civil Service had but
one neck and that he could wring it” (Cotton 1909:124).
For Ghose especially, such feelings may have been particularly sharp. He was
the first Indian admitted to the Calcutta High Court, but had also twice failed to
enter the ICS, in exams probably designed to minimize Indian chances.
Consequently he was an active member of the Indian Association, a group,
formed in substantial part to fight for more equitable ICS access, and was a key
figure in the merger of that association with the Indian National Congress in 1886
(Seal 1971: 382; Compton 1967: 111).
Government(s) of India and religious non-interference

Consideration of British “non-interference” policies in regard to religion could
produce a long disquisition, but only a few points need briefly be made here.
First, by the time considered here, Victoria’s Proclamation of 1858 had been
issued, requiring that “all . . . in authority under us . . . abstain from all interfer-
ence with the religious belief or worship of any of our subjects” (Trotter 1886:
11–12; Trevithick 1990).1 Though certainly one of the most categorical
statements of its type, Victoria’s proclamation must also be seen in the context of
a long British Indian history of “non-interference” policies.
Usage and freedom of religion: 1861–1915 81
The Pilgrim Tax in Bengal, for instance, was an East India Company initiative
that grew out of regional conquest and was banned by Warren Hastings in 1781
and later in 1833, but nonetheless continued to be collected in some jurisdictions.
Such a ban, and its imperfect implementation, present a skewed picture of “non-
interference” by the British rulers. Consider, in this regard, the Religious
Endowments Act of 1863. This act specifically expressed an imperial policy of
disengagement from religion, and also obstacles in the way of actually doing so.
In practice, the British government was sometimes engaged, if not actually entan-
gled in religious matters but remained determined to see, in Ingham’s words, that
British “good faith, justice and moderation” were upheld (Ingham 1953: 15–22).
At Bodh Gaya, the British government began their political “engagement”
with the site under Alexander Cunningham, in line with his famous archaeolog-
ical memorandum to Viceroy Canning (Cunningham 1972 [1871]: I; Roy
Chaudhury 1958: 87–9). This initial engagement under Cunningham was
strengthened in 1874, when India received a request from Mindon Min, the
penultimate Burmese king, to facilitate his plan to repair parts of the Mahabodhi
Temple. This was approved, with the proviso by the government that nothing be
done to “offend the prejudices of the Hindoos.” As the work proceeded, the
Burmese were monitored by Rajendralala Mitra of the Archaeological Survey of
India (ASI), who soon complained about the quality of the work, and the Burmese
grasp of their own religious history (Mitra 1878).2
Between 1876 and 1884, the government came to believe that “they had
acquired rights” at the temple. Here consider a note from Curzon, cited by Lahiri,
stating that: government investment, for the Viceroy, marked a “gradual assertion
of a co-ordinate authority” (Lahiri 2000: 690). It is this notion of “co-ordinate”
authority, and related concepts, that require further attention. Mitra, for instance,
had some authority, but how much? His warrant granted him the power to give
advice, but only as chief archaeologist on behalf of the government to avoid
“serious damage being done.” Mitra himself wrote that “it is impossible to
suppose” that the temple could be “private property,” and that “all such monu-
ments belong to Government,” but this remained wishful thinking, and had never
been tested in a British Indian court (Mitra 1878: ii. FDPB, Feb. 1877, No. 159;
Trevithick 1999: 651).
Mitra’s tendencies, though, did reflect a growing sense of government entitle-
ment, and Bengal ultimately sent J. D. Beglar, a former ASI man, now attached to
the Bengal Public Works Department, to direct the reconstruction in a more
forceful manner (Guha-Thakurta 2004; Singh 2004). This is best understood, I
think, in the context of the Third Anglo-Burmese War, which ended with British
annexation of the territory of the Konbaung dynasty. This was Mindon’s (now
deceased) state and, thus, the British were behaving as they often did, by taking
on the responsibilities, as they styled it, of previous and/or conquered dynasties.
In the specific case of the Mahabodhi Temple, though, government had not,
when Anagarika Dharmapala inquired about its sale in 1891, taken the line that
“all such monuments” fell squarely under government control. It is true that the
Gaya Collector of the time opposed, as Mitra had previously, any sale into
“private hands,” and wished that the temple be acquired by government “as a
national monument.” However, a private sale could not be prevented, and there
was no plan in place for government purchase or acquisition. Exactly as in the
Burmese case, an agreement with the Giris could not be objected to, so long as it
came “with the goodwill of the Hindu community.” Finally, Bengal could do very
little to encourage a private transfer. If the Mahant declined to sell, “we could not
possibly put any pressure” on him to do so (LCCI, Vol. 21, Aug. 26, 1891).
Anagarika Dharmapala and his imperial supporters

Dharmapala established the Mahabodhi Society in the same year that he visited
Bodh Gaya, with the primary goal to “retake” the temple.3 His resources, for the
attainment of that goal, were considerable. This made it possible, for instance, to
pay for the legal services of Sir Griffith Evans, another rising man at the Calcutta
bar, to initiate the acquisition. Dharmapala also enjoyed the support of the
Theosophical Society and, for a time, Sir Edwin Arnold, whose Light of Asia
(1879) was a popular account of Gautama’s enlightenment, which Dharmapala
credited with sparking his initial interest in the site (Guruge 1984: 366).
Arnold was a staunch imperialist. He popularized the “Cape-to-Cairo” railway
idea (Merrington 2001: 330), which became one of Cecil Rhodes’ great enthusi-
asms, and could gain the ear of powerful people. As a skilled and energetic publi-
cist for the Mahabodhi Society, Arnold characterized the Giri Mahant as an “old
Brahman” (sic) driven by “alarm or avarice” and he lobbied the Secretary of
State for India to compel the temple’s transfer into “Buddhist” hands, with the
promise that “400 millions of Eastern peoples” would bless his name “night and
day” (Arnold 1896: 314). Dharmapala, it must be said, had powerful friends.
However, at Bodh Gaya itself, Dharmapala encountered mixed messages.
When the Collector of Gaya told him that “the temple is under the control of the
government but the Mahant has the right of the management thereof,”
Dharmapala heard the first clause more clearly than the second (ADC, March 9,
1891; ADC, Jan. 28, 1891). In regard to another statement, Dharmapala clearly
understood the phrase, “there is perfect freedom of worship” at the Mahabodhi
Temple, and that any interference with this would receive “ready attention” from
the Government of Bengal. However, he appears to discount the qualifying
phrase that it was the Giris, and not government, who were “ever ready” to agree
to “all reasonable requirements” (MBJ, Vol. 3, #3, 1894: 22–23).
This latter statement, joining freedom of worship to both Giri custom and
government oversight, was taken into evidence in the legal proceedings to be
explored shortly. It was issued from the Government of Bengal, and not from the
local level, during a time (1891–96) when Henry Cotton, father of the Mahant’s
legal advisor Evan, was Chief Secretary to the Government of Bengal. Thus, a
guarantee of both Hindu and Buddhist rights to the shrine might well have been
penned by Cotton the elder. However that may be, the statement is also vague,
and the concept of “reasonable requirements” was soon tested by Dharmapala’s
decision to enshrine a new Buddha image at the temple.
The great case: background and preparation
The main elements of the enshrinement, on February 25, 1895, are undisputed.4
Dharmapala and his assistants carried the image into the second-story chamber
and began to set it up. After a short time, a group of Giri monks—perhaps twenty
or thirty—with the Mahant’s two main deputies (muktiars), one Hindu and one
Muslim, entered and demanded the image be removed. They then withdrew, and
Dharmapala recommenced his installation, pausing after a time to take a seated
meditative pose in front of the image. The second movement began when the
sannyasins reentered, took hold of the image, carried it downstairs into the open
courtyard, and placed it next to the line of Pandava figures. After this, the police
arrived, gathered witness statements, but made no arrests. Dharmapala subse-
quently filed a petition accusing the Giris of interfering with lawful worship.
On hearing this news, Viceroy Elgin arranged a visit to Gaya, and delivered a
public address. Elgin’s speech did not mention the temple specifically, but did
highlight the government’s “stern impartiality” to religion, and did point to the
importance of avoiding injury to religious feelings. However, in private, Elgin
felt that it was not “possible to ignore the claims of the Buddhists,” whatever “the
rights of possession may be.” On the other hand, Elliott, the Lieutenant-Governor
of Bengal, argued that the Mahant’s legitimate proprietorship claims were not to
be taken lightly. Elliott worried, in fact, that the Gaya Magistrate in charge of the
case did not “take quite the same view of his rights as I do” (MBJ, Vol. IV, #1,
May 1895; ECCI, Vol. 66 #250; LCCI, Vol. 21, Aug. 26, 1891).
The first case and the Magistrate of Gaya’s judgment

The Giris were charged with damaging religious property, acting to wound reli-
gious feelings, and disturbing lawful religious worship. Dharmapala’s lawyers
admitted that proprietorship of the temple, as such, was irrelevant to the criminal
matter, but “incidentally” challenged the Mahant’s sole and absolute ownership.
The government held a degree of proprietorship, or at least enjoyed a “guardian-
ship” of broadly defined rights of Buddhist worship (MBJ, IV, #6, Oct., 1895).
In response, the Mahant’s team argued that Dharmapala was aware of absolute
claims to proprietorship by the Giri sect at the temple—otherwise, why else attempt
to buy the temple from them—and also that proprietorship was unmodified by any
partnership with government. From their perspective, the attempted enshrinement
of the Buddha’s image was a sham act intended to assert a novel right. Dharmapala
had thus not been lawfully worshipping, and therefore no offenses had been
committed. Macpherson disagreed, but handed down one conviction only, on the
charge of disturbing lawful religious worship (MBJ, Vol. IV, #6, Oct., 1895).
Sessions court of Gaya: the scope of the criminal law

The appeal was heard in July 1895, by Herbert Holmwood, who faulted
Macpherson for extending his authority beyond the criminal law in question (TB,
Vol. VII, #45, 1895). In Holmwood’s view, the Giris owned the place, as
indicated in the List of Ancient Monuments in Bengal, and they could rely on
government to affirm this, but the British-Burmese cooperation had, while not
modifying ownership, established a right of worship for Buddhists at the site.
The real question was therefore this: had the appellants, in light of this
established right, demonstrated that Dharmapala’s worship was “unlawful”?
Holmwood’s answer was by no means simple. In his view, the Mahant had
indeed demonstrated an intent to deprive Dharmapala of his rights, however, not
during the course of the actual enshrinement, but at an earlier period when he was
performing a pranpratistha, or “breath-giving” ceremony. This would have given
the Giris license to prevent Buddhist worship on the grounds that customary
Buddhist gifts—these included “Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits, candles of lard,
and cheap English scent”—could be deemed “impure” by the Hindus. However,
Dharmapala had also acted poorly, in Holmwood’s view, in that his behavior had
constituted a departure from protected customary practice, thus mitigating the
seriousness of the Giri offense.
The final judgment? Conviction upheld, fines retained, jail sentences
suspended (TB, Vol. VII, #46, Dec. 6, 1895; Vol. VII, #47, Dec. 13, 1895; Vol.
VII, #49, Dec. 27, 1895). One might ask, had Holmwood upheld the British repu-
tation for good faith, justice and moderation? The Giri team certainly thought
not, and they immediately filed for an appeal to the Calcutta High Court.
Calcutta high court case

This court case was heard by Justices William Macpherson (no relation to the Gaya
Magistrate) and Guru Das Banerjee. Griffiths Evans, on behalf of the Mahabodhi
Society, argued that “Section 296 contemplates that a worship should be disturbed,
and when that is done the offense is complete.” Noting that there had been two
distinct movements recorded, Evans also argued that even if the Giris were within
their rights to prevent enshrinement during the first movement, they were legally
barred from interference in the second: this would have been illegal disturbance of
worship “during its continuance.” Ghose, on behalf of the Mahant, simply main-
tained that Dharmapala’s party had attempted, in a novel move, to enshrine an
image “which they had no right to do” (ILR, Calcutta Series, Vol. 23, 1896: 61).
The court, ruling that the Mahant’s legitimate proprietorship was subject to a
customary right of Buddhist worship, found it necessary to determine where that
right ended, and “the right of control” began (ILR, Calcutta Series, Vol. 23, 1896:
62). Seeing his actions as a single sequence—and not two, as Evans argued—
they ruled that Dharmapala had not asserted a customary right. In that sense,
therefore, there was no lawfully assembled religious body to sustain an injury of
disturbance. No offense had therefore been committed under Section 296, and
convictions and sentences were set aside, with fines lifted (ILR, Calcutta Series,
Vol. 23, 1896: 68–72).
All together, the legal actions represented a defeat for anyone who had hoped
to establish grounds for questioning the Mahant’s proprietorship at the Mahabodhi
Temple. The goal of transferring jurisdiction to the “Buddhists” under the
Mahabodhi Society or the British government as envisioned by British officials
such as Mitra and Macpherson (the Gaya Magistrate) was now nullified. Despite
all the legal wrangling, not much, in fact, had changed. The Mahant’s ownership
was affirmed, as were “Buddhist rights,” though the latter had now been more
firmly bound to Giri approval than previously. Recognition of “Buddhist”
worship rights, however, continued to provide an opening for those still seeking a
platform for strong government intervention.
Lord Curzon’s perfect grasp of the situation

The Acting Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, James Bourdillon, in 1902–03, in a
series of communications with the Viceroy Curzon, argued that “the temple ought
to be made over to the Buddhists” (CCIA, Part IV, Nov. 21, 1901; CCOC, Vol.
205, Feb. 25, 1902; CCOC, Vol. 1, 10A, Jan. 9, 1903). Curzon agreed, and,
having dismissed Dharmapala’s prior efforts as “provocative and irritating”—
effectively blocking any future Mahabodhi Society input—he embarked on his
own campaign. Bourdillon, who knew how to treat a viceroy, was struck with
“astonishment and gratification” at Curzon’s “perfect grasp” of the situation.
However, he found it necessary to make a small correction: Curzon had erred in
calling Hindu butter offerings at the site “grease.” “Grease,” for Bourdillon,
meant lard and not butter. Thus, Bourdillon’s clarification (so to speak) was that
authentic Hindu offerings were “ghi” (CCOC, Vol. 1, #19, Jan. 17, 1903). As we
shall soon see, he also thought that offerings of ghi would not be made by
authentic Buddhists.
So, such things as the definition of “grease” were intended to demarcate the
two religious communities. This is the sort of colonial-orientalist behavior that
has so often been presented as the hallmark of British Indian rule. It certainly
illustrates a strong British colonial tendency to categorize religious protocol, but
whether or not it invents a tradition is only one aspect of the problem. To my
mind, the real questions in regard to such presumed examples of “colonial
construction” are (1) did they work, and (2) did they work only as a “British”
strategy?
For now, let us assume, along the lines of Bourdillon and Curzon, that the
Hindus were not acting as they should act. In response, therefore, to the “inau-
thentic” or “unorthodox” Hindu rituals at the temple, they began to plan for a
special commission of inquiry that could produce an audit of proper and
customary usages. While this was still in the planning stage, the new Collector of
Gaya, C. E. A. Oldham, continued the work of persuasion initiated by Curzon.
Was it not plain, Oldham asked the abbot, that the Viceroy was “astonished” to
find that the Buddha had been besmeared in a Hindu fashion? Did the Mahant not
accept his Excellency’s opinion that the temple was “Buddhistic”? Did the
Mahant not realize that Buddhists were “outraged” by Hindu worship?
If a new arrangement could be made, Oldham suggested, a greater flow of
pilgrims might then constitute a handsome source of revenue for the Giris. The
proposed arrangements offered by Oldham to the Mahant included: (1) that the
temple itself be regarded as “purely Buddhistic,” (2) that it be handed to govern-
ment “in trust,” (3) that the “Western Bo-tree” be reserved for Buddhists, (4) that
the Northern Pipal be reserved for Hindus, and (5) that the Mahant, as “ground
landlord,” continue to receive “customary fees and gifts of visitors.” On the other
hand, if the viceroy was compelled to seek “special legislation,” the Mahant
might lose the property in its entirety. Had every possible arrangement concerning
“proprietary rights” at the Mahabodhi Temple been decided (CCOC, Vol. 1, 10A,
Jan. 9, 1903)? Indeed, this is precisely what the Mahant refuted, pointing to the
List of Ancient Monuments in Bengal, and also to the findings of its compiler, J.
D. Beglar, of the Archeological Survey of India and Bengal Public Works, who
had testified that Hindu worship in the temple was of long standing: Giris were
the owners, and they also had rights of worship (CCOC, Vol. 1, #45, Jan. 2, 1903;
CCOC, Vol. 1, #45, Jan. 2, 1903).
The “right Hindus” produce the wrong report

Oldham now recommended that the mooted commission begin its work, and
hoped that it would be “able to elicit sufficient Hindu opinion” in support of the
Buddhist cause. Bourdillon, in this regard, had planned for two Hindu commis-
sioners to spearhead the task but was careful to select the right ones. S. C. Mitra,
from Calcutta (yet another High Court lawyer), seemed sound. Ideally, the second
commissioner would have been a Benares Pandit, “who would take a broad and
sensible view,” but Bourdillon claimed to know no one “who answers that
description.” He eventually settled for Hari Prasad Shastri, principal of the
Sanskrit College at Calcutta, and someone who had written of the Mahabodhi
Temple that its transfer to Buddhists was a task “in which the whole of Asia is
interested” (CCOC, Vol. 1, #76, March 9, 1903).
With such handpicked commissioners, and Oldham as the chairman, Curzon
and Bourdillon looked forward to a swift victory. To their dismay, though, the
commission reported that, while the temple had originated in the “piety of
the Buddhists,” no Buddhists had managed the site for hundreds of years, and
the Mahant’s proprietorship had long been explicitly accepted: thus, no contem-
porary Buddhist group—and how to choose between them anyway?—could
“legally put forward any claim” to the temple. Furthermore, the site had a very
ancient multi-religious character, having “always attracted” Hindus, and textual
authority for this was available in the Vayu and Agni Puranas (CCBG: 4). As to
Hindu—Buddhist conflict, the commissioners found that Hindu witnesses
might testify that the sight of a Buddha image is “sinful,” but since they
regarded the image not as Buddha but as a Vishnu-Avatar Buddha, the formal
rule was irrelevant (CCBG: 4–12). One exception was that at least one “Buddha,”
in the Mahant’s residence, was worshipped as Bhairo (Siva) and not, as usually,
Vishnu. It was also difficult to locate (non-Mahabodhi Society) Buddhists who
were “outraged” by Hindu worship in the first place. The “Mahayana” branch
seemed actually “pro-Hindu,” and even in the case of the “Southern section,”
while some Sinhalese seemed hostile, the Burmese enjoyed good relations with
the Mahant. One pan-Buddhist objection did appear to have a collective base:
Buddhists did not support the use of a tilak mark on the forehead of the main
Buddha image.
Based on these findings, the commission recommended the formation of a
management board, not unlike what Oldham had previously proposed, comprised
of the District Judge, the Senior Hindu Deputy Magistrate, the Senior Hindu
Subordinate Judge, and two members to be nominated by the Mahant. No
Buddhists would be included, on the grounds that there were likely to be tensions
between the “Northern and Southern sections” (CCBG: 15).
The Mahant is willing

Krishna Dayal Giri, on being apprised by Oldham of the commission’s findings,
offered a counter-proposal, accepting the board but also demanding that he be
officially designated “manager,” and asking for two explicit rules: one, allowing
both Hindus and Buddhists to worship inside the temple and the other, allowing
both groups access to both sacred trees (CCOC, Vol. 1, #98A, April 5, 1903).
Bourdillon, for his part, then asked that (1) the Mahant agree to be bound by
the board’s decisions, and (2) that the temple Buddha “not to be painted or
clothed.” He had also wanted to stop “Hindu” ghi offerings to the Buddha, but
was informed “by the Commissioners and by Mr. Oldham that some sects of
Buddhists do make offerings of that material nature.” “Grease” and “ghi” may
have divided Hindus and Buddhists, according to Bourdillon’s logic, but at Bodh
Gaya anyway, butter was broadly ecumenical.5
Bourdillon, for a brief time, was somewhat comforted by the survival of his
proviso that the Buddha be “neither clothed nor daubed” (CCOC, Vol. 1, #98A,
April 5, 1903), but this plan too soon came apart. First, in regard to the allegedly
obvious tilak problem—Buddhists found it “utterly abhorrent”—the Mahant
pointed out that Tibetan and Nepali Buddhists routinely undertook such prac-
tices, and that even the troublesome “Ceylonese” paid attention to Gautama’s
forehead by sprinkling cologne on it. Then, as to clothing, the Mahant was
willing to arrange that the image be periodically unclothed, if some “large
body” of Buddhists so requested, but many Buddhists positively wanted
clothing, and some had even clothed the image themselves, and asked that it be
left undisturbed (CCOC, Vol. 1, #113A, April 14, 1903; CCOC, Vol. 1, #119A,
April 24, 1903).
Such detailed wrangling over ritual protocol continued for some months, with
Curzon asking, for instance, that “large body” be replaced with “reasonable
number” (CCOC, Vol. 1, #126, May 4, 1903). All of these negotiations on behalf
of Viceroy Curzon came to a sudden halt in June of 1903, when the Government
of Bengal received a letter from the Mahant’s legal advisor Evan Cotton. In
this letter, there was a complete rejection of the board and Bourdillon was obliged
to tell Curzon that the Mahant “declines all terms” (CCIC, Vol. 194, #84,
Sept. 13, 1903).
The legislative solution: little compelling reason
Denzil Ibbetson, a member of Curzon’s Legislative Council, found little compel-
ling reason for a new statute, given that “the public peace is in no way threatened.”
From the Buddhists themselves, there had been practically “no complaints,” in
spite of the commission’s efforts to produce a good batch thereof. Then too,
“agitation” might be sparked by legislation, particularly “amongst the bigoted
Hindus,” though why, if there were no compelling reason for legislation, no threat
to public peace, and no Buddhist complaints, only “bigoted Hindus” might object,
was something Ibbetson did not address.
It is important to highlight that there was also some rivalry between Bourdillon
and Ibbetson. Both had entered the ICS at about the same time, both were accom-
plished and ambitious, and both were in competition for the ear of the Viceroy.
Even as Ibbetson discouraged further action, Bourdillon pressed on, at one point
telegraphing Curzon that “Mohunt is disposed to sign agreement” (CCIC, Vol.
193, #97, Sept. 25, 1903). Ibbetson, seeking to saddle Bourdillon with the
blame—should any legislation spark serious opposition—recommended that any
draft legislation originate “from Bengal.” Curzon, for his part, began to recon-
sider his goals, as evidenced in Ibbetson’s note to him that: “as you yourself
suggested it would be easy to let the Secretary of State know privately that we
wished him to disallow our proposals” (CCIC, Vol. 193, #88e, Sept. 16, 1903).
Apparently with some knowledge of these deliberations, Bourdillon put before
Curzon a final report, making a strong case for legislation and, in the process,
discounting Ibbetson’s fear of “agitation.” He also aimed at Curzon’s most impe-
rial susceptibilities, writing that “Your Excellency has no doubt considered the
effect which a spontaneous concession to the Buddhists would have at a time
when our relations with China and Tibet are so strained” (CCIC, Vol. 193, #120,
Oct. 9, 1903).
Once again, Evan Cotton entered the debate with a daunting challenge to the
government:
The proposition is quite untenable from a legal point of view that a man, by
coming forward to repair, and even to rebuild, the property of another,
acquires any right of any kind over the same.
(CCIC, Vol. 193, #156, Oct. 24, 1903)
Indeed, continued Cotton, the Mahant’s actual rights had been for a long time
violated, and his real income reduced, by interference of the Mahabodhi Society
whose “agent” now illegally occupied the rest house built by the Mahant for the
Burmese. The government, argued Cotton, would be better off attending to the
protection, under British Indian law, of its citizens’ established rights, than
conspiring to violate the same on behalf of foreign interests (CCIC, Vol. 193,
#156, Oct. 24, 1903).
Cotton’s argument was rooted, by the way, in what has been called a British
and thus “alien” legal system “masquerading as law as such” (Spivak 1985: 25),
but it served the purposes of the Giri Mahant well, and the British Viceroy was
forced to retreat. “Hindu” agitation aside, he was clearly concerned about
agitation from such places as the British Indian Association, with its various
Anglo-Indian types, almost all of them quite secular. Members of the BIA also
retained close connections with the government at various levels and were united,
not by religion, but by a strong regard for property, by a regard for the rights and
feelings of their own colonially constructed community, and most likely by an
urge to wring some “official necks.” Even Bourdillon could now see it would
require a strong argument “to deprive the Mahant of his proprietary rights
by legislation” and admitted that his own efforts had “completely failed”
(PHDI, Vol. 6805, #15, Jan. 15. 1903). There was to be no Mahabodhi Temple
legislation.
Preservation: ancient monuments, imperial dignity

The Viceroy never again considered the legislation against which Ibbeton had put
forth his objections. He did, though, before he left India in 1905, oversee the
drafting and passage of Act VII of 1904—The Ancient Monuments Preservation
Act—and he took considerable pride in the accomplishment. In brief, this act
allows government and the owner of a protected monument to enter into an agree-
ment which may cover such things as preservation, maintenance, custody, and
even “proprietary or other rights” (Section 5). That, indeed, is the sort of thing
that had happened from time to time at Bodh Gaya: for example, Cunningham’s
archaeological work and both Mitra and Beglar’s later supervision.
The act also allows government to “acquire” monuments by compulsion in
some case, but expressly forbids this at “any monument which or any part of
which is periodically used for religious observances” (Section 10). The act
further stipulates that, even in cases where government has somehow accepted
“guardianship,” management and public access must proceed “with the “concur-
rence of the persons in religious charge.” This presupposes, of course, two
parties, one that must be responsive to the other, and this recalls the “co-ordinate”
arrangement to which Curzon had once, over-confidently, alluded. The 1904 act,
whatever else it was, was an instrument designed to prevent government from
becoming entangled in religious matters in an ambiguous or legally vulnerable
manner; as in the case of the Mahabodhi Temple.
Conclusion
In an important article by an expert observer of Bodh Gaya, over the past three
decades, Doyle has written that “Buddhists can worship exactly as they please
there,” and also that a continuing Hindu presence at Bodh Gaya—priest, shrines,
pilgrims, and members of the joint Hindi-Buddhist management temple estab-
lished in 1949—has “not interfered with this” (Doyle 2003: 274). This observa-
tion is not an exact replica of Mahant Krishna Dayal Giri’s defense of the temple’s
“multi-religious character” (Lahiri 1999: 42), or of Bengal’s 1894 defense of
“perfect freedom” of Buddhist worship under government approved Hindu
facilitation, but there is a family resemblance.
There has been, of course, conflict at Bodh Gaya, as Doyle and others have
documented, but it has seldom been violent. Indeed, it might be said that, if multi-
religious sites of India were rock festivals, Bodh Gaya would be its Woodstock,
and Ayodhya its Altamont. A bleak satire, but I mean by it to introduce an
important comparison.
Consider, to begin with, Kinnard’s idea that “Bodhgaya was informed by, and
in significant ways actually created by, the opinions of a select group of
Orientalists” (Kinnard 1998: 818, and see Ray 2007: 14). And now, consider this
statement in reference to Ayodhya: “Vestiges of nineteenth-century ideologies
lingered, however, combining with nationalist aspirations that co-opted posi-
tivism and scientific objectivity to contribute to—if not create—one of the most
volatile communal conflicts of the twentieth century” (Johnson-Roehr 2008: 507).
Both statements involve what are, in Johnson-Roehrs’s words, “Orientalist
discursive formations,” and a full discussion of the theories associated with such
concepts would require more space than allowed for here. Briefly, though, it seems
appropriate to note the preeminent scholar of Ayodhya has been cautious about the
utility of such critiques. Indeed, van der Veer has argued that while the demarcation
of religious communities, for instance, and the counting of numbers therein, was a
British innovation and “fundamental to religious nationalism” it is not prudent to
overestimate the power of “colonial construction” (van der Veer 1994: 32).
Van der Veer has elsewhere, helpfully, referred to a prolonged dispute among
scholars, of South Asia particularly, between those who apprehend colonial rule
as a species of dialogue between the colonizer and the colonized, and those who
see that same rule as a project of control depending on an “orientalist” creation of
cultural categories (van der Veer 2002: 174). In that same article—ambitious not
only in scope but in title: “Religion in South Asia”—van der Veer naturally wants
to move beyond such dichotomies and warns, perhaps in a spirit of even-handed-
ness, that “the term dialogue ignores power inequities in communication” (van
der Veer 2002: 176).
In the present case, though, it seems to me that the very nature of the interac-
tions I have examined calls more for the dialogic than the project-of-control
approach. I have in mind, for instance, an occasion on which a Bodh Gaya
Mahant, Bhaipat Giri, in audience with the Gaya Collector, not only referenced
his “Kursee Namah,” or list of names of Giri Abbots—a text-based legitimating
device if ever there was one—but also mentioned that his monks had “rendered
valuable aid” to British forces during the Indian Rebellion (Grierson 1893: 17).
Surely there is considerable constructive-strategic skill in this, the “Oriental”
deploying not only “oriental knowledge,” but also some occidentalism, in regard
to “mutiny” as that term functioned in a set of meanings unambiguously
connected to a British project of control. Was he also bound by that same project
to only a “British” context for the use of the term “mutiny”? Another incident,
already narrated: the Abbot Krishna Dayal Giri, waving a list of protected
monuments at a District Collector. Obviously there is power inequality, but
neither party is exactly certain as to its character, and they are in a contest of
sorts, the outcome of which is in question.
“Dialogue” seems appropriate, if we are to regard dialogue as an interaction
that depends on the deployment of meaningful symbols, sometimes tentative or
experimental, sometimes obvious and shared. I cannot see that power differen-
tials need be ignored and, in fact, I think that a dialogic approach allows us to
return to the critical question of “colonial construction.”
A full consideration of such matters is not possible here, so I will end with
what I think is quite a good story, in favor, of course, of my own views. In 1914,
John Francis Blakiston, later to become Director-General of the Archaeological
Survey, sent around a list for protected monuments under the 1904 act that
included “Bodh Gaya and everything within the compound, Gaya.” On reaching
Patna, where erstwhile Collector of Gaya Oldham—the same Oldham who had
talked to the Giris of “special legislation”—was now Commissioner, the entire
list was accepted as falling under the act, “except the Mahabodhi Temple at Bodh
Gaya and the images, sculptures, carvings, inscriptions, etc., within the compound
of that temple” (EDBO, Vol. 9792, A, Sept. 1915). “Things had much better be
left as they are at Bodh Gaya at present,” wrote Oldham. If Blakiston did not
know the rules by then, Oldham certainly did.
Notes
1 In my 1990 article I put forth a short argument, about the “costs,” so to say, of symbolic
gestures, attached to the political strategies. The main argument of this essay parallels
the argument in that article.
2 The lively and ongoing scholarship in regard to this period cannot be adequately
addressed here. For more on this topic, see Trevithick (1999), Lahiri (1999, 2000),
Singh (2004), and Ray (2007).
3 Dharmapala’s life, and his complicated motives, have been examined elsewhere
(Obeyeskere 1976; Trevithick 1992, 2006).
4 For the first case, and its appeal, I refer to transcripts as they were printed in the
Mahabodhi Society Journal, and The Buddhist, where I first encountered them. An
account of the events as accepted by the Calcutta High Court is available for the
case Jaipal Giri and Ors. v. H. Dharmapala on 22 August, 1895 at the law site www.
indiankanoon.org./doc/182148. I have described these events at more length elsewhere
(Trevithick 2006: 101–7).
5 Insofar as Tibetan ceremonies so frequently feature butter, Bourdillon’s ideas are
peculiar: had he never seen this, or heard about it, from Darjeeling, for instance?
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6 Queen Victoria beneath the
Bodhi Tree
Anagarika Dharmapala as
anti-imperialist and Victorian
Noel Salmond
Anagarika Dharmapala (1864–1933) was a Sri Lanka-born Buddhist modernist

who moved to India to revive Buddhism in its land of origin. He was a militant
anti-imperialist who penned stinging invective against the British and their Raj as
early as the late 1890s. Due to his utterances and actions, imperial authorities
would later put him under house arrest in Calcutta (1915 to 1920) on suspicion of
sedition. Given his reputation as a harsh critic of imperialism, this essay asks
why he would write a letter to the Viceroy of India on the occasion of the death of
Queen Victoria in 1901 proposing a memorial altar to the Queen-Empress to be
located directly at the foot of the Bodhi Tree at Bodh Gaya. To put it mildly, this
appears incongruous. And, as Jonathan Z. Smith (adapting a phrase from Paul
Ricoeur) observes, “It is the perception of incongruity that gives rise to thought”
(quoted in Salmond 2004: 1). Political ploy is the most obvious answer. But this
essay argues that there is more to it than that; explanation for Dharmapala’s letter
is multi-determined and I suggest that there is, in fact, some measure of sincerity
in his proposal. Where does this sincerity originate?
Devout Sri Lankan Buddhists who undertake pilgrimage to those places in India
associated with the life of the Buddha regard Anagarika Dharmapala as a mahavir,
a great being. A Pali stanza in praise of Dharmapala to this effect is recited daily at
the Mulagandha Kuty Vihara at Sarnath before each chanting of the Dhammacakka
Pavattana Sutta.1 Recognized as a key figure in both the development of modern
Buddhism and the development of modern Sinhalese Sri Lankan identity,
Dharmapala has generated a popular hagiographical literature (and even iconog-
raphy) from Sarnath to Sri Lanka. Conversely, in scholarly circles, both Western
and Sri Lankan, Dharmapala is frequently pointed at as a major source for the ethos
that has contributed both to what some have called Buddhist fundamentalism and
its concomitant, the Sinhalese militant nationalism manifested in a particularly viru-
lent form in the terrible ethnic conflict on the island since 1983. But this paper is
concerned not with contradictory attitudes about Dharmapala, but with the apparent
contradictions within Dharmapala himself. To wit, how could the same individual
who excoriates the British Empire in one breath, recommend building a monument
to Queen Victoria at Bodh Gaya in another? How to explain this dissonance?
Space allows me only one illustration of the former attitude from a booklet
titled “History of an Ancient Civilization” published in 1902, just one year after
the letter to the Viceroy.2 The essay evinces a rather different attitude to the
British Empire. Dharmapala comments on the makers of the British Raj:
The Englishmen of the type of Clive, Warren Hastings, North, Sladen,

Rhodes, etc., men of low morality, have been the chief makers of the present
“British Empire.” Cunning, intrigue, dishonesty, alcoholism have been the
principal instruments of the empire makers on dealing with the unsophisti-
cated Asiatics, who have not the training in the art of political lying.
(Guruge 1965: 480)
In Dharmapala’s ethnology, the Sinhalese are, in fact, a superior race who should
recognize this fact and wake up from the slumber and dejection of their current
colonized condition. In contrast to the glorious, civilized Sinhalese he depicts the
British imperialists as primitives and savages. The ruin of the island paradise of
Lanka has been caused by repeated incursion:
This bright, beautiful island was made into a Paradise by the Aryan Sinhalese
before its destruction was brought about by the barbaric vandals . . . This
ancient, historic, refined people, under the diabolism of vicious paganism,
introduced by the British administrators, are now declining and slowly dying
away. The bureaucratic administrators, ignorant of the first principles of the
natural laws of evolution, have cut down the primeval forests to plant tea;
have introduced opium, ganja, whisky, arrack and other alcoholic poisons;
have opened saloons and drinking taverns in every village; have killed all
industries and made the people indolent.
(Guruge 1965: 482)
Dharmapala says of the Sinhalese that they “stand as the representative of

Aryan civilization” and bemoans that “the sons of the soil, the pure lion-armed
Sinhalese . . . are allowed to perish” (Guruge 1965: 483). He ends the essay with
the following lament:
Finland is under despotic Russia, and the bright, beautiful Island of Ceylon
is under the barbaric imperialism of England. The sweet, tender, gentle,
Aryan children of an ancient, historic race are sacrificed at the altar of the
whisky-drinking, beef-eating belly-god of heathenism. How long, oh! how
long, will unrighteousness last in Ceylon!
(Guruge 1965: 484)
The letter
I turn now to Dharmapala’s other attitude—the letter of condolence written only
a year earlier than the above on the occasion of the demise of the Queen-Empress.
Dharmapala alludes to the letter (though he does not publish it) in a note in the
Journal of the Maha-Bodhi Society, Calcutta, February, 1901 No. 10 which is
titled the Victoria Memorial Number.3 This memorial issue has below its mast-
head the objectives of the Mahabodhi Society articulated ten years earlier at its
inauguration:
The moral, spiritual, and intellectual state of the world’s thought at the
present moment has led to the founding of the Maha-Bodhi Society at
Colombo, in the Island of Simhala (Ceylon), May 31st, 1891. Its object is to
make known to all nations the sublime teachings of the Arya Dharma of the
Buddha Sakya Muni, and to rescue, restore, and re-establish as the religious
centre of this movement the holy place Buddha Gaya, where our Lord
attained supreme wisdom.
A later paragraph refers to Bodh Gaya:
The site where the Divine Teacher attained supreme wisdom, now known as
Buddha Gaya, is in middle India, and to His followers there is no spot on
earth more sacred than the Bodhimanda, whereon stands the Bodhi Tree.
(Journal of the Maha-Bodhi Society vol. IX, No. 10,
February 1901, Victoria Memorial Number: ii)
Pages 94 to 96 of this issue give a detailed overview (from Dharmapala’s point of

view) of the battle Buddhists had been embroiled in since 1891 to secure a
foothold at Bodh Gaya, both in terms of securing Buddhist control of the
Mahabodhi Temple and in establishing a permanent guesthouse for Buddhist
pilgrims. His notice on the first page of this issue, dated four days after Victoria’s
death, reads:
The Death of H.M. Queen Victoria

Maha-Bodhi Society
2, Creek Row, Calcutta, 26 January, 2444/1901
To the Private Secretary to
H.E. the Viceroy and
Governor-General of
India
The Maha-Bodhi Society on behalf of all Buddhists, places on record the
irreparable loss to the British Empire, by the extinction of the light that was
burning in the noble frame of the late Queen of Great Britain and Ireland and
Empress of India—Victoria Alexandrina.
The Buddhists have always felt a deep and reverential love to the person-
ality of the late Queen, inasmuch as her accession to the Throne, and the first
diffusion of the principles of their Religion in her Empire came simultane-
ously.
The Maha-Bodhi Society desires to convey to His Excellency the Viceroy,
that steps will be taken all over Buddhist countries to raise a monument in
the holiest shrine of the Buddhists at Buddha Gaya to commemorate in a
perpetual manner the blessed memory of the beloved Queen, and that His
Majesty the Emperor, Edward VII, may be informed of this Resolution.
I am yours truly
Anagarika Dharmapala
Genl. Secy. Maha-Bodhi Society
(Journal of the Maha-Bodhi Society vol. IX, No. 10,
February 1901, Victoria Memorial Number: ii)
By referring to steps to be taken “all over Buddhist countries,” Dharmapala here

echoes the pitch made earlier to the imperial authorities by Sir Edwin Arnold
who argued that returning custody of the Mahabodhi Temple to the Buddhist
community would reap for the British Empire the gratitude of the teeming
millions all across Buddhist Asia.
The actual letter dated February 7, 1901, now in the National Archives in
Delhi,4 reads as follows:
2 Creek Row
Calcutta 7 Feby
2444/1901
The Private Secretary
to H.E. The Viceroy
Sir,
I send two copies of the Victoria Memorial Number of the Maha-Bodhi
Journal, printed in purple ink as a sign of mourning for the loss of so beloved
a sovereign as the late Queen. Kindly submit one copy to His Excellency the
Viceroy and forward the other to the new King, H.M. Edward VII.
The Maha-Bodhi Society resolved to perpetuate the gracious memory of
the saintly Queen by erecting two permanent Lights to burn day and night at
the holy spot—Buddhagaya—the central shrine to the 475 million of
Buddhists, and also to have a Marble Altar under the sacred Bodhi Tree, the
holiest spot on earth to all Buddhists.5 In addition to these the New Hall that
has been sanctioned to be built at Budhgaya [sic] for the use of Buddhist
monks shall be called the Victoria Memorial Hall.
Once in a thousand years the heavenly Mandara tree puts forth its flowers
for the good of the world, and the late good Queen was such a rare flower.
The M.B. Society in erecting these Memorials at the holiest shrine only does
a rare meritorious work for her sake.
Hoping that these special marks of unutterable gratitude will meet with
the approval of the Viceroy as well as the New King.
I am Yours truly
The Anagarika H. Dharmapala
Genl. Secy. M.B.S.
The Secretary to the Viceroy responded on January 29 with little more than a
perfunctory thanks and acknowledgment of receipt.6 So there we have it;
Dharmapala is proposing an altar to the central symbol of the Raj at the symbolic
center, the sanctum sanctorum of Buddhism: The epitome of empire at the
epicenter of the Buddhist world.
It is tempting to explain the letter to the Viceroy on purely political grounds:
it came at a time when Dharmapala was still actively engaged (if losing) in
the struggle to win control of the Mahabodhi Temple at Bodh Gaya from the
Śaivite Hindu priests. Implicitly, what Dharmapala is saying is if we had
access (or control) of the temple precinct and the Bodhi Tree, this is what we
would do—so give us that control. This was a period in which he desperately
needed to curry favour with the British authorities by such an ostentatious
display of loyalty.7 Dharmapala also had the President of the Maha-Bodhi
Society, the monk Sumangala, telegraph the Viceroy from Colombo with an
identical proposition. A copy of this telegraph8 in the National Archives in
Delhi has appended to it a note by the authorities, who are aware of the political
dimension to the proposals:
Regr. No 1287
From the most worshipful High Priest, Sumangala, Colombo, of the 10th
Feb. ‘01.
This is neither a condolence message, nor is the sender of it a resident of
British India. A letter from Mr. Dharmapala stating what is proposed to be
done at Buddha Gaya in Commemoration of Her Majesty’s death was
acknowledged in our letter No. 893 of the 20 Feb. 01. Having regard to the
fact that there is a standing dispute about the temple at Buddha Gaya,
between the Buddhists (led by Mr. Dharmapala) and the Mahant of the place,
we should not send any reply to this communication without consulting the
Govt. of Bengal.
If we, like the British authorities of the period, are obviously suspicious of
these proposals, I will nonetheless argue that there is perhaps more to this letter
than a blatant political ploy. Rather, I suggest, the letter reveals a side of
Dharmapala that did genuinely admire the British crown (as symbol of a civiliza-
tion)—an admiration that was in constant tension with the equally strong (if not
stronger) resentment and (understandable) anger and revulsion he felt towards
aspects of Western authority, religion, and colonial culture. What elements of this
letter are sincere?
Many of Dharmapala’s sentiments expressed in the 1901 proposal to Lord
Curzon are anticipated in an article he wrote almost a decade earlier titled “Burma
and Buddhism” in The Buddhist of Vol. IV, February/March, 1892. Here
Dharmapala expresses the view that Victoria’s ascent to the throne coincided
with major advances in orientalist scholarship9—in particular the decipherment
of the inscriptions of Aśoka. Dharmapala writes:
Light dawned in the West on the obscure history of India and civilization
when James Prinsep, in the very month of Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s
Accession to the throne [1837], startled the world by deciphering the Asoka
and other edicts of Girnar and Kapur-da giri which revealed the glorious
civilization that prevailed in India under the Buddhist Kings. Since then the
sublime teachings of the TATHAGATA have been taken up as a philological
study by Western Orientalists, who paved the way for the wider study of
Buddhism in the West. Not until 1879 was the name of BUDDHA widely
known, to proclaim which was left to England’s greatest bard of the present
century, Sir Edwin Arnold, whose incomparable epic “The Light of Asia”
has become the hand-book of hundreds of thousands of admirers of LORD
BUDDHA both in the East and West. With the appearance of that book in
England, the Theosophical Society of New York started on its mission of
proclaiming the Truths of Buddhism in India and elsewhere.
(Guruge 1965: 647)
Dharmapala recognizes as well that the very rediscovery of the Buddhist

pilgrimage places in his time was indebted to the archaeological efforts of
General Cunningham and other members of the Raj:
The most enlightened, tolerant and just of all modern governments now rule
[sic] India; and the sacred places of the Buddhists have been renovated and
repaired by the British Government. It is my belief that India after the extinc-
tion of the Buddhist Empire has had no beneficent government equal to the
present one. It is rather a strange coincidence that with the accession to the
throne of Queen Victoria, the horizon of Buddhism began to widen. More
than all the Asiatic Buddhists, European savants have rendered important
service in making Buddhism appreciated by the intelligent portion in Europe
and America.
(Guruge 1965: 648)
With regard specifically to Bodh Gaya, Dharmapala adds:
The government of India have [sic] spent several lacs of Rupees in the pres-
ervation of Buddhist relics in India. The name of Sir Ashley Eden, the
restorer of the sacred Temple of Buddha Gaya and Kusinara should be
remembered with gratitude.
(Guruge 1965: 648)
In this same essay, Dharmapala hails the edification of the Hindus by the influ-
ence of British civilization and cosmopolitan exposure:
The descendants of the ancient Buddhists, the present Hindus are enlight-
ened and are willing to listen to the sad and pathetic history of Buddhism.
Six centuries of ignorance have been filed off by the humanising education
imparted to them by the British government and the prejudice which the
enlightened Hindus had against Buddhism has been removed by the efforts
of Colonel Olcott and other eminent Europeans, and today there are in India
hundreds of the most enlightened Hindus who would welcome back their
long lost brothers if they would visit and settle down in India, and carry on
the Buddhist work.
(Guruge 1965: 649)
One such Hindu was Swami Vivekananda who shared the platform of the
World’s Parliament of Religions with Dharmapala in Chicago in 1893. Friends
then, they later became bitter rivals—a topic I cannot pursue here. A letter written
in 1897 by Vivekananda to an associate is a useful comparison with regard to
Dharmapala’s attitude to the British Crown. Vivekananda instructs his assistant
in point form on composing a letter to the Queen. Characteristically more subtle
and sophisticated than Dharmapala, his first point is a caution to avoid being
overly obsequious. But the tone and content of the intended letter are otherwise
very similar to Dharmapala’s communication of 1901. Vivekananda writes:
In the proposed Address to the Queen-Empress the following points should

be noted:
1. That it must be free from exaggeration, in other words, statements to the
effect that she is God’s regent and so forth, which are so common to us
natives.
2. That all religions have been protected during her reign, we have been
able fearlessly to preach our Vedantic doctrines in India and England.
3. Her kindness towards the Indian poor—as, for instance, her inspiring
the English to unique acts of charity by contributing herself to the cause
of famine-relief.
4. Prayer for her long life and for the continual growth of happiness and
prosperity among the people of her dominions.
Have this written in correct English and send it to me at Almora, I shall sign
it and send it to Simla . . .10
(Vivekananda 2003: 399–400)
My point here is that Dharmapala was not alone in expressing homage to the
Queen. But whereas Vivekananda wanted to avoid being too effusive, Dharmapala
had no such inhibitions. This is manifested in a second and lengthier proposal he
wrote that is included in the same file in the New Delhi National Archives that
contains the letter to the Viceroy on the death of Victoria. This second proposal
recommends the erection of a whole building to Victoria and reads as follows:
TEMPLE OF SAINT VICTORIA

The greatest Queen that the world has seen for nearly twenty centuries has
passed away at the beginning of the twentieth century. Her saintly character
has been before the glare of the enlightened world, and all honoured her as
Mother and Queen. The canonization of great characters in the world’s drama
is a principle of the evolutionary law of nature, and if there is a character that
demands the loving homage of a cosmopolitan and eclectic age, it is that of
the blessed memory of the beloved and saintly Queen Victoria Alexandrina.
A world-empire is now mourning her loss. And in all parts of her Empire,
memorials should be erected to perpetuate her memory. India was the
brightest jewel in her crown, and India the land of the Buddhas, Rishis and
gods should have a monument to her memory more majestic than the Taj. It
will be a temple dedicated to truth, but called after the saintly Victoria where
the Buddhist, Brahmin, Christian, Jew, Jain, Mussulman and Zoroastrian
could meet.
“A temple: neither Pagod, Mosque, nor Church
But loftier, simpler, always open-doored
To every breath from Heaven; and Truth and Peace
And love and Justice came and dwelt therein.”11
There will be no image or statue, but the words of the Proclamation that she
had enunciated in 1858 for the guidance of Her Ministers in India will be
engraved gold on marble.
One needs to pinch oneself to remember that this is Anagarika Dharmapala

writing, not Rudyard Kipling or Cecil Rhodes. I note that Dharmapala’s call here
for a space for inter-religious ecumenism contrasts sharply not only with his
inability at irenic co-habitation with the Mahant at the Mahabodhi Temple but
also with the generally caustic tenor of his comments on other religions in his
diaries. The text continues that the Victoria Temple will draw donations from
practically all the princes, potentates, and presidents of the planet:
Contributions will come for this sublime, magnificent, cosmopolitan fane

from her Imperial relatives, the Czar of Russia and Emperor of Germany her
Royal relatives, the King of Denmark, of Portugal, of Greece, from her
allies, the Emperor of Austria, King of Italy, the Emperors of Japan, of
China, King of Siam, Sultan of Turkey, the Khedive of Egypt, the Shah of
Persia, the Amir of Afghanistan and all the Princes of India, and last but not
least from the Republics of America and France. The Buddhists, Brahmans,
Christians, Jews, Jains, Moslems and Zoroastrians who had enjoyed the
beneficent influence of her unparalleled rule, in India, Ceylon, Burmah, the
Straits, Australia, Hong-Kong, South Africa, England, Canada, etc. will all
heartily contribute towards the construction of the temple. The best archi-
tects, artists, painters, masons of this Victorian age should be employed to
bring the temple into a consummate shape.
He goes on to recommend either Calcutta or Benares as the site for the proposed
memorial and, with the latter, puts in a plug for Sarnath as an appropriate venue.12
He purchased property in Sarnath in January, 1901, at exactly the same time as
the letter. Thus there appears again the deliberate desire to connect a Victoria
monument to the space of Buddhism:
As for the site, there are two places, Calcutta or Benares which is [sic] suited
to have the temple of Victoria—the land near Samnath [sic] in Benares,
failing that the Maidan in Calcutta. It should be so erected as to make it the
praying ground of the Buddhist, Brahman, Christian, Confucian, Jain, Jew,
Moslem, Taoist and Zoroastrian.
The letter ends with a suggestion for conveying the idea of Victoria as a sort of
second Aśoka:
Two thousand years ago, India had a great Emperor, Asoka, and his edicts
show that he was universally loved from Peshawar to Ceylon, and as a
historical relic, it may be good to have one of the rock-cut edicts set side by
side with the Victorian Proclamation of 1858.
H. Dharmapala.
General Secretary, Maha-Bodhi Society
2, Creek Row, Calcutta,
30th January, 1901.
In all these communications, Dharmapala’s language, perhaps especially to

twenty-first century ears, sounds excessively florid and over-the-top. Given the
Mahabodhi Society’s efforts at international expansion of Buddhism (which
demanded it take its place in the elite strata of society) and also its dependence on
the goodwill of the imperial authorities for its efforts at Buddhist revival in India,
Dharmapala could not but make a statement and gesture of condolence on the
death of the Queen. But in acknowledging this constraint, we are ourselves
constrained to ask did he really have to make that effusive a gesture? Again, this
question confronts us unavoidably when we contrast the sentiments of the
Victoria memorial proposals with Dharmapala’s other writing both public (in his
publications) and personal (in his diaries).
Seeking explanation
As stated at the outset, Dharmapala’s proposal is multi-determined. The most
obvious candidate for explanation is that the proposal is a manoeuvre to ingra-
tiate the Mahabodhi Society with the imperial authorities. Given that he was
embroiled in legal battles over custody of the Mahabodhi Temple at Bodh Gaya,
this explanation seems obvious and hardly in need of defense or elaboration. But
what if we allow that the proposal has some sincerity? I have cited Dharmapala’s
1896 essay which lauds Victoria and her empire. Of course, appearing in the
English medium journal The Buddhist, this essay is also open to the charge of
being possibly disingenuous.
Or is it that Dharmapala is a “brown sahib” with a “colonized mind” (Nandy
1983)? Has he internalized not only Western rationalist and religious norms but
even a deference to the imperial authority incarnated in Queen Victoria? There is
no question that Dharmapala was heavily influenced by his English (Christian)
schooling, his mentoring by the Theosophists, and his exposure to British culture
both in South Asia and Britain. Dharmapala is not really a traditionalist but a
modernizer who reinterprets tradition. And his re-interpretation draws heavily on
Western models. His “Daily Code for the Laity” includes not only the inculcation
of a sort of Protestant work ethic but matters of etiquette including table manners
in the deportment of knives and forks (Obeyesekere 1976: 247). Dharmapala was
dependent on for support and socially part of the bhadralok, the “good and the
great” of Calcutta. And the bhadralok’s position arises from their relationship,
integration, and hence dependence, on the imperial power and its economy.
Paradoxically then, Dharmapala really was, as oxymoronic as this sounds,
both an anti-imperialist and a Victorian. He espouses Victorian “respectability” in
temperance and sexual mores. He also manifests the Victorian penchant for
romanticism and we have seen this in the idiom of his English prose. Hence
Dharmapala’s florid encomium (Victoria as the heavenly Mandapa tree).
The Raj of the late Victorian period loved ostentatious displays of ceremony
and the symbols of hierarchy and authority: among these the durbars and the
jubilees (Cannadine 1983). Of course this is in the service of displaying power,
but it is also part of Victorian romanticism—a sensibility Cannadine suggests
dovetailed with the predilections of South Asian elites for flamboyant ceremonial
and display. Dharmapala was well aware of the cogency of symbols—control of
the Mahabodhi Temple had tremendous symbolic importance to him: it is the
lynchpin in his program of international Buddhist renewal, expansion, and
ecumenism. The use of the Buddhist flag (invented by Olcott and Sumangala) at
the site and the installation of the Japanese Buddha image were all symbolic
gestures or strategies. If Dharmapala is the main figure in what Obeyesekare and
many others have dubbed “Protestant Buddhism,” we need to remember that
iconic displays and material sacra were nonetheless integral to Dharmapala’s
personal sensibility and strategic program.
We may ask if Dharmapala is admiring the institution of monarchy, or this
particular monarch (Victoria)? Is it a matter of the ideal of monarch as dharma-
raja or really reverence for this Empress-Queen? It appears to be both.
Dharmapala may decry British imperialism but that does not mean that he decries
the institution of monarchy. His writings frequently speak of a model of reformed
Buddhist society that looks back to a golden age of righteous Buddhist kings as
outlined in the Mahavamsa (Seneviratne 1999: 29 ff.). What is clear is that he
assimilates, as shown above (perhaps for rhetorical purposes), Victoria to that
most iconic of Buddhist kings, the Emperor Aśoka.
Queen-Empress: The first word in this compound has affinities in Dharmapala’s
mind with traditional Buddhist notions of kingship—the dharmaraja who
protects the state and maintains the conditions that allow the flourishing of
the Buddhist sasana. The second word, Empress, speaks to the international,
cosmopolitan ideal he had for modern (or modernist) Buddhism. Victoria repre-
sents, on one level, the figurehead of a particular nation, Britain. On another
level, she represents an international if not universal polity, the Empire (“on
which the sun never sets”). She is not only a dharmaraja but a cakravartin. Since
Dharmapala wanted a global, cosmopolitan Buddhism, this international
dimension of the Queen-Empress resonates with him and his aspirations.
It appears that in Dharmapala’s mind, he can honour the office of the Crown
while decrying the actual behaviour of its officers. He can admire the Empress
while hating the Empire. A decade after Victoria, in a letter dated August 21,
1914, Dharmapala wrote to the Attorney General in Colombo asking if there was
an intention to arrest him if he arrived in Ceylon. The last paragraph of this letter
states: “True that I criticize in my articles the officials; but my loyalty to the
British Throne is as solid as a rock and I have invariably expressed my
sentiments of loyalty to the King” (Guruge 1965: lix).13 To say that Dharmapala
is simply schizophrenic in his attitude to the Raj would not really be any explana-
tion at all. Conflicted, yes, or characterized by deep ambivalence. Seneviratne
speaks of the “ambiguities and dissonances in the ideology of Dharmapala” who
“exemplifies the pattern of religious reform on the model of western ideas and
social forms while ideologically rejecting the west” (Seneviratne 1999: 11).14
His love–hate relationship manifests in many domains. While Dharmapala
admired Western industry in both senses of that word—industry as material/
technological progress and industry as industriousness, an energetic work-ethic,
he deplored its impact on indigenous South Asian economies and traditions. He
admired British activism but hated British imperial brutality. He admired Western
scientific agriculture but despised its production of alcohol. He admired the Jesus
of the Sermon on the Mount but loathed the “Old Testament Jehovah.” It is
important to remember that his anti-imperial invective is also rooted in direct,
personal experiences of racist attitudes and behaviour on the part of colonists,
police, and military in British Ceylon and India.15 His own brother died in a
British prison in Colombo in 1915. Of course, it is also important here to
acknowledge dissonance and inconsistency on the part of the colonizers. Thomas
Metcalf points out that “the ideals sustaining the imperial enterprise in India were
always shot through with contradiction and inconsistency” (Metcalf 1995: x). For
instance, by what right could the Victorian British claiming to belong to a liberal
democracy also claim imperial dominion on the basis of conquest?
I have suggested that while Dharmapala’s proposal is multi-determined, the
most obvious candidate for explanation is that the proposal is a political ploy to
ingratiate the Mahabodhi Society with the imperial authorities. I have gone on to
argue that the explanation is more complicated than that. I maintain that the letter
has substantial elements of sincerity either conscious or unconscious.16 But I end
by returning to my first candidate for explanation with a final conjecture. Could it
be (at least in Dharmapala’s mind), that the letter which appears as a gesture of
obeisance is really a clever attempt at manipulation in disguise? Should we
read it not as an instrument of obeisance but as a devious and subtle (if naïve)
instrument of subversion?
British administrators in India argued that the pomp and pageantry of a cult of
the Queen-Empress would appeal to the sentiment of the “Asiatic” people
(Metcalf 1995: 221). In presenting his encomium on Victoria, Dharmapala is
either demonstrating that this was right, or, strategically, turning this back on the
British by appealing to their sentiments in an effort to further his political cause
at Bodh Gaya. In this latter reading, the marble altar to Victoria beneath the
Bodhi Tree is a Trojan Horse that will, through the favour it gets for Buddhists
from the Raj, regain the site for Buddhism, moving the axis mundi from
London back to where it belongs in Bodh Gaya—Bodh Gaya as the reclaimed
center of not only Asian but ultimately international Buddhism, and hence, of
the world.
Notes
1 dhammapālo mahāvēēro
buddha sāsana jōthako
anumoditvā nimam punnam
pappothu sugatham padam
Dharmadoot, The Maha Bodhi Society of India, Sarnath. Kartik Purnima Issue, 2002.
The publication follows the Pali passage with the invocation: “May bodhisattva
Anagarika Dharmapala attain supreme enlightenment” (The transliteration follows the
original.)
2 The booklet was published in Los Angeles in 1902 (Guruge 1965: 479) when
Dharmapala was on his third American tour. One might wonder if Dharmapala’s
hostility to the Raj was a later development in his life, long post-dating the proposal of
1901 and arising from events such as the partition of Bengal in 1905 or frustration
from the final failure of his legal efforts at Bodh Gaya. However, the evidence from
his diary and other writings shows this simply is not so. Negative assessment of the
British Raj increases after 1905 in Dharmapala’s writing, but is certainly in evidence
even before 1900. To give one example: in a handwritten 35-page manuscript sent
Dec. 6, 1896 to Paul Carus in LaSalle, Illinois with the title, “The Ethics of the
Buddha,” Dharmapala writes: “[the Sinhalese] are now under British rule a slavish
people, victims of drunkenness and many modern vices. But Buddhism still survives,
and it is due to her influence alone that the Sinhalese have not met with the fate of the
Tasmanian, the African Savage, or the North American Indian. When the day of reck-
oning arrives, England will have to answer for the many unjust things that she has
done in destroying the independence of a people who had maintained a noble and
peaceful independence for 2300 years” (The Open Court Papers, Special Collections
Research Center, Morris Library, Southern Illinois University). Guruge includes this
essay in his anthology (Guruge 1965: 199 ff.) but dates it 1897–98.
3 Page 90 of this memorial issue has a lengthy column devoted to “The New King of
England and Emperor of India” dated London, Jan. 23: “His Majesty the King arrived
at Marlborough House this afternoon, and proceeded with an escort of Life Guards to
St. James’s Palace, where a great number of Privy Councillors were assembled.” It
goes on to describe in some detail Edward VII taking his oath and a statement or
declaration by the new king. This column is followed by one titled “Social and
Political Dangers of the Twentieth Century” which argues that the nineteenth century
may be called the “Century of European Christianity” but that at its close its balance
sheet shows no dividend but rather there is anarchy, drunkenness, militarism and other
woes. Among the items added to this list are: the Chinese question, laxity in the
manner of marriage, racial antipathies, and . . . imperialism. There is no connection
made between the two columns.
4 National Archives of India
Home Dept. 1901
Public
Part B Proceedings February
Nos. 466/469 Subject: Proposal of the Buddhist community to commemorate the
death of Her late Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, by creating two permanent
beacon lights at Buddha Gaya and a memorial shrine of marble under the holy tree.
5 Dharmapala, on visiting Bodh Gaya for the first time, had written in his diary for
January 22, 1891: “As soon as I touched with my forehead the Vajrasana a sudden
impulse came into my mind. It prompted me to stop here and take care of this sacred
spot – so sacred that nothing in the world is equal to this place where Prince Sakya
Sinha gained Enlightenment under the Bodhi Tree.” Cited in Sangharakshita (1995:
61). This makes it all the more remarkable that he would be proposing an altar to
Victoria at this precise location.
6 The Private Secretary to the Viceroy, W.R. Lawrence, replied to Anagarika H.
Dharmapala, Esq. on 29 January, 1901.
Dear Sir
I have to acknowledge receipt of your letter of the 26th instant, and am desired by
His Excellency the Viceroy, to thank you sincerely for the expressions of sympathy
and condolence which you have been good enough to send him on behalf of the
Buddhists, upon the occasion of the lamented death of Her late Majesty the Queen
Empress, and to assure you that they will be transmitted to the proper quarter.
(The reply is reprinted in the Journal of the Maha-Bodhi Society IX, No. 10, February,
1901.)
7 It should be noted that the construction of Bodh Gaya as a site for a transnational
Buddhism aroused some British apprehension from the very beginning of
Dharmapala’s campaign. On October 31, 1891, on the eve of the visit of the Lieutenant
Governor of Bengal, Dharmapala held an international Buddhist conference in Bodh
Gaya with delegates representing Ceylon, China, Japan, and Chittagong. He hoisted
the Japanese flag beside the Buddhist flag under the Bodhi Tree which caused the Lt.
Governor to refuse to meet him.
8 India Telegraphs Regr. No 1287
To: The Viceroy of India, Barrackpore
Most Worshipful
High Priest
Sumangala
Ceylon Buddhists wish to commemorate the lamented death of her late Majesty by
erecting two permanent beacon lights at buddhaghya [sic] and to erect a memorial of
marble under the holy tree and a wire fence around it.
Barrackpore 10–2–01
9 Victoria had become patron of the Royal Asiatic Society on her accession to the
throne. Important too in Dharmapala’s estimation of the Queen was her Royal
Proclamation of 1858 (following the “mutiny” of 1857) in which she promised reli-
gious freedom for India:
Firmly relying Ourselves on the truth of Christianity, and acknowledging with grati-
tude the solace of Religion, We disclaim alike the Right and the Desire to impose our
Convictions on any of Our Subjects. We declare it to be Our Royal Will and Pleasure
that none be in any wise favoured, none molested or disquieted, by reason of
Religious Faith or Observances; but that all shall alike enjoy the equal and impartial
protection of the Law: and We do strictly charge and enjoin all those who may be in
authority under Us, that they abstain from all interference with Religious Belief or
Worship of any of Our Subjects, on pain of Our highest Displeasure.
(Queen Victoria’s Proclamation, 1 November 1858, cited in
Phillips, Singh and Pandey (1962) pp. 10–11)
10 Dated Almora, 14 June, 1897. High regard for Victoria had been expressed earlier by
another figure from the Calcutta bhadralok, the Brahmo leader Keshub Chunder Sen
in a speech in 1877, at the time of Victoria’s declaration as Empress of India: “Loyalty
shuns an impersonal abstraction. It demands a person, and that person is the sovereign,
or the head of state, in whom law and constitutionalism are visibly typified and repre-
sented. We are right then if our loyalty means not only respect for law and the parlia-
ment, but personal attachment to Victoria, Queen of England and Empress of India.”
“Who can deny that Victoria is an instrument in the hands of Providence to elevate this
degraded country in the scale of nations, and that in her hands the solemn trust has
lately been most solemnly reposed?” “Let modern England teach hard science and
fact; let ancient India teach sweet poetry and sentiment” (Hay 1988: 47–48).
11 The quoted verse comes from Tennyson’s poem “Akbar’s Dream.”
12 Ultimately, Lord Curzon’s proposal for a major Victoria memorial would materialize
as the Victoria Memorial Hall in Kolkata; but this massive monument and museum
on 64 acres of land only began construction in 1906 and was not completed until
1921.
13 Dharmapala’s famous contemporary, Mahatma Gandhi, as late as 1915 was still ready
to speak of his loyalty to Empire. The following extract was a toast he gave at the
annual dinner of the Madras Bar Association on April 24, 1915.
During my three months touring in India as also in South Africa, I have been often
questioned how I, a determined opponent of modern civilization and an avowed
patriot, could reconcile myself to loyalty to the British Empire of which India was such
a large part, how it was possible for me to find it consistent that India and England
could work together for mutual benefit. . . . I know that a passive resister has to make
good his claim to passive resistance, no matter under what circumstances he finds
himself, and I discovered that the British Empire had certain ideals with which I have
fallen in love, and one of those ideals is that every subject of the British Empire has the
freest scope possible for his energies and honour and whatever he thinks is due to his
conscience. I think that this is true of the British Empire, as it is not true of any other
Government. I feel as you have perhaps known that I am no lover of any Government
and I have more than once said that that Government is best which governs least. And
I have found that it is possible for me to be governed least under the British Empire.
Hence my loyalty to the British Empire.
(The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, Vol. 14, 417–18)
14 Seneviratne (1999: 11) adds: “This creative synthesis, meeting the western challenge
by learning from the west and fighting it with its own weapons, is a characteristic
feature of all situations of rational indigenous response to colonialism.” We might also
invoke here James Ketelaar’s notion of “strategic Occidentalism” by which he refers
to appropriations of aspects of the “Occident” for application to new historical
narratives and political concerns (Ketelaar 1991: 37–56).
15 I illustrate with one example from the Dharmapala diaries housed at the Mahabodhi
Society, Sarnath:
3 Sept. 1918
Whilst reading the review of a work called the Rooted Life in the Times Literary
Suppl. there flashed forth the recollection of an event which had lain buried in
my mind for nearly 46 years. When I was a boy about 6 years old I was with
my uncle. He and my aunt and I went to Kandy to worship the Tooth Relic. On our
way to the Maligawa a heavy shower of rain fell, and my uncle to avoid getting wet
stepped into a verandah not far from the Maligawa. Forthwith the European came
from inside the house and ordered us to clear out. It was raining hard still, and we had
to get out.
16 An interrogation of my own past in a reflexive gesture leads me to empathize with
Dharmapala’s inconsistency (if that’s what it was). I acknowledge my version of
“colonial” upbringing in English Canada in Toronto. Sent to a boys’ school (a sort of
transposed British boarding school) I was taught at home and school to revere the
Queen. Despite consciously espousing quite contrary political positions, I admit to a
semi-conscious, anachronistic, vestigial, irrational (or arational) reverence for the
Crown. Even today, for many Canadians (and not just our First Nations) Her Majesty
Elizabeth II is still the Great Mother or the Great White Goddess across the sea.
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7 Bodh Gaya in the 1950s
Jawaharlal Nehru, Mahant Giri,
and Anagarika Munindra
C. Robert Pryor
Introduction
In order to understand the forces at work in Bodh Gaya at present it is helpful to
return to the 1950s. At that time the most important conflict was between Hindu
and Buddhist paradigms, and how these were understood in the management and
ritual of the Mahabodhi Temple. The decade saw the resolution of this struggle as
a result of three important changes: (1) the establishment of a shared Hindu and
Buddhist administration for the Mahabodhi Temple under the Bodh Gaya Temple
Act, (2) the transformation of most ritual conduct at the Mahabodhi Temple to
conform with a Buddhist paradigm, and (3) an international celebration of the
2500th anniversary of the Buddha’s parinirvana sponsored by the Indian govern-
ment in 1956. At present however the central issue for Bodh Gaya has shifted and
become a contest between those individuals and institutions who view the
Mahabodhi Temple chiefly as a tourist site to be exploited for profit, and those
who see it above all as a religious site that should be protected and developed for
pilgrims.1 After examining the changes in Bodh Gaya during the 1950s, I will
comment on the contemporary situation, and determine to what extent the forces
at work in the 1950s may still be relevant at present.
Part I: the decade of the 1950s

In 1953 the Mahabodhi Temple was placed under government administration. In
light of the Bodh Gaya Temple Act that was established in 1949, the local Hindu
Math (previous owner) was replaced by a temple management committee with a
mix of Hindu and Buddhist members. This was the conclusion of a prolonged
struggle for control of the Mahabodhi Temple that began in the 1890s. For over
fifty years, the effort to gain control of the Mahabodhi Temple for Buddhists was
led by the Mahabodhi Society founded by Anagarika Dharmapala. When the
temple was formally handed over to the government committee in 1953, one of
the first things to occur was the appointment of a Buddhist superintendent,
Anagarika Munindra of the Mahabodhi Society. With his position of influence,
Munindra was responsible for transforming the primary rituals of the Mahabodhi
Temple from Hindu to Buddhist. In 1956, the celebration of the Buddha Jayanti
Bodh Gaya in the 1950s 111
or 2500-year anniversary of the parinirvana, also drew worldwide attention to
the site, especially from countries with large Buddhist populations in Asia. Thus,
in the 1950s there were three major institutions involved in these dramatic events,
and each had a different view of the meaning of Bodh Gaya. These three are the
Hindu Math, the Mahabodhi Society, and the newly independent Government of
India. I will examine three individuals who each played a major role in these
pivotal events and also represented the views that were implicit in their institu-
tion’s approach to Buddhism and Bodh Gaya. These three individuals are:
Mahant Harihar Nath Giri, who was the leader of the Bodh Gaya Hindu Math;
Anagarika Munindra, appointed by the Mahabodhi Society as Superintendent of
the Mahabodhi Temple; and Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of a
newly independent India.
One could argue, that Mahant Harihar Nath Giri (1932–55) was representative
of a traditional Hindu paradigm. In this view, the Buddha was regarded as the
ninth avatar of Vishnu, and therefore the Mahabodhi Temple is primarily a Hindu
temple and only secondarily a Buddhist one. Prior to the 1950s, the Mahant
fought very hard against the Mahabodhi Society and the new government in
order to maintain his control of the Mahabodhi Temple. The Hindu Math in Bodh
Gaya was also politically influential and economically powerful at this time.
According to the present Mahant, they controlled 30,000 acres of land throughout
the area.2 As the elected head of this religious establishment Harihar Giri not only
embodied a Hindu interpretation of Buddhism, he also led a powerful agricultural
estate that dominated the economy in Bodh Gaya and the surrounding area.
In opposition to Mahant Haihar Giri was the new Prime Minister of India,
Jawaharlal Nehru. As Tara Doyle explains, he had several good reasons for pres-
suring the Mahant to turn over the Mahabodhi Temple to a government committee
(Doyle 1997: 184–8). Among these reasons were: (a) the importance of the
Buddha as an Indian historical figure emphasizing tolerance, reason, and a search
for peace—in the aftermath of Partition, these values were seen as an integral part
of uniting the divided communities of the new Indian nation; (b) because of the
spread of Buddhism throughout Asia this religious tradition could be employed as
a symbol to draw the newly independent Asian nations together for mutual
support both politically and economically; and (c) as well as these internal and
external political goals of the Indian Government, Nehru also had a strong desire
to institute meaningful land reform. The Hindu Mahant was a powerful land-
owner and represented a system that Nehru and his colleagues wished to abolish.
In addition to these three factors I would like to add a fourth. It is my view that
Nehru was also personally motivated to establish the Mahabodhi Temple as
primarily a Buddhist site. There are several threads of evidence that lead me to
this conclusion. If we look back on his youth we find that Nehru was, for a time,
a member of the Theosophical Society, and strongly influenced by his tutor F. T.
Brooks, a member of the society. In his autobiography, Nehru comments:
So I became a member of the Theosophical Society at thirteen and Mrs.

Besant herself performed the ceremony of initiation, which consisted of
good advice and instruction in some mysterious signs, probably a relic of
freemasonry. I was thrilled. I attended the Theosophical Convention at
Benares and saw old Colonel Olcott with his fine beard.
(Nehru 1936: 15)
Although Nehru was only active in the society for a short time in his youth, it
should be highlighted that during this period, the teachings of the Buddha were
an important aspect of Theosophical thought, and the Society had retained close
links with the Mahabodhi Society and its founder Anagarika Dharmapala.
Nehru’s personal interest in the Buddha is also evidenced by the following
statement from The Discovery of India, written while he was in prison between
1942 and 1944:
The Buddha story attracted me even in early boyhood, and I was drawn to
the young Siddhartha who, after many inner struggles and pain and torment,
was to develop into the Buddha. Edwin Arnold’s Light of Asia became one of
my favorite books. In later years, when I traveled about a great deal in my
province, I liked to visit the many places connected with the Buddha legend,
sometimes making a detour for the purpose.
(Nehru 1946: 122)
Further, in 1956 on the occasion of the Buddha Jayanti, he made the following
remarks:
I believe that it is essentially through the message of the Buddha that we can
look at our problems in the right perspective, and draw back from conflict,
and from competing with one another in the realm of conflict, violence and
hatred. Every action has certain consequences. A good action has certain
good consequences. An evil action has evil consequences. That I believe is
as good a law of nature as any physical or chemical law. If that is so, hatred,
which is evil, must have evil consequences. It can never bring good results.
Violence, which is evil, must have evil consequences and, indeed, leads to
the growth of violence. How then are we to escape from this vicious circle? I
hope and believe that this year of the celebration of the 2,500th anniversary
of the Parinirvana of the Buddha has led people to look deeper into these
problems, and made them realize that they have to search for some kind of
union between their day-to-day political, scientific, technological and other
activities and certain measure of spirituality.
(Nehru 1958: 431)
If one tours Teen Murti House, the Nehru Museum in New Delhi, you will find
that the conservators have tried to keep things just as they appeared on Nehru’s
death. It is interesting to note that in almost every room there is a representation
of the Buddha in either a photo or a sculpture. No other image is repeated with
such regularity, and there is even a photo of the Buddha on the table next to the
bed where Nehru slept. I would suggest that these frequent depictions of the
Buddha indicate that Nehru had strong personal, as well as political reasons, for
assisting with the transfer of the Mahabodhi Temple to a new governing body
that would represent the interests of Buddhists more fully.
The third personality that I will highlight is that of Anagarika Munindra who
served as the first Buddhist superintendent of the Mahabodhi Temple from 1953
to 1957. In that role he was responsible for making the physical changes that
transformed the temple from a Hindu site of worship to primarily a Buddhist one.
As explained by Tara Doyle, this included removing sindur markings and red
cloth from many statues as well as limiting the role of Hindu pujaris at the temple
and relocating some Hindu images (Doyle 1997: 197). What I would like to
discuss here are not these specific changes, but rather the background and char-
acter of Anagarika Munindra that indicate he represented the values of the
Mahabodhi Society at the time.
Born in 1915 at a rural village in the region of Chittagong, Bengal (located
today in Bangladesh), Munindra was a Barua whose traditional Buddhist family
traced their origins back to Siddhartha, the historical Buddha. Living close to
Burma they had been able to maintain Theravada Buddhist traditions that died
out in most of India. He also grew up during the late British period and was an
excellent student and proficient in many languages, especially English. Coming
from a religious family background, Munindra was also strongly motivated to
understand the Dharma on his own terms. In fact, he had such an independent
focus that he refused to follow a typical academic career, which he feared, would
interrupt his study of Buddhism. For similar reasons, he also later declined to
become an ordained Buddhist monk and instead elected the life of an anagarika,
or homeless-one, made popular by the founder of the Mahabodhi Society,
Dharmapala.
Although Munindra joined the society shortly after the death of its founder and
never had the opportunity to meet him, it is clear that his life was strongly influ-
enced by the example of Anagarika Dharmapala. Both men were highly individu-
alistic, sometimes stubborn, and intent on following the Dharma as they
understood it. In addition, both were influenced by the Theosophical Society in
their youth. For Munindra, this occurred in the 1930s when he attended lectures
at the Theosophical Society in Calcutta and in Sarnath from 1936 to 1946, where
he studied a range of religious subjects while serving the Mahabodhi Society at
their new temple.
In Bodh Gaya during the 1950s Munindra lived at the guesthouse of the
Mahabodhi Society. At that time there were no separate quarters for the superin-
tendent of the Mahabodhi Temple. One could argue that this was a natural
arrangement, as he had been appointed to the post on the recommendation of the
Mahabodhi Society. This is a good example of the close relationship between the
new Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee and the Mahabodhi Society in
the 1950s. As preparations for the Buddha Jayanti of 1956 got underway, some
local authorities requested that Munindra have a telephone installed to help with
the administration of the Mahabodhi Temple. However, he refused on the grounds
that a telephone would detract from the quiet environment and interrupt his study
of the Dharma. Local officials were not happy, but his insistence prevailed. In a
similar vein, when Munindra was offered an opportunity to learn and practice
Vipassana meditation in Burma at the center of Mahasi Sayadaw, he did not hesi-
tate. He left Bodh Gaya in 1957 and did not return until nine years later. Nothing
could stand between him and the opportunity to study and practice the Dharma as
he felt it should be done. Like Anagarika Dharmapala, Anagarika Munindra
was a modern example of the adaptation of traditional Buddhist values to the
twentieth-century colonial environment. As such, Munindra personified the
world view of the Mahabodhi Society at the time.3
In summary, during the decade of the 1950s the national government, led by
Nehru, ensured that the state government brought about major changes to the
place of Buddha’s enlightenment. Of particular importance was the establishment
of the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee which continues to run the
Mahabodhi Temple today. At this time, the Mahabodhi Society was also in close
contact with the government, although many Buddhists were not completely
satisfied with the organization of the committee because it still had a majority of
Hindu members. Nevertheless, both the new national government and the
Mahabodhi Society shared enough in their worldviews and goals to unite against
the Bodh Gaya Mahant and his position of Hindu orthodoxy. In short, when two
of the three major forces at work in Bodh Gaya were aligned, significant changes
took place relatively smoothly.
Part II: the present situation

Bodh Gaya is again going through a dramatic transformation. However, this time
there is considerably more friction in the process. I would now like to examine
the forces at work in the present, and will use the categories discussed above
to help in this process. The two most dramatic events of the past decade were
the declaration of the Mahabodhi Temple as a UNESCO World Heritage Site
and the opening of the Gaya International Airport in 2002. Along with the
celebration of the 2,550 Buddha Jayanti in 2006, these events can be seen as
ushering in a new phase in the history of Bodh Gaya. Previously, the major
differences had been between those who viewed the Mahabodhi Temple and
Bodh Gaya through a “Buddhist” lens and those who viewed it through a “Hindu”
lens. Although in the 1990s there was also contention between Dalit Buddhists
and others over the control of the Mahabodhi Temple, at present the primary
conflict seems to be drawn between those who view Bodh Gaya through the
secular lens of tourism, and those who see it as first and foremost a center for
religious pilgrimage.
First I will examine the interests of the Government of India at present. These
are principally two. The first is the continued use of Buddhist heritage as a link
with contemporary Southeast and East Asia. An example of this is the visit of
Prime Minister Manmohan Singh to Singapore in November 2007. An article that
appeared in The Indian Express, stated:
Standing on either side of a copper plate with inscriptions of the essence of
Buddhism at the ASEAN Civilizations Museum, Prime Minister Manmohan
Singh and his Singapore counterpart Lee Hsien Loong on Wednesday under-
lined the relevance of Buddhism in binding the region with India and China.
Singh inaugurated an exhibition titled “On the Nalanda Trail: Buddhism in
India, China and Southeast Asia” that showcases the life and times of Lord
Buddha, including the spread of his teachings from India to other parts of
Southeast Asia and China.
(The Indian Express, Nov. 21, 2007)
This clearly illustrates the cultural role of Buddhist heritage as “soft power” for
diplomacy with neighboring countries.
However, for the future of Bodh Gaya these diplomatic initiatives are
secondary to the government’s interest in using Buddhism as an engine of
economic development through tourism. In concert with the Bihar State
Government and the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee (2001–07),
there has been considerable effort by the Ministry of Tourism to plan the redevel-
opment of Bodh Gaya along lines suggested by UNESCO advisors. This has
resulted in the adoption of a controversial development plan proposed by Housing
Urban Development Corporation (HUDCO) in 2006. These efforts at the state
and international level seem to present the Mahabodhi Temple primarily as an
architectural monument rather than a living multivalent religious site (Asher
2008: 80–2), and were designed to maximize the number of foreign visitors to the
site in order to increase economic profit. Plans include the relocation of much of
the present business district of Bodh Gaya to the economic detriment of local
businesses and the probable benefit of major national business interests in the
tourist industry. In other words, the designation of the Mahabodhi Temple as a
World Heritage Site is used as justification for these actions, but the local commu-
nity largely views the situation as a struggle between wealthy national interests
and more modest local businesses. The considerable emphasis on economic
development to this extent is a relatively new phenomenon, and it would appear
that Bodh Gaya is being seen as an engine that can drive development for all of
southern Bihar.4
How does Sudarshan Giri, the Bodh Gaya Mahant since 1999 view this situa-
tion? As the head of an institution in decline since the 1950s the power of his
position is greatly reduced compared with that of his predecessors. Interviewed
in November 2007, he commented that he felt the government was unfair in
taking all but 100 acres away from the Math in order to accomplish its land
reform objectives. In general, he feels that developing Bodh Gaya is a good idea;
however, he still controls large areas of the local bazaar, and is clearly concerned
about the government’s plans to relocate many of the businesses in this area that
pay him rent. When questioned about control of the Mahabodhi Temple, he
replied that he was very happy not to be in charge of the Temple these days,
because it is such a difficult job. He made this comment with a big smile on his
face, and I could not help but think about the crowd of local people, who, just
three weeks earlier at a demonstration, had burned an effigy of Bhikku Bodhipal,
who was then the head monk of the Mahabodhi Temple. It was clear that in spite
of his position on the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee the Mahant
would like to distance himself from these controversial plans to relocate local
businesses and residences, and that there may even be differences of opinion
between the Temple Management Committee and the state or central government
on these issues. In addition, it is important to recognize that now the Mahant is
only one among a large group of local leaders whose business interests are
threatened by the government’s plans for development. In fact the emergence of a
relatively large middle class of entrepreneurs has been one of the distinguishing
elements of the changes in Bodh Gaya since the 1950s.
How does the head of the Mahabodhi Society in Bodh Gaya view the present
situation? Interviewed in January 2008, Venerable Seewalee Thera did not
support many of the policies of the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee
or the government, and he did not favor the World Heritage Site designation for
the Mahabodhi Temple. Venerable Seewalee Thera is a fully ordained Sri Lankan
monk who is deeply concerned about the conditions in Bodh Gaya. He feels that
commercial enterprises are dominating the town, and would like to see some of
them controlled. For example, he would like the government to abolish the sale
of alcohol and the butchering of animals in the local market. He is very concerned
about maintaining the spiritual atmosphere of Bodh Gaya and would also like to
see loudspeakers banned from the town. His primary goal is to establish a
Buddhist college in Bodh Gaya in order to educate local people and Indian monks
about Buddhism. He does not feel that the government or the Bodh Gaya Temple
Management Committee take into consideration the views of over forty foreign
Buddhists monasteries that are now situated within a 2km radius of the
Mahabodhi Temple. Clearly, there is no longer a close association between the
Mahabodhi Society and the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee as there
was in the 1950s and their interests appear to have diverged. Venerable Seewalee
Thera represents the views of a growing number of foreign Buddhists in Bodh
Gaya who see the World Heritage designation as highly problematic if it leads to
unpopular development and civil strife. For example, the views of Sayadaw U.
Nyaneinda, abbot of the Burmese Vihar are very similar to those of Venerable
Seewalee Thera on this matter.
The aims of state and national government, as represented locally by govern-
ment officials and the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee, are now no
longer fully supported by the Mahabodhi Society. A dramatic development over
the past several decades has been the complete separation of the Mahabodhi
Society from the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee and their present
opposition regarding strategies for developing Bodh Gaya. The Mahabodhi
Society now functions much like the other foreign Buddhist temples in Bodh
Gaya. Like these other temples, its leadership tends to see the economic develop-
ment of Bodh Gaya for a predominantly profit motive as highly problematic.
In summary, during the 1950s the state and central governments were aligned
with both the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee and the Mahabodhi
Society on important issues. Now, however, the Mahabodhi Society along with
other foreign Buddhist temples, local business people, and the Hindu Mahant
are opposed to implementation of the HUDCO plan as proposed by the central
and state governments. In addition to this shift in power, one of the most
important developments in the past fifty years has been the establishment of
more than forty Buddhist temples where there were only a few in the 1950s. The
dramatic growth of local businesses and population has also created a new
political force in Bodh Gaya, and this group has largely replaced the Hindu
Mahant as the most important economic voice in the area. These constituencies
have not always been dealt with skillfully in the recent past and this has resulted
in major problems for the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee as well as
the local government.
It is clear that the development plans presented by the state government and
the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee between 2001 and 2007 were
not well received by the community. There continues to be considerable
animosity in Bodh Gaya because the government failed to take all of the stake-
holders into account. In particular, during those years the Temple Management
Committee appeared to support the development of Bodh Gaya primarily as an
engine of economic growth, but without adequately considering the important
interests of the local population and business community. In addition, the
many foreign Buddhist Temples in Bodh Gaya were not sufficiently consulted
about their needs and interests in these development efforts. During the years
2008–2011 there has been a new and more politically skilled administration
leading the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee. N. Dorje, the committee
secretary during this period, has been able to prioritize pilgrimage over tourism,
and this has impacted positively on Bodh Gaya as well as the Mahabodhi Temple.
Through patient negotiation he has also greatly reduced the tensions among
various groups in Bodh Gaya; however, the underlying differences in values and
objectives remain.
Conclusion
If Bodh Gaya is to be developed successfully, all the stakeholder groups must be
taken into account in the future. The challenge facing the Bihar government and
the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee will be to heal the wounds of the
recent past and build a consensus for future development that can satisfy diverse
constituencies. These are principally three: the government, the foreign Buddhist
temples, and the local business community. Each of these three groups has their
own perspective on Bodh Gaya and how it should best be administered. We can
see the roots of these views in the principal institutions that shaped Bodh Gaya
more than fifty years ago. In the 1950s Bodh Gaya was the site of a contest
between Hindu and Buddhist views of the Mahabodhi Temple with the national
government lending its weight to the Buddhist side. At present Bodh Gaya is the
site of an important contest between local and national models of economic
development. However, we must keep in mind that this is taking place within the
broader framework of a struggle between the underlying models of pilgrimage
and tourism. Government and business interests are favoring the paradigm of
tourism, while the foreign Buddhist temples in Bodh Gaya seem committed to
emphasizing the spiritual importance of the site as a pilgrimage center. How
these major contests of definition are resolved will greatly determine the shape of
Bodh Gaya for the future.
Notes
1 For the purpose of this discussion I will consider a tourist to be one who travels prima-
rily for personal pleasure, and a pilgrim as one who travels primarily for religious or
spiritual reasons. Although a single individual may certainly have both motivations, it is
the principal motive a traveler holds that in my view will distinguish a tourist from a
pilgrim.
2 Interview with Mahant Sudarshan Giri, November 10, 2007.
3 The information on Anagarika Munindra is drawn from a series of interviews conducted
with him in September 2002.
4 This and following observations about recent history in Bodh Gaya were made by the
author during repeated visits there in the past two decades.
Bibliography
Asher, Frederick M. (2008) Bodh Gaya: Monumental Legacy, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press.
Doyle, Tara Nancy. (1997) “Bodh Gaya: Journeys to the Diamond Throne and the Feet of
Nehru, Jawaharlal. (1936) Jawaharlal Nehru, an Autobiography, London: John Lane.
——. (1946) The Discovery of India, London: John Day.
——. (1958) Jawaharlal Nehru’s Speeches, Volume Three, New Delhi: Government of
India.
8 “Why cause unnecessary
confusion?”
Re-inscribing the Mahabodhi
Temple’s holy places
Tara N. Doyle
One of the first things a visitor encounters when entering the Mahabodhi
compound is an enormous, beautifully wrought signboard (see Figure 8.1),
located at the bottom of the stairs, right in the middle of the main path leading to
the Temple. Made of white marble and red sandstone, it is inscribed with the
following message: “Ajapala Nigrodha (Banyan Tree). Lord Buddha spent the
fifth week under this tree in meditation after enlightenment. Here he replied to a
Brahmana that only by one’s deeds one becomes a Brahmana, not by birth.”
Scattered among the ancient stūpas, shrines, statues, and carved railings that
surround the towering Mahabodhi Temple, six other marble and stone signboards
are prominently featured. Each relates particular events that purportedly occurred
during one of seven weeks after the Buddha’s awakening under the Bodhi Tree.
The message that seems to emanate from these prominent signboards—the only
markers of their kind in the entire complex—is twofold: first that these are the
very places where the Buddha engaged in these sacred actions; and second that it
is these very acts which make the Mahabodhi Temple significant, religiously.
Anyone familiar with the various biographies of the Buddha (or, for that
matter, the sacred biographies of any religion) will recognize the symbiotic rela-
tionship being established here between sacred story and sacred place. But, it is
important to realize that this seven-week cycle is only one of the ways the
Buddha’s acts in Bodh Gaya have been presented in the multiple biographies
generated over the last 2500 years. Furthermore, not just these but other places in
the Mahabodhi Temple vicinity are (or have been) considered equally significant
by the Hindu and Buddhist pilgrims who have frequented this sacred center in
ever-increasing numbers since the end of the nineteenth century.
This chapter will investigate how the seven-week scheme now inscribed on
these seven stone signboards has become the Mahabodhi Temple’s officially
sanctioned—literally carved-in-stone—master narrative. In order to do this, I will
set the stage by discussing the symbiotic relationship between Buddha-related
stories and Buddhist pilgrimage places generally, with particular attention to
cycles of stories about Bodh Gaya in the past. I will then argue that despite the
tendency among the Buddhist faithful (and many contemporary scholars) to fix or
concretize these places, they have actually never been static; nor have they been
universally accepted, understood, or even known. Thus, as Toni Huber asserts,
Figure 8.1 Ajapala Tree and Pillar (photo by Matthew R. Sayers).
Buddha-related places and stories would be more accurately seen as “shifting

terrains” generated by “creative actors” who have been influenced by the histor-
ical, social, and discursive worlds in which they live (Huber 2008: 16–17).
Having laid this theoretical foundation, I will recount the provenance in 1988 of
the signboards now prominently found in the Mahabodhi Temple compound,
Re-inscribing the Mahabodhi Temple’s holy places 121
drawing on interviews with the small group of local Theravada monks responsible
for their establishment. I will also briefly relate how their actions resulted in the
rapid, widespread acceptance of this new “master narrative,” despite the presence
of other religious stories explaining this center’s significance. In the next section I
will discuss some of the social, historical, and religious “causes and conditions”
that contributed to this process, arguing that while contestation played some part, it
was relatively minimal, due in large part to the successful “Buddhification” of the
Temple during the last two centuries. I will conclude by proposing that in addition
to this historical process, the Buddhist logic of skillful means coupled with a belief
in the impermanence of all phenomena influenced the actions and attitudes of the
monks responsible for determining the latest, officially sanctioned version of what
the Buddha did after he was enlightened, and where these great events took place.
Multiple stories and “shifting terrains”

Before discussing the modern “causes and conditions” that contributed to the
inscription of this particular seven-week narrative onto seven marble and stone
signboards, it is important to note that the linkage of Buddha-related stories with
physical places is anything but new. Indeed, this practice contributed signifi-
cantly to both the numerous iterations of the Buddha’s biography and the multiple
pilgrimage sites that emerged soon after his death, and then expanded over subse-
quent centuries across the subcontinent. The relationship between the expanding
biographical and pilgrimage traditions was clearly symbiotic: stories emerged
that explained certain places, while sites were established where stories were said
to have taken place. This process characterized not only major centers that came
to be associated with the life of the Buddha (Lumbini, Bodh Gaya, Sarnath,
Kusinagar, etc.), however. It also occurred, on a distinctly local level, at those
very same sites. Thus, as John Strong (2001: 6) notes, “each of these centers
became a locale where pilgrims could recall not just a single event in the life of
the Buddha but a whole set of stories”. Insight into this phenomenon prompted
scholars such as art historian Alfred Foucher to assert that the Buddha’s biograph-
ical tradition comprised numerous “cycles” of stories, with each revolving around
and emerging from a particular pilgrimage place.
Not surprisingly, a major “cycle” came to revolve around Bodh Gaya, with
many of these stories likely generated there in the context of its ever-increasing
popularity as a major Buddhist center. The main focus of this narrative cycle is,
of course, Siddhartha’s great awakening (mahabodhi). But numerous stories
arose about what he did both before and after his enlightenment, as well. With
respect to the time after his awakening, while many biographical texts relate that
the Buddha spent some days, even weeks, in the vicinity of the Bodhi Tree, they
differ in terms of both the amount of time and the events that took place.1 With
respect to this narrative diversity, John Strong writes:
Basically two accounts may be found: an orderly one that lists seven
post-enlightenment weeks and systematically recalls the events which took
place during each one of them, and which connect them to particular
sites of pilgrimage in Bodhgaya; and a narrative account that is more
casual in its definition of the weeks and where they were spent but that
seeks to tell a story coherently connecting a number of post-enlightenment
experiences.
(Strong 2001: 77–8)
The more “orderly,” place-centered approach certainly characterizes the set of

stories inscribed on the Mahabodhi Temple’s seven stone signboards. Indeed, one
could say that this set is one in a large cluster or “pool” of biographies that
include seven post-enlightenment sites.2 Moreover, following Foucher, one
would imagine that these stories were at some point linked to concrete sites in the
vicinity of the Bodhi Tree—just as they have come to be, today.
In his excellent book, The Holy Land Reborn, Toni Huber also deals with the
symbiotic generation of multiple sites and stories, focusing particularly on
Tibetan visions of and interactions with Indian pilgrimage centers during the last
two hundred years. He begins by critiquing contemporary scholars for uncriti-
cally accepting that the so-called “original sites” associated with the Buddha’s
life-story “are a known and uncontested quantity, and thus a stable and taken-for-
granted point of reference” (Huber 2008: 16). Instead he asserts that “there has
actually never been anything like a fixed and stable tradition concerning either
the individual sites or the overall geography of the Buddha in India” (Huber
2008: 16). Thus all we are ever encountering is what he refers to as a “shifting
terrain or landscape of the Buddha.” In order to nudge contemporary scholarship
more in line with this insight, he encourages his readers to “stop making a
fetish of the places apparently associated with the Buddha” and focus instead on
“those creative agents—whether Buddhist or non-Buddhist, together with their
social worlds—who have actually generated the many different claims and
schemes that contribute to this shifting terrain” (Huber 2008: 16–17). This is
exactly what I will do below. For the “creative agents” featured in the next section
have given rise to a new discursive and physical landscape at the site of the
Buddha’s enlightenment—one marked by and inscribed on seven signboards
scattered throughout the Mahabodhi Temple yard. But, as I shall demonstrate
later, this is just one in a series of “shifting terrains” during the last two hundred
years.
Historical pillars, hunger strikes, and Buddha biographies

One afternoon in March 1992, I asked Bhante3 Aniruddh (3/14/1992)4 to tell me
about the hunger strike he had staged at the Mahabodhi Temple. This gentle,
erudite Indian monk from Lucknow, who was living at Wat Thai Buddhagaya,
laughed and said that if I would give a talk to his students from Siddharthnagar
(a local village of ex-untouchable Buddhist converts), then he would tell me
this “maha-mahatmya (great praise story).” I promised, and this is the account
he told.
One day in 1988, Bhante Gyan Jagat [then the Mahabodhi Temple superin-
tendent] decided to move the Burmese bell and pillar at the bottom of the
stairs leading into the Temple, and a large stūpa a bit further down the
walkway . . . because he felt that when a lot of pilgrims came here, like
during pitripaksh,5 these things created traffic jams. The workmen were . . .
removing the pillar when I arrived. I objected, saying that this was an histor-
ical pillar, one marking the Ajapala Tree where the Buddha spent his fifth
week after enlightenment, and thus should not be moved.
If this hadn’t been an historical pillar, then never mind, I wouldn’t have
objected. In fact, I made no objection to moving either the bell or the stūpa.
But this pillar was a different matter. So a monk from Maharashtra and I
decided to go on hunger strike, at the base of this pillar. We sat there for a
day, after which Gyan Jagat asked us to stop, and promised not to move the
pillar. But, unconvinced, I went to the heads of the various Buddhist temples
. . . and we decided to form a group called the “Committee for the Protection
of the Mahabodhi Temple Against the Bodhgaya Temple Management
Committee” (CPMT).6 We also wrote letters denouncing Gyan Jagat’s
actions, and requested that in order to keep such things from happening in
the future, signboards should be made marking the sites of the seven weeks
following the Buddha’s enlightenment.
Bhante Aniruddh related that a meeting was then called of the Bodhgaya
Temple Management Committee (BTMC)7 and the Advisory Board,8 during
which it was indeed decided to make stone signboards. “Not even the Hindu
members objected, because over the years, as educated people, they have come to
embrace this as the Buddha’s enlightenment place,” he said. He further noted that
one of the major reasons given for the BTMC’s decision was that the tour guides
weren’t telling pilgrims the “correct” stories. “You know,” he quipped, “if you
have ten tour guides, you have ten stories. These fellows always mix in Hindu
stories. So we thought this might correct all that.” He also related that Rastrapal
Bhante,9 who was a member of the Management Committee, was asked by the
Gaya District Magistrate10 to look into the Tipitaka (Buddhist canon) and decide
exactly where the seven sites had been. “But,” he continued, “a text belonging to
Burmese Bhante (U Nyaneinda) was actually used, since the descriptions of the
seven sites in the Tipitaka aren’t very precise.” He ended his account by saying:
“So in 1989 the signboards were established . . . Now, at least, these seven places
are fixed. And you know, I think the Buddha did spend all seven weeks here,
close by the Bodhi Tree, because he hadn’t eaten for many days, was very weak,
and couldn’t have gone too far” (Aniruddh 3/14/1992).
I decided then to talk with U Nyaneinda11 about the text used to locate these
seven places. As was often the case with this wry Burmese abbot, he poked fun at
me, saying: “Ah ha, so you’ve uncovered another scandal. And now I suppose you
want to look at my famous book!” (U Nyaneinda 3/14/1992).12 He then went rifling
through his office, until he located his well-worn copy of the Jinattha Pakasani
(“Exposition of the Story of the Victor [Buddha]”) by Kyithe Layhtap Sayadaw.13
According to U Nyaneinda, this book, written in 1920, is found in almost every
monastery in Burma, as it is considered an extremely authoritative history covering
the past lives of the Buddha up to the council of emperor Ashok. He also remarked
that “on full-moon days people read sections of it, and remember the stories, activi-
ties, and places associated with the Buddha.”14 Chuckling, he said: “Well, we used
it to rediscover some of those places.” And then he told me how.
Bhante Rastrapal came looking, asking everyone: “Do you have a book that
clearly identifies the locations of the seven sites?” He was having a lot of
trouble, until I remembered this book. You see, Kyithe Sayadaw says, for
instance, that the Animesa-locana, is “forty long measures from the Bodhi
Tree, to the northeast” and the Ajapala place is “thirty long measures to the
east of the Bodhi Tree.”
So we knew we were in luck, because here was a reliable, precise source.
At that time, not everyone agreed on these places. The Thais and Sinhalese,
for instance, used to think that the Buddha spent the last three weeks a bit far
from the Bodhi Tree, and took pilgrims to those places. But we all decided to
use this book anyway, because we were agreed that these signboards would
be a good thing. Why? Mostly we hoped they would educate Hindu visitors
about the Buddha’s enlightenment, because they don’t really know very
much, and our Mahabodhi tour guides sometimes get the information wrong.
But U Nyaneinda also acknowledged, “We can’t actually say for sure where these
last three sites were, because Kyithe’s measurements depend on the size of one’s
stride, which is what a ‘long measure’ refers to. We can know approximately, not
exactly. But we didn’t say this to the Committee. And if you tell them,” he said,
teasing me, “well, now it’s too late: the signboards are already there!”
As we mused on the slipperiness of site identification, U Nyaneinda made
several interesting comments regarding how he rationalized this recent innova-
tion at the Mahabodhi Temple:
Look, [archaeologist Alexander] Cunningham said that the site of the

Vajrasana was actually inside the Temple, under the Buddha image, not
outside under the Bodhi Tree. But if we say this, people will become upset.
When many people accept a particular site as the site, why confuse them?
Likewise, if we start moving historical pillars simply to eliminate ‘traffic
jams’ at the Temple, then people will say: “When I came to Bodh Gaya
before they said Buddha did this here, but now they say there.” So, we all
thought, “let’s just keep things simple, and mark these seven sites.” And
anyway we didn’t want Gyan Jagat ji thinking he could do anything he
wanted inside the Temple grounds, because you know and I know he would.
(3/14/1992)
The next day, I visited Bhante Pannarama,15 the prominent, much beloved
Sinhalese monk-in-charge of the Maha Bodhi Society in Bodh Gaya, who had
also been a member of the short-lived CPMT. In the course of our discussion, I
asked him if he still took pilgrims east across the Nirañjana river to Matangavapi
(a Hindu temple that the Sinhalese have linked to the Buddha’s fifth week under
the Ajapala Tree) and one mile south to Mucharin (a dried-up pond they associ-
ated with the sixth and seventh weeks); or was he now telling them that the
Buddha spent the last three weeks after enlightenment in the Mahabodhi Temple
compound. To this, he replied:
Tara-ji, these innocent ladies from Sri Lanka simply want to know where
these sites are and what our Lord Buddha did there. So, why cause unneces-
sary confusion by talking about or sending them to different sites from those
marked by the new signboards? But if they do want to go to these faraway
places, then I certainly tell them how to get there. But now very few want to
go. And for me, this is much easier, as I’ve become somewhat sick recently,
and walking all that way . . . is now out of the question.
(Pannarama 3/15/1992)
Finally, I called on the Mahabodhi Temple Superintendent Gyan Jagat,16 the

initial target of Aniruddh’s hunger strike. In response to my general question
regarding how the signboards came to be established, this elegant, articulate
Banarsi Brahmin who ordained as a Theravada monk in his thirties, replied:
Earlier, the Committee had a policy not to put up any signboards in the
temple yard . . . to avoid trouble with donors, many of whom wanted their
donations to be recorded in such a way. But it was decided to put up the
seven signboards because the tour guides were giving people misleading
information. For instance, one day I was standing, unseen, near the
Muchalinda tank, and I heard a guide telling a Hindu group that this place
was called Muchalinda because a naga [serpent] used to live here who had a
big much, or mustache! When I heard this absurd explanation, I realized
something had to be done so that our visitors would know the real story.
(Gyan Jagat 3/15/1992)
When I mentioned that before the establishment of these signboards, many

Buddhists either felt it was not possible to know where the Buddha spent the
last three weeks after enlightenment, or held these places to be several miles from
the Temple, he said:
Well, I discussed this with Buddharakkhita Mahathera,17 the head of the

Bangalore Mahabodhi Society who’s a great scholar, and we decided that the
Buddha, who was absorbed in deep meditation, would not have gone so far
from the Bodhi Tree. We thought: “Why, when he spent the other weeks so
close, would he go so far?” So we felt fine about establishing these sites
inside the Temple grounds.
(Gyan Jagat 3/15/1992)
When I asked him specifically about Aniruddh’s hunger-strike, however, Gyan
Jagat waved this off, and turned to talk to another visitor sitting in the room.
Seven stone signboards

Due in large part to the actions of these prominent Theravada monks living in
Bodh Gaya, seven marble and sandstone signboards were prominently placed in
the Temple compound in 1989 by the BTMC. Each relates (in English on one
side and Hindi the other) what the Buddha did for seven weeks after his enlight-
enment (see the Appendix for the full text). In brief, that account and the names
assigned to each site are as follows: the Buddha spent the first week in bliss under
the Bodhi Tree (Bodhi Pallanka); the second gazing back at the Tree without
blinking (Animesa Locana); the third walking back and forth in meditation
(Cankamana); the fourth in a jewel-house reflecting on causality (Ratanaghara);
the fifth under a banyan tree where he said one becomes a Brahmin only by
deeds, not by birth (Ajapala Nigrodha Tree); the sixth being protected from a
rainstorm by a serpent king (Muchalinda Lake); and the seventh receiving food
under a forest tree from two merchants, who took refuge from him (Rajayatana
Tree).
Since 1989, this seven-week-cum-site schema has quickly become the offi-
cially sanctioned, master narrative of the Mahabodhi Temple.18 In addition to
being marked—on the ground—by these prominent signboards, the narrative is
found prominently displayed in the “Introduction” to the Mahabodhi Temple
website, where it takes up at least two-thirds of that page.19 Moreover, the
majority of guides (official and otherwise) now structure their tours around these
seven places; and glossy posters featuring a collage of the sites are currently sold
in town. Finally, the sites themselves have received increased, sometimes lavish
attention, the most recent example being the installation of a gorgeous new stone
railing around the Rajayatana Tree in 2010.20 But this seven-week scheme has
gained enormous currency, indeed started to become orthodox, beyond Bodh
Gaya as well. Examples where it is presented as the sacred landscape of the
Temple include Government of India tourist material, recently published guide-
books in multiple languages, expensive coffee table books on India’s Buddhist
holy places, YouTube videos, blogs, and websites made by Buddhist pilgrims,21
and numerous popular and scholarly works.22 Finally, UNESCO describes the
“Mahabodhi Temple Complex of Bodh Gaya”—which was “inscribed” on its
prestigious World Heritage List in 2002—as “consist[ing] of the main temple and
six sacred places within an enclosed area, and a seventh one, the Lotus Pond, just
outside the enclosure to the south” (http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1056).23 Their
website then goes on to describe and locate each of these seven places exactly in
line with the narratives inscribed on the signboards recounted above.24
And yet, there are—and have long been—numerous, divergent narrative
traditions associated with the Mahabodhi Temple that do not revolve around or
even mention this schema. These include, but are certainly not limited to, those
connected with the Gaya-shraddh ancestor rituals performed by tens of
thousands of Hindus annually, who hold the Bodhi Tree to be one of forty-five
vedis (shrines) in the Gaya region were these rites should be performed.25 Other
divergent narratives explaining the Mahabodhi Temple’s significance include
those told by the ever-increasing number of Tibetans who descend on Bodh Gaya
each winter to attend the Dalai Lama’s teachings, and the various Tibetan
monlams, or “prayer fests” begun in 1983. These pilgrims often relate unique
stories about the Buddha, Mahayana masters, and Indian and Tibetan tantrikas.26
None of these narrative traditions, however, has been inscribed on large, impres-
sive marble and sandstone signboards within the Mahabodhi Temple Complex.
In order to understand why the seven-week schema has become the Mahabodhi
Temple’s master narrative, it is important first to understand—as Huber urges—
the larger social (and I would add, discursive) world in which this particular
iteration of Bodh Gaya’s “shifting terrain” has occurred. Or, put in a distinctly
Buddhist fashion, one must investigate the various, interrelated “causes and
conditions” that influenced the recent generation of these seven Buddha-related
stories and sites. I shall detail some of these below.
Inscribing the holy places, again
Contestation and agreement

As is often the case, contestation was a part of the process whereby this new
sacred “terrain” was generated. To begin with, Bhante Aniruddh allegedly began
his hunger strike in order to stop the superintendent of the Temple from removing
“an historical pillar” marking the Buddha’s fifth week under the Ajapala Tree
(Aniruddh 3/14/1992). Second, certain CPMT members felt they should take a
stand on this particular issue in order to keep the increasingly unpopular, but still
powerful superintendent from “thinking he could do anything he wanted inside
the Temple grounds” (U Nyaneinda 3/14/1992).27 With these factors in mind,
letters denouncing his actions were written to local newspapers and members of
both the BTMC and the Advisory Committee (Aniruddh 3/14/1992). The very
name of this group—the “Committee for the Protection of the Mahabodhi Temple
Against the Temple Management Committee”—also indicates something of a
struggle. Finally, the numerous comments about the need to keep tour guides
from either “mixing in Hindu stories” or simply getting information about the
site’s history wrong indicate narrative contestation about what, in Gyan Jagat’s
words, the “real story” of the Temple should comprise.
Nonetheless, the degree of contestation involved was obviously quite minimal,
especially when compared to the protracted, contentious, sometimes violent
power struggles that have marked countless sacred centers, historically and in
modern times.28 As numerous scholars have detailed, the Mahabodhi Temple has
been marked by just such struggles (albeit non-violent), including most signifi-
cantly the legal battles fought by Anagarika Dharmapala and members of the
MBS against Hindu control of the Temple between 1891 and 1949 (Trevithick
2006), and the contentious “Liberate the Mahabodhi Temple” agitations waged
by the Buddhist-convert followers of Dr. Ambedkar in the 1990s over combined
Hindu and “elite Buddhist” management of the site (Doyle 2003). But, as we
have seen, the Theravada monks and members of the BTMC who were respon-
sible for establishing the stone signboards were basically in agreement about the
Burmese text used, the seven sites determined, and the various benefits that
would accrue from making this particular schema the Mahabodhi Temple’s
officially sanctioned narrative. So, one might ask: why was that?
Buddhifying the landscape: archaeologists, the Maha Bodhi Society,

and Burmese pilgrims
One of the main reasons this campaign proceeded so amicably was what I have
referred to elsewhere as the “Buddhification” of Bodh Gaya: a complex, some-
times contentious process whereby this place—and particularly the Mahabodhi
Temple—has been physically, discursively, and ritually reconstructed as the site
of the Buddha’s enlightenment during the last two hundred years (Doyle 1997).29
The early phases of this process centrally involved nineteenth-century British
colonial surveyors, archaeologists, and art historians who were primarily inter-
ested in this site not as a living religious center, but as an ancient monument
associated with an important historical event (i.e., the Buddha’s enlightenment).
It should be remembered, however, that when they set their gaze on the
Mahabodhi Temple, it was owned and operated by a Shaiva Giri mahant (abbot)
whose distant predecessor is said to have taken over the deserted shrine some-
time in the sixteenth century. Furthermore, the vast majority of people who
frequented the place were Hindu, including local residents, Shaiva sannyasins
(renunciates), and pilgrims who travelled there from nearby Gaya to do ancestral
rites under the Bodhi Tree. Thus the Temple and its vicinity was “Hindu ground,”
despite the fact that it continued to retain a central place in the religious imagina-
tion of Buddhists, and in spite of the extremely small number of Buddhists who
occasionally visited the site. All of this began to change, however, when the
founding father of the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), Alexander
Cunningham (1814–93), arrived in Bodh Gaya in 1861.
While Cunningham is most famous for overseeing the excavation and restora-
tion of the Mahabodhi Temple, in the process he also attempted to discover and
identify numerous Buddha-related shrines described in the pilgrimage journals of
Chinese monk Xuangzang, who visited scores of Indian Buddhist sites between
629 and 645 ce.30 For instance, twenty out of thirty sites Cunningham identified
inside the Mahabodhi Temple compound were predicated, he readily admits, on
the Chinese pilgrim’s account (Cunningham 1998 [1892]: 34). Furthermore, all
seventeen Buddha-related sites he pinpointed outside the Temple’s walls were
determined by Xuangzang’s descriptions as well (Cunningham 1998 [1892]:
39).31 But it should be noted that while Cunningham mentions all seven sites now
enshrined as the official terrain of the Mahabodhi Temple, it is clear that he (and
his “informant” Xuangzang) did not view Bodh Gaya through this particular,
unifying narrative lens. Instead, these places are mentioned among many others,
and not in the “orderly” sequence that characterizes the seven-week-cum-site
schema. Moreover, except for the Bodhi Tree and Cankamana, or “Walking
Place,” Cunningham places these sites in different locations than those identified
by subsequent “creative actors,” including our Theravada monks.32 Thus, he was
not the source for the present seven-site schema. Nonetheless, Cunningham’s
findings have been considered so authoritative that all subsequent reinventions
(including the most recent one) have incorporated not only the physical land-
scape he and his assistants reconstructed (namely, the Mahabodhi Temple and
compound), but also the archaeological, historicist discourse that undergirded
their work. But, was there a modern precedent for the seven-site schema? There
most certainly was.
Before discussing this modern precedent, it is important to note that while
Cunningham definitely reconstructed the Mahabodhi Temple as a Buddhist site,
he was not interested in developing it as a Buddhist center. Put another way, for
him it was an “historical specimen” worth preserving, not a living religious
shrine in need of development. Other nineteenth- and early twentieth-century
actors involved in the Buddhification of Bodh Gaya were, however, quite inter-
ested in developing the Temple along religious lines, as an international Buddhist
center. These included, centrally, members of the Maha Bodhi Society (MBS).33
While the MBS is known primarily for its founder Anagarika Dharmapala’s
unsuccessful legal and political attempts to wrest control of the Mahabodhi
Temple from Bodh Gaya’s Mahant, it was also hugely influential in stimulating
and supporting pilgrimage to Buddhist sites that had recently been reconstructed
by nineteenth-century archaeologists. Indeed, as Huber notes, “the Maha Bodhi
Society played the central role in the development of modern Buddhist pilgrimage
in India” (Huber 2008: 293). The MBS organized their first “International
Buddhist Tour” in 1894, just ten years after Cunningham and Beglar had
completed their restoration of the Mahabodhi Temple; and they continued organ-
izing these tours “with ever-increasing sophistication over the following decades”
(Huber 2008: 293). In order to facilitate pilgrimage to the far-flung, recreated
Buddhist centers, the MBS built a number of free dharamsalas (pilgrims’ rest
houses), and arranged special concessions for Buddhist pilgrims on Indian trains.
Equally important were the numerous journal articles, guidebooks, and pamphlets
they published about the holy sites. In short, due to the activities of the MBS “a
veritable modern Buddhist pilgrimage industry sprang up around the archaeo-
logically recovered and discursively redefined Buddhist holy land” (Huber 2008:
295). Not surprisingly, this “industry” played a major role in the discursive and
ritual Buddhification of Bodh Gaya, which received special attention due to its
enormous religious significance.
Indeed, I tentatively maintain that the modern precedent for the seven-week
narrative now found on the Mahabodhi Temple’s signboards can be traced back
to these publications and tours. I say this because Dharmapala himself mentions
the seven-site schema in an 1891 article, “Buddha Gaya and its Surroundings,”34
and this schema continues to characterize all subsequent scholarly accounts35
and popular guidebooks36 written by MBS members throughout much of the
twentieth century. This should not be too surprising, given the central role the
seven-site schema plays in Theravada canonical and extra-canonical literature
having to do with the Buddha’s life story. But, with respect to the sites them-
selves, all pre-1989 MBS accounts I have found thus far say that those associated
with the Buddha’s last three weeks after enlightenment are either “yet to be
found,” or located outside the Mahabodhi Temple yard. This has changed,
however, since the signboards were established, as most MBS and Sri Lankan
accounts now place these sites inside the Temple compound. But, as we shall see
below, identifying these sites inside the Temple yard had begun even before the
signboards were established.
Beginning in the 1980s, the Myanmar government loosened some of its draco-
nian travel policies, particularly with respect to pilgrimage. Thus, after several
decades’ hiatus, hundreds of Burmese pilgrims began to travel to Bodh Gaya
each year, on large, state-run tours. Sometime in the early 1980s, a group of
Burmese placed a bell at the bottom of the stairs leading into the Temple ground,
and asserted that this was the very spot where the Ajapala Tree (under which the
Buddha spent his fifth week after enlightenment) had stood. Then, in 1984, a
group of eight Burmese donated money for a Muchalinda Buddha statue, which
was placed in the middle of the tank just to the south of the Temple (Figure 8.2).
This lovely image was made by the famous sculptor U Han Tin, who was assisted
by Bodh Gaya’s Burmese abbot, U Nyaneinda.37 Together they enshrined Buddha
relics from Burma, just under the Buddha’s hands. Finally, in 1989, a Burmese
group brought a Rajayatana tree from Myanmar (where it is called Linlun), and
Figure 8.2 Muchalinda statue (photo by author).

planted it just outside the Sunga-period railing to the south of the Mahabodhi
Temple, claiming that this was the very spot where the Buddha spent his seventh
and last week after enlightenment.38 When I asked U Nyaneinda in a recent
conversation how they had determined these places, he replied, “By using the
same book we used to set up the stone signboards: the Jinattha-pakasani (U
Nyaneinda 7/27/ 2011).
Conclusion: why cause unnecessary confusion?

It was quite clear from my interviews, including this most recent one with U
Nyaneinda, that the Theravada monks involved in rediscovering and fixing the
last three sites inside the Mahabodhi Temple yard were well aware that this repre-
sented an innovation, despite the various modern precedents they drew on to fix
these sites. For instance, U Nyaneinda remarked with mischievous delight, and in
a remarkably postmodern fashion, that the CPMT had used the Jinattha Pakasani
to “rediscover” these last three places. Moreover, he acknowledged that the sites
they determined could only be approximate, and not exact. Indeed, he has said on
several occasions that we likely have no idea where the Buddha actually
performed his various acts in Bodh Gaya: “he was wandering here and there, so
how would we know?” (U Nyaneinda 4/4/1992). Having made such statements,
he quipped: “But we didn’t say this to the [Bodhgaya Temple Management]
Committee. And if you tell them, well, now it’s too late: the signboards are
already there!” (U Nyaneinda 3/14/1992).
But while these Theravada monks were quite willing to acknowledge their
agency in this process, they all seemed invested in rationalizing why these sites
might be, or were likely correct. For instance, Bhante Aniruddh asserted, “You
know, I think the Buddha did spend all seven weeks . . . close by the Bodhi Tree,
because he hadn’t eaten for many days, was very weak, and couldn’t have gone
too far” (3/14/1992). Superintendent Gyan Jagat espoused a similar logic, saying
that he and the renowned scholar monk Buddharakhita: “decided that the Buddha,
who was absorbed in deep meditation, would not have gone so far from the Bodhi
Tree . . . So we felt fine about establishing these sites inside the Temple grounds”
(3/15/1992).
The other explanations given represented a different order of pragmatism,
however. For instance, Bhante Pannarama was quite candid when admitting that
having all seven sites inside the Mahabodhi Temple compound was much easier
for him, since “walking all that way [to Matangavapi and Mucharin, as he used
to] . . . was now out of the question,” given his recent illness (3/15/1992). He also
acknowledged that few pilgrims were interested in going to these far-away
places, given the convenience of having them all close by the Bodhi Tree. There
was also the oft-repeated rationale regarding not wanting to cause confusion
among pilgrims, once the signboards had been established. For instance,
Pannarama Bhikkhu remarked: “These innocent ladies from Sri Lanka simply
want to know where these sites are and what our Lord Buddha did there. So, why
cause unnecessary confusion by talking about or sending them to different sites
from those marked by the new signboards?” (3/15/1992). U Nyaneinda said
something similar when he related that while Cunningham had determined that
the site of the original Vajrāsana was actually inside the Temple, he himself saw
no reason to mention this to pilgrims, explaining: “When many people accept a
particular site as the site, why confuse them?” (3/14/1992). Furthermore, he
reasoned: “if we start moving historical pillars simply to eliminate ‘traffic jams’
at the Temple, then people will say: ‘When I came here before they said Buddha
did this here, but now they say there’ ” (3/14/1992). And he followed this with a
telling statement: “So we all decided, ‘let’s just keep things simple, and mark
these seven sites’ ” (3/14/1992).
Clearly, then, both convenience and “keeping things simple” were important
factors in the successful establishment of these seven, officially sanctioned
places. Moreover, as I have demonstrated, the beautifully wrought stone sign-
boards that were established in 1989 to mark these places did not emerge out of a
vacuum: there were multiple historical, social, and discursive “causes and condi-
tions” that contributed to this latest iteration of Bodh Gaya’s sacred “shifting
terrain.” But what I find so fascinating is that the “creative agents” who gener-
ated this particular narrative and physical landscape were deeply pragmatic about
this process without being cynical—a result, I would assert, of their deep
grounding in the Buddhist logic of skillful means, as well as the central belief
that all conditioned phenomena are impermanent. Thus, they seem to recognize
the conditioned nature of their own narrative and physical reinventions while
simultaneously seeing the need to preserve (and even create) narratives and
sacred sites that make religious sense. So, while these Theravada monks would
likely agree with Huber’s warning that we should “stop making a fetish of the
places apparently associated with the Buddha” (Huber 2008: 16), they seem
equally—and lightheartedly—committed to “keeping things simple” and not
“causing unnecessary confusion,” so that visitors to the site of the Buddha’s
enlightenment can keep their attention on what really matters: remembering, and
in some way emulating, his great awakening at this very place.
Appendix
Text on seven stone signboards in the Mahabodhi Temple compound39

1. [Affixed to the south side of the stone railing surrounding the Bodhi Tree]
Bodhi Pallanka (Place of Enlightenment). Prince Siddhartha attained
Buddhahood in the year 623 B.C. on the Vaisakha Full Moon day sitting
under this Peepul (Bodhi) tree. The Vajrasana or the Diamond Throne which
is under the Bodhi Tree is the central place of worship.
2. [Located on a small hill to the north-east, outside the small “Tara”
temple, which is built in the same style as Mahabodhi Temple]
Animesa Locana (Place of Unwinking Gazing). After enlightenment the
Lord Buddha spent the second week in meditation here gazing unwinking at
the Bodhi Tree.
3. [Located just to the north of the Mahabodhi Temple, at the end of an
5.5m-long, low stone platform]
Cankamana (Cloister Walk). Lord Buddha spent the third week here
walking up and down in meditation. On the platform lotuses indicate the
places where the Lord’s feet rested while walking.
4. [Located to the north of the Bodhi Tree, outside the inner railing, just
next to a roofless stone shrine]
Ratanaghara (House of Jewels). Lord Buddha spent the fourth week here
in meditation reflecting on the patthana or the causal law.
5. [Located at the bottom of the stairs leading into the Mahabodhi Temple
compound]
Ajapala Nigrodha Tree (Banyan Tree). Lord Buddha spent the fifth week
under this tree in meditation after enlightenment. Here he replied to a
Brahmana that only by one’s deeds one becomes a Brahmana, not by birth.
6. [Located just in front of the lotus pond, to the south of the Mahabodhi
Temple]
Muchalinda Lake (Abode of the Snake King). Lord Buddha spent the
sixth week in meditation here. While he was meditating, several thunder
storms broke out. To protect him from the violent winds and rain even the
creatures came out for his safety.
7. [Located just outside the inner railing, to the south of the Mahabodhi
Temple]
Rajayatana (A kind of forest tree). After enlightenment, Lord Buddha
spent the seventh week here in meditation. At the end of his meditation, two
merchants, Tapussa and Bhallika, offered milk cake and honey to the Lord
and took refuge [saying]: Buddham saranam gachami, Dhammam saranam
gacchami. (The Sangha was not founded then.)
Text on signboard at entrance to the Mahabodhi Temple

A Brief History of the Temple
In the 6th century B.C. Prince Siddhartha Gautama attained the Supreme
Enlightenment at this holy place and became the Buddha. In commemoration
thereof Emperor Ashoka set up the Vajrasana (Diamond Throne) of polished
sandstone representing the seat of Enlightenment in the 3rd century B.C. During
the Sunga period (2nd century B.C.) a sandstone railing was erected around it.
The present Mahabodhi Temple was constructed in the 6th century A.D.
The Temple underwent several restorations, renovations, and repairs in
subsequent periods in which the Burmese greatly contributed in 1883. A
very thorough and scientific renovation of the Temple was done under the
supervision of the British archaeologists Sir A. Cunningham and J. M. D.
Beglar and the Indian archaeologist Dr. Rajendra Lal Mitra. Again in 1956,
on the occasion of 2500th Buddha Jayanti celebrations, the Government of
India did some repair works and enlarged the premises of the Mahabodhi
Temple. This is the most sacred place of Buddhist pilgrimage.
Notes
1 Although this is not the place to detail the historical development of the seven-week-
after-enlightenment cycle, it should be noted that the earliest extant Buddhist texts
mention nothing about the newly awakened Buddha spending weeks in the vicinity of
the Bodhi Tree before setting off for the Deer Park at Sarnath. It would appear that
four-week and five-week cycles then emerged, but what the Buddha did during this
period is not consistently narrated in those texts where these cycles are found. Perhaps
the earliest extant text to mention a seven-week cycle is the Sanskrit Lalitavistara (c.
second century). The Nidana Katha—the introduction to a collection of Pali Jataka
Tales (called Jatakatthavannana) attributed to Buddhaghosa (fifth century)—relates
basically the same story, although the order of what occurred is slightly different. This
latter text appears to be the one most Theravada compilers and authors subsequently
drew on when crafting Buddha biographies. Thus, as we shall see, it is not too
surprising that the present signboards in Bodh Gaya replicate this Pali telling.
2 A. K. Ramanujan (1999: 24–5) discusses a similar phenomenon when discussing the
multiple versions of the Ramayana. With respect to this he writes that all such expres-
sions relate to each other through a “common pool of signifiers”—a type of “gene
pool” which comprises plots, characters, geography, incidents, etc. He also writes that
every progenitor, or teller, of a particular Ramayana thus “dips into [their respective
pools] and brings out a unique crystallization, a new telling with a unique texture and
a fresh content.”
3 In this article I will often use the title Bhante, best translated as “Venerable Sir,” before
the names of most Theravada monks since this is the norm not only in Bodh Gaya, but
throughout much of the Theravada world.
4 This entire interview with Aniruddh Mahathera took place on March 14, 1992.
5 Nearby Gaya is famous for the celebration of Pitrpaksh, or the “Fortnight (paksha) of
the Fathers (pitr),” which occurs in the dark half of the lunar month of Ashwin
(September–October). The Bodhi Tree and two other places in the vicinity of Bodh
Gaya are said to be among 45 shrines where these rituals, also called Gaya-shraddh,
are to be performed. Thus, every autumn, tens of thousands of Hindu pilgrims come to
the Mahabodhi Temple.
6 The members of this short-lived committee were all respected Theravadin monks who
had lived in Bodh Gaya for many years. While there may have been others, I know for
certain that the members included Aniruddh Bhikkhu, U Nyaneinda, Pannarama
Mahathera, Vimalo Bhikkhu, and Dr. Rastrapal Mahathera,
7 According to the Bodh Gaya Temple Act (Bihar XVII of 1949), this committee should
comprise a chairman (who, if Hindu, is the Gaya District Magistrate) and eight
members, all of whom must be Indian. Of these, four are Buddhist and four Hindu.
Among the Hindus, the Mahant of the local Shaiva Math (monastery) is always an
ex-officio member. The term of office for all committee members is three years.
8 The Advisory Board consists of the governor of Bihar and twenty to twenty-five other
members, at least half of whom should be from foreign Buddhist countries. These foreign
Buddhist members invariably include the abbots of many Bodh Gaya Buddhist temples.
9 Dr. Rastral Mahathera is the founder and head teacher of the International Meditation
Centre in Bodh Gaya, which was established in 1970 and is affiliated with the Mahasi
Sayadaw Meditation Center in Rangoon. Although members of the international
community frequent the Bodh Gaya center, it particularly serves Buddhist pilgrims
and meditators from Calcutta, many of whom originally hailed from Chittagong.
10 In 1988, the Gaya District Magistrate was Ashok Kumar. He was also the Chairman of
the BTMC, which is why he was so involved in this Mahabodhi Temple signboard
campaign.
11 After he had completed his monastic education in 1963, the Burmese government
appointed U Nyaneinda abbot of a temple in Assam, where he served as a missionary
and teacher for thirteen years. He became the fourth abbot of the Burmese Vihar in
Bodh Gaya in 1976, at the age of 31. Since then he has turned the Vihar into a lovely
large complex, frequented by Burmese and western Buddhists. Furthermore, since
coming to Bodh Gaya, he has served as a Mahabodhi Temple Advisory Board member,
head of the International Buddhist Council, and both founder and chief advisor for a
free school for poor, local children. He is also a fine sculptor, builder, and architect.
12 This entire interview with U Nyaneinda took place on March 14, 1992.
13 In his introduction, Kyithe Sayadaw relates that he drew on the Pali canon, Pali
commentaries, and Burmese texts to write his history. Whether he actually visited the
places he discusses in the Mahabodhi Temple is unclear, however, for all he says in
this section is: “I tried to research different texts in order to determine where these
places were . . . to the best of my ability” (Sayadaw 1982 [1920]: xi).
14 The Jinattha-pakasani is the best known and most widely read life of the Buddha in
Burmese.
15 Pannarama Mahathera (1926–94) was ordained in 1946 in Sri Lanka, and was deputed
to India in 1961 by the Maha Bodhi Society (MBS). He administered their Madras,
Naugarh (U.P.), and Sarnath centers before taking over the Bodh Gaya MBS in 1968.
He was the main figure involved in the conversion of both a number of Siddharthnagar
ex-untouchable villagers, and young, Magadh University students and intellectuals.
He ran the Bodh Gaya MBS center until his death in 1994.
16 Bhikkhu Gyan Jagat was the Superintendent, or “head monk” of the Mahabodhi
Temple from 1976 to 1993. Due to disclosures regarding his links to the Hindu funda-
mentalist organization, the VHP, he left his position quite precipitously. After leaving,
there were also allegations of financial improprieties on his part. For more on that and
his subsequent VHP activities, see note 27 below.
17 The Indian monk Buddharakkhita Mahathera was ordained a Theravada monk in 1949
at Kusinagar under the illustrious monk Venerable Candamani Mahathera. He then
studied Buddhism and Pali in Sri Lanka and Burma. For a short time he served as a
professor at the Nava Nalanda Mahavihara in Nalanda. He founded the Bangalore
branch of the Maha Bodhi Society in 1956. For more, see http://www.mahabodhi.info/
mahabodhi_bangalore_founder.html.
18 It should be noted that sometime in the early 1990s, an eighth marble and red sandstone
signboard was established. This was placed just outside the main, upper entrance into
the Mahabodhi Temple compound, and is entitled: “A Brief History of the Temple.”
Thus, there is now an officially sanctioned, inscribed “historical narrative” prominently
displayed at the Mahabodhi Temple. For the full text of this signboard, see the Appendix.
19 Mahabodhi Temple website (n.d.). See http://www.mahabodhi.com/.
20 This impressive new red sandstone enclosure replicates the 2nd-century Sunga-period
railing encircling the main Temple.
21 For instance: http://www.ariyamagga.org/buddhist-videos/buddhist-sites-in-india/
bodhgaya-videos/, http://bodhgaya.myanmarvihara.org/index.php?option=com_conte
nt&task=view&id=14&Itemid=26 and http://buddhistcircuitbihar.com/bodhgaya1.
htm#AT, and http://nyiwin.wordpress.com/2011/01/page/2/.
22 A number of scholars do not, however, uncritically accept this seven-site schema. See
for instance Asher (2008: 41–51), who while catering to a more popular audience
nonetheless gives a relatively nuanced picture of these sites.
23 “Mahabodhi Temple Complex at Bodh Gaya” (n.d.). See http://whc.unesco.org/en/
list/1056. For an excellent discussion of the Mahabodhi Temple Complex as a World
Heritage Site, see Geary (2009).
24 The UNESCO World Heritage Centre website on the Mahabodhi Temple Complex
goes on to describe the seven sites found there as follows:
The most important of the sacred places is the giant Bodhi Tree (Ficus religiosa).
This tree is to the west of the main temple and is supposed to be a direct descendant
of the original Bodhi Tree under which the Buddha spent his First Week and where he
had his enlightenment. To the north of the central path, on a raised area, is the
Animeshlochan Chaitya (prayer hall) where the Buddha is believed to have spent the
Second Week. The Buddha spent the Third Week walking 18 paces back and forth in
an area called Ratnachakrama (Jeweled Ambulatory), which lies near the north wall
of the main temple. The spot where he spent the Fourth Week is Ratnaghar Chaitya,
located to the north-east [sic] near the enclosure wall. Immediately after the steps of
the east entrance on the central path there is a pillar which marks the site of the
Ajapala Nigrodh Tree, under which Buddha meditated during his Fifth Week,
answering the queries of Brahmins. He spent the Sixth Week next to the Lotus Pond
to the south of the enclosure, and the Seventh Week under the Rajayatana Tree
currently marked by a tree.
(Mahabodhi Temple Complex at Bodh Gaya” (n.d.).
See http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1056.)
25 Drawing on the Gaya-mahatmya, many of these Hindu pilgrims also see Bodh Gaya
as the feet of a giant demon whose sacrificial body makes up the larger sacred land-
scape, with Gaya comprising his head.
26 For instance, Tibetans commonly relate that Padmasambhava discovered and hid
terma (secret teachings) under the Vajrāsana. The stone railing surrounding the
Temple was built by the great Mahayana philosopher Nagarjuna, and a statue just to
the north of the Mahabodhi Temple’s entrance is the Tara image that instructed Atisha
to teach the Dharma in Tibet. For more Tibetan narratives associated with the
Mahabodhi Temple, see Doyle (1997).
27 According to a Times of India article, in 1992, after the disclosure of his links with the
Viswa Hindu Parishad, “Gyan Jagat made a mysterious exit from the Bodh Gaya
scene. He left . . . even without formally handing over the charge of the superior priest
of the Mahabodhi Temple” (Qadir 2002). Since that time, Gyan Jagat has become
President of the World Buddhist Cultural Foundation, and Vice President of World
Hindu Federation, both groups closely affiliated with the VHP. Together with Indian
businessman and VHP leader Bhupendra Kumar Modi, he has also organized several
Hindu and Buddhist International Conferences held in India and around the world. See
Vishva Hindu Parishad’s official website for more on these conferences: http://vhp.
org/hindus-abroad/hinduism-and-buddhism/. It is interesting that in 2004, Modi
became president of the Indian wing of the Maha Bodhi Society after the group’s
constitution was changed to free it from Sri Lankan oversight. See Qadir (2004).
28 While protesting the movement of a particular pillar or establishing signboards that
mark a particular religious tradition might seem innocuous, just such actions have
caused enormous contestation in religious centers around the world. Indeed, I am
reminded of the furor that erupted after Anagarika Dharmapala’s attempt to place a
Japanese Buddha statue in the Mahabodhi Temple’s upper shrine room in 1895. For
more on this “enshrinement controversy,” see Trevithick (2006 [2001]: 102–7).
29 Drawing on the Indian sociologist M. N. Srinivas’s famous term “Sanskritization,” I
coined the word “Buddhification” elsewhere to refer to this process. See Doyle (1997).
30 With respect to this text, which had been recently translated, Cunningham (1966
[1873]: 84–5) would enthusiastically write: “It is almost impossible to exaggerate the
importance of these travels . . . before, all attempts to fathom the mysteries of Buddhist
antiquities were but mere conjecture . . . [Now, however, it is possible] to distinguish
one monument from another, and say with certainty for what purpose each one . . . was
originally designed.”
31 With respect to these sites, Cunningham (1998 [1892]: 39) writes that they “are
described by Hwen Thsang alone.”
32 For instance, he asserts that the Animisha-locana (Unblinking Gaze) shrine is directly
to the north of the temple (rather than on the hill to the northeast, where it is now
located), and that the Ratnaghara (Jeweled House) is the huge platform to the south-
west of the Temple (rather than the tiny, roofless shrine to the northwest, as is held
today). Moreover, he locates the Muchalinda tank, and the place where he was given
food by two merchants to the south of the Mahabodhi Temple yard, near or on the
western banks of the Nirañjana River (Cunningham 1998 [1892]: 34ff.).
33 Although records are coming to light which indicate that a small number of Tibetan
and Himalayan pilgrims visited Bodh Gaya between the mid-eighteenth and the mid-
nineteenth centuries (Huber 2008), I would nonetheless contend that this “reconstruc-
tion” or Buddhification began in earnest in the late 1800s, with the physical restoration
of the crumbling Mahabodhi Temple by both Burmese royal missions and British
colonial archaeologists.
34 This article was published first in The Buddhist, in 1891. Found in Gurunge (1965).
35 See for instance the second volume of Benimadhab Barua’s Gaya and Bodh Gaya,
subtitled “The Old Shrines of Bodh Gaya” (1934). In addition to being a professor of
Pali, Sanskrit, and Ancient Indian History at the University of Calcutta, B. Barua was
an influential member of the Maha Bodhi Society of India, and a Buddhist by birth.
36 See for instance the guidebooks written by Devapriya Valisinha (the MBS’s general
secretary from 1933 to 1968), Buddhist Shrines of India (1948) and Bodh Gaya (1951).
37 U Han Tin also made the statues in Sarnath that depict the Buddha teaching his first
five disciples. U Nyaneinda is himself a sculptor, and has crafted statues for at least
four newly “rediscovered” Buddhist sites in the Bodh Gaya vicinity.
38 According to U Nyaneinda (personal communication, July 27, 2011), a monk by the
name of Hlaung planted a Rajayatana Tree in the same spot in 1971, but it died.
Therefore, this one was replanted in 1989.
39 For recent videos of these seven sites, see those mounted on June 13, 2011, by
“isharak” on the Ariyamagga Organization’s website: http://www.ariyamagga.org/
buddhist-videos/buddhist-sites-in-india/bodhgaya-videos/ (accessed 7/7/2011).
Ariyamagga is a Sri Lanka Buddhist group located in Wellawatha, a suburb of
Colombo, and these videos appear to be of a pilgrimage taken by members of that
group. Videos by “isharak” of sites in the vicinity of the Mahabodhi Temple can be
found at http://www.ariyamagga.org/buddhist-videos/buddhist-sites-in-india/sacred-
places-in-bodh-gaya-videos/ (accessed 7/7/2011).
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——. (2003) “ ‘Liberate the Mahabodhi Temple!’: Socially Engaged Buddhism, Dalit-
style,” in S. Heine and C. Prebish (eds.), Buddhism in the Modern World: Adaptations
of an Ancient Tradition, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 249–80.
Geary, D. (2009) “Destination Enlightenment: Buddhism and the Global Bazaar in Bodh
Gaya, Bihar,” unpublished thesis, University of British Columbia.
Gurunge, A. (1965) Return to Righteousness: A Collection of Speeches, Essays, and
Letters of the Anagarika Dharmapala, Colombo: Ministry of Education and Cultural
Affairs.
Gyan Jagat Mahathera. (March 15, 1992) Interview by Tara N. Doyle.
Hindu Bauddh. Online. Available HTTP: <http://vhp.org/hindus-abroad/hinduism-and-
buddhism/> (accessed June 28, 2011).
Huber, T. (2008) The Holy Land Reborn, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Mahabodhi Temple. http://www.mahabodhi.com/ (accessed July 19, 2011).
Mahabodhi Temple Complex at Bodh Gaya, http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1056 (accessed
July 9, 2011).
Pannaram Mahathera. (March 15, 1992) Interview by Tara N. Doyle.
Qadir, A. (2002) “Arrested monk brings disrepute to robe,” Times of India, May 11.
——. (2004) “VHP regains lost ground in Bodh Gaya,” Times of India, November 22.
Ramanujan, A. K. (1992) “Three Hundred Ramayanas,” in P. Richman (ed.), Many
Ramayanas: The Diversity of a Narrative Tradition in South Asia, Delhi: Oxford
University Press, pp. 22–49.
Sacred Places in Bodh Gaya. Online. Available HTTP: <http://www.ariyamagga.org/
buddhist-videos/buddhist-sites-in-india/sacred-places-in-bodh-gaya-videos/>
(accessed July 7, 2011).
Sayadaw, Kyithe Layhtap (1982 [1920]) Jinattha Pakasani, Rangoon: Ministry of
Religious Affairs.
Strong, J. (2001) The Buddha: A Short Biography, Oxford: Oneworld Publications.
The Founder. Online. Available HTTP: <http://www.mahabodhi.info/mahabodhi_bangalore_
founder.html> (accessed July 13, 2011).
Trevithick, A. (2006 [2001]) The Revival of Buddhist Pilgrimage at Bodh Gaya (1811–
1949): Anagarika Dharmapala and the Mahabodhi Temple, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
U Nyaneinda. (March 14, 1992) Interview by Tara N. Doyle.
——. (July 17, 2011) Interview by Tara N. Doyle.
Valisinha, D. (1948) Buddhist Shrines in India, Colombo: Maha Bodhi Society of Ceylon.
——. (1950) A Guide to Buddhagaya, Calcutta: Maha Bodh Society of India.
Part III
Universal dreams and

local departures
9 World Heritage in the shadow
of zamindari
David Geary
The enlisting of the Mahabodhi Temple Complex as a UNESCO World Heritage

site in 2002 is the latest historical layering that has reinforced a dominant memory
linking Bodh Gaya with an authentic Buddhist past. After decades of legal battles
and contests between “Hindus” and “Buddhists” over proprietorship and rights of
worship at the sacred site, Bodh Gaya has now entered the global cultural
commons as a World Heritage site under the 1972 Convention.1 As a monument
of “outstanding universal value to humanity” the site’s inscription on the World
Heritage list is empowered by a collective memory and foundational event related
to the life of the Buddha. However, does this historic event at the beginning of
the twenty-first century mark the end of religious identity politics that were
forged through the architecture of colonial modernity? Like the truth of enlight-
enment as a pathway towards emancipation, will the recent discursive claims of
World Heritage signal the institutionalization of a new global template for
management of sacred space that builds upon a universal enthusiasm to transcend
culture, locality and difference?
In this chapter I explore the underside of World Heritage inscription and how it
unfolds in a particular time and place through a web of social relations. I will
begin by providing an overview of the social and legal transformations of the
Mahabodhi Temple in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, followed by an
analysis of recent events that underpin the transnational designation of UNESCO.
I will show how the symbolic power and command of physical space are linked
to the construction of identity and the reproduction of dominant memories, but
also, more importantly, how the political and economic underpinnings have long
been infused with the religious claims to management and ownership of the
sacred site. Showing the contradictions and antagonisms between the universal
and local, the religious and economic, I question whether or not we are seeing the
rise of a new form of zamindari at the place of Buddha’s enlightenment.
Universal aspirations and postcolonial entanglements
I would to-day, in these columns, respectfully invite the vast and intelligent
British public to forget, for a little while, home weather and home politics,
142 Universal dreams and local departures
and to accompany me, in fancy, to a sunny corner of their empire, where
there centres far more important questions, for the future of religion and
civilisation, than any relating to parish councils or parish pumps. I will, by
their leave, tell them of beautiful scenes under warm skies; of a temple fairer
and more stately, as well as more ancient, than almost any existing fane; and
will also show them how the Indian Government of Her Majesty, supported
by their own enlightened opinion, might, through an easy and blameless act
of administrative sympathy, render four hundred millions of Asiatics for ever
the friends and grateful admirers of England.
(Sir Edwin Arnold (1893), East and West—a Splendid Opportunity,
The Daily Telegraph)
Through his romantic and literary invocations of the Buddha and India’s
long “lost” Buddhist sites, Sir Edwin Arnold played a significant role in inspiring
a modern Buddhist revival movement at Bodh Gaya in the late nineteenth
century. After reading Arnold’s epic poem, the Light of Asia, Dharmapala and his
friend, the Japanese Shingon priest Kozen Gunaratana, made a pilgrimage to
Bodh Gaya on January 22, 1891 with the aim of seeing the neglected condition of
the famous Buddhist shrine in India. In Dharmapala’s own words: “As soon
as I touched with my forehead the vajrasana, a sudden impulse came to my mind
to stop here and take care of this sacred spot, so sacred that nothing in the world
is equal to this place where Prince Sakya Sinha attained enlightenment under
the Bodhi Tree” (quoted in Trevithick 2006: 42). Over the course of his six
week visit to Bodh Gaya, Dharmapala also discovered that the situation was
more complex, especially due to the fact that the recently restored Mahabodhi
Temple appeared to be in the custody of a local landlord from the Shaivite
Giri sect.2
At the time of Dharmapala’s arrival, the Mahant Hem Narayan Giri (the
presiding priest of the Shaivite Monastery) was one of the most powerful
zamindars in the Gaya District of south Bihar. The term zamindar was used by
the early colonial administration to describe aristocratic and hereditary chiefs
who ruled over vast tracts of land and taxed the peasants who lived on it. Through
the consolidation of land relations under the Permanent Settlement of 1793, the
zamindari system also became an effective means of securing revenue to be
raised from agricultural land for the British authorities.3 Not only did these
zamindars wield considerable power and influence by virtue of being major
traders, bankers, and landlords, but they also enacted judicial and governmental
functions on behalf of the British Raj (Bayly 1983). An important distinction
that should be noted with the Shaivite Giri sect in Bodh Gaya is that it was
not only a powerful zamindar on the basis of its agricultural operations alone but
it also gained significant prestige and divine legitimacy through its claim as
the principal guardian of the Bodhi Tree and the Mahabodhi Temple. Due to the
reverence and devotion bestowed upon the sacred grounds by Hindu pilgrims
in the Gaya region and early royal Buddhist ambassadors such as the Burmese,
the religious traffic in “gifts” that were endowed upon the property must
World Heritage in the shadow of zamindari 143
have also been substantial.4 It is for these reasons, that the Mahant Hem Narayan
Giri was reluctant to hand over the sacred property of the Mahabodhi Temple
to Anagarika Dharmapala, nor was he willing to concede its property to
the British authorities who were also vested in the archeological value of
the site.
Despite years of agitation and legal battles initiated by Dharmapala against the
Mahant, the desire to see the Mahabodhi Temple in the hands of a pan-Asian
Buddhist community was not realized during his lifetime. It was not until
June 19, 1949, following India’s independence from British colonial rule, that
the Bihar Legislative Assembly passed a bill transferring rights to a joint
Buddhist-Hindu committee under the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Act
(XVII); the constitutional form of governance that remains today. As the execu-
tive body for management of the Mahabodhi Temple and adjoining areas, the
Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee functions under the supervision,
direction, and control of the state government of Bihar. Since the formal cere-
mony that transferred jurisdiction from the Mahant to the new temple manage-
ment committee on May 28, 1953 the shared site of “common value” has
remained in the balance of shifting committee members based on religious dispo-
sition and national citizenship, and under the rotating chairmanship of the District
Magistrate of Gaya.5
Thus, in the first decades of independence, when the BTMC Act was estab-
lished, temples were mobilized as central institutions for the engendering of
national sentiment and places of state legitimization. According to Hancock “the
agents of the state (its colonial authors and its postcolonial legatees) thereby
sought to reorganize and rehabilitate temples in conformity with the norms of
representation associated with the institutions of a modern democratic state”
(2002: 7). As a location of national ethos and a symbol of religious pluralism, the
Mahabodhi Temple provided an ideal space for advancing the project of the
nation by legitimizing political visions of prominent leaders such as the first
Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru. For Nehru, the Mahabodhi Temple was not
only a sacred site of multi-religious faith, but it also figured in postcolonial
modernization efforts to build regional alliances with neighbouring countries. In
many ways, his vision of foreign national policy was inspired by the compas-
sionate ideals of Emperor Ashoka and the Buddhist term Panchsheel, which
formed the basis of the Non-Aligned movement.
These efforts to locate national and cultural resources within the new secular
framework of “heritage” also took place alongside institutional changes to the
zamindari system based on wide-ranging agrarian reforms. From the viewpoint
of the new independent leaders, the existence of zamindari reflected an outdated
feudal system that was antithetical to the development aspirations of a modern
nation-state and inconsistent with the democratic and socialist ideals of the ruling
Congress party (Brass 1990). As part of the institutional reforms set out by the
Congress party, the zamindari abolition bills were introduced in a number of
states within two years of independence and by the late fifties they were firmly
established in the legislature. Despite the broad consensus among Indian leaders
regarding their abolition, according to Paul Brass (1990), with agriculture
deemed a “provincial subject,” all the central leaders could do was set certain
guidelines with the expectation that state leaders could implement the reforms.
This process proved to be more complicated, as the means of enacting these
structural policies within the various state assemblies provoked enormous criti-
cism and opposition from many state leaders who were concerned about antago-
nizing the rural elites and land-controlling castes.6 In other words, despite these
legislative efforts to dismantle the zamindari system, these initiatives had a muted
impact on the Bodh Gaya Math, and after twenty-five years of independence, the
Shaivite monastery continued to maintain its hegemonic position as the dominant
political-religious power center in the area despite relinquishing control of the
Mahabodhi Temple itself.
It was not until the mid-1970s that Jayaprakash Narayan and the Chhatra
Yuva Sangharsha Vahini student movement provided the inspiration for agricul-
tural laborers and their support networks to undertake a land struggle that eventu-
ally led to the decline of the Shaivite monastery and its influence in the
surrounding region (Kelkar and Gala 1990; Sinha 1991).7 Although space does
not permit a closer analysis of these events, what is regarded as the final death-
blow against the Bodh Gaya Math was the Supreme Court order of August 1987
that limited the monastery to only 100 acres of land with upwards of 200,000
acres of land to be distributed among the landless laborers (Kelkar and Gala
1990). With this Court decision, the Bodh Gaya Math went into rapid decline and
is no longer regarded as the town’s sarkar—the government or overlord of the
region. As I will argue in the next section, the postcolonial demise of the
zamindari system under the Bodh Gaya Mahant has created a power vacuum
leading to the proliferation of new claims to authority by local leaders and
varying religious groups impacted by the site as a growing international destina-
tion. The epicenter of this conflict lies in the management of the Mahabodhi
Temple which has grown into a financially lucrative power center wielding
significant influence and expanding its spatial jurisdiction over Bodh Gaya’s
surrounding landscape.
Temple publics and the shadow life of world heritage
The Committee shall be a body corporate by the name of the Bodh Gaya
Temple Management Committee, having perpetual succession and a
common seal, with power to acquire and hold property, both movable and
immovable, and to contract, and shall by the said name sue or be sued.
(The Bodhgaya Temple Act 1949 (Bihar Act 17))
Since the late 1980s and early 1990s, the public lives of monuments in contem-
porary India have become contentious grounds for national meaning among
diverse communities of interest (Guha-Thakurta 2004). During this time,
political claims on sacred space have been marred by the ascendancy of Hindu
nationalism, hand-in-hand with the accelerated processes of economic liberaliza-
tion since the structural adjustments of the early 1990s (Hancock 2002; Appadurai
2001). As Hancock has recently noted, these political and economic changes
have impacted urban temple landscapes in dramatic ways as both vectors of
“popular anxiety over loss of cultural autonomy” (2002: 15) and central to
the advancement of the new economy as magnets for tourism revenue and
development.
The aftermath of the Babri Masjid demolition at Ayodhya in 1992 serves as a
key flashpoint in the renewed place of religion in the public and political sphere,
pointing to the fragility of religious structures in the face of Hindu majoritari-
anism and a new aggressive Hindutva cultural politics. Among Hindus, the
“liberation of Hindu sacred space” at Ayodhya was part of the reclamation of
religious memory, a site which claims to have longstanding mythological associ-
ation as the birthplace of Lord Rama (Ludden 1996). This cultivation of a public
culture of Hindutva since the late 1980s is closely tied to the shifting grounds of
party politics that has brought the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) forward as one
the leading national parties in India.9 Ludden argues that both religion and poli-
tics permeate the public sphere which has reinvigorated religious identities in a
way that now articulates “people’s cultural and national identity at a level of
emotive meaning more basic and fundamental than other kinds of political affili-
ations” (1996: 4). Thus, within a context of national democratic politics and a
heightened religious imaginary, contested sites of memory, like Bodh Gaya, have
been mobilized for upholding certain collective memories of the nation and
erasing others.
Although the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Act of 1949 was seen as a
compromise to the conflicting claims between Buddhists and Hindus over sacred
space, this controversial piece of legislation has remained a source of discomfort
among some Buddhist groups throughout the second half of the twentieth century.
In the early nineties, at the height of a resurgent Hindu nationalism, similarly, the
historical injustice of the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Act would also
resurface, bringing attention to the unrealized dream of Dharmapala to “liberate”
the Mahabodhi Temple once and for all from Hindu control. The fresh demand
for Buddhist control over the sacred property was initiated by the Ambedkar
Buddhists or New Buddhists (“Navayana”), based largely in the state of
Maharashtra. This modern Buddhist revival movement can be traced to its
founder, B. R. Ambedkar who called for the conversion of Dalits to Buddhism
as a means of circumventing the atrocities of a caste-based society. Not surpris-
ingly, the case of the Mahabodhi Temple served as a key symbol of Hindu
religious defamation and an important object for their cultural and political
restitution.10
From 1992 until 1998 there were repeated demonstrations targeting the inequi-
ties of the legislature governing the central shrine. As Tara Doyle has noted, all of
these protests have drawn upon a discourse that concerns the “ ‘liberation of the
Mahabodhi Temple’ from Hindu and, to a lesser extent, ‘elite’ foreign and Indian
Buddhist influence” (1997: 252) and a desire to amend the 1949 Act and place
the Temple in the hands of an All-Indian Buddhist Committee. It was not until
1998 after repeated agitations that the Chief Minister of Bihar finally elected to
make significant changes to the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee.
These changes involved the removal of longtime “Hindu” General Secretary
Dwarko Sundrani and appointing members of the Ambedkar Buddhist group on
the committee such as Bhadant Nagarjun Arya Surai Sasai, Bhante Anand and
Bhante Prajnasheel as member secretary. With members of the Ambedkar
Buddhist movement in a secure position of power and influence on the Bodh
Gaya Temple Management Committee they were now largely in control of over-
seeing the daily affairs of the temple which involved collecting donations,
assisting visitors and coordinating the ritual use of the space (Doyle 1997).11
Although this was the first time the Secretary post was held by a Buddhist, there
were also significant voices that emerged from the international Buddhist
community that challenged the position and claims of the Indian Buddhists as the
authority of sacred space at Bodh Gaya.
Ever since Anagarika Dharmapala set out on his crusade to reclaim Bodh Gaya
for the world Buddhist community, the Maha Bodhi Society of India has been at
the forefront of Buddhist cultural activities throughout the country and well
beyond. With the heightened controversy over control of the Mahabodhi Temple,
similarly, the Maha Bodhi Society under the new leadership of Sinhalese monk
Wimalasara began to mobilize Bodh Gaya’s diverse international Buddhist
community and rightfully claim its place as the dominant authority over sacred
space. Drawing on a hundred-year legacy as the founding institution in the
Buddhist revival movement, Wimalasara, like Dharmapala before him, claimed
the moral high ground as the official leader of a pan-Asian Buddhist community
at Bodh Gaya (even if that community never existed or did not entirely agree
with him). Thus, from the late 1990s up until the recent UNESCO World Heritage
designation, the Mahabodhi Temple emerged as a site of intense struggle between
these contentious fractions.
In the popular Indian newsweekly Outlook, Amarnath Tewary’s article entitled
“Zen of Making Money” (October 9, 2000) provides some insight into the dispute.
Quoting Buddhist leaders Wimalasara and appointed members of the BTMC,
Bhante Anand and Secretary Prajnasheel, the author notes that the “misuse and
abuse” of the “Mahabodhi” name for the acquisition of foreign grants and dona-
tions is central to the contestation between the two religious institutions. According
to Bhante Anand, who had recently undertaken a trip to Japan to seek donations
for forthcoming renovation projects, he discovered that the Maha Bodhi Society
branches in Japan, Taiwan and Thailand have been collecting and authorizing
funds in the name of the Mahabodhi Temple. “Every year the Mahabodhi Society
of India (MSI), which is primarily dominated by Sri Lankan monks, collects crores
of rupees—INR 40 crore from Japan [alone]—in the name of the Mahabodhi
Temple. But they pocket all the money as they have not spent even a paisa on the
renovation of the shrine to date” (Tewary 2000: 49), charges Bhante Anand.
As one can imagine, these scandalous allegations involving Buddhist monks
and illegal maneuvering (whether they are true or not) reflected poorly on the
hallowed site of Buddha’s enlightenment during this time. Consequently, the
negative publicity was also seen as a detriment to tourism development at Bodh
Gaya which has increasingly become a vital source of livelihood for many local
stakeholders. In response to the growing discord over management of the sacred
site, these disquieting activities helped propel a local campaign to rescue the
Mahabodhi Temple from what was now being described by some of Bodh Gaya’s
local scholars and political leaders as the meddling of “foreign influence” at the
seat of enlightenment. According to Ram Swarup Singh, a key member of this
movement:
[When] the fight broke out between Wimalasara against the Ambedkars, it
was like cannons being fired from the Bodh Gaya Temple Management
Committee to the Maha Bodhi Society of India. We were sitting there at Ram
Seevak’s tea shop. From that shop as the cannons fired over our heads we
plotted on how to capture the place. The problem from our viewpoint was
that all these people fighting were coming from outside the place and had no
love for the temple, the people and the place. We were educated so we began
to play both of them and when the committee’s time had come we started
mobilizing and we have done it.
(Swarup Singh 13/05/2007)
When the fight broke out on a large scale between the Ambedkar Buddhists
and Wimalasara in 2000, the Chief Minister Lalu Prasad Yadav was approached
by this local contingency requesting that the government reconstitute the Bodh
Gaya Temple Management Committee and remove controversial members such
as Bhante Anand and Secretary Pragyasheel (while retaining Surai Sasai who is
based in Nagpur, Maharashtra). As a means of diluting the vexatious behavior
that had come to define claims over sacred space in recent years, in the year
2001, a new committee was officially constituted by the provincial government
placing ex-parmuck Kalicharan Singh Yadav as the new found Secretary. Magadh
University professor Ram Swarup Singh and Chief Priest Ven. Bodhipala were
also placed in positions of power and influence over the management of the
Mahabodhi Temple during this time.
With Wimalasara at the center of controversy and the larger dissolution of the
Ambedkar Buddhists from the Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee,
immediately the new committee began to redirect public attention to the develop-
ment and beautification of the Mahabodhi Temple Complex itself. One of the
first steps taken by the new committee members was to contract the
Archaeological Survey of India to commence shrine repair work and re-
plastering of the temple surface after decades of neglect. Work on the monument
began in February 2002 at an estimated cost of INR 35.88 lakh (US$81,000)
and was not completed until 2006. Alongside the restoration work was a series of
beautification schemes and development projects that were set in motion to
help garner financial support such as the unveiling of a Meditation Park adjacent
to the temple precinct, new landscaping initiatives, lighting systems and
numerous tourist facilities throughout the township. Although these activities
helped to bolster the image of the new management committee, it was the seren-
dipitous arrival of the new Gaya International Airport and the UNESCO World
Heritage inscription in June 26, 2002 that, overnight, effectively transformed the
contentious shadow life of the temple politics into international glorification
within the imagined community of World Heritage—a global site of memory
recast in universal terms, but one that remained hinged on local claims of
sovereignty.
Capitalizing on the charisma of the World Heritage status and a host of devel-
opment initiatives and beautification schemes, donations have begun to flow
through the BTMC office at an unprecedented rate. According to Ram Swarup
Singh, who was an active member during this time,
Due to all this peace and prosperity donations started coming. A lot of dona-
tions! It was the first time visitors were seeing development in the area
around the precinct of the temple. The previous temple was in very bad
shape. So we started campaigning for restoration of the temple immediately.
If you do some development work you get donations. When we started there
was 86 lakh in the fixed deposit. Now even after all the development work
the fixed gross income has become 5 crore.
(Swarup Singh 13/05/2007)
As previously highlighted, control over the “Mahabodhi” signifier in recent

years was central to the contestation between the Ambedkarites and the Maha
Bodhi Society prior to the reconstitution of the BTMC governing panel in 2001.
Since that time the Mahabodhi Temple Complex has not only entered the World
Heritage list but because of large donations and development projects linked
to religious aspirations, the BTMC has become a self-sustaining and hugely
profitable institution for the state government.
Today the BTMC employs upwards of eighty full-time staff members from
surrounding villages who provide cleaning, gardening, watchmen duties, elec-
trical assistance, etc. At the time of my research in 2006 there was a fixed deposit
of 6 crores of rupees that is generating interest each year. The BTMC also regu-
larly collects revenue from local vendors in the “Round Shopping Complex”
outside the temple walls, operates its own tourist-pilgrim bus and has entered the
competitive hotelier industry as owners of the Lumbini Guest House. More
recently they have been granted authority over larger tracts of public space from
the central and state government such as the nearby kalachakra maidan, the
grounds for major ritual assemblages involving prominent religious leaders such
as the fourteenth Dalai Lama and seventeenth Karmapa. Not surprisingly, the
state-government-elected appointment of Secretary has become a highly desirable
position in the eyes of the public, attracting hundreds of applications from around
the country. In other words, the rise of the Secretary and their control over the
revenue of the Mahabodhi Temple has eclipsed earlier positions of influence,
including the Superintendent and Chief Priest of the Temple. Given the political-
religious and economic influence of the Mahabodhi Temple today it begs the
question of whether or not we have seen the dissolution of the zamindari system in
the early twenty-first century or its reconfiguration in an era of neoliberalism?
Conclusion
Since the time of Dharmapala the production and consumption of different kinds
of knowledge about Bodh Gaya has been cast along contending and antagonistic
lines of religious identification. In recent years I would argue that new social
polarizations and registers of identity have entered the public culture of debate
over management of this esteemed universal site. Central to these interlocking
claims and contests are the mutually constituting ways in which religious
identities and the politics of representation are enmeshed with the economic
providence of the Mahabodhi Temple. From the early 1990s we have seen
the liberalization of the Indian economy alongside the violent expressions of
religious nationalism that have generated new pressures and tensions over the
management of sacred space and the politics of placing the past. These processes
have revitalized concerns over authenticity and spurred fresh demands over who
should be the principal authority of sacred space in a globalizing world.
From my analysis it is clear that the state government has no interest in placing
the temple in the hands of a particular “Buddhist community,” given the diverse
sectarian views across the religious spectrum. By attaching World Heritage
significance to the monument this has not only bolstered the image of the state
government in the eyes of the international community but it is also in alignment
with its vision of tourism development. This is evident through the various urban
development schemes that have been enfolded within the corporate designs of a
“master plan” including golf courses, boating, light and sounds shows, rope lifts,
etc. Although issues of site management today are often collapsed within the
larger designs of a comprehensive master plan for urban development, it is still
unclear what effect UNESCO’s intervention will have over the future governance
of the site. Today, it would appear, global conservation and development have
taken on a new salience in the management of the enlightenment affect in Bodh
Gaya as the gateway through which a large number of donations, government
funding and global capital flow. Through its discursive claims for a more inclu-
sive cosmopolitan engagement with the past, World Heritage status is able to
subsume the conflicting visions and multiple demands of the present by appealing
to its universal value. This process ultimately serves to naturalize a specific
history and memory of the site and through its universalizing abstraction make
invisible the cultural and political work that the heritage process does (Smith
2006). However, as I have demonstrated, the production of universal value is
never politically neutral and, in the case of Bodh Gaya, can even generate new
forms of exclusion and difference that inadvertently reinscribe the politics of reli-
gious identity that it seeks to transcend.
As a result of the UNESCO World Heritage designation and the improved
accessibility to the site through the Gaya International airport, this has not only
contributed to the ongoing “Buddhification” (Doyle 1997) of Bodh Gaya’s land-
scape but also the severing of this temple city from the wider regional geography.
Yet, these developments present a certain irony. From the perspective of the
Gaya-mahatmya pilgrimage tradition, Bodh Gaya has long been a satellite site
and an appendage of Gaya’s larger sacred geography. Similarly, the Buddha is
often regarded as an avatar of Vishnu and thus, enfolded within the larger Hindu
cosmology. However, through the prospects of urban development and global
capital this is also reshaping the geography of difference in new ways, especially
through the dueling pilgrimage cities of Bodh Gaya and Gaya. Among many
Gayaites there has been growing resentment in recent years when it was
announced in Patna, that Gaya city would be excluded from the ambitious
Jawaharlal Nehru Urban Renewal Mission (JNNURM) that includes solid waste
management and the development of modern urban infrastructure (Qadir 2007).
Only Bodh Gaya and Patna in Bihar (among sixty-three other cities throughout
India) were selected for the investment of crores of funds to support the ambitious
urban development programme. According to Sadanand Gurda, a prominent
leader of the Gayawal Pandas “the exclusion of Gaya is bound to hurt the senti-
ment of the followers of Hinduism, as the world-famous Vishnupad shrine is not
less important than the seat of Buddha’s enlightenment” (Qadir 2007).
Notes
1 The “Convention Concerning the Protection of World Cultural and Natural Heritage”
was adopted during the General Conference of UNESCO on November 16, 1972.
Since then, 186 states parties have ratified the convention which aims to catalogue,
name, and conserve sites of outstanding cultural or natural importance to the common
heritage of humanity.
2 Shaivism is one of the four major sects of Hinduism. Followers of Shaivism, called
“Shaivas,” and also “Saivas” or “Saivites,” revere Shiva as the Supreme Being. In the
Brief History of the Bodh Gaya Math that was compiled by Rai Ram Anugrah Narayan
Singh Bahadur, under the orders of G. A. Grierson in 1892, the document traces the
origins of the Shaivite monastery to the late sixteenth century—a date fixed by
members of that monastery themselves.
3 The Permanent Settlement was an agreement between the East India Company and
Bengali landlords to fix revenues based on the objectification of land. The Settlement
was reached by the East India administration in 1793 under Charles, Earl Cornwallis.
For more information on the impact of the Permanent Settlement in Bihar see Prakash,
G. (1990) Bonded Histories: Genealogies of Labor Servitude in Colonial India,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
4 Drawing on Hamilton-Buchanan’s nineteenth-century account, Tara Doyle (1997)
notes that even local British administrators both participated in and benefited from the
patronage of Hindu pilgrims to the area. “For in their attempts to increase their
revenue, a graded pilgrimage-tax system (based on how many sites pilgrims visited)
was instituted, with the last category comprising all forty-five vedis, including that of
the Bodhi Tree” (144).
5 The official installment of the new Bodh Gaya Temple Management Committee was
delayed as a result of the Mahant’s obstructive tactics that challenged the new legisla-
ture under the Government of Bihar. As noted by Barua, the following regulations set
in the Bihar Government Act have continued to fuel controversies over the temple
management: “The committee shall consist of a Chairman [District Magistrate of
Gaya] and eight members nominated by the State Government, all of whom shall be
Indian and of whom four shall be Buddhists and four shall be Hindus including the
Mahanth” (1981: 289–90).
6 Although Bihar was the first state in independent India to legislate on land reforms, it
was also here that landlords put up the most resistance. Many, like the Bodh Gaya
Mahant, were able to devise strategies to retain a large part of its landed estate. For
example, at the time the abolition of Zamindari bills were introduced in the early
1950s, the Mahant had claimed “personal rights” over the entire property of the trust
which included upwards of 600 villages, 488 of them in Gaya district alone (Kelkar
and Gala 1990).
7 In the mid-1970s Jayaprakash Narayan became leader of the Chhatra Yuva Sangharsha
Vahini youth movement in Bihar which also developed into a popular land struggle in
Bodh Gaya through the late 1970s and 1980s. For more information, see Kelkar and
Gala (1990) and Sinha (1991).
8 It should be noted that despite the loss of land previously owned by the Bodh Gaya
Math, the Monastery continues to generate profit from the retail value of his landed
property and the rent collection in the bazaar shops. Nonetheless this pales in compar-
ison to its previous splendor.
9 The BJP is a major political party in India, founded in 1980. It maintains close links
with other Hindu organizations and political parties such as the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh and the Vishwa Hindu Parishad. From 1998 to 2004 the BJP was
in power on the basis of an alliance with several other parties. The Prime Minister was
Atal Bihari Vajpayee, with Lal Krishna Advani as his deputy.
10 Dalit political leader Dr. B. T. Ambedkar has had a profound impact on the revival of
Indian Buddhism in the twentieth century. On October 14, 1956 Ambedkar converted
to the Buddhist faith with the aim of uplifting the untouchables from the longstanding
inequalities of the Hindu caste system. Not only did Ambedkar denounce the Hindu
religion but he also led a massive conversion of over 500,000 untouchables with the
goal of igniting a Buddhist revival movement throughout the county. Although
Ambedkar passed away within two months of his conversion, over the latter part of
the twentieth century, the number of untouchable converts has continued to grow.
According to the 2001 Indian Census there are now currently 7.95 million Buddhists
in India, with at least 5.83 million Ambedkarite Buddhists residing in the state of
Maharashtra alone. Today, many Dalits employ the term “Ambedkar(ite) Buddhism”
to designate the Buddhist movement or refer to themselves as “Nava-Bauddha” or
New Buddhists (Kantowsky 2003).
11 The new members include: 1. Mr. Amritlal Meena, District Magistrate of Gaya (Ex-officio
Chairperson); 2. Bhante Prajnasheel, Nagpur, Maharashtra (member secretary); 3.
Bhadant Gyaneshwar Mahathera, Kusinagar; 4. Bhadant Nagarjun Arya Surai Sasai,
Nagpur; 5. Bhante Anand, Agra; 6. Mahanth Jagadish Anand Giri, Gaya; 7. Dr. Naresh
Banerjee, Gaya; 8. Mrs. Rajsheela Singh, Gaya; 9. Mr. Ramcharitra Das Achal, Gaya.
Bibliography
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Arjun Appadurai”, Journal of Social Archaeology, 1(1): 35–49.
Arnold, Edwin (1893) “East and West—a Splendid Opportunity”, The Daily Telegraph.
Bahadur, R. R. A. N. S. (1892) A Brief History of Bodh Gaya Math, Calcutta: Bengal
Secretariat Press.
Barua, D. K. (1981) Buddha Gaya Temple: Its History, Buddha Gaya: Buddha Gaya
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Kelkar, G. and Gala, C. (1990) “The Bodh Gaya Land Struggle”, in I. Sen (ed.) A Space
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10 Maitreya, or the love of Buddhism
The non-event of Bodh Gaya’s
giant statue
Jessica Marie Falcone
Setting the scene (Part 1)

Thus have I heard.1 Just over a decade ago, there was a monk dwelling tempo-
rarily in Bodh Gaya at the Root Institute together with a great company of new
Buddhist students who had come from countries in all four directions to take his
introductory course in Tibetan Mahayana practice.2 The Root Institute was one of
the jewels in the crown of the Foundation for the Preservation of the Mahayana
Tradition (FPMT), and as such, it attracted many spiritual seekers who were keen
to learn more about Buddhist thought and practice in the English vernacular.
The teacher, who was born in Switzerland, but had taken monastic vows in the
Tibetan tradition, had taught at dozens of FPMT’s roughly 150 centers around the
world, but the center in Bodh Gaya was his very favorite. Given its historical
pedigree, he felt it was the perfect place to enlighten his students. The monk-
teacher’s sessions were always quite popular; during both teachings and guided
meditations, the brightly decorated lhakhang (Tibetan chapel) was usually
overflowing with several dozen students at a time.
One night, at the very end of the two-week-long course at Root, he offered a
special, optional information session on a great project being undertaken by his
own guru, the head of FPMT, the revered Lama Zopa Rinpoche. Only two
students attended the session: Chika, from Japan, and Nia, an American. He was
disappointed by the turnout, but he did not say so.
After settling into his cushion at the front of the hall, he said, “We will build a
giant statue of the Maitreya Buddha here in Bodh Gaya. It will be 500 feet tall,
and it will tower over everything. It will be the biggest statue of a Buddha in the
whole world – the biggest statue in the whole world. It is the wish of my teacher,
and the wish of his teacher, who is no more. Since you are my students, it will be
your wish as well.”
Chika said, “Oh yes, I want the statue to be built. I’ve heard all about it.”
Nia said, “Could you please tell us more about why we should wish it?”
The teacher said, “Maitreya comes from the word ‘love’ (that is, maitri in
Sanskrit), and it is the name of the future Buddha, the Buddha to come. The
Maitreya Buddha is a bodhisattva now; he’s waiting in Tushita heaven. When the
time is right, in the very distant future, many eons from now, he will come back
down to earth and revive the dharma. If we build a giant statue here and now,
then we will link ourselves karmically to Maitreya, and we will be born during
his time in the future. Every donor will reap this precious benefit. As Lama Zopa
Rinpoche has said, the bigger the statue, the bigger the merit we will achieve.”
Nia said, “But eons from now?! I plan to be enlightened way before that.”
“Patience. It takes time to work our way off the merry-go-round of samsara.
There is no better way to find enlightenment than to be born during the lifespan
of a living Buddha. That statue is our ticket.”
Setting the scene (Part 2)

Thus have I heard. Recently, a teacher was dwelling in Manhattan – the smaller
Apple of the two, the “little Apple,” a.k.a. Manhappiness: Manhattan, Kansas –
together with a great company of college students who had come from counties
in all four directions to take part in a course about culture in the wider world. (It
fulfilled a requirement.) They had talked about fieldwork and the ethnographic
method in their last class, and now the professor was ready to make good on her
promise to discuss her own anthropological research. She flipped on her lapel
mic, and began by telling her students about a great statue that had been planned
in Bodh Gaya, and how it had been killed. Murdered, actually.
“Cool,” said a few of the students to one another, “a murder mystery!” Many
other students yawned, flipped opened their gadgets, or started in on epic doodles.
This is the story she told: “In Bodh Gaya, throughout the 1990s, the word
‘Maitreya’ signaled either threat or promise, depending on who you were and what
you had at stake. The 150m tall Maitreya statue was always supposed to be in
Bodh Gaya, and if all had gone well for FPMT, then it would have been completed
by now. But things did not go as planned. It was killed. Un-made, or non-made . . .
eventually it was moved somewhere else where it has fared no better, but today we
are just talking about Bodh Gaya and why its most famous giant was murdered.”
She clicked a button, and projected a slide depicting the slain statue in one of its
oldest instantiations—an early drawing of a statue in the center of a small park.
“FPMT is a fascinating organization. It was one of the first Tibetan Buddhist
groups committed to teaching Westerners; most of its students and devotees are
either North American, European, or East Asians from Singapore, Malaysia and
Taiwan. The head lama, Lama Zopa Rinpoche, was born in Nepal in a commu-
nity that practices the Tibetan Buddhist tradition. Lama Yeshe, the founder of
FPMT, was Lama Zopa Rinpoche’s guru. Lama Yeshe was a learned Tibetan
monk who had fled India as a refugee after the Chinese occupation of Tibet.
Their first student was a Russian-American woman from a Russian royal family
who had traveled to South Asia to seek spiritual guidance. She became the
primary benefactor to the two lamas, and persuaded them to teach Westerners.
They began teaching seekers and hippies in the Kathmandu valley in the 1960s.
They have centers all over the world. It is a very globalized religious group, and
the large majority of the devotees are converts to Buddhism. A hand popped up in
the front row; it was a student whose name she actually knew.
“Yes, Thomas.”
The non-event of Bodh Gaya’s giant statue 155
“Why would Buddhists want to build such a big statue? Isn’t a statue that big
kind of materialistic? And if they are mostly white people, then why build in
India? And why did you say it was killed off?”
“Good questions, but I need you to be patient,” the teacher replied, “We’ll get
to the blood, sweat and tears soon enough.”
Social scientifiction
In Bruno Latour’s (1996) work Aramis, or The Love of Technology, the reader is
introduced to a failed project, an important non-event that is nonetheless spec-
tacularly significant in the unfolding of its failure. Latour’s work begins with a
question: Who killed Aramis? Latour proceeds to tell the story of Aramis, which
was the name of a self-guided rapid transport system intended for Paris and its
environs, as a pastiche of multiple voices, interviews, and dialogue between
characters. The characters, some real and some imagined, work together to
examine the death of the project; it reads like a syncretic detective novel.
Drawing inspiration directly from Latour, this chapter will follow in his
methodological footsteps. His creative method of representing the mystery of a
non-event, which he calls “scientifiction,” draws upon disparate writing styles to
construct a narrative that transcends the simple dualism of fact or fiction.
Furthermore, I follow Latour in arguing that sometimes it can be constructive
to use a bit of imagination, prosopopoeia, and anthropomorphism in order
to piece together a story that is still as essentially true as any other. In this piece,
I endeavor to stake out terrain in the borderlands between the writing cultures of
ethnography, historical anthropology, ethnographic fiction, and advocacy. I
would even argue that despite some invented dialogue, a few characters that are
combinations of multiple informants, and other moments of playfulness along the
way, this is one of the most honest ways I could tell this particular cultural story.
This piece also incidentally echoes some of Latour’s themes in Aramis, or the
Love of Technology, such as the life, love and autonomy of things. In constructing
a “cultural biography” of an object (Kopytoff 1986), even a merely planned one,
I take other cues from the likes of Appadurai (1986) who has demonstrated that
the life story of an object is itself a cultural map of shifting meanings across
time and space. The resulting chapter, which I would consider a work of “social
scientifiction,” is the story of an object’s prematurely terminated pre-life.
The victim
Who is the victim here? Really there are many . . . But the only murder victim,
the only one who didn’t get back up again, is Bodh Gaya’s giant statue. And what
of the victim then? What, or who, was the Maitreya statue before it was killed?
The statue was the brainchild of Lama Yeshe, a Tibetan refugee who had
founded the transnational Buddhist institution, the Foundation for the Preservation
of the Mahayana Tradition in 1975. According to devotees, Lama Yeshe first
publically discussed his dream to build a Maitreya statue in Bodh Gaya in 1982
(Colony March/April 1998: 38). Lama Yeshe never specified that the Maitreya
statue of his dreams would have a certain height or dimension. For years, the plan
was only a name that floated around the corridors of FPMT centers: “Maitreya
for World Peace.” Initially, many devotees of FPMT saw the project as much
smaller than the one settled upon years later—it was an “ambitious plan to build a
sixty-foot statue of Maitreya, the Buddha to come, in Bodhgaya, the place where
Buddha attained enlightenment” (Mackenzie 1995: 207).
After Lama Yeshe’s death in 1984, the dream of a Maitreya statue in Bodh
Gaya was taken up by his students and devotees. After his death, the project grew
exponentially—not only in terms of momentum, but also in terms of the size of
the desired statue. Lama Zopa Rinpoche, the Nepali lama who had co-founded
FPMT with Lama Yeshe, swore to bring the statue plan to fruition in honor of his
guru. Lama Zopa Rinpoche had even more grandiose plans for the statue than his
mentor had ever expressed, so the size and scope of the project increased gradu-
ally until 1996, when the height of the proposed statue jumped from 421 feet to
500 feet (News India/Nepal 1996).
According to FPMT lore, which I heard from a handful of FPMT interviewees,
as a young boy, Lama Yeshe’s Spanish-born reincarnation, Lama Osel, described
his own dream for the Bodh Gaya statue: it would be a giant see-through statue
with lights blinking inside at the chakra points. However, the Maitreya Project
International (also known at the Maitreya Project or MPI)—an affiliate of FPMT
founded with the sole mandate of building the statue in Bodh Gaya—proceeded
forward with a less fanciful, but no less grand, version of the statue: Bodh Gaya’s
statue would be a 150m tall bronze goliath with several floors of shrines inside.
Over the past fifteen-plus years, MPI has published various images and repre-
sentations of the statue as they have developed and altered over time. In each
version of the statue, Maitreya is seated aloft a pedestal in the classic bhadrasana
pose. Early images were two-dimensional pictures painted or drawn as artists’
renderings of the project, while later renderings were three-dimensional proto-
type statues (or representations of the prototype). The qualities and details of
various versions of the face are quite distinct; according to public reports from
the project, it is the face that has received the most attention (Bertels 1996). One
of my informants, a half-British, half-Indian monk in the FPMT tradition who
helped establish the Root Institute in Bodh Gaya, told me: “For the face of the
Maitreya Project, the face has to be just right. Lama Zopa Rinpoche has gone to
great lengths to make sure that the face is just right.”
The current version of the statue was commissioned in 1997 to Denise Griffin, a
British artist who was soon joined in the endeavor by her husband (both of whom
are students in the FPMT community). Once they had finished a first prototype in
1998, they dissembled it, packed it up, and sent it to Kathmandu, where they
received hands-on assistance from a Tibetan sculptor, and guidance from Lama
Zopa Rinpoche and others (“Peter Kedge International Director of Maitreya
Project” 1997: 12). The Griffin prototype produced in 1998, accounting for some
minor adjustments to the right hand and forearm in 2001, is essentially the image of
MPI’s Maitreya statue that has been reproduced and globally circulated (as posters,
postcards, tsa-tsas, advertisements, etc.) since then. While many of my interlocutors
love the look of the statue, my Tibetan informants often noted that the face seems
“too Chinese” for their tastes. Since ethnic Tibetans have had little involvement in
the statue or its funding, they tend to blame MPI’s apparent Sinocization of the
Maitreya on the largesse from East Asian Buddhists that is sustaining MPI’s coffers.
In January 1998, when the Dalai Lama came to the MPI’s land in Bodh Gaya, he
gave a speech in support of the Maitreya Project. Just after his talk, a series of
events unfolded that are often considered bad omens (fire, strange weather, post-
ponement) according to Tibetan cultural norms. In the aftermath, these omens were
interpreted publicly as auspicious happenings.3 An FPMT writer framed it thusly:
In a dramatic turn later, a fire broke out, destroying the large Shakyamuni
tangka and part of the temporary tent structure on the Maitreya land . . .
Towards the end of His Holiness’s teachings that day, following the
Chenrezig initiation, there was an unexpected downpour of rain. His
Holiness looked up in surprise, but continued teaching. While people were
fully protected by the teaching tent, heavy rain meant that the Maitreya puja
scheduled for the same evening to bless the Maitreya land had to be canceled.
Mini-pujas were held on buses and by a few monks at the land. It was felt by
most that all these conditions were auspicious signs.
(Rose 1998: 37)
Peter Kedge, the CEO of MPI, narrated the same event for FPMT’s Mandala
readership, saying that although the tent, Buddha thangka, offerings, and ritual
implements had all burned, it should be cause for joy that both the throne that His
Holiness had just occupied and the Maitreya thangka had escaped damage in the
fire (Kedge 1998). Still, he admitted that he found himself “wishing that auspi-
ciousness could display itself in a slightly more friendly manner” (41). In public,
FPMT never interprets such events as bad or inauspicious omens—events are
interpreted as either good omens, or occasionally, as “obstacles.”
Maureen: With the Maitreya statue project there is such inspiration with what
they want to do in this world. This is a gift they are giving. They have
helped the dharma to spread. That he wants to do this crazy thing, and
I would call it crazy to spend so much money on something so beau-
tiful. He always wants to do something bigger and better. The Maitreya
Project is like the centerpiece of the FPMT family. This is what Lama
Zopa Rinpoche sends out requests about most often—to do special
pujas for its benefit. Lama Zopa Rinpoche says that the FPMT hasn’t
even started yet, like a baby that hasn’t even stood up yet. Through the
obstacles we are clearing through the Maitreya Project we will be able
to really blossom. We haven’t even started yet. We are trying to do
something beneficial for the world . . . There have been so many
disappointments, so many starts and stops. A meeting was coming up,
and they thought that everything would go ahead. It was just so close.
But Rinpoche has undying enthusiasm. Whatever disappointments
there are, they don’t last very long. He is so unfazed. Because this was
Lama Yeshe’s wish, he will not stop. That was what Lama wanted and
he will do whatever it takes. There were some disappointments just to
get the land. They worked so hard. They tried to get the land [in Bodh
Gaya]. They will do good things with it still. They needed far more
land, this was just the initial plot, but then there were big government
problems. The government is so supportive in UP. The land situation is
okay in Kushinagar, but now the lack of money is holding us back.
The main obstacle now is finances.
Jessica: Uhm, well, actually I have been to Kushinagar, and there’s a lot more
going on. Protest . . . a lot of anger.
Maureen: This is life. You keep doing more pujas and more practices. Rinpoche
has said that when we are trying to do something, sometimes there are
maras.
Jessica: What are maras?
Maureen: Maras are negative karmas. The wish to do something this big for
other beings is highly beneficial. Karma that would have ripened as
going to hell realms can become smaller obstacles. Of course there
will be problems. This is a good sign. This is lo jong—so rejoice! If
there were no problems, if it was easy, what would we learn? With
bodhicitta we must bear hardships for others. Sometimes a strong
sense of fear comes in my heart that when [the Maitreya Project statue]
is finished maybe it would be a target for terrorism. When I have this
fear I try to think of impermanence; it would just be part of the process.
The process is just as important as the statue itself. From the empti-
ness of the project now . . . Where is it now, when will it start, where
will it end? I find it a constant source of lessons, so I am grateful to
Rinpoche.
(Interview with Maureen, an American staffer at the
Root Institute and a long-time FPMT devotee,
Bodh Gaya, 2006)
Hauntings
In some ways, Hamlet was lucky, despite his grizzly end. As the investigator of
his father’s murder he had the advantage of visitations from a ghost on the
ramparts—a victim who pointed a finger and picked his killer directly out of the
line-up. The ghost of the Bodh Gaya statue is still there, make no mistake. It does
not roam ramparts, but it remains fixed in its once-future space.
In 2000, I did research in Bodh Gaya as part of a Master’s program in
Development Anthropology, and at the time the statue plan was alive and kicking;
at least publically, it was healthy and robust in the womb. For a term in fall 2000,
I lived, studied, meditated, and researched at the Root Institute. I was also the
volunteer in charge of the library. From the library terrace, I could see the statue’s
future space. In my mind’s eye, I could see it—it was there. I would sit on the
roof of the kitchen in the morning and eat warm, thick chapatis smothered in
orange marmalade, and look out over the fields towards the space where the
statue would be born. I was enthusiastic about its prospects as an engaged
Buddhist construct, but I did write in my Master’s thesis that the local resistance
was being ignored at the project’s peril. It haunted as a promise and a threat and,
at the time, most locals could point to the place on the horizon where the behe-
moth would poke up over the buildings and trees; only the bust of the giant would
have been visible to the town, people said, and it would tower over the Mahabodhi
stūpa, dwarfing it. Its head would be in the clouds.
When the Maitreya Project hit insurmountable “obstacles” in Bihar, Bodh
Gaya’s statue was lost, dead; some people mourned, while others cheerfully
waved it on its way. I returned to Bodh Gaya in 2006, and though the town’s
giant Maitreya had been long dead, I could almost make out the apparition itself
dancing at the edge of my peripheral vision. The ghost of the statue is still there
on the horizon of Bodh Gaya. It is a specter that still haunts—and not just me. On
another trip in 2007, when pressed, most local people I asked could still point
towards the same empty space in the distance. “There, over there, it would have
been right down the road that way, and over to the left a bit.”
Manish: [The statue] would have been good. It would have

brought more customers. I would have opened
another stall and had more money.
Surendra: You would have sold only ten extra cups of tea!
Manish (to me): There would have been development.
Surendra: Development for the Buddhists, not for us.
Deepika (Manish’s wife): We are no better now than before. That statue would
have brought nothing to my belly. It would not have
fed me or given me clothes.
Jessica: Before? I don’t understand you. Before when?
Deepika: [Manish’s] father was a chai-wallah. [Manish] is a
chai-wallah. What better life is there with all these
new [Buddhist monasteries and temples]? If [our
son] does more, then it is from no help from the
Buddhist people here. They come and go, here and
there. They don’t stop here [at our stall]. Only the
drivers come and spend money.
Govinda (to me): Sometimes foreigners have tea here. You are here!
Jessica (to Deepika): So, in your opinion, that big statue would have been
useless to you and your family?
Deepika: It would be a big thing for big people. It had nothing
to do with me.
(Discussion with a chai stall owner in Bodh Gaya, his wife, and some
of his customers, Bodh Gaya, 2007. Manish and Deepika were
long-time residents of the Bodh Gaya area, while their customers
were from other parts of Bihar; translated from a Hindi/English mix)
The charges
Thus have I heard. The teacher in Manhattan, Kansas stood on a stage in front of
300 students. She talked, and they listened—as it shouldn’t be.
“There is incredible cultural significance in the non-event. The non-event can
teach us quite a bit, as much as or more than the event itself. Many social scien-
tists, such as Stoler, Latour, and Rabinow, have all produced work that gestures
towards the importance of drafts, proposals and failures.4 When we talked about
political anthropology last week, I elaborated upon the example of Khalistan,
the state that the Sikhs wanted to carve out of India, but which they never
managed to accomplish. Khalistan is a signature non-event, and as we discussed,
there was a great deal of cultural work towards realizing Khalistan, and just as
much cultural history involved in the slow dismembering of that momentum.
Hoped-for states, hoped-for statues; there is cultural life in collective dreams.”5
The teacher reached down to the floor of the stage and grabbed her blue mug.
One swift sip.
“Okay, who has seen the documentary, Who Killed the Electric Car?” she
asked.6 A few dozen hands went up.
“The documentary makes a claim about the importance of an object that never
manifested as reality. It tells its own murder mystery about who killed a partic-
ular project. General Motor’s new EV1 was leased out, and quickly earned many
devoted fans. However, GM worried that it was not enough of a money-maker
and that it may detract from their gas-guzzlers in the long term, so they subse-
quently rounded them up, smashed perfectly good cars, and tossed them into
landfills.” A hand is raised in the front row.
“Yes?”
“But my dad has a Nissan Leaf. It’s an electric car. So, it wasn’t murdered after
all,” said a student. The teacher didn’t know it, but this student’s name was also
Thomas (she had four on her roster—not that she had noticed); this Thomas
called himself Tom.
“Well, yes, you could say that the American electric car was resurrected from
the dead. But there was still a crime—there were guilty parties. The director of
the film named suspects: the consumers; oil companies; the car companies; the
US government; the California Air Resources Board; Hydrogen fuel cells; and
battery technology. Only one suspect, the battery technology, was judged “not
guilty.” So, there was a murder perpetrated by many killers. I’d say that the
Nissan Leaf and the Chevy Volt are the birth of something new.”
“That sounds like attempted murder then,” Tom persisted. “Not murder.
Attempted murder, or even assault.”
“Okay, another good point, but let me give you my take. Going back to Bodh
Gaya . . . As I told you, the Bodh Gaya statue was canceled, and moved elsewhere
. . . to Kushinagar, the place where the historical Buddha is thought to have died
and been cremated. The statue plan has met with all sorts of problems in Kushinagar
since it officially moved about a decade ago, and has been much more fiercely
resisted there than it ever was in Bodh Gaya, but that, is another mystery, another
crime, for another day. I would argue that the Bodh Gaya statue and the Kushinagar
statue are separate entities, and that even if the Kushinagar statue does eventually
get built, it does not erase the event of the original statue’s non-happening. The
giant Bodh Gaya statue was killed off, although in 2006 there were low-level
murmurs from the headquarters that perhaps a modest-sized statue would be
constructed there someday, after the Kushinagar giant is finally finished. And again,
this new smaller statue would be a new becoming that stands separate from the
undoing of the original.” Another sip from her mug: honey-infused Earl Grey tea.
“What’s left in Bodh Gaya now is substantial remnants of the old dream. The
Maitreya Project still owns the roughly 35 acres of land, some of which was
purchased from a Vipassana meditation group decades ago. On the land now
there is a hangar which houses a very modest prototype of the Maitreya statue
year round, and the altar at his feet includes a large portrait of the Dalai Lama.
Also, during the pilgrimage season two enormous thangkas flank the prototype
statue, relics are placed in a display case in the hangar, and a corner of the hangar
is converted into a small room in which the promotional video for the Maitreya
Project plays on a loop. Donations are solicited. The headquarters for the project
is still here, and the main work carried out at the headquarters still involves the
care for this parcel of land. For several years, the work of the Maitreya Project
also included management of a school that was inherited by the project from the
Root Institute several years ago, but that school was closed in 2010.”
Another hand—back, back, back, in the middle of the pack. The teacher hopped
the four steps off the stage, and jogged up the aisle. She passed her mic down the
row. As the mic passed through several hands, one bold student leaned in and
murmured, “hey, everybody.” Laughter rippled through the hall in waves. The mic
finally reached its intended destination: a young woman in a purple sweatshirt.
“I’m confused. So was the cancellation of the giant Bodh Gaya statue a murder
or an attempted murder?”
“Well, as we’ve discussed at length, there would be good reasons to settle on
either one. But for our purposes here, I suggested already that we call it a murder.
We –”
“Dr. Falcone,” she interrupted, “Is this going to be on the exam?”
I don’t think that you should build anything higher than the Mahabodhi temple. The
Mahabodhi temple is about 180 feet, I think . . . It used to bother me that the
Maitreya Project statue would have been bigger than the temple. I thought that to
dwarf the Mahabodhi temple was wrong; as if the Maitreya would be looking down
on a little model Mahabodhi. It wouldn’t be far enough away. People would see the
statue first and it would over-shadow the temple. The Mahabodhi temple shouldn’t
be over-shadowed by any modern construction, even a statue. I think that a lot of
people felt that.
(Interview with an American educator, who described himself
as a regular and frequent pilgrim and resident of Bodh Gaya
for dozens of years, Bodh Gaya, 2006)
The suspects
Who killed Bodh Gaya’s Maitreya? I have had to sift through several suspects
and several possible motivations. One thing is clear—it was never personal. No
one ever had anything against the idea of a Maitreya statue per se. It was the size
and placement of the project that really got it into trouble with its enemies, and
even complicated its relationship with some of its friends.
According to some witnesses, the problem was the nearby Air Force airfields
in Gaya, which made the prospect of a giant statue with its head in the clouds a
dangerous proposition. And the re-opening of the Gaya International Airport? It
seems that the prospect of air traffic swirling to and fro past the monumentally
tall statue made many people uncomfortable.
One very prominent and popular theory is that the state of Bihar proved to be
too intractable to work with effectively. At the outset of the project, the Lalu
Prasad Yadav administration was in power, but since his Rashtriya Janata Dal
party is widely considered to be infamously corrupt, it is not surprising that
tongues wagged about the enormous graft that Bihar demanded from MPI in
order to buy its cooperation. According to one MPI staffer, when the generous
baksheesh (graft) was not awarded the project stalled and never built momentum
forward. Another interviewee, the MPI coordinator in Bodh Gaya that I spoke to
at length in 2007, said that he blamed the Bihari government for demanding
inordinate amounts of rent for the small patches of government-owned, utility-
associated land that dotted MPI’s roughly 35 acres. “We couldn’t move forward
at their mercy. They would have bankrupted us one way or another. Bihar’s new
government may be easier to work with, but it’s too late” he said.
Another theory was that the real culprit of Bodh Gaya’s loss was the neigh-
boring state of Uttar Pradesh. It was adultery then; Uttar Pradesh’s siren song
tempted MPI out of Bihar and towards an agreement with the sexier, more agree-
able state next door. It was not (just) the faults of Bihar per se, but rather the
wiles of Uttar Pradesh that caused the infidelity. Uttar Pradesh made MPI an
offer too good to refuse: a lease of several hundred acres in perpetuity for just
one rupee per year.
Another problem, according to FPMTers in Bodh Gaya, was that MPI wanted
to buy more land adjacent to their plot, but since it was prime agricultural real
estate they could not get enough locals to agree to part with it. One witness noted
that according to his East Asian abbot, an elder amongst the Bodh Gaya Buddhist
community, the idea of a Maitreya statue was fine, but they picked the wrong spot.
The abbot thought it should be over by the Malakala caves. In the area by the
caves the land is not good, so no one would mind the statue over there. This is
one of the more intelligent critiques of the statue plans. He helped to buy land for
just about everyone, about twelve temples, including the land for Root, so he
knows the complexity of land issues. He thinks they should have picked a site
that no one wanted.
My interlocutor agreed with his religious leader, and went on to say that
by choosing such prime land, the Maitreya Project had shown incomparable
insensitivity to the local setting, where agricultural land remains a primary source
of subsistence and livelihood.
Other witnesses report that there were substantial divisions within the local
community about the prospects afforded by the statue. Certain local representa-
tives signed on eventually, as the Project persuaded them that the economic
advantages of the statue project would trickle down to local Indians. However,
many Indian and foreign social workers felt strongly that benefits would trickle
down to the rich and middle-class locals, but not the poorest sectors of society.
Also, many local farmers remained suspicious of the statue plan. Some believed
that the water table would be lowered and it would make sowing crops even
harder than it already was. Another prevalent local rumor asserted that the intense
heat of the sun shining off the bronze would dry out some local crops, and simul-
taneously, the massive shadow of the statue would deny enough sunshine to other
plots. There were several local protests planned by local Indian social workers,
some of whom are now a part of the Bodh Gaya Social Forum.
Many international visitors and pilgrims who spent long periods of time in
Bodh Gaya, especially those outside the FPMT fold, expressed their concerns
about the Maitreya Project to me and to each other. They worried that it would do
more harm than good—both socioeconomically and spiritually. Certain disap-
proving international Buddhist figures, such as Christopher Titmuss and some
other teachers from his Insight Meditation group, spoke out publically against the
statue plan. Titmuss felt that the size and cost of the statue was so egregious in the
face of Indian poverty that the whole endeavor was patently un-Buddhist (Titmuss
2001). The handful of Christian monks and nuns living in Bodh Gaya all indi-
cated that they felt strongly that the statue project would be a devastating misuse
of resources. One European nun told me that as a group they had organized picket
lines with their local beneficiaries against the Maitreya statue. Finally, many
ex-patriots told me that they worried about how the new statue might shift and
disrupt the religious landscape of an ancient pilgrimage place. Many non-FPMT
Buddhists in Bodh Gaya worried about how the statue would tower over the
Mahabodhi stūpa, dwarfing its significance, and potentially damaging the
mandala of Bodh Gaya that spirals outwards with the temple at the center.
Several witnesses felt very strongly that the bad press from all of the protests
and international antipathy was compounded by the large number of FPMTers
and foreign Buddhists who stayed in Bodh Gaya for long stretches of time. In
contrast, the more recent (and much larger and sustained) protests in Kushinagar,
have been largely invisible to the foreign Buddhist community due to the fact that
pilgrims rarely stay there for more than a day. So, perhaps, some of my inter-
viewees suggested, MPI moved the statue out of Bodh Gaya in order to keep any
future local discontent better hidden.
A twist
Thus have I heard. Back in 2000, the teacher in Bodh Gaya arranged his robes
around him. He was still surprised that so few students had come. Too many
students focused solely on their meditative prospects, and too few were willing to
take a leap of faith in Tibetan Buddhism’s holy objects, he surmised.
“The Bodh Gaya statue is . . . facing obstacles.”
“What kind? You haven’t told us,” asked Chika.
“Oh, many people, mostly it’s the farmers, the landholders, in the area who
have been shortsighted and greedy. Also, the Christian missionaries. The media.
There are many people that don’t share our vision for the future, and some of
them have tried to hijack our great gift. Even other Buddhists . . . those who are
jealous of our rising star. There is a white Buddhist who teaches at the Thai
temple here in Bodh Gaya every winter. He keeps complaining that the statue is
too big, but he’s just mad because it will make our center more prominent than
his; his dissent is pure ego.”
Nia said, “I’ve heard about that guy. My friend told me that he says that in the
face of Indian poverty such a big statue would be an abomination.”
“Well, the thing is, the statue will be a religious boon. It will also help locals,
whether they realize it now or not. It will bring in money. There is a school, and
we plan to build a hospital. The benefits will trickle down.”
“Also, it is good to put money on something beautiful, instead of on war planes
and how do you say it . . . weapons of mass destroying,” said Chika.
“Trickle-down?!” Nia repeated miserably; she associated trickle-down
with hackneyed Republican political discourse, and she was a moderate
Democrat.
“Can I ask a question?” she continued
“Yes.”
“Have you talked to the local community? Worked with them?”
“We held an open house once, and we invited everyone over to the land to
check it out. We served them a nice lunch. We gave a presentation for local
people, and we even let the Christian nuns come.”
“So there was a discussion? An open forum of some kind?”
“Oh no, well, it wasn’t meant to be chaotic. We showed them a slideshow, and
told them about all the benefits that would accrue to the community, both spiritu-
ally and economically. We felt it went quite well, although the nuns and their
supporters kept pestering us with their little picket lines for ages afterwards. A
giant Buddha would give them heartburn, I suppose!” The teacher laughed; he
had no patience for missionaries—they were so unforgivably sure of their own
narrow worldview.
Chika was all charged up; she couldn’t wait to come back and see the statue
someday. Nia felt unsettled, unsure.
The next day, when Chika checked out of the Root Institute, the volunteer
behind the counter asked if she wanted to make a donation on top of the total.
Chika ended up donating an extra 5000 rupees explicitly for the Maitreya Project.
Later, after Nia paid her bill, she made a 1000 rupee donation to the Root
Institute’s mobile health clinic program, but only after re-confirming that the
clinic had no pecuniary link to the Maitreya Project whatsoever.
At first I thought the Maitreya Project was a bit strange. Why should the project be
so big? It’s not just a statue; it’s such a big project. Everything is about my faith in
my guru. I know that will benefit people. I saw that everything Rinpoche does is so
beneficial. For me that’s true, so then when I think of how beneficial it will be for
the world . . . I think about the statue, not the other stuff. When I pray I think about
how the statue itself can benefit others. The power of the object can purify and give
blessings.
(Interview with a newly ordained Brazilian nun in the
FPMT tradition, Dharamsala, 2006)
Maitreya speaks
WWMD? What would Maitreya do? What would Maitreya desire, or un-desire?
What would Bodh Gaya’s giant Maitreya statue say if it could speak,7 if it were
walking the ramparts in search of justice? Would it chasten its murderers, as
Latour’s Aramis did? And who was Latour to give voice to a machine anyway—
especially one that never existed past the prototype? I could feel sheepish giving
voice to a Maitreya statue that never was, but luckily, I know that the Maitreya is
forgiving and will love me no matter what. He has to, it’s his job. This is what the
Maitreya statue’s ghost told me:
I could have become. I was ready. It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t manifest, but
since it isn’t kind to point fingers at those responsible, I won’t. If I was killed,
then I’ll be the last one to press charges. Forgive and forget—let’s just put
this whole thing behind us. It’s best not to make a big fuss. I understand all
the voices—the ones who regret my demise, and the ones who celebrate it. I
feel for them all. Each one. To me they are, they were, they would have been
all the same: the farmers protesting that I would hurt their crops; the
Christian nuns and monks who led some of the local protestors, saying I was
too expensive; the Insight Meditation group who denounced me by insisting
that I would be a symbol of Buddhist excesses; the planners who drew me
into so many imaginations; the feng shui consultants from Taiwan who tried
to make sure that I would be built in harmony with local deities; the local
Indian teachers at the Maitreya Project’s now-shuttered school; the well-
intentioned volunteers who set up offerings to me every year when Lama
Zopa Rinpoche came to give teachings in Bodh Gaya; and the FPMT vision-
aries who thought I would inspire the masses to a more peaceful world. I love
them all equally—they all seek happiness and they all suffer. They are all the
same; all eminently lovable, all flawed, but all potential Buddhas. They all
made me exactly what I was—a mighty potential statue, a waking dream; and
then, they all had a role in constructing the conditions that un-made me. That
is all I have to say. Well, ahem . . . just one more little thing while I have the
chance: if you try again elsewhere, friends, then pretty please with a cherry
on top, make me with loving-kindness or don’t even bother.
The statue’s specter fell silent then, and smiled sweetly.
It’s a corporation. The Maitreya Corporation is working with the government. I

remember when it was supposed to be here. There were all sorts of petitions against
it, and Christopher [Titmuss] wrote against it. There were women who went there
and protested . . . Such a huge waste of money. [The Maitreya Project people] were
saying that it was the Christians who were against it, but that wasn’t true, it was so
many people.
(Interview with a European Christian nun who was a
long-term (part-time) resident of Bodh
Gaya, Bodh Gaya, 2006)
Maitreya has been speaking for a long time

“Ahem, sorry, but the statue is not a separate being from me. I am Maitreya, and
I would prefer to speak for myself.” A voice hurled down from a pure land . . .
I was startled, but I shouldn’t have been; there is dead-statue Maitreya,
and then there is the Bodhisattva Maitreya, who is known to reside in
Tushita Heaven. They are not one and the same, and yet from one point of view
they are.
They are different from one early Buddhist perspective, hence the old story of
the first sandalwood statue made of the Buddha Shakyamuni (Strong 2008). The
Buddha was out of station, and the king received permission to make a statue of
the Buddha. When the Buddha arrived home, the sandalwood statue rose to greet
and bow before the Buddha, and the Buddha blessed it and noted that the statue
itself would be important in carrying his message forward into the future. The
being and the statue it represents are distinct, though the story legitimates the
worship of the latter.
On the other hand, according to the Tibetan Buddhist notion of the various
Buddha bodies (kayas), bodhisattvas exist in the pure land in their sambhogakaya
forms.8 The FPMT teachers that I have heard address this issue all argued that
after consecration, the statue is a vessel in which the statue embodies the
bodhisattva or Buddha that it represents. So according to this perspective, the
Maitreya would have existed inside the giant statue after the consecration rituals
had been performed. So, from this perspective, the Maitreya of the dead pre-
statue exists now in another form. We don’t just have to guess what the Maitreya
would say to us, as he’s said a great deal already; we just have to listen for him in
his sambhogakaya form. Maitreya has long “spoken” to us through both the texts
ascribed to him, and the oral histories of his past lives and deeds.
Thus have we all heard.9 Asanga, a yogi, sought to attain a vision of Maitreya
for many long years, but he finally abandoned his spiritual toil in frustration and
began wandering aimlessly. Kicking a spent watermelon rind down the road,
Asanga came upon a sorry sight. A dog was lying in a ditch, utterly crippled by
hunger and illness; maggots spilled out of the festering wound on the animal’s
side. The dog’s torso rose and fell slowly; its eyes were moist. Asanga was horri-
fied. “Disgusting,” he thought, “. . . and tragic.”
Asanga wanted to help the poor beast, but he also realized that the unfortunate
maggots depended on its flesh for sustenance. He rooted around in his sack, and
drew out a blunt knife. He took a deep breath and with lips pursed he sawed off a
large piece of his thigh; the dog’s eyes opened wide, and he watched intently as
the ascetic dropped a hunk of his own flesh near the canine’s hindquarter. Asanga
had decided that the gentlest way to move the maggots from the dog’s flesh to his
own without hurting them was to use his tongue. He almost dry heaved. He
looked at the dog, and at the pitiful squirming maggots, and then back again.
“Alas, the suffering!” he thought. Asanga felt such a wave of loving-kindness
that he was more resolved than ever to follow through with his plan. He drew in a
long breath, as if about to submerge himself headfirst into a lake, but he let it
whistle out slowly before filling his lungs again. His tongue sneaked steadily out
of his mouth like a turtle’s head from the shell; he closed his eyes tightly, and
tentatively moved his head forward to scoop out the first maggot. The tip of his
tongue twitched as it met only air. He leaned further in, as determined as ever, but
he tasted only delicious, clear air. Another wave of love, and hope; his eyes
snapped open.
Asanga came face to face with the manifestation of loving-kindness personi-
fied; the dog was gone, and now Maitreya stood over him. Asanga was over-
whelmed with love and gratitude, but he was just a touch piqued that Maitreya
had denied him this coveted vision until now.
“Why did you wait so long? You ignored my calls for such a long time!”
Asanga cried aloud.
“I was always with you,” answered the great Bodhisattva, “but it is only now
that your loving-kindness and compassion were strong enough to make my pres-
ence known to you.”
And this, in fact, is what Maitreya has been saying the whole time.
The big reveal

Thus have I heard. Peter Kedge, the CEO of MPI, hung up the phone in his
lovely home in Vancouver; he was angry. Faced with another delay, the CEO
paced back and forth in his home office wondering why in the world everyone
seemed determined to thwart progress. He stopped short in front of a plaster
cast statue of their serene Maitreya, which had been crafted in an FPMT
tsa-tsa studio near San Francisco. He looked into the Maitreya’s gentle, smiling
face.
“But why?,” he wondered aloud, in frustration, “why do you continue to deny
us? You have ignored our calls for such a long time!”
“I am here,” the Maitreya replied, “I am already here.”
But the CEO did not hear him. Thus far, the voice of the victim, the whispers
of the suspects, and even the newer, more frantic and more heart-breaking howls
from distant Kushinagar have fallen upon utterly deaf ears.
The end
Thus have I heard. A teacher, in Manhattan (the little Apple), stood on a wooden
stage surveying her students. She had just made a fierce analogy. She paused for
dramatic effect. Several of her bolder students had started packing up already:
their communal signal to her that it was time to wrap it up. A hand shot up; the
young woman did not wait for a mic.
“So . . . are you trying to say that the Maitreya Project is a disappointed, badly
behaved Asanga? . . . Then you’re saying that the local Indian protestors and area
farmers would be symbolized by . . . a sick dog and the maggots?”
The teacher shuffled her feet uncomfortably; the analogy had seemed in
much better taste while she had been working on her lecture at 2 a.m. the night
before.
“. . . well, yes.”
“That’s kind of . . . gross. But, am I right? You’re saying that the Maitreya
Project needs to treat everyone with loving-kindness if they want to ever see the
statue get built, right? I get that, but what about all those suspects you told us
about before?”
“Ah yes, well, good question. Most of the evidence points to a scenario in
which the deterioration of a working relationship with a disagreeable Bihari
administration was trumped by a more agreeable, profitable offer elsewhere. That
said, I also remain sympathetic to the view expressed by many witnesses who
said that MPI was feeling the heat of too much local and international griping
about the project from within Bodh Gaya. Therefore, the Maitreya Project most
likely perceived a move out of Bodh Gaya’s rather intense public glare as a very,
very attractive bonus incentive.”
She paused, and collected her thoughts for her concluding remarks.
“But that is just a blow by blow—it’s not a verdict. In the final analysis, I want
to go back to the idea of love. I’m asserting that the murder was essentially a
failure to love; it was an abdication of kindness, compassion and responsibility.
But, I would say that we, none of us—not the protestors, investigators or
supporters—loved the Bodh Gaya statue enough to bring it to fruition. We all
failed it. That was the key conclusion that I came to in my research about the
murder. What I want you to remember—and this might be on the exam—is
that . . .”
Abruptly, hundreds of papers rustled and pens all tilted upwards in
anticipation.
“. . . even though everyone says that ‘nothing happened’ with the statue in
Bodh Gaya, something did, in fact, happen—something that teaches us a great
deal about the cultures at hand. The failures in Bodh Gaya are cultural events that
teach us about the dynamics between social actors, and how the machinations of
global entities often affect localities in such unintended ways. Through the study
of a non-event, even the cultural biography of a thing that never materialized,
social anthropologists can discern so much about the beliefs, practices and world-
views of the informants involved at that particular moment in time.”
Most of the lecture hall was busily packing up now. A few students had already
walked out the back door. She had a whole minute left, but her students exercised
their power in numbers.
“Anyway, as it happens, and as it often does in detective novels, the first crime
has led to others, but that’s a whole other story . . . Okay, class, see you
Wednesday.”
Thomas packed up his bag and then approached Tom, who was waiting for
him; they walked out into the sunshine together. It was a heavy blue sky; not a
whisper of a cloud marred the expanse of emptiness above.
“That was weak. Sometimes my anthro profs seem like such wimps. There is
never any justice. It’s always blah, blah, blah, cultural context, nobody is really
wrong, blah, blah, blah. There are always ‘crimes,”’ he said, tracing the scare
quotes with his fingers, “but never criminals. At the end of their stories no one
gets locked up. I hate that. I mean, the statue didn’t happen, and there was so
much disrespect of the locals and stuff. Insofar as it matters at all, someone’s
clearly guilty of something . . .” Tom said.
Thomas was silent as they crossed the street.
“I think she told us who was guilty; they all were, in their own way. Some
more than others though, I guess,” he eventually replied.
“. . . And anyway, you know what I think?,” continued Tom, as if he hadn’t
heard his friend. “There’s no excuse in the world to tell us a story with such an
anticlimactic ending.”
Notes
1 The phrase “thus have I heard” is a common narrative marker introducing
Buddhist sutras, and I have coopted it utterly for the purposes of my experiment
in social scientifiction (see the later sub-section of this paper for a more detailed elabo-
ration of my method). In Buddhist sutras, the phrase is often followed by a description
of a teaching of some kind (the lessons of which ought to be readily accessible to both
the student characters, and the actual readers/reciters of the text), therefore I have
followed suit and placed most of my more ethnographic fictional dialogue into two
disparate lecture environments. If any reader would like an unambiguous map of
my mixed genre methodology: any section that begins with the phrase “thus have I
heard” is an acknowledgement of its status as true fiction. Other sections, including the
interview excerpts, are written as more standard anthropological fare, with all due
commitment to as much detail, objectivity and accuracy as possible (for more on the
subtle fictions of our non-fiction, see Clifford and Marcus 1986). Also, I obviously take
several liberties with Maitreya’s own voice(s), though the story of Asanga and Maitreya
told in this paper is merely my own retelling of a very well-known tale of Buddhist
literature.
2 I have not changed the names of institutions, institutional locations, or public figures. In
order to protect the identities of my interlocutors I have changed the names of, and
some identifying details about, anyone that I directly interviewed.
3 To be fair, it is not uncommon for Tibetan Buddhists to demonstrate very subjective
ways of interpreting signs and omens. For example, I was told of situations in which
there were two competitors (either two individuals or two monasteries) who would
interpret the very same event as either auspicious or inauspicious depending on which
interpretation favored their perspective.
4 Ann Stoler writes that drafts ought to be more carefully considered primary documents
for research by social scientists (2002). Latour (1996) writes about a significant non-
event—the death of Aramis—and how each of the steps, drafts, and setbacks that led to
the non-event are part and parcel of a story that reveals much about science, bureauc-
racy, and politics in modern France. For his part, Rabinow (1999) writes about the fits,
starts and failures of a particular international biotech collaboration.
5 And then, the question for our “jury” would be whether Khalistan was killed in cold
blood, or killed in self-defense—as always, it would depend on the positionality of the
witness. The wounds of the struggle run deep, from Operation Bluestar to Indira Gandhi’s
murder to the bombing of Air India Flight 182. As a specter, Khalistan also haunts.
6 See Paine (2006).
7 Not incidentally, there is a tradition of “speaking statues” in Tibetan Buddhism. For
example, the Dalai Lama is reputed to have a “speaking” Chrenzig statue in his posses-
sion. I have never heard anyone suggest that FPMT’s once and future giant would have
had such a gift, but I use the device with full awareness that it has its precedent in the
annals of both scientifiction and Tibetan Buddhist doctrine.
8 See Gethin (1998) for more details on the history of the kayas in Buddhism.
9 This is my retelling of a popular Tibetan story, which is briefly related in Williams
(1989).
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Marlowe & Company.
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Routledge.
11 Universal education and social
transformation in Bodh Gaya
Kory Goldberg
Introduction
Most Buddhists consider Bodh Gaya as the “navel of the earth” and the most
important pilgrimage site in the world. This sacred place is also located in
Bihar—one of the most impoverished states in India. Encountering Bodh Gaya’s
social, economic, and educational challenges, several Buddhist pilgrims have
begun shifting their spiritual focus. Traditional forms of expressing devotion
such as meditation, offerings and prayer have recently expanded to include social
service, exemplified by pilgrim-sponsored schools, health clinics, and vocational
training centers for the poverty-stricken areas which surround Bodh Gaya. The
increase of Buddhist-operated NGOs in Bodh Gaya is partly a response to the
notorious failures of the Bihar government to provide adequate education, food,
medicine, clothing, and in some cases shelter (see Weiner et al. 2006;
Ramagundam 2006; Giacomin 2000; Sainath 1996), and partly as a response to a
Buddhist perception that education is a primary tool needed to lever personal,
social, and spiritual transformation (Goss 2000; Thurman 1996; see also Learman
2005). Many foreign, socially engaged Buddhist pilgrims are interested not only
in meditating and worshipping at Bodh Gaya’s celebrated shrines, but in estab-
lishing charitable organizations aimed at addressing local poverty, corruption,
and religious intolerance, as well as natural and human-caused environmental
degradation.1
In this chapter, I analyze how foreign Buddhist pilgrims visiting Bodh Gaya
affect the town’s educational terrain by opening private, alternative schools
promoting Buddhist values, and how these changes are received by the local
agrarian Bihari community. In particular I focus on the holistic curriculum known
as “Universal Education” which informs the spiritual, academic, creative, and
socially engaged activities of the Maitreya Universal Education Project School
(henceforth Maitreya School), one of the first schools founded and operated in
Bodh Gaya by an international Buddhist NGO to provide free education to local,
poor village children. John Miller, a pioneer in the study of holistic curriculum,
defines this pedagogical approach to be concerned with “connections in human
experience: connections between mind and body, between linear and intuitive
ways of knowing, between individual and community, and between the personal
Universal education and social transformation 173
self and the transpersonal self” (2008: i). Universal Education, which comple-
ments this framework, similarly advocates new methods of education that are
said to advance individual and social transformation that is rooted in peace,
compassion, and well-being.2 To accomplish these transformative aims, Maitreya
School, as well other like-minded institutions,3 have re-fashioned Buddhist ideals
and activities to ensure they are acceptable by the local Hindu and Muslim popu-
lation. In this way, I suggest that the school’s holistic strategy is both a response
to the rapid process of globalization occurring in Bodh Gaya, and perhaps one
possible resolution to the academic impoverishment stemming from misappro-
priated funds, dilapidated classrooms, unqualified, overworked, and underpaid
teachers, a dearth of instructional materials and textbooks, absence of local
participation, and lack of motivation and leadership that currently exists.
This chapter seeks to investigate how migrating forms of Buddhist ideals are
transformed, assimilated, and legitimated into the local, socio-economically
deprived non-Buddhist educational context. In what follows, I analyze the
Universal Education curriculum of Maitreya School and related institutions
drawing on ethnographic data and theoretical insights by leading thinkers in
the fields of holistic, progressive, and critical education. First, I examine the
theoretical and methodological contours of the Universal Education curriculum,
which was initially inspired by the Dalai Lama and later developed by Lama
Zopa Rinpoche, the spiritual director of the Foundation for the Preservation of
the Mahāyāna Tradition (FPMT)4 and his Western disciples with professional
backgrounds in education. I discuss how the curriculum is put into practice at
the Maitreya School and analyze its distinctive strengths which position it to
meet the school’s primary educational objective of helping students develop a
“good-heart” (www.maitreyaproject.com 2009). Next, I examine critical educa-
tion theorist Henry Giroux’s concept of “educated hope” in relation to the
school’s pedagogical aims that convey Buddhist ideals of interdependence,
compassion, and universal responsibility in non-sectarian terms. Then, I analyze
various strategies employed by Buddhist and non-Buddhist teachers at the school
for dealing with multicultural and inter-caste differences. Finally, I discuss
student involvement in practical life-skills exercises and community social
projects as a method for concretely developing the curriculum’s ideals of
individual and social transformation.
Universal education: a journey towards the good-heart

In his reading of Nagarjuna’s Jewel Garland of Royal Counsels, Buddhist scholar
Robert Thurman (1996) suggests that the aim of a Buddhist-inspired educational
system is not merely material development, but rather a gateway to liberation.
Schools should be more than mere facilities to preserve and enrich society;
instead they should be the very expression of it (82–4).
To accomplish this liberatory educational paradigm, Lama Zopa established a
curriculum, which was further developed by some of his Western disciples,
known as Universal Education.5 The pedagogy seeks to help students “live happy
and fulfilling lives by cultivating a ‘good-heart,’ a sense of universal responsi-
bility and wisdom.” The concept of a good-heart was initially proposed by the
Dalai Lama (1995) who asserts that even though this philosophy is based upon
central Buddhist principles of compassion, it is also in line with the ethical values
of all religions. While the methods for attaining the good-heart in an educational,
non-sectarian context are an experiential process, the guiding theoretical aims of
the curriculum are as follows:
• Foster the qualities of loving-kindness, compassion, tolerance, and universal

responsibility, that is, taking responsibility for the peace, happiness, and
freedom from suffering of all living beings.
• Cultivate respectful behaviour toward all living beings.
• Present a balanced and integrated programme of learning activities and
experiences that address the physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual
aspects of the student.
• Transmit the universal elements of wisdom from different cultures and tradi-
tions through an understanding of both the material (external) and spiritual
(internal) aspects of reality.
• Develop ethical behaviour based on an understanding of the interrelatedness
of all phenomena.
• Develop an understanding of the nature and functioning of the mind, and the
nature and source of emotions and how to work with them.
(www.maitreyaproject.com 2009)
The values of the Universal Education curriculum are reinforced every

morning during school assembly and during a class period entitled Special
Program. These ideals are also transmitted through the standard subjects, which
include: language (Hindi, English, Sanskrit, Urdu), mathematics, science
(physics, chemistry, biology), social studies (history, geography, economics,
political science), physical education (sports, yoga), and creative arts (art, crafts,
music, dance, drama). The academic program is also associated with the Indian
Certificate of Secondary Education (ICSE) curriculum, and senior students take
national examinations conducted by the National Institute of Open Schooling
(NIOS).
The Universal Education program is not limited to the classroom either but
looks to expand its educational aims to the surrounding community. The school
conducts social outreach/work experience programs for older children and voca-
tional training relevant to local needs. Since the school’s inception in 1999, the
school’s administrators and visiting educators who are generally dedicated
students of Lama Zopa, volunteer anywhere between one day and three months,
the length of time depending on the availability of volunteer facilitators, training
local teachers6 mostly in the principles and practices of Universal Education, but
also classroom management, course preparation, and English language skills.
Considering the above objectives, it seems evident that the school sees itself as
a driving force committed to transforming the educational opportunities in south
Bihar and contributing to wider social improvement. Within this holistic curric-
ulum “spiritual development” and “social responsibility” are mainstays of the
educational experience. The Maitreya School’s promotion of the “good-heart” as
a pedagogical goal resonates with philosophy of education theorist Nel
Noddings’s argument that “happiness” be a primary aim of education. According
to Noddings, “happiness” is understood in terms of “how it connects to human
needs, what it means in the society we inhabit, how it might transform that
society into a better one, and how it fits with a host of other legitimate aims”
(2002: 83). What follows in this chapter is an examination of how the emphasis
on developing a good-heart is central to the vision of human development
provided by the faculty and staff at the Maitreya School.
Educated hope, interdependence, compassion, and universal

responsibility
At the Maitreya School and like-minded institutions in Bodh Gaya the foreign
Buddhist administrators and volunteer teachers not only teach their students how
to understand the interrelationship between the mental and physical universe, but
also how to live in the world as agents of social change. This practice coincides
with what Henry Giroux (2005) describes as “engaged civic pedagogy” charac-
terized by “educated hope—the precondition for individual and social struggle,
involving the ongoing practice of critical education in a wide variety of sites
and the renewal of civic courage among citizens who wish to address social
problems” (178). More than mere optimism, positive thinking, or faith in the
intervention of a higher power, educated hope demands engaged struggle in the
public sphere and is, in Giroux’s opinion, a “subversive force” (178). In a similar
vein, globalization theorist Carola Suarez-Orozco writes,
The social trajectories of youth are more promising for those who are able to
actively maintain and cultivate a sense of hope for the future. Whether they
are resigned, oblivious, or resistant to the reflections in the social mirror,
those who are able to maintain hope are in fundamental ways partially inocu-
lated to the toxicity they may encounter. These youth are better able to main-
tain pride and preserve their self-esteem. In these circumstances, their
energies are mobilized in the service of day-to-day coping. Some may not
only focus on their own advancement but also harness their energies in the
service of their communities by volunteering to help others, acting as role
models, or advocating and mobilizing for social change.
(Suarez-Orozco 2004: 184)
Giroux’s (2005) and Suarez-Orozco’s (2004) insights point towards the

primacy of education as the foundation of engagement, whether it is political,
social, cultural, religious, or educational. As an example of social engagement
in the public sphere, Maitreya School promotes educated hope by offering
free, quality, and socially compassionate primary and secondary education for
500 village children whose parents are mostly farmers, field labourers, rickshaw
pullers, and small shopkeepers. Beyond academic achievement, Maitreya
School’s curriculum is designed to help children develop “the good-heart,”
meaning the qualities of kindness, compassion, sympathy, equanimity, and
responsibility towards all beings. This is—more or less—achieved by integrating
academic, creative, physical, spiritual and ethical subjects. Thus, Maitreya
School’s aim is to inspire students to become compassionate and responsible
leaders in their communities.
The curriculum’s ethical and spiritual elements are featured every morning
during the 30-minute assembly where the school community gathers to sing the
national anthem, chant a non-sectarian prayer, and then practice meditation.
Every day a particular “motivation” is used to guide the meditation which is often
selected and led by one of the students in the school. These activities are usually
followed by a group of students who sing a song, recite poetry, tell a story, act-out
a short drama based on a moral theme, or listen to a brief moral and/or spiritual
discourse by one of the teachers. These activities generally emphasize a monthly
theme that promotes a positive human quality (honesty, patience, respect,
compassion, non-violence, etc.). The assembly usually ends with a Buddhist-
inspired dedication ceremony based on sharing the merits of one’s good actions.
This practice can be specifically directed to a family member, friend, or a person
who is ill or hurt; or it can be as general as offering good will to all sentient
beings.
Following the assembly, each class attends a 45-minute period of “Special
Program,” which is “designed to impart an understanding of the nature of the
mind, cause and effect, impermanence and interdependence” (www.maitrey-
aproject.com 2009). Depending on the day of the week, the students will partici-
pate in a variety of exercises: meditation, yoga, awareness games, role-play, art,
journal writing, storytelling, debate and discussions based on the monthly theme
or discourse from the assembly. According to Dave,7 the Australian school
director, “By familiarizing themselves with the nature of their minds, students,
and the teachers too, gain a better understanding of their positions with the
external world.” Dave was also a key mediator with potential donors for the
school. On one occasion, I overheard Dave speaking to a group of Buddhist
pilgrims from Singapore, and explained that the aim of these activities is to
“develop a peaceful mind, good concentration, and critical awareness.” The
pilgrims all smiled in approval, commenting that they wished that their children
had been blessed to attend such a virtuous school.
During my first week at school as a volunteer, I joined Mahindra’s Special
Program classes. On my first morning, Mahindra, a senior faculty who teaches
science, art, and yoga classes, tried a new pedagogical tactic during the Special
Program with his Class Nine students. After leading a short meditation on the
observation of the breath, he pulled out a metal cup from his bag and asked his
students what it was.
“Cup,” they responded. He had a student fill it with water and then asked the
students what it was.
“Cup of water,” they shouted in unison. He drank the water and then put some
flowers in it.
“Is it is still a cup?” he asked them.
One student called out, “No, it’s a vase!”
Mahindra then removed the flowers and put in some pens, “What is the object
now?” “Pen holder,” “Basket of pens,” “Pen container,” students bellowed.
Drawing on Buddhist logic, Mahindra explained to the students that the object
does not have a permanent status. We simply apply labels to objects according to
its relationship with other objects. “These labels, like all labels we apply in life,
are mental projections, projections of the mind. Everything is created by our
minds . . . inner happiness needs this knowledge . . . this knowledge reveals our
interdependence,” he stated. After a long, yet comfortable, silence, Mahindra
facilitated a lively discussion on interdependence. The following morning,
Mahindra continued with his lesson on interdependence by asking the students
to act out the various elements that contribute to the growth of a flower. One
student pretended to be the sun, another, the rain, the wind, the earth, and so
on. Afterwards, he asked the students to reflect on the role-playing, and
share their findings with one another. The discussion helped the students under-
stand the interdependent nature of their own lives by recognizing the various
elements connected to the clothes they wear, the food they eat, and the bicycles
they ride.
During the 20-minute morning recess, I spoke with Mahindra about his peda-
gogical approach. Over a cup of chai, he told me that even though he was a
devout Hindu, he was inspired by the Dalai Lama’s teachings, especially those on
interdependence, and he tries to incorporate this theme in all his subjects: “If the
students cannot establish connections, they will not see reality and will not make
good decisions at school, among family, job, and society. If they see these
connections, they will not be fooled by media and by cheaters. But most impor-
tant, they will understand compassion and cultivate a good-heart.” Giroux (2006)
and Orr (2004) assert that when schools explicitly reveal interdependence in their
curriculum, students learn how to recognize patterns and connections in the
“real” world, and learn how to ask important questions. In other words, under-
standing interdependence can help students grasp how their internal worlds shape
and are shaped by the external world.
Maitreya School’s educational approach also finds resonance with what
Progressive Education scholar Jeremy Leed (2005) calls “mature interdepend-
ence,” which involves learning to apply imagination and empathy to all kinds of
social interactions. Mature interdependence, according to Leed, can be realized by
emphasizing intellectual, emotional and social development; and de-emphasizing
coercion and competition. From this perspective, the aim of education is to teach
students how to develop cooperative relationships in their everyday lives. When
students learn to improve their relationships in school and at home, instead of
running away from them, they tend to maximize their chances of achieving
personal stability and contributing to social harmony. From this social perspective
of interdependence, collaborative learning, in conjunction with problem solving
and critical thinking, is the bedrock of social responsibility. Similarly, Vishwa, a
physics and Hindi teacher at the Maitreya School, states:
Special Program is very good because we talk freely in this class about
awareness, concentration, morality, how to live in society, how to behave
with elders, children, friends . . . how to feel inside, build self-awareness,
how to give good thoughts, and share with others. In this class we teach
many things to build a good society, family, neighbourhood, and in this way
we can make a good world.
Vishwa, like other non-Buddhist Indian teachers at the Maitreya School, spoke
about his appreciation towards the pragmatism of Universal Education taught to
him by various visiting Western Buddhist educators:
They teach us many methods about the emotions, how to control anger, how
to control jealousy, how to maintain patience. Once we can control our
minds, slowly good things will come to us . . . If we know the benefits of
reducing anger, reducing ego, reducing jealousy, we can change our lives . . .
It depends on our perception—if our perception changes, then the whole
atmosphere will change.
Most of the local teachers acknowledge that the curriculum has helped them
and their students to decrease negative mental states such as their anger, greed,
hatred, frustration and fear; and increase positive mental qualities such as equa-
nimity, friendliness, gratitude, compassion, joy, and empathy. Laxman, a math
and computer teacher also feels that the benefits he derives from Universal
Education practices help him conduct Special Program classes, which he says is
an important time for teachers and students to connect on a personal level, and to
direct attention to social problems beyond the classroom. He explains:
We sit together and talk about social problems and internal problems.
Suppose a person is very ill, we can all pass them good energy, help take
care of them . . . We learn why we need to support our family, friends, our
society . . . Universal Education and Special Program time is like medicine
for understanding our students.
Branching out from his philosophical investigation of interdependence, the

Dalai Lama (1999, 1995), a patron of Maitreya and other Buddhist-influenced
schools in Bodh Gaya, asserts that “universal responsibility” is a natural corollary
of the comprehension of interconnectedness and compassion. The Dalai Lama
suggests that education must equip students with the skills to not only discover
solutions for their personal problems, but must also inculcate a sense of proper
motivation and responsibility towards others (1995: 83). He explains that the
leading factor inhibiting social harmony is selfishness. According to the Dalai
Lama, it is not wrong to have a strong sense of self in order to look after oneself
and accomplish one’s goals; however, when that sense of self is narrow-minded it
becomes destructive and does not lead to personal and social happiness. He
writes, “To achieve happiness, one must pay attention to, or have a sense of
happiness of others . . . The sense of concern for others is the key factor in our
own happiness and future success” (98–9). He further explains, “My happiness
cannot develop independently . . . others’ interest is also my interest. When I say
‘interdependence’ this is what I mean” (1995: 141). From this perspective, since
no being exists independently and everyone is interconnected, it is the individu-
al’s responsibility to respect the rights of others and look after their welfare as
much as possible. This view of respect is closely tied to the Buddhist view of
dignity, which understands that all humans have the potential to reach perfection
of goodness. For the Dalai Lama, awakening to perfection is dependent on basic
rights and freedoms. Since the potential for self-realization is alive for every
human being, attaining perfection is both a matter of social context and personal
effort (1999; see also Puri 2006). Thus, for the Dalai Lama and his followers,
universal responsibility is a viable stance that is independent of one’s religious
affiliation as it entails a compassionate and wise response to all forms of suffering.
Embracing difference: strategies for broadening knowledge

and destroying prejudice
One morning while acting as Mahindra’s substitute I asked the students how they
felt about the Special Program. Most of the class stated they really liked the
meditation and various contemplative exercises and discussions; yet some
complained that the meditations were challenging and the discussions were often
repetitive and not always relevant to their daily lives. Noddings (2004) and
Berman (2004) believe that this type of discontent arises because virtues cannot
be taught directly through didactic instruction, but instead as “interventions” in
immediate situations. These students stated that they found the classes particu-
larly fascinating when foreigners visited and provided them with alternative ways
of looking at the world. In these instances, the discussions and activities were
often “fresh” and “spontaneous.” Sita, a 15-year-old student brimming with
curiosity about the world commented that she felt conversations with foreigners
were sometimes enriching, other times confusing, but always interesting. Sita’s
comments about learning other perspectives reveal the richness that multicultural
resources such as international visitors can add to the classroom. Multicultural
education scholar Jaylynne Hutchinson asserts that learning other people’s world-
views is one of the most important aspects of education as it enables the student
to cultivate a rich and ethical sensitivity towards those who are different, as well
as an appreciation for “ambiguity, complexity, and paradox, rather than concrete
rights and wrongs, simplicity, and singular worldviews” (2002: 324). To illumi-
nate her point on the importance of inclusiveness and self-reflection, Hutchinson
uses the metaphor of cracking a mirror to reveal the social reflections of our
world, which she claims, “allows us to see ourselves in the different reflections
and refractions of the broken pieces” (325). This process is essential to grasping
the depth of multiple perspectives and the importance of questioning how our
actions affect others.
Developing these cross-cultural communication skills encourages students to
broaden their knowledge and experiences. Education theorists Marcelo Suarez-
Orozco and Howard Gardner write:
Children growing up today will need to develop—arguably more than in any

generation in human history—the higher order cognitive and interpersonal
skills to learn, to work, and to live with others, who are increasingly likely to
be of very different racial, religious, linguistic, and cultural backgrounds.
(cited in Bloom 2004: 69)
From this globalized perspective on education, all the students in Bodh Gaya
who attend schools that have a steady influx of committed foreign volunteers
may be in a unique position to acquire intercultural relationship skills; perhaps
even more so than other children in India, including those from middle and upper
classes attending private schools. Students at Maitreya School are not only
developing self-awareness and social outreach skills, but they are also in
regular contact with teachers from around the world who expose them to different
worldviews.
Besides the intercultural exchanges between Western Buddhists and travelers
with local Hindus and Muslims, Maitreya School students and teachers also have
the opportunity to learn about other castes and religious groups that exist within
their own community. One morning, I sat in the dusty storeroom with Ramdass, a
social science teacher and a Brahmin priest, who has been with the school since
its inception. I agreed to help him edit parts of his doctoral thesis that he had been
working on for the past seventeen years and was now almost ready to submit (he
had five children and worked two jobs six days a week, leaving only Sunday
open for his graduate work). Fearing that I would have difficulty with his English
grammar, he sat close to me with his hand gently resting on my shoulder, making
sure I understood everything I read. When I came to a section dealing with caste
prejudice and local politics, he explained to me how his attitude towards lower
castes has changed since joining the Maitreya School; a transformation that has
also been passed on to his family members. Another time, over a cup of tea and
snacks at his home, he explained, “In India, Brahmins do not eat food made by
the lowest caste. Before, working at the Maitreya School I would only eat at
home, not in the restaurant. But after joining the Maitreya School, for the first
fifteen days I did not take lunch because I saw the lower castes making food. At
that time I feel I am a Brahmin and my father advise me not to take food from
lower caste. Slowly, slowly my heart changed, because all people are children of
God—lower caste, upper caste, backward caste, all! Then I changed and now
take food here.”
While caste discrimination is theoretically illegal in the public space, examples
abound of its persistence in the form of social opportunities, norms and attitudes
towards those who are culturally and economically marginal. Ramdass’s
comments reveal how the Universal Education training has the potential to influ-
ence these discriminatory views and relationships. One of the objectives stated
on the organization’s website is to “provide Universal Education schools for
disadvantaged children regardless of religion, caste, sex or economic status.” At
the Maitreya School, Muslims and Hindus freely mix and learn about each
other’s religions during Special Program. Furthermore, the Maitreya School is
one of the few schools that integrate students from different caste backgrounds.
This integration aims to dissolve social barriers as children from different castes
study and work together. This is the objective, although the process is not without
its challenges. Tackling engrained caste-ist prejudices is an enormous and
daunting task, but the school administrators believe they can diminish it if chil-
dren begin the Universal Education curriculum from kindergarten. Dave and
Rishi, the most senior local teacher, explained that among those in Classes Nine
to Twelve, where children had studied together since kindergarten, issues
regarding race, caste or religion rarely arose. Bigoted remarks, however, were
more common in Classes Five to Seven where many of the children had entered
the Maitreya School stream at later stages. To help prevent discriminatory atti-
tudes from developing in the children’s formative years, the administration
recently instituted a policy to deny entry after kindergarten unless they partici-
pated in the school’s “evening program”8 for a minimum of two years and
demonstrated sincerity and a strong understanding of the Universal Education
ideals. This practice echoes the theories of cognitive development of Jean Piaget
and Inhelder (1972) and Maria Montessori (1984, 1966) who posit that children
around six years of age begin to explore their surroundings, develop a sense of
morality, and ponder their roles in society. Children in this stage begin asking
existential questions and are easily influenced by their elders, thus it is essential
for children to be supported by caring and capable teachers (as well as their
family members) over a long period of time. Similarly, Brad Brown suggests that
children require a strong, moral environment during their early primary school
years (2003). Brown advocates that the earlier a child begins “anti-biased educa-
tion,” the easier it will be to prevent negative attitudes from arising or multi-
plying into deeply ingrained prejudices.
Managing caste differences continues to be a major challenge in Bihar’s
current educational system, especially since poor lower-caste children generally
occupy seats in government schools while wealthy higher-caste children usually
attend private ones.9 However, children attending a foreign-run charitable school
in Bodh Gaya, more than any other generation in Indian history, are required to
confront a life with those from different national, linguistic, religious and ethnic
backgrounds. Foreign Buddhist administrators, volunteers, local teachers and
students are now forced to traverse conflicting relational models of kinship,
gender, language (monolingual and multilingual), and ethnicity that did not exist
before. Education scholars Marcelo Suarez-Orozco and Desirée Baollan
Qin-Hillard assert, “it is by interrupting ‘thinking as usual’—the taken-for-
granted understandings and worldviews that shape cognitive and meta-cognitive
styles and practices—that managing difference can do the most for youth growing
up today” (2004: 4). When this kind of diversity is encouraged at the school and
students are taught to examine, solve, and communicate problems from multiple
angles, all parties involved learn that there is nothing inherent in a particular way
of life or seeing the world. In this manner, understanding interdependence and
generating a sense of universal responsibility requires people to become “multi-
literate” (Giroux 2006) in ways that they can access and process different forms
of information, as well as be “capable of engaging, learning from, understanding,
and being tolerant of and responsible to matters of difference and otherness”
(Giroux 2006: 183). Giroux (2006) and Brown (2003) suggest that multicultural
literacy that entails a rejection of all forms of discrimination is the basis of
transforming oppression and inequity into positive, intercultural diversity and is
a bridge towards effective civic participation and social change. The multi-
dimensional elements of the Universal Education curriculum and the access that
the students have to a wide range of international perspectives may provide a
useful starting point for these shifts to occur.
Karma-yoga: practicing educated hope

Afternoons at Maitreya School are generally devoted to creative subjects such as
arts and crafts, music, dance, and drama. Special emphasis is also given to
fostering and maintaining some of the Indian cultural, artistic, and musical forms.
School officials feel that this is crucial to the children’s sense of cultural identity,
which they believe is quickly degenerating with the rapid influx of foreign goods
and materials. When the clock strikes 2:00 p.m. the entire school turns into a
series of performance halls as sounds from tablas, harmoniums, Bihari songs,
and Kathak bells waft through the hallways. This creative element of the curric-
ulum is also evidenced by the way every classroom has wall-sized murals painted
by teachers and students. These multi-coloured walls are filled with paintings of
Hindu and Buddhist deities, traditional Madhubani drawings, and decorative
flower and geometric designs.
Typically, a day closes with fifteen minutes of selfless service (karma-yoga),
during which students clean up the school and prepare the grounds for the next
day. Karma-yoga is a practice derived from the Bhagavad Gita and was promoted
by Gandhi for teaching the value of hard work and helping others. One day
Vineeta, a Class Four teacher, and I watched the children sweep the assembly
hall, carry a bucket of vegetable scraps to a neighbouring cow, and burn a pile of
trash. She told me that the school does not regard these activities as work, but as
an important part of their education. Through service, the students develop good
working habits and learn to be a part of a community. “Karma-yoga lets them not
think about self, but about others. This is a very important lesson that I have
learnt here,” she says, smiling.
This idea of service mirrors the Montessori10 pedagogical strategy that views
mundane, practical life activities like sweeping, mopping, tidying, and preparing
and serving food as the foundation for physical, mental, and social development.
From the Montessori perspective, practical life-skills help children develop a
sense of responsibility, attention and meaning. The working habits that follow
from these exercises are said to increase respect towards natural and material
resources, as well as promote respect for oneself and others. Furthermore,
Berman explains that performing service within the school community helps
students feel more connected to it, and is also effective in fostering moral growth
and a feeling of significance because the tasks were directly related to their daily
lives (2004, 1997).
Social outreach projects for senior students are also a part of Maitreya School’s
curriculum. These activities, referred to as service learning (Seymour 2004;
Noddings 2002, 2004; Berman 2004), not only connect students to the commu-
nity, but enable them to develop skills through community-based projects.
Seymour writes that socially beneficial community-based projects that are well-
designed and managed provide opportunities for:
hands-on learning, a meaningful connection between what they are studying

and real life, and a sense of the importance of the place where they live. Kids
learn that there are lives and issues beyond their own that are worth caring
about, and they experience empowerment in actually being able to make a
difference.
(Seymour 2004: 86–7)
For Maitreya School students, these projects consist primarily of volunteering at

the Shakyamuni Buddha Community Health Clinic and the Banshali Trust Eye
Camp. At the clinic, students help patients by telling stories, singing, listening to
their problems, and helping with common chores. An Indian nurse at the clinic
commented that the students were very responsible and mature, and that this
experience taught them to be effective caregivers. These hands-on activities
further demonstrate the school’s experiential component, and also highlight the
community’s perception of the school.
The Banshali Trust holds a tri-annual “eye camp” where volunteer doctors
spend two weeks performing over one thousand free operations per day for those
suffering from glaucoma. Maitreya Students are the only students in Bodh Gaya
permitted to volunteer at this major event. One evening, during a cultural
performance by Maitreya School students for the eye camp’s volunteers and staff,
I briefly met with Mr. Banshali, a diamond dealer from Gujarat who oversees the
entire project. I asked him why he only consents to Maitreya School students
serving at the eye camps. He told me that he found these students exceptionally
mature, responsible and compassionate. He explained that he trusts the students
with important tasks such as accompanying patients to the appropriate locations
before and after their operation, assisting nurses with undressing wounds, admin-
istering urine tests, helping the cooks prepare chapattis and chopping vegetables,
and entering patient data into the computers. These activities are important for
the children’s education in three major ways. First, they provide them with the
opportunities to understand experientially the pedagogical themes of compassion
and universal responsibility that they hear about and discuss on a regular basis.
Second, exposure to a large number of poor patients permits the more reflective
children and teachers to question the structural inequalities that require such eye-
camps in the first place. Finally, these tasks enable them to learn practical skills
that can be later adapted to other working environments.
In my opinion, these social outreach activities exemplify Giroux’s “educated
hope,” which not only anticipates, but mobilizes. Rather than turning away from
the troubles of the world, students learn to confront them. Arising from critical
reflection, educated hope calls for practical engagement with daily activities and
institutional establishments. “Hope in this context does not ignore the worse
dimensions of human suffering, exploitation, and social relations; on the contrary,
it acknowledges the need to sustain the capacity to see the worst and offer more
than that for our consideration” (Giroux 2005: 179). Maitreya School may be
considered an example of how this hope goes beyond politics and manifests in a
pedagogical and performative manner, providing the foundation for its students
to learn about their potential as ethical, spiritual, and social actors for positive
change. Hope is not explicitly taught, but arises from pedagogical activities that
teach that all challenges are surmountable. In this manner, educated hope helps
the student connect personal responsibility with social transformation.
Conclusion
Education both nurtures and is nurtured by social, political, economic, and reli-
gious structures. Thus, changes in these structures invariably affect the education
system, and vice versa. This is clearly seen in the ways in which Bodh Gaya’s
pilgrimage industry has affected the schooling of local children as changes in the
socio-economic and spiritual domains refocus principles of education. As I have
shown, foreign Buddhist educators have altered the town’s educational terrain
regarding curriculum, teaching, management, and organization, as well as multi-
cultural and inter-caste relationships. They believe that developing students into
emotionally mature and ethically responsible citizens with a “good-heart”
requires a holistic approach that takes into account not only the intellectual needs
of students, but the emotional, social, and spiritual dimensions as well. In this
chapter, I analyzed Maitreya School’s holistic curriculum referred to as Universal
Education in reference to its task of individual and social transformation.
Drawing from the fields of holistic, progressive, and critical pedagogy, I investi-
gated the manners in which the school community explore their inner and outer
worlds through various academic, contemplative, creative and social activities.
The school’s administrators promote the idea that by engaging with non-sectarian
exercises aimed at developing a comprehension of interdependence, compassion
and universal responsibility, along with cultivating a greater sensitivity towards
issues of caste, class, religion and gender, students learn to become increasingly
self-aware, build relationships based upon mutual respect and cooperation, and
raise questions about the dynamics that affect their everyday lives. Is this peda-
gogical approach used by Maitreya and other schools in Bodh Gaya sufficient to
reach the ambitious aims of deep personal and social transformation, especially
in light of complex political, economic, and cultural configurations displayed
throughout Bodh Gaya’s transnational landscape? As they say in Bihar,
dekhengeh (Let’s see).
Postscript
In 2009, on a hot and dusty pre-monsoon morning, Maitreya School teachers and
students found themselves locked out of the school. The Principal apologized,
explaining to the crowd that there was no longer enough money to maintain the
school. Within a week the students were placed in other schools, mostly chari-
table schools operated by foreign organizations (see Goldberg 2011a, 2011b).
While the Maitreya School may be defunct for the time being (it may reopen in
the future), the Universal Education curriculum continues to be practiced, in one
form or another, at other charitable schools in Bodh Gaya and beyond.
Notes
1 Most engaged Buddhists in Bodh Gaya are from North America, Australia, Western
Europe, and, to some extent, South and East Asia. I did encounter several non-Bihari,
Buddhist, Hindu, and Christian Indians from Delhi, Mumbai, and South India who
also volunteered at organizations in Bodh Gaya.
2 In contrast to contemporary, instrumentalist, and materialist learning paradigms that
pervade the Indian educational terrain. See Chapter 3 of my PhD dissertation
“Buddhists without Borders: Transnational Pilgrimage, Social Engagement, and
Education in the Land of Enlightenment” (2011b), where I discuss the influences of
social stratification, colonial-influenced pedagogical practices, and current neo-liber-
alization policies on the educational systems in Bihar as barriers to individual and
social development. See also Maclure, Sabah, and Lavan 2009; Weiner et al. 2006;
Muralidharan and Kremer 2006; Govinda 2003; Sainath 1996.
3 Alice School, Akshay School, Tara Children’s Project, Jean Amitabah School and
Divine Land School are all directed and primarily funded by Western Buddhist indi-
viduals and organizations. The Universal Education curriculum was initially devel-
oped by the Italian founder and director of the Alice School. He has trained other
Western Buddhist (and non-Buddhist) educators and administrators in Bodh Gaya, as
well as teachers at his school and at the Maitreya School. The administrators at Alice,
Maitreya, Tara and Akshay schools are students of Lama Zopa Rinpoche, the spiritual
director of the Foundation for the Preservation of the Mahāyāna tradition (FPMT),
while Jean Amitabah and Divine Land are administered by Western Buddhists not
affiliated with any particular tradition. While Pragya Vihara School was initially estab-
lished by Western Buddhists and currently follows a curriculum that is similar to
Universal Education, the school today is administered primarily by Catholic nuns
from Western India, thus adding a strong Christian focus and work ethic at this school.
For more details of the educational landscape in Bodh Gaya and its neighbouring
areas, see my doctoral thesis.
4 The FPMT is an international network of Buddhist centres aligned to the Gelug sect of
Tibetan Buddhism of which the Dalai Lama is the figurehead. Lama Thubten Yeshe
founded the FPMT in 1975 and his principle disciple, Lama Kyabje Zopa, has been
the spiritual director of the FPMT since Lama Yeshe’s death in 1984. The FPMT has
links to the longest-running and largest number of social projects operating in Bodh
Gaya such as the Maitreya School, Alice School, Shakyamuni Buddha Community
Healthcare Programme, Maitri Charitable Trust, Akshay School, and Tara Children’s
Project.
5 Due to space restrictions, I do not critically examine the accuracy of term “universal”
in a multicultural learning atmosphere such as the Maitreya School where the foreign
administration and volunteer-base is primarily Western Buddhist, and the teachers
and students are composed of a Hindu majority and Muslim minority. In my
doctoral dissertation, I analyze the challenges surrounding “universal” claims in
terms of curriculum development and knowledge transmission, and further explore
potential solutions developed by both foreign Buddhists and local Hindus and Muslims
towards generating a greater sense of religious communication, inclusiveness, and
non-sectarianism. While conducting research for this paper the term “Universal
Education” had been officially changed to “Essential Education” by international
FPMT educators; the original term, however, continued being used at Maitreya
School while I was there.
It is worth noting that despite the Buddhist foundations of the curriculum, most of
the teachers, all Hindu, expressed that they did not find any problems with the
Buddhist leanings of the Universal Education curriculum. For them, the Buddha was
an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu, and the teachings were compatible. However,
tensions did arise for many teachers concerning the dominance of Buddhist symbols
and objects that permeate the school property. See Goldberg (2011a) “Constructing
and Contesting Sacred Spaces: International Buddhist Assistance in Bodh Gaya.”
6 Maitreya School’s twenty-one teachers (fifteen men, six women) primarily live in the
Bodh Gaya area, but a few also commute from Gaya, about 15km away. Five of the
teachers have been with the school since it opened in 1999, and seven others joined
between 2003 and 2008. About half of the teachers are trained in social studies and
half in the sciences. Most of the creative arts are taught by local artisans, but some are
also facilitated by the regular teaching staff. Half the teachers have master degrees,
and only one of the teachers has a formal degree in education. Most teachers
possessing a degree in education generally work in the public school system or elite
private schools where the salaries are two to three times higher. Two teachers are
working towards doctorates and one teacher is studying law.
7 With the exception of Lama Zopa, an internationally recognized figure, all names used
in this essay are pseudonyms.
8 Evening program is from 5:30–7:30 p.m. and consists of assembly, Special Program,
and academic subjects. The program is designed for children who must work during
the day; however, many children attending other schools during the day participate in
this program.
9 Historically, India has been dominated by the priest and warrior castes whose influ-
ence permeates every level of Indian society. However, since Indian independence and
the advent of affirmative action that reserves many official posts for members
belonging to the lower castes, there has been a rise in wealth and political power
amongst certain lower caste groups, especially in Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, provinces
that are heavily populated by lower castes. See Jaffrelot (2003) and Bayly (2001) for
an analysis of the shifts in meaning and practice of caste.
10 Maria Montessori’s (1870–1952) holistic approach to education is based on observing
and supporting children according to their natural rhythms. Cultivating creativity,
problem-solving, critical thinking, intuition and time-management skills provide chil-
dren a sense of agency, responsibility, and meaning.
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12 NGOs, corruption, and
reciprocity in the land of
Buddha’s enlightenment
Jason Rodriguez
I will admit it. At first I was just chasing tourists. I was fourteen when I met Greg
at the temple [the Mahabodhi Temple]. I would come down from Gaya and chase
tourists like the boys you see today. But I had a dream to start a school in my
village. In my heart I wanted to make a difference in poor people’s lives, to help
the people in my village who have no chances. And I did what I had to do to make
that happen.
(Excerpt from a 2007 interview with Sanjay, director of a
Bodh Gaya-based NGO)
Discourses of corruption
During the period of my 2007–08 ethnographic research, Bihar was frequently
described as the most corrupt and backward state in India. This reputation
emerged through national media, internet sites, and everyday discourses,
including among resident Biharis. These discourses referred to corrupt govern-
ment leaders, violent Maoist Naxalite1 activity, the more than 500 registered
NGOs in the area, and the lack of government and police presence. Tourist guide-
books warned of train and bus robberies, militants and bandits at remote tourist
destinations, and even recommended hiring armed guards for touring. Bihar was
in this way positioned as unsafe, lawless, and a place of alterity.
However, a particular vision of global development articulated with the
ongoing emergence of large-scale Buddhist pilgrimage2 to Bodh Gaya in posi-
tioning a partial view of Bodh Gaya’s past as its condition of future possibilities.
And Bodh Gaya does no doubt have glorious pasts, most notably its claim as the
place where Buddha was enlightened over 2500 years ago. This past in particular,
a past heralded above its other pasts, was at times the rationale for effectively
undermining local sovereignty. This was especially evident in the 2007–08
conflicts over the “Master Plan” for Bodh Gaya, a future-making vision of Bodh
Gaya as a model UNESCO World Heritage site and a quiet pilgrimage site. This
plan was constructed through the input of ambassadors and Buddhists
from Japan, Thailand, Sri Lanka, and elsewhere, and many of the provisions
specifically catered to Buddhist pilgrims. This represented Buddhist influence
over governance and conjured an imagined future for Bodh Gaya as a place
outside of space and time. This temporalization was a power-infused translation
of sacred geography into the time of progress, a time where space is not sacred
(Clifford 1997). This translation drew upon particular histories in making a
history of the present through which Bodh Gaya was positioned as both a site to
be developed and a site for reconstructing the Bodh Gaya of the past.
An emphasis on tourism was at the center of Bihar Chief Minister Nitish
Kumar’s vision for Bihar’s development, and of national efforts to pursue devel-
opment throughout India, particularly since the 1991 New Economic Policies.3
Making Bodh Gaya into a particular type of tourist destination was one of several
rationales for the elements of the Master Plan for Bodh Gaya implemented in
October of 2007, which included the demolition of dozens of longstanding busi-
nesses and homes,4 and resulted in protests and organizing on the part of those
affected. But these actions were also done in the name of making Bodh Gaya a
place of “serene, verdant ambience” for Buddhists (Housing and Urban
Development Corporation, Ltd. 2006: 4).
At the heart of this vision for Bodh Gaya was a solidification of this place as a
sacred Buddhist space,5 one infused as sacred through ongoing cultural practices
and an emphasis on particular activities that took place more than 2500 years
ago. Bodh Gaya was thus positioned as having a timeless and unchanging core, a
process reminiscent of what Fabian (1983) has called allochronism, which at the
same time interpellated Bodh Gaya as an object of development. But importantly,
it was also a place where people lived very contemporary existences and pursued
historically emergent, culturally specific desires, particularly at a time when
values for consumerism and upward mobility increasingly came to characterize
what constituted a successful person throughout India. However, the possibility
for Bodh Gaya’s development relied upon its remaining temporally and spatially
not modern. And efforts to develop Bodh Gaya seemed quite at odds with
efforts to make Bodh Gaya exist in a state that it was imagined to have existed
2500 years ago. As such, there were often conflicts among foreign Buddhists and
Biharis about what development ought look like, both over the shape of the
Master Plan and also in the context of NGOs, the means through which “grass-
roots” development was pursued.
In this paper I explore how varieties of Buddhism and Buddhist practices
informed the shape of development projects, particularly as certain Buddhist
practices intersected with Bihari social networks. Rather than approach Buddhism
and Bihari relations of obligation as mutually exclusive, I approach development
as an emergent cultural world constituted through overlapping, but contested,
relations of exchange that proceeded through collaboration as much as miscom-
munication. What meanings were attached to this globally circulating signifier
“development,”6 and in what ways did Buddhism inform it? How did Buddhists’
renunciations of desire intersect with Bihari desires for things such as cars, tele-
visions, and upward mobility, which some Buddhists called “materialistic?”
What translations were involved in constituting Bodh Gaya as a contemporary
Buddhist pilgrimage site and center of Buddhist activity, as well as a place in
need of development? The contradictions encapsulated in these questions
NGOs, corruption, and reciprocity 191
emerged to some extent as conflicts over what development ought look like,
particularly in the context of NGOs.
NGOs in Bodh Gaya

During the summer of 2005, and from March 2007 to February 2008, I lived in
the village of Pachatti, just north of Bodh Gaya. I was engaged in research about
NGOs, tourism, development, Buddhism, and the relationships among these as
they were emerging in Bodh Gaya. NGOs in Bodh Gaya (also called “Trusts”)
were widely described as an extension of the rampant corruption one was led to
expect to find throughout the state of Bihar. This was especially the case among
long-term foreign residents and visitors interested in social work, as well as tour-
ists and some Biharis. I almost daily heard NGOs described as “corrupt,” or “just
business,” and Biharis and foreigners working for or with an NGO often prof-
fered these judgments. And these judgments of, or at least suspicion about, the
legitimacy of NGOs were in some cases applied by foreigners to their own organ-
ization, as was the case with the NGO called Organization for Rural Development
(ORD) described below.
During my 2005 visit to Bodh Gaya, I worked with an NGO school in a village
near Bodh Gaya called Sujata School.7 Through my experiences there, at other
area NGOs, and through gossip, I too came to the hasty conclusion that NGOs in
the Bodh Gaya area were generally “corrupt” or “just business.” This judgment
arose from, among other things, my witnessing the use of children to attract
donors for NGO schools, seeing the differential between the amount taken in and
the amount I was told was necessary to run an NGO, and learning of schools that
provided instruction to children only during the tourist season and would close
for much of the rest of the year. I also learned that a good portion of the NGO
schools directed by Biharis were family operated. The teachers were usually
family members, friends from the village, or in some way or other tied socially to
the NGO director, and they often had little to no pedagogical training. Over the
time I worked at Sujata School I came to realize that the length of my stay did not
fit well with the normative volunteer timeframe of NGOs in the area, which
mostly took on short-term volunteers and worked with foreigners who typically
spoke no Hindi. I was there long enough in 2005 to develop an understanding of
operations that made me uncomfortable supporting these organizations as a
volunteer or with my presence as a researcher—NGO directors sometimes
referenced my presence to potential donors as an indication of the value of their
NGO. It was only during my 2007–08 stay that I realized the partiality of my
understanding, and that my judgment that the Sujata School and other NGOs
were “just business” relied on a moral idealism and a particular understanding of
the local context.
In anthropological literature, development and NGOs have been critically
theorized as apparatuses of neocolonialism (Escobar 1996), and as facilitating
governmentality—governance through a shepherding, purportedly apolitical
power, rather than through force (Ferguson 1994). Anthropologists tend to
approach these purportedly apolitical phenomena as part and parcel to the under-
mining of the sovereignty of post-colonial nation-states and as the interpretive
grid through which post-colonial places continue to be positioned as temporally
behind. Rather than conceiving of NGOs as producing something called
“development,” anthropologists have suggested that NGOs, particularly the jobs
they provide, are the development, and operate so as to perpetuate the need for
development that necessitates NGOs (Grillo 1997). I draw upon these insights
and further them by thinking through the emergent cultural worlds that
international development relations produce.
While NGOs in the area surrounding Bodh Gaya were widely denounced as
“corrupt” and “just business,” they were also positioned as the sites through
which Buddhists from places such as Japan, Canada, and Brazil could pursue
socially engaged Buddhism (Hanh 1987). These Buddhists described their NGO
activities as Buddhist practice, social work, outward demonstrations of their
inner spiritual development, and as efforts to give back for the opportunity to
pursue mediation in the place of Buddha’s Enlightenment. Common among
foreign volunteers, and in some cases foreign NGO directors, were appropria-
tions of Bihar’s reputation for poverty, lawlessness, backwardness, and illiteracy,
as reasons for their pursuing NGO work in Bihar. In other words, many of the
Buddhist NGO volunteers I met described it being important that their socially
engaged Buddhist practice took place in Bihar, which they described as offering
opportunities to help those most in need. And NGO directors sometimes deployed
this reputation as a rationale for their NGO work in their fundraising efforts, and
in doing so perpetuated Bihar’s negative reputation.
Organization for Rural Development

I lived at the headquarters of Organization for Rural Development for much of
my 2007–08 fieldwork period. This NGO was an international operation, run
through funds that came largely from Spain and Belgium, but operated by local
Bihari staff and foreign volunteers. The NGO was co-directed by an Indian man,
who I will call Shiv, and a Spanish man, who I will call Carlos, who had been
working together for six years when I began research with them in 2007. Carlos
came to Bihar at the suggestion of his Dharamsala-based guru to do something to
help India’s poor, and also to practice meditation and pursue yoga. Carlos
described himself as not religious, but as having a proclivity for a certain
Buddhist ethic, particularly the socially engaged Buddhism of Thich Nhat Hanh,
which he and many of the Buddhists involved in NGOs in the area described as
infusing their social work.8
Carlos met Shiv at a local restaurant. Shiv owned a guesthouse where Carlos
would eventually reside and that would become the main headquarters for ORD,
housing a tailoring center, offices, a computer lab, and providing rooms and a
kitchen for the staff. Carlos expressed a hope to bring education and eventually
health care, which he described as basic human rights, to those neglected places
in Bihar. And Shiv helped him to construct an organization that would do so.
Shiv located the village sites, found people from his social network to do social
work for Carlos, and put Carlos into contact with locals who could help him
develop sustainable projects for the NGO. Carlos described his social work as
integrally wrapped up with his spiritual development, and described his work in
Bodh Gaya as a matter of giving back for the opportunity to pursue spiritual
practice that Bodh Gaya was providing to him—exchanging social development
for spiritual development, a view of ameliorating the “Western lack” through
ameliorating the “Eastern lack.”
ORD operated six village schools, all within 40km of Bodh Gaya. Carlos and
Shiv had another NGO train three women to organize general and prenatal health
education meetings for women in villages. They started a tailoring center to raise
money for ORD, which did not prove profitable. They also pursued a number of
other projects that Carlos hoped would help ORD become self-sustaining, but
that also failed and in some cases resulted in financial losses. ORD employed
roughly thirty Biharis and operated on a budget of 2500 Euros per month, or
roughly US$4000 in 2008. Carlos also enlisted the help of donors and volunteers
from Spain, two of whom were in Bodh Gaya for six months of my research
there. They too came to Bodh Gaya hoping to do something to help India’s poor
while practicing Buddhism at the Mahabodhi Temple, attending teachings given
by Tibetan lamas, and participating in meditation retreats. The three Spaniards
routinely attended meditation retreats, including the 10-day Vipassana retreat just
outside of Bodh Gaya, which they described as helping them to get re-centered
for the difficulties of social work. In the course of my research I became involved
at times in helping ORD with their social work projects as part of my ethno-
graphic research, particularly in helping them to design a teacher-training
program. I also often assisted with translations across English, Spanish, and
Hindi, as English was the medium of communication, a language neither the
Indian staff, other than Shiv, nor the Spanish volunteers were fluent in.
I became friends with the Spaniards and the core group of four Bihari staff
who helped with the administration of ORD. But there were persistent conflicts
between the Spaniards and the Biharis over broad issues such as what social work
ought look like and over specific issues such as concerns over missing funds.
Shiv was in charge of all of the finances for ORD and Carlos envisioned his own
role as one of a facilitator, providing the financial resources for social work and
doing what he could to make a grassroots development project possible. He
wanted Shiv and the other Indian staff to work with the villages and design their
own strategies for development, which Carlos would then assist through funding.
Carlos called this a “grassroots” approach to social work and explicitly contrasted
this with “neo-colonial” approaches through which the foreigner “imposes” a
view of social work rather than working with people to empower them.
Nonetheless, Carlos did have a view of what social work and development ought
look like. But he wanted the Indian staff to “come into consciousness” of this
view on their own. When they routinely did not develop Carlos’s view of social
work and development, conflicts arose. Exacerbating the situation was a funda-
mental difference in how Carlos and the Indian staff viewed their relationship to
ORD and to one another. Carlos described himself as working with social
workers. The Biharis described Carlos as the boss of ORD, calling him malik, a
Hindi word that has a history I turn to below, and described wanting Carlos to tell
them what to do.
Most of the Indian staff other than Shiv were dependent on Carlos for an
income. And Carlos, who spoke no Hindi and knew little about the context other
than what Shiv and other Indian staff explained to him, was dependent on the
Indian staff to mediate ORD operations in villages and enable him to run an
NGO. In the spring of 2007, conflicts arose over money; Carlos thought he was
being cheated. These conflicts intensified in the weeks leading up to Carlos and
the Spaniards’ departure to Spain for the summer of 2007.9 Carlos thought that he
was being cheated because the sustainable projects proved unsustainable and
were not generating money and because Shiv was unable, in Carlos’s estimation,
to adequately account for a long history of missing funds. When Carlos and the
other Spanish staff left for the summer, Carlos described himself as broken-
hearted and worried that he had spent the better part of six years of his life on an
organization that was ultimately “just business.” I stayed through the summer
and learned as much as I was able about how relations of obligation operated in
the villages and some of the underlying reasons for the unaccounted funds. I also
learned why Carlos was seen as failing to take care of his organization’s staff.
Social work and taking care

Carlos’s judgment, and the dominant discourse among foreigners regarding
NGOs in the Bodh Gaya area, relied upon an implicit, comparative, normative
moral framework. This framework idealized “social work” and “development,”
holding these as universally valid signifiers with essential altruistic and moral
meanings. These ideals have no literal referent. This is not to say that motivations
for social work were inconsequential. Social work organizations do provide jobs
for people who are generally operating within social conditions that compel
subjects to sell their labor, particularly in Bihar where wage-earning work is
relatively scarce and the need for income is increasingly pressing. But as
with all normative moral frameworks and discourses, this view of NGOs was
multi-accentual and deployable in unexpected ways. For example, Indian NGO
directors appropriated the “NGOs are corrupt” framework and employed it in
their relationship with potential donors to distinguish their own NGO from
others, as in “those other NGOs are corrupt.”
Bracketing the question of how to judge the social outcomes of these organiza-
tions, NGOs in Bodh Gaya might be understood as providing a transnational
arena and meeting ground for contesting discourses regarding the function and
possibilities of NGO activity internationally. They might also be approached as a
site for contesting narrations of the relationship between Buddhist activity and
various forms of development in Bodh Gaya, including tourism, education, the
elimination of poverty, and microcredit groups. NGOs provided opportunities for
pilgrims and tourists to engage in activities that facilitated a narration of their
stay in India in terms of social work, giving back, and as a practice of compas-
sion. These organizations simultaneously provided important local employment
opportunities and the condition of possibility for locals to pursue activities with
the hope of actualizing desires for social and geographical mobility.
I also contend that NGOs, here approached as contact zones (Pratt 1992;
Clifford 1997),10 produced a host of unexpected outcomes in this regard. These
outcomes included, both for foreigners and Biharis, strong sentiments of longing,
belonging, and entanglement fostered through the transnational relations that
occurred through pilgrimage, tourism, and the pursuit of development in Bodh
Gaya. Were NGOs in Bodh Gaya “just business”? Of course they were not. They
were “business” in the same way as the Red Cross in that they both employed
“workers.” But they were not just business. And neither did the complications of
NGO social work negate the powerfully felt, socially engaged Buddhist experi-
ences of foreigners. What might be called “corruption” upon closer scrutiny
becomes quite complicated. For example, many of the NGOs in Bodh Gaya had
young men, referred to as “guides,” who brought them potential foreign donors
and volunteers. Guides would offer to give foreigners they met in the Bodh Gaya
market a tour of the area, and then ask for a fee at the end of the day. They would
also go back to any shops they took the tourist to and collect commissions from
the shopkeepers, who would have generally charged the tourist more to cover
that commission. Some of the guides also took foreigners to the surrounding
villages to encourage their involvement with an NGO school. If the foreigner
expressed interest, they would be given the chance to describe their home country
to a classroom, lead a math lesson, or just play with the children. If the tourist
gave a donation at the end of the visit, the guide would generally receive a
commission. Foreigners who knew of these practices widely condemned them,
but Biharis I spoke with about the activities of guides described them as rela-
tively benign. I did speak with Biharis who condemned NGOs that they perceived
as wasting children’s time when they could receive a better education elsewhere,
but these condemnations were usually leveled at specific NGOs.
I also befriended a number of guides during my stay in Bodh Gaya and learned
about their life situations. Many of them were using the money from their “tourist
chasing,” as they called it, to attend Gaya University. Others were simply helping
to support their families, as wage-earning occupations were scarce in Bodh Gaya,
especially if one did not own a business or a large plot of land. In some cases,
guides were able to develop long-term sponsorship relations that allowed them to
open an NGO, as with Sanjay from the opening interview quote. The guides said
that they did not enjoy tourist chasing, and would have preferred to spend their
time otherwise. But tourist chasing was seen as one of the only ways for a young
man to make money in Bodh Gaya, and aspire to some degree of upward mobility.
These aspirations were especially difficult to achieve in Bihar, and it was a value
that was quite at odds with those generally found among foreigners coming to
Bodh Gaya, particularly those interested in social work projects.
Development experts claim that tourism brings economic and social develop-
ment. From what I have seen, an economic trickle down does not just happen in
Bodh Gaya, and I am skeptical as to whether it just happens anywhere. In
Bodh Gaya, networks of relationships and a value for “taking care of one another”
have articulated with NGOs, which, despite the discourses of social work,
emphasized money and are, I think, fruitfully approached as a sort of market-
based activity. This value for taking care of one another emphasized economic
redistribution and providing employment for one’s social network, including
employment through NGOs. “Taking care” involved social obligations that
went beyond the wage, which was where the obligation ended for foreign
NGO directors such as Carlos and for foreign donors. These forms of social
networks and relations of obligation had a history in south Bihar that was particu-
larly well encapsulated in kamia-malik relations, a social arrangement that
continued to characterize agricultural villages in parts of southern Bihar at the
time of this research.
Gyan Prakash (1990) has written extensively about kamia-malik relations and
the shifts these relations underwent during the colonial period. As Prakash
describes, “A kamia worked all his life for the same landlord, earning wages for
the days that he worked and expecting assistance when needed. For his son’s
marriage, he received some grain, money, and a small plot of land from the land-
lord. After the conclusion of this transaction, called kamiauti, the son, too,
became attached to the same malik’s kamia” (1990: 1). These long-term relations
of obligation underwent a process of translation under the successive rules of the
Mughal Empire and the British Empire, each of which sought to calculate and
monetize this relation so as to collect revenues on land. Only under the British
was a rigid system of private land ownership instituted, giving rise to a vast appa-
ratus of revenue collection and the translation of labor relations into a cosmology
of “free labor” wage relations. Prakash argues that the British interpreted the
kamia-malik relations in terms of an ideal spectrum wherein the natural human
condition is “freedom,” which implicitly meant ideal, normative British relations
of exchange, and that deviations from this condition, with the opposite condition
being “slavery,” represented a need for progress.
Within the realm of this moral spectrum and through a process of translation
into an “economic” cosmology, kamia-malik relations became “debt-bondage,”
and the wages, provisions, and kamiauti that characterized these relations became
“loans” that the kamia could never repay. Thus, within this particular moral-
economic framework, kamias were veritable slaves. Of course, colonial powers
are not the only source of such “moral economies” (Scott 1977).11 The meanings
of these relations were contested and not singular. Rather, the shape of these
translations emerged through colonial relations, just as did the seeming
dichotomy between Carlos’s and Shiv’s approaches to ORD.
Despite the perennial droughts and conditions throughout much of South
Bihar, according to the Bodh Gaya Nagar Panchayat about 8 percent lived below
the poverty line in the Bodh Gaya area (Housing and Urban Development
Corporation, Ltd. 2006), which was much lower than the prevalence of poverty
throughout Bihar (World Bank 2005). I think this has to do with how the value
for taking care of one another has incorporated and appropriated the influx of
foreign funds to the Bodh Gaya area. And condemnations of these outcomes rely
on an uncritical view of what development ought consist. In India, this largely
did not entail creating a communist paradise, or a renunciation of materialistic
desires. There was a disconnect between the values found among foreign volun-
teers and Buddhist pilgrims and those found among Biharis, most of whom very
much desired such things as motorcycles, air-conditioning, wealth—the very
things that so many coming to Bodh Gaya rejected as Western materialism.
Shiv was very upfront with me about his intentions and motivations. Shiv was
born in a village eight kilometers to the east of Bodh Gaya, and I visited his
village with him on a number of occasions. When I asked him how he conceived
of his work with ORD, he told me that he approached his relationship with Carlos
as a means to supplementing the income he brought in through the guesthouse he
owned, which, without the ORD offices and staff, was empty for much of the
year other than the October to February tourist season. Shiv said that he was also
doing what he could to bring education and work to the surrounding villages. By
work, he meant a chance to have a wage-earning occupation, like with ORD. And
the people in the villages where ORD operated described Shiv as someone
worthy of respect. Shiv brought schools to places where the government had
failed to do so, as well as health education, training in tailoring and opportunities
for children to learn computer skills. And he did so by working within the system
of taking care that operated in the area and that articulated government adminis-
trators, the police, a local mafia ring, the Naxalites, and local village headmen.
Shiv did not discuss the specifics of his relations with these different groups, but
I was able to piece together a picture of these networks through conversations
with him, visits to the villages, and help from other Biharis I interviewed.
Operating ORD required that Shiv negotiate layers of patron/client relations with
these different groups, each of which demanded either favors or a cut of the
money he was receiving to operate ORD. In order to meet these demands, Shiv
had found ways to raise funds in addition to the US$4000 he received each month
from Spain so as to keep ORD operating by working within a system that Carlos
described as “corruption” and refused to work with.
It is not my intention to present Shiv as solely a benevolent player in these
matters. Shiv had utilized his NGO activity as a means to a successful political
career, having become a ward councilor after helping to found ORD. He also, as
noted above, received financial remuneration from ORD in the form of rent on
the rooms used in his guesthouse. Shiv also aspired to see his son and daughter
have the opportunity to study in Delhi and to pursue any career they wanted,
ideally in one of India’s metropolises or abroad. And he was doing what he could,
given his abilities, resources, and the relationships he was able to develop, to
make that happen. At the same time, he had garnered the respect of people in area
villages. While NGOs did offer some opportunities for upward mobility, they
were also sites for economic redistribution and Buddhist practice, and these
sometimes competing goals were constitutive of what the NGO phenomenon
looked like in Bodh Gaya. Condemnations of these activities as “corruption” and
“just business” fail to capture the complexities of this picture.
Carlos, by contrast, was seen as not taking care of ORD staff, and he refused to
engage in any form of what he called “corruption,” and so Shiv, to make ORD
possible, often did so without Carlos’s knowing. This even included paying the
commission to the government bureaucrat necessary to get ORD governmentally
recognized as a Trust, which Carlos had refused to pay. The salaries of the ORD
staff ranged from INR1000 to INR2500 per month, roughly US$25 to US$60 in
2008. For a home and landowner that was a workable income, especially given
the relative scarcity of non-physical labor wage opportunities, because land-
owners generally do not have to purchase food. But these salaries were only a
fraction of what the ORD staff could have made working as government
employees. And all of the ORD staff knew that the staff of other Bodh Gaya area
NGOs were earning as much as INR4000 to INR9000 per month. From the ORD
staff perspective, Carlos was taking advantage of a lack of employment opportu-
nities in the area to hire people at very low wages for his NGO. It was also hard
not to take note of how much Carlos and the other Spaniards spent on retreats,
vacations, and meals at restaurants in Bodh Gaya, which for the three Spanish
staff could run to more than INR2000 in a single sitting. Shiv, by contrast, main-
tained a modest living standard and did what he could to ensure that ORD staff,
and as many villagers as possible, were taken care of. Shiv had incorporated
the wage-based activities that characterized NGOs into his world of taking care.
Of course, Shiv, like Carlos, was managing a perception of himself as a village
benefactor.
Competing claims
I want to conclude with some comments on the promises of modernity and on the
moral judgments that characterized cross-cultural relations in Bodh Gaya that
were very often mediated through NGOs. Relations between Biharis and
foreigners were asymmetrical. Local sovereignty had been undermined in the
promotion of tourism by the local and national state, and the involvement of
foreigners in the governance of Bodh Gaya as a place of “universal value.” Bodh
Gaya was a local place, both like any other, and not, as it was positioned as one
that everyone could potentially lay claim to because of its universal value. Bihar
was also largely rural and an economically destitute place, a place with little in
the way of opportunities for people to pursue the lives they desired. It was a place
that most Biharis aspired to leave. Bodh Gaya, the place where Buddha realized
that desire is the root of all suffering, was a place of a plethora of emergent
desires. Desires for travel, for motorcycles, for cars, and other commodities.
Desires for constant electricity, education, and water. And especially desires for
social and physical mobility.
Through relations of contact in this international meeting ground, people found
ways to pursue these desires, while at the same time taking care of one another in
a way that did not translate to neoliberal policy or to idealistic views of NGOs
and social work. Denunciations of NGOs as “just business” and “corrupt”
emerged largely as a function of the values that foreigners interested in Bodh
Gaya brought with them, which tended to be anti-materialistic and involved a
desire for Bodh Gaya to remain a place not characterized by consumerism. The
development of a tourism infrastructure or an ideal pilgrimage site did not in
itself guarantee any financial benefits for an overwhelming majority of locals.
The foreigner could easily see the Buddhist sites, perform a meditation retreat,
and then leave, having limited their spending to a restaurant or two, a guesthouse,
a meditation program, and the fees charged at the entrance to the Mahabodhi
Temple for photography and for access to a meditation garden. In the Bodh Gaya
context, providing opportunities for foreigners to engage in social work, which
some Buddhists described as Buddhist practice, was one means to developing the
relationships that characterized the very sorts of social relations that we obscure
when we label activity “economic.” Every exchange is a relation of exchange,
and every relationship is in some way an exchange that entails obligations. This
is a fundamental insight of anthropology. It is only via the idealization of some
activities as transcendent that we can moralize, and thus condemn, other social
relationships, such as those involving a monetary exchange. But the moraliza-
tions of NGOs as “corrupt” were not just a hindrance to the very real modern-
izing aspirations circulating in Bodh Gaya, but were productive of what
development, socially engaged Buddhist practice, and the NGO phenomenon
looked like in the Bodh Gaya context.
The ability for Bihar to attract the resources necessary for “development,” for
“modernization” to occur, was to some extent based upon its allochronistic
position—as existing in the present, but of the past and as a place of lack. Thus, at
a certain level, in order to continue to attract the resources to develop, Bodh Gaya
could not develop. Efforts that were being made by people in Bodh Gaya to pursue
the lives they desired were widely condemned by foreigners. From one perspec-
tive, these judgments relied on a view of Indians as unable to proceed correctly
towards their own betterment. But these discourses of corruption were not simply
moralizations of local NGO activities and operations that inhibited NGO work.
Local and foreign NGO directors alike appropriated these discourses of corruption
to distinguish their organization from others, and to legitimize the need for social
work in the area. These discourses were also a local-level accompaniment to the
international and national discourses producing Bodh Gaya as a not modern place,
as a corrupt and backward place. These views fundamentally infused the transna-
tional relationships and practices emerging in Bodh Gaya, and produced the very
Bodh Gaya that “still” needed development, a development that, paradoxically,
many a foreigner both professed a desire for, and at the same time lamented.
Notes
1 The Naxalites, also called MCC (Maoist Communist Centre), were an India-wide
communist organization with a reputation for violence. The Naxalites in some cases
operated as government in those places without government presence, which is not
uncommon in Bihar. Naxalites were present in some of the area surrounding Bodh
Gaya, and there is a great variety of sentiment regarding whether they were a positive
or negative presence.
2 Though pilgrims have been coming to Bodh Gaya for more than 2000 years, Buddhism
had largely disappeared in India as a distinct set of practices by the twelfth century.
The volume of pilgrims has increased astronomically since India’s independence
in 1947 and since that time Bodh Gaya has once again become a center of Buddhist
practice.
3 The 1991 New Economic Policies were an IMF structural adjustment plan designed to
boost India’s economy, and emphasized the development and promotion of cultural
and heritage tourism (Hutnyk 1996). The plan also represented an effort to eliminate
the vestiges of Nehruvian socialism and produce the conditions for bringing India
more in line with dominant economic models based on privatization, neoliberal
economics, and an emphasis on the reduction of government services.
4 The eight to ten homes that were demolished or removed were located near the
Kalchakra field and bus stand, located northwest of the main temple complex. Some
of these homes had storefronts that sold tea and snacks.
5 It was not only a sacred Buddhist space, but also a sacred Hindu space. See Doyle
(1997) and Trevithick (2006).
6 See Pigg (1992) for a discussion of appropriations of the category “development” and
her asking about the processes through which such categories become salient.
7 All names used throughout this chapter are pseudonyms.
8 See Rodriguez (2011) for an extended discussion of how social work opportunities in
the context of NGOs were positioned as the central site for the pursuit of varieties of
socially engaged Buddhism in Bodh Gaya.
9 Like many foreigners, the Spaniards left Bihar each summer to escape the extreme
heat.
10 Pratt and Clifford approach “contact zones” as sites where historically and culturally
different groups come together through asymmetrical relations of power, and through
which new subject positions are constituted relative to one another.
11 Scott uses “moral economies” to describe the webs of social obligation and depend-
ence among Southeast Asian peasants, which, he argues, aided in subsistence and
formed the basis of senses of social justice, while also informing moments of peasant
rebellion. Subramanian (2010) has likewise argued for the importance of attending to
the moral economy of redistribution practices among coastal Indian fishing villages,
and how these practices have been positioned by neoliberal apologists as both barriers
to capitalist development and as a variety of “corruption.”
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Index
Ajapala Nigrodha 25, 119, 120, 124, 130, Bodhimaṇḍa see Vajrāsana
133 Bodhi Tree 5, 25–26, 29, 35–36, 66, 94,
akṣayyavaṭa 20 96–97, 119, 121–123, 125–128,
Anagarika Dharmapala 5, 48, 81–85, 130–133, 136,142
94–105, 110, 114, 129, 142–146 Bodhi-seat see Vajrāsana
ancestors (ancestor worship) 13–20, 23, bodhisattva 54, 58–59, 153, 166
26, 32, 126 Bourdillon, James 85–89
Aniruddh 122–123, 127, 131 Brāhmaṇas 14, 21
Archaeological Survey of India 33, 81, Brahmins (Brahmanical) 4, 13–18, 23,
128, 147 25–26, 56, 119, 126, 133, 180
archaeology 2, 4, 23, 29–34, 36, 47, 49, British colonialism and colonialism in
75, 89, 128–129; preservation 6, 32, India 3, 5, 47, 85, 90, 98, 114, 128,
124, 147; discourse of 129 141–142, 196; colonial restoration
Arnold, Edwin 82, 97, 142 3, 90
art 52, 56, 58, 62; images 37–39, 50, 54, British government (British Raj) 88,
58, 63, 64, 83, 87; plaques 68, 69–71; 94–99, 103–105, 142
production of 50; reconstruction of 43, Buchanan, Francis (Hamilton-Buchanan)
49, 63; religious significance of 63, 75; 47, 79
replication 61, 63, 65–67, 68, 72, 73–74, Buddha, the 4, 25, 32–35, 59, 113; biog-
75; sculptures 37–38, 54, 63, 64, 130 raphy of 36, 39, 121–122; bodies of 52,
Asher, Frederick 2, 5, 13, 25 160, 166; construction of life/historical
Aśoka 29, 34, 47, 98–99, 102, 133, 143 1–2, 13, 18, 22, 24, 30; images of 34,
Avalokiteshvara 54, 55, 58–59 38, 52, 54, 55, 58–59, 63, 64, 69–71,
avatar (avatāra) 111, 150 87, 166; parinirvana of 110–112; place
Ayodhya 90, 145 of enlightenment 1, 3, 46, 75, 96; seven
weeks following enlightenment 6, 29,
Banyan tree see Bodhi tree 72, 119, 124, 126, 128–133; teaching of
Bengal 79–89 16, 119
bhumisparśa; images of 38, 52, 54, 58, 68 Buddha Jayanti 6, 43, 110, 114
Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) 145, Buddhakṣetra 4, 30, 34–36, 39–40
151(endnote) buddhification 121, 128–129, 136, 150
Bihar 1, 29, 32, 75, 150, 189–193, 196, Buddhism: Ambedhkar Buddhism 128,
198–199; government of 115, 117, 145–148, 151; and Hinduism 17,
143–144; negative image of 7, 161, 85–87, 111, 123, 150; engaged
172, 181, 189, 192; Nitish Kumar, Buddhism 192; Sri Lankan Buddhism
Chief Minister of 146, 190 38–40, 87, 94–96, 116, 125, 130,
Bodh Gaya Temple Management 146; Tibetan Buddhism 3, 39–40,
Committee (BTMC) 115–117, 123, 43, 68, 87, 122–123, 153–154, 157,
126–127, 143, 144, 148 163, 166
Index 203
Burmese Buddhists 68, 79, 88, 113, 116, Indian Museum, Calcutta 37, 50
123–124; activity at Bodh Gaya 47, inscriptions 5, 37–38, 47, 50, 69, 72,
81–82, 130, 133, 142 75, 121
caitya 34, 54; see also stūpa Journal of the Maha Bodhi Society
95–97
Committee for the Protection of the
Mahabodhi Temple Against the kalachakra 148
Bodhgaya Temple Management King Thilokanat 72, 75
Committee (CPMT) 123, 127, 131 Kushinagar 160, 163–164
contestation 3, 46, 79, 83, 84; colonial
correspondences 88, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, Lama Osel 156
103, 142; legislation 85, 86, 87, 88, Lama Zopa Rinpoche 153–154, 156, 164,
127, 143 173
corruption 7, 172, 189, 191, 194–195, Lee Hsien Loong 115
197–199 Leoshko, Janice 2, 4
Cotton, Evan 80, 87–88 Lhasa 68
Cotton, Henry 82 Lord Curzon 5, 79–81, 85, 86, 87–88
Cunningham, Sir Alexander 4, 29–30, 49, Lumbini 72, 121
68, 81, 124, 128–129, 132
Magadha
Dalai Lama 157, 173–174, 178–179 Maha Bodhi see Bodhi tree
dāna 17, 23 Maha Bodhi Society (MBS) 5, 79, 82,
DeCaroli, Robert 13, 17–18, 23–25, 32 84–85, 88, 96–97, 102, 110–117, 124,
Dharmaśāstras 19 129–130, 146–148
Divine Teacher see Buddha, the Mahabodhi Temple (Complex) 3, 33,
Doyle, Tara 6, 89–90, 111, 113, 145 37–40, 61, 62, 79, 96, 98, 116–118,
131; as UNESCO World Heritage site
East India Company 81 2, 6, 46, 114, 115–116, 126, 141, 148,
education 7, 99, 172–185, 193, 195, 197; 149, 189; Bodh Gaya Temple Act 6,
Universal Education 173–174, 178, 110, 144, 145; construction of 37, 54;
181, 184, 192; Buddhist/non-Buddhist foreign involvement in 81, 172; repro-
177–178, 180–181 duction of 5, 61, 63, 65–67, 68, 72,
Exalted One see Buddha, the 73–74, 75; restoration/reconstruction of
29–30, 46, 81; shared control of 86,
Faxian 36–37, 40 110–111; seven-site schema 119, 122,
Foundation for the Protection of the 125–133; see also Bodh Gaya Temple
Mahayana Tradition (FPMT) 153–157, Management Committee (BTMC); see
164, 166, 173, 185 also contestation
Mahant (of Bodh Gaya) 6, 63, 75, 82–90,
Gautama, Siddhartha see Buddha, the 114–117, 128–129, 143; Mahant
Gaya 4, 91, 150, 161; and śrāddha 13, Harihar Nath Giri 111; Mahant Krishna
17–26, 32–33, 128; Court of 83–84 Dayal Giri 79, 87–89
Giri, Sect 79–80, 82–86, 91, 142 Maitreya 54, 58; Statue Project 7, 153–169
Giroux, Henry 182, 184 Manmohan Singh 114–115
goddess 52, 54 Mārîcî 52, 54, 56, 58–59
Government of India 99, 111, 114, Mitra, Rajendralal 49, 72, 81, 133
126, 133 Monlam Chemno (Tibet Prayer
Gṛhyasūtras 13–15, 18 Festival) 127
Muchalinda 25, 125–126, 130, 133
Hinduism Munindra, Anagarika 6, 110–111,
hindutva 145 113–114
Huber, Toni 3, 119–120, 122, 127, 129, 132 Muslims 75, 83, 173, 180–181
204 Index
nāga 25, 34, 35, 125 Shakyamuni see Buddha, the śrāddha
Naxalites 199 13–21, 23–26, 32–33, 126
Nehru, Jawaharlal 111–114, 143 Sri Lanka 38, 47
Nerañjara River 1, 21, 36 stele 5, 50, 54, 56, 58–59
non-governmental organization (NGO) 3, Strong, John 121
7, 144, 172, 189–199 stūpa 4–5, 30, 34–37, 39–40, 46, 49–50,
Non-Aligned Movement 143 54, 63, 68–69, 71–72, 123
Sujātā 18, 32, 35, 46
Olcott, Henry Steel 100, 103 Sūrya 54; images of 35, 56, 57
Oldham, C. E. A. 85–87, 91 Swami Vivekananda 100
Pāla Period 49–50, 52, 56, 58, 63 Theosophical Society 99, 111–113
Petavatthu 16, 18, 26 tīrtha 2, 20–26; Bodh Gaya as 190;
pilgrimage 3–7, 13, 19–26, 35, 48, construction of 121, 128–129, 136; see
121–122, 172; and tourism 114, 117, also contestation; see also pilgrimage
129, 195; effect on education 184; tourism 114–115, 117–118, 145, 147, 149,
souvenirs 63, 68; surrogate 61, 68, 190, 195–196, 198–199
71–72, 75 Trevithik, Alan 3
pitripaksh 123
post-colonial 143–144, 191 Uruvelā 1, 4, 13, 24–26
Potala Palace 68
preta 14, 16–18 Vajrāsana 29, 34, 36, 38, 43, 58, 63, 96,
Prinsep, James 47, 99 124, 132–133
Van der Veer, Peter 90,
Queen Victoria 5, 80, 94, 96, 98–105 Viceroy Elgin 83, 89
Vipassana 114, 160, 193
Rajayatana tree 72, 126, 130, 132 Vishnu 86, 111, 150
Ṛg Veda 13 Viṣṇupada 150
ritual 2, 14, 36, 40, 85, 110; see also
śrāddha; see also Gṛhyasūtras Wat Ched Yot 72, 74, 75
sādhana 54, 56, 58 Xuanzang 29, 36–37, 48, 128

Sanchi 54, 63
saṅgha 4, 17, 35, 39–40 yakshas and yakshis 20–21, 25, 34–35
Sanskrit 29–31, 174 Yunshu 5, 50, 56, 58–59
Sarnath 72, 94, 101–102
Schopen, Gregory 48 zamindari 6, 141–144, 149

Bodh Gaya Jataka

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Cross-disciplinary Perspectives on

a Contested Buddhist Site

David Geary is a Postdoctoral Research Associate at the University of Oxford.

Matthew R. Sayers teaches religion at Lebanon Valley College in Pennsylvania,

Abhishek Singh Amar works in the Department of Religious Studies at

Hindu Selves in a Modern World

Parsis in India and the Diaspora

South Asian Religions on Display

Rethinking Religion in India

Health and Religious Rituals in South Asia

Time, History and the Religious Imaginary in South Asia

Cross-disciplinary Perspectives on a Contested Buddhist Site

Edited by David Geary, Matthew R.

ISBN: 978-0-415-68452-1 (hbk)

Typeset in Times New Roman

List of illustrations vii

1 Gaya–Bodh Gaya: the origins of a pilgrimage complex 13

2 Sacred Bodh Gaya: the Buddhakṣetra of Gotama Buddha 29

3 The changing landscape at Bodh Gaya 43

4 Bodh Gaya and the issue of originality in art 61

5 Established usage and absolute freedom of religion at

7 Bodh Gaya in the 1950s: Jawaharlal Nehru, Mahant Giri,

8 “Why cause unnecessary confusion?”: re-inscribing the

9 World Heritage in the shadow of zamindari 141

10 Maitreya, or the love of Buddhism: the non-event of

11 Universal education and social transformation in

12 NGOs, corruption, and reciprocity in the land of

Abhishek Singh Amar is currently working as a Visiting Assistant Professor at

Empowering the landscape

ŚGS ĀśGS GGS PGS ĀpGS HGS

Bāhukā and Adhikakkā, Gaya and Sundarika too,

Barua is certainly correct to argue that this passage indicates a tradition of

Biographical accounts and Bodh Gaya

Figure 2.1 Sacred sites in and around Bodh Gaya.

Pre-Buddhist context of Bodh Gaya

Early Historic Buddhakṣetra (c.270 bce–550 ce)

The early medieval Buddhakṣetra (c.550–1200 ce)

Conclusion: the agentive role of the saṅgha

Great value is generally attached to “originality” in the post-Enlightenment world,

Figure 4.1 Mahabodhi Temple from east (photo by author).

Figure 4.2 Buddha image in sanctum of Mahabodhi Temple (photo by author).

Figure 4.9 Mahabodhi Temple, Bagan. Originally constructed 1215, reconstructed after

The Giris, their multi-religious site, and their

Government(s) of India and religious non-interference

Anagarika Dharmapala and his imperial supporters

The first case and the Magistrate of Gaya’s judgment

Sessions court of Gaya: the scope of the criminal law

Calcutta high court case

Lord Curzon’s perfect grasp of the situation

The “right Hindus” produce the wrong report

The Mahant is willing

Preservation: ancient monuments, imperial dignity

Anagarika Dharmapala (1864–1933) was a Sri Lanka-born Buddhist modernist

The Englishmen of the type of Clive, Warren Hastings, North, Sladen,

Dharmapala says of the Sinhalese that they “stand as the representative of

A later paragraph refers to Bodh Gaya:

Pages 94 to 96 of this issue give a detailed overview (from Dharmapala’s point of

The Death of H.M. Queen Victoria

By referring to steps to be taken “all over Buddhist countries,” Dharmapala here

Dharmapala recognizes as well that the very rediscovery of the Buddhist

Figure 4.9 Mahabodhi Temple, Bagan. Originally constructed 1215, reconstructed after