One of the shopping lists I found while perusing the many loose-leaf papers in the Van Manen Collection, written in Johan Van Manen’s hand and dated to the 25th of April 1922, shows that Van Manen requested “the Geshe” to buy several things for him from Lhasa. The list is as follows:
Van Manen Archives 103, 013
l.1 A list of Tibetan things
l.2 A pointed monk’s hat, a water flask, a monk’s undershirt
l.3 An upper robe, a lower robe, cloth boots
l.4. A Mongolian-style hat, an official’s hat (’bog rdo), an aristocrat’s summer hat (lcags mda’ zhwa mo)
1.5. A knife and chopstick holder (rgya gri), a pouch to hold a bowl (phor shubs), scales (nya ga), a grain measure (bre), a pail measure (zo ba)
1.6 A volume measure (’bo), an earthenware pot (khog ma), an earthenware kettle (khog til [sic]: khog ldir), a brazier (me lang [sic]: me slang)
1.7 Various kinds of wool: white, red, green, yellow,
l.8 cross-patterned (thig ma), a bowl for pag (lpar phor [sic]: spags phor], a tea container (zhags blugs [sic]: zhag blug)
l.9 A churn with a brass binding band (mdong mo rag gshan ma [sic]: rag shan ma), a wooden ladle (zar ru [sic]: gzar bu)
l.10 Various grains: barley, wheat, peas, beans (rgya sran ma)
l. 11 Rapeseed (pas khang [sic]: pad kha), flax seed (so ma ra tsa [sic]: so ma ra rtsa), ta chur (what is this?)
l. 12 Kham traditional clothing (kham chas [sic]: khams chas), Nomadic traditional clothing (’brog chas)
The subscript reads:
List of things proposed for attempt at acquisition by the Geshe leaving for Lhasa within a few days. Expected back about September. JvM 25/4/22
As with so many other things in this collection, we have no context for this little note. There is nothing in the box, filled with other miscellaneous papers, that tells us why it was preserved. We do not know this Geshe, nor why he was asked to buy rather mundane-sounding things like braziers and ladles.
One of the tasks I have burdened myself with is to try to find out what these ephemera can tell us about the rest of the collection, about the provenance of these works, about Van Manen’s motives for collecting. Van Manen himself does not tell us much: there are no diaries, no administration, and no well-archived bundles of correspondence. Fortunately, I came across another piece of paper – seemingly unimportant – that gives us some insight into what this shopping list is about.
B. Ethnographic Collections
By far the most important additions have been from Tibet and have been obtained through the kind offices of Mr. van Manen, mainly since he acted temporarily as Assistant Superintendent in the department. He was fortunately able to secure the assistance of several Tibetans, amongst others a monk learned in the magic arts, who constructed for the Museum a set of the peculiar spider’s web-like structures of woolen yarn which are set up outside Tibetan monasteries as the abode of important spirits and their attendants. He also obtained from Lhassa at a small price an extremely interesting collection of domestic implements, etc. including several primitive pieces of apparatus of a kind impossible to obtain through the ordinary dealers.
We are not sure who wrote the above, but it is found in the archives kept by his sister Charlotte Van Manen, meaning that it may have been of some importance (perhaps just because of the compliments paid to him) (Panthaleon van Eck, 230, p. 130). This single sheet of paper tells us that the Geshe did not buy the items for Van Manen himself, but on behalf of the Indian Museum in Calcutta. Van Manen worked there for six months in 1922, after which he left to work at the Asiatic Society of Bengal. While hardly any of the treasures on display in the Indian Museum nowadays are of Tibetan or even Himalayan origins, during Van Manen’s time, quite a collection was assembled.
Another fascinating detail (at least to me) is the fact that Van Manen had arranged for “the peculiar spider’s web-like structures of woolen yarn” to be set up for the Museum. These structures, also known as mdos these days more commonly translated as “thread-cross” (see Blondeau: 2022 [1990] and earlier, Nebesky-Wojkowitz 1975 [1956]: 369). This explains why wool (presumably yarn) in various colors was on the shopping list. Previously, I had always assumed that Nebesky-Wojkowitz had pioneered in commissioning one of these large thread-crosses on behalf of what is now the Weltmuseum in Vienna, in or around 1951 (pictured here, see Niebuhr & Widorn 2019, p. 4). The above information suggests, however, that the Indian Museum may have been the first to display such a ritual thread-cross, of course, quite out of its religious context. We have, however, no further information on its exhibition in the museum in Calcutta, in or around 1922.
Picture courtesy of the Weltmuseum Vienna, 134460_1_29
In the Van Manen collection itself, several ritual texts deal with mdos rituals, such as Gsang bdag dregs pa ’dul byed las tshogs las dam sri’i glud mdos, which only contains 5 folios (I.KERN Br.79/M58), or A ya’i mdos kyi zin bris (I.KERN 2740/M400). This latter text is a memorandum on the construction of these cross-threads. This text was, in fact, used by Nebesky-Wojkowitz in his Oracles and Demons of Tibet (1956, but also see Ramble 2007, 709-11). There are no indications that Van Manen made any serious study of these works, but they may have been used by the anonymous monk who constructed the cross-thread structure in Calcutta. Most of these ritual texts await further study.
If the reader now suspects there is a connection between Van Manen and Nebesky-Wojkowitz, they are absolutely correct. While they were not contemporaries, they did work in the same region, Darjeeling, but perhaps more significantly, Nebesky-Wojkowitz was employed by the museum in Leiden to create the first catalogue of the Van Manen collection in 1953, and appears to have read and used quite a few of these works for his 1956 masterpiece.
Once more, the ephemera in the Van Manen archives, such as the shopping list discussed here, lead us from prosaic items, such as peas and beans, to intricate cross-thread rituals, created for the Indian Museum. My impression is that there is still a lot more disentangling to do!
P.S. Do let me know if you happen to know what ta chur ( ཏ་ཆུར) could refer to..
Bibliography
Blondeau, Anne-Marie. “Some preliminary questions regarding the mdos rituals.” European Bulletin of Himalayan Research 59 (2022 [1990]): 1-28. Nebesky-Wojkowitz, René. Oracles and Demons of Tibet. The Cult and Iconography of the Tibetan Protective Deities, De Mouton, The Hague, 1956. Niebuhr, Uwe and Verena Widorn. “‘Tibetan Treasures’ of the Weltmuseum Wien: A First Critical Approach to René de Nebesky-Wojkowitz’s Policy of Collecting.” Kunsttexte.de, Journal für Kunst-und Bildgeschichte 1 (2019): 1-11. Ramble, Charles. “The Aya: fragments of an unknown Tibetan priesthood.” Pramanakirtih. Papers Dedicated to Ernst Steinkellner on the Occasion of his 70th Birthday. Part 2. Vienna (2007): 681-718.
Thangka of the assembly of the Fifty-eight Wrathful Deities (front), distemper on cotton, 70 x 45 cm (painting), 125 x 75 cm (with frame), Central Tibet, 18th or early 19th century, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (inv. no. AK-MAK-200; on loan from KVVAK). Photo: courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.Idem (back). Photo: courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.
The first case study that I present in this series of blog posts about what’s behind a thangka may catch your attention as much for the informative blessings on its back as for its fine painting technique and elaborate iconography. It is a scroll painting of the assembly of the so-called Fifty-eight Wrathful Deities on loan to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam from the Vereeniging van Vrienden der Aziatische Kunst (Society of the Friends of Asian Art, VVAK; AK-MAK-200).
From the little we know about the collecting strategies of Johan Van Manen, it is probable that this thangka was bought from an antique shop in Calcutta or acquired in the Darjeeling region, perhaps through one of his Tibetan-speaking collaborators. This must have happened between his arrival in Northeastern India in 1916 and 1936. In 1936, Van Manen returned from Calcutta to the Netherlands, for a period of six months, to restore his health, which had been in decline the past few years, and to visit his relatives. He probably also intended to take this opportunity to raise interest in Tibetan culture among his fellow countrymen and therefore brought with him aboard the ship most of his collection of thangkas. Once in the Netherlands, he loaned twenty-one of the finest pieces of this ensemble to the VVAK, and the rest to the Museum Volkenkunde (now the Wereldmuseum Leiden).
The thangka presented here was included in the loan to the VVAK. It was immediately exhibited at the Museum voor Aziatische Kunst in Amsterdam among the other masterworks held by that society. In the few years following the death of Van Manen in 1943, the work received significant attention. Pieter Pott (1918-1989), curator of the Asian department of the Museum Volkenkunde, used it to illustrate his article on the visions of the intermediate state between death and rebirth (bar do), and Herman Visser (1890-1965), curator of the VVAK, lauded it as “one of the finest Tibetan paintings in Europe, perhaps the finest.” When the heirs of Van Manen offered to sell his collection to Dutch institutions, it was one of only two thangkas purchased by the VVAK, the other being a fine thangka painted on a black ground (nag thang).[i]
The painted cotton canvas. Photo: courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.
On the front of the painted cotton canvas, we see the assembly of the Fifty-eight Wrathful Deities (sixty, counting the main couple). Each deity, or group of deities, is identified by a caption written in gold ink. Buddha Heruka and his consort are represented in large dimensions at the centre of the composition, standing on a throne. Before them are displayed gruesome offerings appropriate for wrathful deities: a skull-cup filled with the organs of the five senses and two skulls filled with semen and blood.[ii] Above, the five other herukas and their consorts are displayed side by side in one line, and the eight gaurīs in another line below. On the sides and below the main couple, the eight piśācīs, the four gatekeepers, and the twenty-eight yoginīs abide inside seven sun halos. The piśācīs and the gatekeepers are grouped together in two of these sun halos, while the yoginīs are arranged in the remaining five corresponding to their respective association with one of the four directions or with the gates of the maṇḍala.
This divine assembly is set against a harmonious land- and skyscape influenced by Chinese painting styles. In the lower half of the composition, green meadows surround a large body of water agitated by rolling billows. There converge two streams flowing between green-blue rocky crags. In the upper half, a dark-blue sky is covered by three-lobed cumulus clouds. Above these, a pale clear sky extends uninterrupted.
The arrangement of the several groups of deities in this landscape is unusual. They are not displayed as a maṇḍala, and the deities composing them follow each other from right to left in two steps (either in two registers placed one above the other or in one register from the centre to the left and from the right to the centre), rather than clockwise or from the centre outward. A pictorial logic is apparent in the choice of the background colors for the sun halos comprising each group of deities, and probably also in the arrangement of the yoginīs of the gates at the greatest possible distance from the yoginīs of the associated directions.
Diagram of the deities’ associated Buddha families.
Background photo: courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.
Together with the assembly of the Forty-two Peaceful Deities, to whom a counterpart of this thangka may have been dedicated, the assembly of the Fifty-eight Wrathful Deities forms one of the most important iconographic themes of the Nyingma (rnying ma) school of Tibetan Buddhism, and the basis of various rituals. Different versions of these assemblies exist, which are held to have been either transmitted orally from the time of the Tibetan Empire (bka’ ma), or concealed before its collapse and later recovered as treasure-texts (gter ma). Regardless of their transmission, all of them may be considered to derive from the Secret WombTantra (Guhyagarbha Tantra).
The iconographic details of the assembly under discussion, such as the skin colours of the deities, their various types of human and animal faces, and their attributes, compare only distantly with those prescribed in the commentaries of the Secret WombTantra known to me.[iii] Their representation is closer to the related cycle of the Profound Dharma of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities of the Self-Liberated Wisdom Mind (zab chos zhi khro dgongs pa rang grol) revealed by the Nyingma treasure-recoverer Karma Lingpa (kar+ma gling pa; 1326-1386), commonly abbreviated as the Karling Zhitro (kar gling zhi khro). This cycle is well-known outside the Tibetan cultural area for the instructions on Liberation through Hearing during the Intermediate State (bar do thos grol), which it includes. Interestingly enough, Van Manen is known to have corresponded with Walter Evans-Wentz about the first English translation of these instructions, which was prepared by Lama Kazi Dawa Samdup and subsequently published by Evans-Wentz under the title The Tibetan Book of the Dead. However, the question of whether the assembly under discussion is based on the Karling Zhitro remains unresolved. Indeed, the absence of wings on the back of the herukas and the unusual trampling of two buffaloes by Buddha Heruka—a symbol of victory over death generally reserved for the deity Yamāntaka—may be indicative of another tradition.[iv]
There is little evidence on the front of the painting to establish its date and provenance precisely. In the absence of a traceable lineage of transmission for the religious practice associated with the depicted assembly, we can only resort to stylistic analysis. In spite of significant advances brought in the last decades by David Jackson and others, however, the different regional painting styles incorporating elements of Chinese landscape that developed in Tibet from the 15th century onward remain difficult to distinguish from each other.
As most thangkas produced in Tibet or its surrounding areas during the last three centuries, this one may be considered to illustrate a variety of Menri (sman ris), a style whose creation is attributed to the painter Mentangpa Menla Döndrup (sman thang pa sman bla don grub; active second half of the 15th century), or New Menri (sman risgsar ma), a later iteration of the latter style by the artist Chöying Gyatso (chos dbyings rgya mtsho; active mid-17th century). Details such as its dark blue sky, its clouds deprived of dark ‘eyes’ (sprin mig) at their centre, and the grouping of three of the five skulls adorning the diadems of the herukas suggest that it may relate more closely to the foremost painting style of Tsang (gtsang), the western region of Central Tibet, during the 18th-19th centuries, known as Tsangri (gtsang ris).[v] Others like the pointed halos of the eight gaurīs are unusual. While Pott estimated that this thangka was probably not painted before the late 18th century,[vi] I would not rule out a date earlier in the 18th century.
The painting is distinguished by its masterful execution. In addition to its well-balanced composition and the subtle harmony of its colours, the great vitality of the movements of the yoginīs and gatekeepers, and the minute attention given to the representation of their animal heads are also noteworthy. The profuse use of cold gilding for the attributes, the ornaments, and the hair or mane of the deities, their halos of light or flames, the solar disks on which they stand, and theinscriptions identifying them, the throne and the lotus seat of the main deity, and the rocky crags of the landscape, adds a lavish aspect to this thangka.
Detail of the eastern group of six yoginīs.
This impression is further enhanced by its opulent mounting of Chinese brocade. The cotton canvas is bordered by two different strips of orange and yellow fabrics imitating a halo of light (’ja’ dmar gser), which are patterned with various offerings, auspicious symbols, and dragon medallions. The top, sides, and bottom of the frame consist of a fine golden brocade ornamented with two types of large pale and blue flowers resembling chrysanthemums. Also noteworthy are the knobs ending the rod sewn at the bottom of the mounting to roll it with ease and to stabilize it when on display. Silver and gold were used to embellish each of them with elaborate geometric designs centred on a Shou sign. As in the case of most thangkas, a yellow silk cover patterned with auspicious signs protects the painting.
The reverse of the painting, richly framed by a red cloth lined with gold threads, is equally interesting as it attests to the ritual use of this thangka and bears evidence to uncover its dating and provenance.
The back of the canvas. Photo: courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.The back of the canvas (modified colours). Non-modified photo: courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.
Indeed, in addition to the usual seed syllables oṃ āḥ hūṃ written here in Vartu script at the level of the main figure’s forehead, throat, and chest to infuse it with the awakened Mind, Speech, and Body, we immediately spot two vermillion left and right handprints, occupying the upper half of the canvas, and a long Tibetan inscription with a seal impression, occupying most of its lower half. When looking carefully, two other seal impressions can be seen at the bottom of the canvas. With a little imagination, we can even discern the shape of another right-handprint in the bottom right. Colour enhancement analytical tools, fortunately, help to get a clearer picture of these faded traces– it reveals a corresponding left-handprint at the bottom left.
Before carrying out further analysis, we may already suspect from the balanced composition formed by the upper pair of handprints, the Tibetan inscription, and the seal impression immediately below it that these are the marks of a single blessing received by the patron of the thangka from an eminent Buddhist master. The lower pair of handprints, each marked by a seal different from the one used above, most likely results from another blessing. If we consider their position on the canvas, we may further speculate that, despite their more faded condition, these latter marks were applied at a later stage than those above them, where space was left.
The Tibetan inscription written at the centre of the canvas in dbu med script is especially noteworthy. As in many instances, it is a consecration prayer for the sake of the patron of the painting. It starts with the invocation mantra of the fifty-eight wrathful deities and ends with another one requesting that they remain in this receptacle:
The consecratory inscription by Gyurme Dechen Dorje.
Photo: courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.
{1} ōṃ ru lu ru lu hūṃ b+hyo hūṃ
{2} ~/ gdod nas lhun grub rang rig bde chen rtsal /
zhal phyag mtshan ma’i da lar le(gs) shar te /
{3} chos nyid lam gyi ded dpon che ba’i mchog /
lnga bcu rtsa brgyad rten la ye shes byin /
dbob te dad dang {4} dung ba’i snying stobs kyis /
phyag ’tshal mchod pa’i ri mor brtson pa dag /
bar do’i ’jigs skrag {5} me chen ltar ’bar dus /
bde chen bdud rtsi’i char gyis sim par mdzod /
oṃ su pra ti STha ba+dzra ye swā hā /
{6} ’gyur med bde chen rdo rjes so /
Oṃ ru lu ru lu hūṃ bhyo hūṃ
The play of great bliss, reflexive awareness, primordially and spontaneously present,
[Is here] well arisen in the [maṇ]ḍala of [divine] faces, hands, and emblems:
May the blessings of gnosis descend into this receptacle of the Fifty-eight [Wrathful Deities],
With Chemchok Heruka as their leader on the path of reality,
So that those who strive in the image of prostration and worship
With the heartfelt force of faith and devotion
Be satisfied with the rain of the elixir of great bliss
When the terrors of the Bardo blaze like a conflagration.
Put it non-Tantric terms, this prayer praises the painting as an appropriate, consecrated receptacle of the assembly of the fifty-eight wrathful deities, and wishes that, thanks to commissioning it and making offerings to it, its patron may be at peace during the intermediate state between death and rebirth.
Gyurme Dechen Dorje, whose name ends the prayer, must have composed it for the consecration of the painting, before applying his hands smeared with vermillion on it as an additional blessing. The impression of his seal below the inscription, a feature more often found at the end of official documents than on the reverse of thangkas, may be considered in this case to signal the completion of the consecration ritual and to authenticate it.
Identifying Gyurme Dechen Dorje is arguably the key to uncovering the provenance and dating of this thangka. As is also evident from the use of red ink for his seal impression,[viii] he must have been an eminent Buddhist master of his time. Unfortunately, I was not able to pinpoint a single master of that name active in the 18th or first half of the 19th century, so far. From among the masters who bear similar names around that time, foremost is Orgyen Terdak Lingpa Gyurme Dorje (o rgyan gter bdag gling pa ’gyur med rdo rje; 1646-1714), the founder of Mindröling (smin grol gling), an important Nyingma monastery in Central Tibet. Others figure among his successors at Mindröling Monastery, and the Mind and Speech incarnations of the Nyingma treasure-discoverer Pema Lingpa (pad+ma gling pa; 1450-1521) at Lhalung Monastery (lha lung dgon). It is well possible, however, that, in contrast with the latter masters, the figure we are trying to uncover was not publicly known as Gyurme Dechen Dorje but had received this name in the context of a tantric initiation to a practice such as those centred on the assemblies of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities.
The name of Gyurme Dechen Dorje is not the only potential clue to identify him. His handprints—those of an adult man—are distinct enough to be used in the future for this purpose, provided that other, more informative thangkas also blessed with the handprints of this master can be located.
The left handprint of Gyurme Dechen Dorje.
What is more, the design of his seal is recognizable as a crossed-vajra with five-pronged endings marked with what appears to be a letter sa at its centre. It strongly recalls the seals used by the enthroned masters of the Sakya school (sa skya khri ’dzin) over the 18th-20th centuries, for instance, on a document of the Berlin State Library. Despite the great efforts furnished by Dieter Schuh and other scholars toward a systematic presentation of seal impressions, I could not find any exact comparison for it so far, leaving some doubt as to whether Gyurme Dechen Dorje was a Sakya hierarch.
The seal impression of Gyurme Dechen Dorje.The impressions of two different seals of the head master of the Sakya school on document Hs. or. 6170 of Berlin State Library. Photo: courtesy of the Berlin State Library.
As for the faded handprints and seal impressions from another Buddhist master at the bottom of the canvas, they offer more limited evidence for provenance research. The design of the seal used to mark the handprints, however, is worth illustrating and describing here for future reference. Of quatrefoil shape, it appears to feature within a square made of ornamental scrollwork on the sides of which are interlacing knot patterns a central swirl (dga’ ’khyil). This swirl may allude to the letter sa, as in the cases of some seal impressions of the enthroned masters of the Sa skya school.
The left handprint and seal impression of the second master.The left handprint and seal impression of the second master (modified colours).
Thangkas bearing on their backs as many marks of blessings are extremely rare, and this one would have therefore been all the more precious and difficult to part with for its Tibetan owner. On that matter, Roerich notes:
“Those who have collected Tibetan paintings know how difficult it is to obtain good specimens. A Tibetan will never part with a thaṅ-ka, especially if it is consecrated by some high lama and has the imprint of the lama’s hand on its reverse side. […] To induce a Tibetan to sell a painting to non-Buddhists or, as they are called in Tibetan language, ‘outsiders’ (Tib. phyi-rol-pa, pron. či-rol-pa, is almost a hopeless task. Most of the paintings found in European public and private collections have been thrown on the market as the result of recent wars and upheavals in Tibet, which brought the destruction of several lamaseries and the ruin of rich families, which were in possession of numerous religious paintings.”[ix]
In this context, researching the provenance of such blessed thangkas is all the more important. Fortunately, in our case, the marks of the blessings received by the thangka provide a wealth of information with the potential to secure its provenance and to set landmarks for the study of similar artworks lacking such information. Further research is needed to confirm its probable association with the Sa skya school.
[i] A paper on the thangkas of the collection loaned to the VVAK will be published in the next issue of the journal Aziatische Kunst.
[ii] On their symbolism, see Robert Beer, The Encyclopedia of Tibetan Symbols and Motifs, 1st ed. (Shambhala, 1999), 264.
[iii] For a comparison of the assemblies of the Secret WombTantra, the Karling Zhitro, and other related traditions, see Henk Blezer, Kar Gling Zhi Khro: A Tantric Buddhist Concept, CNWS Publications, vol. 56 (Research School CNWS, School of Asian, African, and Amerindian Studies, 1997).
[iv] I am indebted to Matthew Kapstein for notifying me of this unusual detail. As suggested to me by Lopön Dorji Gyaltsen (Loden Foundation), it could also be considered as a mistaken interpretation of the Karling Zhitro by the artist:
“The liturgical text includes a line (byol song gtso bo rin chen brag / pad+ma nyi steng gsal bar bsgom /), which indicates that the herukas stand upon animals, precious gems, cliffs, lotus, and the sun. Furthermore, one of the commentaries elaborates on this by identifying the animals specifically as khyu mchog, ma he, gzig, stag, dom, and so on. It also explains how the heruka wrathful deities stand upon particular thrones depending on their direction—associating various animals, precious objects, or seats with different herukas. Importantly, the commentary clarifies that these animals are not meant to be zhabs mnan (trampled underfoot), but rather form part of the throne or pedestal.
This suggests that while some iconographic trends later began depicting animals as zhabs mnan, this was not the intended convention in the original liturgical sources. Based on this, it seems likely that the depiction of the oxen as zhabs mnan in this thangka is a later iconographic error, though it still situates the image firmly within the Kar gling zhi khro tradition in terms of overall structure and elements.”
[v] See David Jackson, The Place of Provenance: Regional Styles in Tibetan Painting [Exhibition, New York, Rubin Museum of Art, from October 2, 2012 to March 25, 2013], Masterworks of Tibetan Painting Series 4 (Rubin Museum of Art, 2012).
[vi] Pieter H. Pott, ‘De “Ars moriendi” van Tibet’, Phœnix: maandschrift voor beeldende kunsten 1, no. 9 (1946): 8.
[vii] This translation was kindly provided by Matthew Kapstein.
[viii] I am indebted to Anna Schneider for this information as well as for rich conversations on seal impressions.
[ix] George Roerich, Tibetan Paintings (P. Geuthner, 1925), 20.
Editor’s introduction This blog is written by the project’s guest author and honorary member, Peter Richardus, who worked with parts of the Van Manen Collection for many years. In the blog, he briefly considers what has been written about the Ladakhi monk and scholar, Kachen Yeshe Dondrup, and highlights some interesting life events. Once one of Van Manen’s research assistants, the eminent monk went on to become the very first abbot of Tashi Lhunpo in India. As it stands, his Tibetan language autobiography has not yet been translated. We intend to produce an annotated translation during the course of the VAN MANEN project (BKJ)
In around 1937, Johan Van Manen requested the learned monk Yeshe Dondrup (Bka’ chen Ye shes don grub) to write his autobiography, which was contemporaneously translated into English. It was acquired as part of the Johan Van Manen collection by the National Museum of Ethnology in Leiden in 1948 (RV-2739-194a and b).
The English translation inspired me to write a brief article, which was published in 1992.1 This autobiography reveals how Yeshe Dondrup would inform the lay nobility that drinking alcohol, smoking, and eating meat were sinful. He also recounts how he performed rituals to cure the ill and distributed charms to enable stable marriages. Referring to a folktale with a female witch (’ba’ mo) and a monk as protagonists, he highlights the superiority of Tibetan Buddhism over malevolent powers. Added is also a brief but interesting comment on so-called “devil dances” (’cham).
We further read how Yeshe Dondrup zealously studies through the night, trying to resolve unclear doctrinal quandaries. Once forced to punish a pupil who had fallen asleep in class, he realises that, according to Buddhist doctrines, karmic retribution was inevitable. On one occasion, several laymen in whose company Yeshe Dondrup is travelling decide to go on a hunting party. As a true Buddhist, he feels great pity for the local wildlife and prays for the animals’ welfare. When the hunters return empty-handed, he informs them that Śākyamuni Buddha considers killing to be sinful.
In addition, the Ladakhi scholar includes a lucid explanation of quite remarkable cryptographic methods referred to as ang yig and tsha yig, among others.
Above the Tibetan version (RV-2739-194a) and below, the way Richardus (1992, 207) deciphered the material based on the English version (RV-2739-194b). Note how the actual contents of the cipher is in praise of Johan Van Manen.
Yeshe Dondrup’s life story provides us with a rich personal account as well as information on numerous Himalayan regional, societal, and religious issues. He wrote this account when he was 39 years old, but he went on to have a long and eventful life. Ladakhi scholar Tashi Rabgyas, in what is presumably the first homage to the monk in the English language, describes his deceased friend as a “person of great understanding”, a “great treasure of knowledge,” and a “Friend of Righteousness”. In 1999, the historian Nawang Tsering Shakspo writes:
Among the writers of modern Tibetan literature, Khenpo Ye shes Don grub is a luminary figure. Born at the village of Stok near Leh, he went to Tibet at the age of eight for monastic training at Tashi Lhunpo monastic institution where he obtained Kachen, the highest degree in Buddhist metaphysics. … At the age of twenty seven, the Kachen returned from Tibet to his native land. On his way back, he stopped at Kalimpong, exchanged views with learned Tibetans there, and then visited Calcutta to exchange views with Tibetologists at the Asiatic Society of Bengal. Thus he came into contact with the Secretary of the Society, M.A.J. van Manen, the Dutch Tibetologist, who was particularly impressed by his scholarship in Tibetan grammar. On van Manen’s suggestion the Kachen wrote a short biography of himself … He composed several poems on current topics and wrote articles, stories, plays and notes on the history and culture of Ladakh. In recognition of his literary works, the Jammu and Kashmir, Academy of art, culture and languages presented to him its prestigious award, the “Robe of Honour”. … Ye shes Don grub passed his last five years at Bylakuppe, South India, as the first Khenpo of the newly established Tashi Lhunpo monastic institution.2
Shakspo later published another work on Yeshe Dondrup (first in Tibetan and then in English), in which he used the Tibetan version of the autobiography from the Van Manen Collection.3 The scholar informs us that auspicious signs accompanied his birth, something otherwise absent from the monk’s initial life story:
… Ye-shes Don-grup had remained in his mother’s womb for a year before he was born. However, his mother had a painless delivery. The family cow also gave a birth to a calf at the same time, promising good nourishment for the young baby. Sparks also flew from the family stove. (p. IX)
In a third article by Shakspo we learn of Yeshe Dondrup being (well) acquainted with the 18th and 19th Kushok Bakula Rinpoche; the 9th Panchen Lama, the 13th and 14th Dalai Lama, the 16th Karmapa, the Queen of Sikkim, Gyalyum Kunzang Dechen Tsomo Namgyal (1906-1987), as well as Friedrich E. Peter (d. 1945), Herrnhutian Bishop in Ladakh, the famed Ladakhi Christian historian Joseph Gergan (1878-1946) who translated the Bible into Tibetan, and Babu Tharchin of the Melong Press in Kalimpong.4
This is the volume of Shiraza (shes rab zom) that contains Yeshe Dondrup’s Tibetan language autobiography as commissioned by Van Manen. The photo is of the Ladakhi master and an exact copy was given to Peter Richardus by Ronald Poelmeijer (1946-1993), who acquired it during a trip to Ladakh.
“The Life and Work of Ye shes Don grub (1897-1980),” in Tibetan Studies, Proceedings of the 5th Seminar of the International of Tibetan Studies, Narita, 1992, pp. 203-207. ↩︎
In Memoriam entitled “dGe-bShes Yeshes Don Grub (Yeshes Ton dub)”. Shi ra za (shes rab zom), vol. 2, No. 2, 1980-1981, pp. 53-67. ↩︎
“The Life and Times of Geshe Ye shes Don-grup – an appraisal”. Shi ra za (shes rab zom), vol. 26, No. 3-4, 2004-2005, pp. VII-XXXII. ↩︎
“The life and times of Geshe Ye-shes-don-grup”, Ladakhi Histories Local and Regional Perspectives (ed. John Bray), Brill: Leiden, 2005, pp. 335-352. https://epdf.pub/ladakhi-histories-local-and-regional-perspectives-brills-tibetan-studies-library.html. For a wealth of further details, see N.T. Shakspo, “Geshe Ye-shes Don-grup” in: A Cultural History of Ladakh (ed. K. Gardner), The Centre for Research on Ladakh, The Solitarian, Sabu-Leh, 2010 (repr. 2012; 2014,) pp. 63-81. ↩︎
Tibetan Buddhist scroll-paintings, or thang kas, are traditionally focused on the images of deities painted on higher-than-wide, rectangular strips of cotton, which are then framed with fabrics that leave their reverse visible. This first of a series of blog post aims at introducing what literally lies behind a thang ka.
When thang kas are displayed in their cultural context, hung on the walls or pillars of a temple or private shrine room, one can rarely observe their backs. The same holds true in Western museums, where countless thang kas have ended up during the 20th century. In these institutions, worn-out frames, or thang mtha’, were often removed or hidden by folding them inward for aesthetic reasons, and the paintings accommodated in Western-style frames. In some cases, fragile paintings were further glued on stronger supports using the marouflage technique.
For these practical reasons as well as aesthetic ones, the reverse (and frames) of thang kas have not received as much interest as they deserve. A notable exception is the exhibition The Flip Side, curated by Christian Luczanits at the Rubin Museum of Art, which exhibited both sides of a selection of thang kas, statues, and initiation cards (tsakli) with elaborate backs. You can have a look at the exhibition display here.
The reverse of thang kas can bear multiple inscriptions and marks. Some were made by their painters, such as the seed syllables oṃ āḥ hūṃ often inscribed to infuse the painted figures with the enlightened Mind, Speech, and Body before their consecration by a Buddhist master. Others such as aspirational prayers and handprints could be added as blessings by eminent masters approached by the owners of the paintings. Thang kas that were conceived as a set were also often inscribed on their fronts, backs, or frames with the positions in which they should be placed when displayed together.
This does not mean that thang kas that do not bear any of these marks were not created or used in a traditional context. To be sure, a significant number of the thang kas that I have documented in such context do not bear such marks. Conversely, we may expect Tourist and forged art to bear such marks for the sake of matching the expectations of potential buyers.
In the Van Manen collection, most thang kas have fortunately kept their original frames and their reverse is thus visible. In this series of blog posts, I hope to explore those illustrated above as well as others. From pasted letters of a Dalai Lama to inventory post-it notes by an assistant of Johan Van Manen, they feature on their backs documents, inscriptions, and marks of great interest for provenance research.
A summary of “Minor Tibetan Texts: the Song of the Eastern Snow Mountain”
A Lexicographical Treatment of a Tibetan Language Text by Johan Van Manen
van Manen, Johan. Minor Tibetan Texts: The Song of the Eastern Snow-Mountain. Bibliotheca Indica, New Series 1426. Calcutta: Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1919.
This is the first in a series of blog entries in which we discuss Johan Van Manen’s writings.
This one was written by Samten Yeshi, with additions by Berthe Jansen
Johan van Manen’s (1877-1943) Minor Tibetan Texts: The Song of the Eastern Snow Mountain provides a lexicographical treatment of the Tibetan language in Gsung mgur shar gangs ri ma, a poetic religious verse by Dge ’dun grub (1391-1474), a prominent Dge lugs pa scholar and the first Dalai Lama. It was published in a small booklet form by the Asiatic Society of Bengal in their Bibliotheca Indica: A Collection of Oriental Works in 1919.
In this 86-page work, Van Manen advocates for a precise philological and lexicographical analysis of the Tibetan language – the “inglorious and humdrum drudging away at small texts with scrupulous attention to the smallest detail” (p. iv) – which he considers more crucial for the future of Tibetan scholarship than simply producing a generic translation. This work clearly shows his lexicographical approach to the Tibetan language in the text, highlighting and contrasting alternative glosses to those found in extant dictionaries.
Although not always accurate, he presents all the words and phrases he encounters, while investigating particular terms that occur in the original Tibetan texts and providing significant contextual information. An example of this is his treatment of the term mkha’ ’gro ma (ḍākinī) which he translates as “sky goer” (p. 77). He presents various other terms such as mi ma yin (not human); chos rje, which according to him is a term used in Lhasa and other urban areas to indicate “oracle” and “shaman” (in today’s Tibetan this term is mostly obsolete); dpa’ bo as a term used in Darjeeling for male and rnyal ’byor ma for female shamans and oracles, besides other terms and narratives he stumbled upon while examining the word mkha’ ’gro ma.
Van Manen makes use of his Tibetan assistants to gloss certain terms but he also notes the contextual information they provide, such as the fact that Tashi Lhunpo monks were supposed to learn this work by heart (p. 3). He even asserts that most of the lexicographical work “can only be suitably undertaken on the spot in consultation with educated, intelligent Tibetans, and not in European closets.” (p. 6) He subsequently names his assistants, Skarma Bsam Gtan Paul (also spelled Karma Sumdhon Paul) and P’un Tsh’ogs Lung Rtogs (phun tshogs lung rtogs), hailing from Ghoom and Lhasa respectively. He describes them as intelligent, helpful, and names them his “teachers” (p. 13) and elsewhere his “informants” (p. 73).
The integration of historical, cultural, and ethnographic backgrounds next to the literary details given to clarify the glosses of Tibetan terms in this work is fascinating. It displays his scrupulous – and unusual – approach to the lexicographical treatment of the Tibetan language.
Van Manen’s attempt at a thorough lexicographical treatment of this “Song of the Eastern Mountains”, thus includes a number of Tibetan colloquial idioms, accounts, and proverbs that he collected orally, and that he finds lacking in the dictionaries available to him. While this makes the work seem to go off on a tangeant at times, the work remains quite a valuable contribution due to his, for the time, divergent notions regarding the study of Tibetan textual materials. The work can be downloaded and read here.
Showing unwavering faith towards Buddha’s teachings,
A benefactor, Most excellent, Mr. [Van] Manen:
May the Great Sahib’s well-being, merits, wealth,
And fame all increase like the waxing moon, and
Continue to prosper through this prayer:
The buddhas and bodhisattvas of the ten directions
Grant a speedy meeting without any obstacles;
The auspicious aspirational prayer,
In praise of thy name by Zungs Ye Wang.
On Saturday, the 13th of the 16th Rabjung of
the Fire Female Rabbit Year [1927],
I present this immaculate white scarf to your hand. Śubha [Wishes].
I stumbled upon this uncatalogued page while reading Püntsok Lungtok’s (phun tshogs lung rtogs) account of his trip to India with Van Manen (Bod yul gangs can lha ldan du sdod pa drung yig phul [sic] tshogs lung rtogs kyis sbyin bdag mi rje ma nen sa heb dang mnyam du rgya gar du bskyod pa’i lo rgyus bris pa dge) in the Special Collections Reading Room here at the Leiden University Library. After scanning the note, I soon realized how beautifully it was written in Tibetan and it speaks to Van Manen’s relations with his associates, how they regarded him and, most importantly, wrote about him in Tibetan.
Ahead of His Time
In the 1920s there weren’t that many Europeans studying Tibetan Buddhism, language and culture. But Van Manen was an exception. He not only bought and collected Tibetan Buddhist texts, arts, and artifacts, but immersed himself in the study of the religion, language (both classical and colloquial), and culture of Tibet. He was particularly praised for his devotion to Buddhism and described as “someone who generates great faith in Buddha’s teaching (thub pa’i bstan par shin tu dad bgyid pa).” He was, in a way, more Buddhist than many of the Tibetans around him at the time, recounts Püntsok Lungtok.[1] Van Manen was therefore endearingly addressed in Tibetan as sbyin pa’i bdag po (meaning a great benefactor or patron), mi rjesahib (master sahib), sa heb chen po (great sahib) indicating the deep respect and admiration held for him.
All this makes one wonder, how many Europeans did what Van Manen did at the turn of the last century? The Tibetan and Himalayan people around Van Manen certainly appreciated his research methods. The fact that somebody deeply cared about their culture seems to have meant a lot to these people. They saw him as different.
The versified good wishes to the Dutchman was written by Yéshé Wanggyel (ye shes dbang rgyal, a Tibetan secretary hired by Van Manen to work alongside Karma Samten Paul (skar ma bsam gtan pa’u lu, aka Karma Babu). The verse was written on the 16th Rabjung, in the year of the fire female rabbit [1927] on a Saturday the 13th. The month in which the note was written is not specified, nor is it clear whether the date is according to the Tibetan or Western calendar.
The identity of the author remained a puzzle to us until Trin Chen’s (Chen Zhicun, Van Manen’s Chinese secretary) Tibetan language autobiography provided more information about “Ye dbang.” It was revealed that the author’s full name is Yes shes dbang rgyal, with “Ye dbang” being a contraction of his name.[2] The meaning of the word zungs is still unclear.
The year in which this poem was written, 1927, was an uneventful year for Van Manen in terms of his scholarly output, as he had to return to the Netherlands for six months for medical reasons.[3] This sheds light on the context in which the note was written. Trin Chen narrates that Karma Samten Paul and Yéshé Wanggyel delivered a Tibetan verse at Van Manen’s send-off party at the Asiatic Society of Bengal in Calcutta. The gathering was attended by the Society’ staff, Van Manen’s Tibetan and Chinese secretaries (munshis) (Karma Samten Paul, Yéshé Wanggyel, and Trin Chen), Indian pundits, Muslim clerics, and Bengali officials (babus). All of them spoke in praises and prayers in their respective languages.[4] While we do not have direct evidence of what others wrote for the occasion, the Tibetan verse written and delivered by Yéshé Wanggyel survived, and now on your screen after almost a century of obscurity!
[1] Peter Richardus (1998, p. 47). Tibetan Lives: Three Himalayan Autobiographies. Curzon.
[2] Trin Chen’s Tibetan language autobiography. Trin Chen’s Namthar in Uchen (RV-2739-191), Chapter 7, p. 462. Unpublished manuscript. Wereldmuseum Leiden.
[3] Richardus, P. (1989, p. 43). The Dutch Orientalist Johan van Manen: His Life and Work. Kern Institute.
[4] Trin Chen, Chapter 6, 738-740. See Richardus (1989, p. 43).
*** Postscript
In terms of the structure and form of the verse, it was written stylistically closer to the classical Tibetan with nine syllables per line – I am even tempted to say this is a 14-line Tibetan sonnet dedicated to Van Manen! Since the document is copied by hand, there may have been a few scribal errors in the copy of the text: in line nine, the word mchog (supreme) should have been phyogs (direction), and the genitive particle gyi should have been agentive kyis; in line eleven, the word stod (upper) should be bstod (praise).
Based on Trin Chen’s Tibetan language autobiography, Yéshé Wanggyel was a monk from Ghoom monastery in Darjeeling.[5] He was married and had a young son. He was hired by Van Manen as a replacement for previous copyist Sangyé (sangs rgyas) from Dromo (Chumbi Valley), who fell ill in the Calcutta heat and had to return to Sikkim. Sangyé was previously hired to fill in for Van Manen’s first Tibetan tutor and secretary Püntsok Lungtok who died of tuberculosis in Calcutta in 1926. These individual lives offer a rare glimpse of the educated, but non-elite, Tibetans and Chinese who made their way to the Indian metropolis in the early twentieth century. For this project, the information these works provide on their lives and their interactions with Europeans is crucial.
How can we learn from a collection of Himalayan texts and artefacts, collected a hundred years ago? What stories do the individual pieces tell us? How can we make sense of such a collection as a whole? This blog is about some of the questions we ask in the Van Manen project.
Unfinished work
It is perhaps the dread of every scholar: to die with all manner of papers, articles, and books – many of which the deadline had passed long before death itself – unfinished and unpublished. Worse still may be the mess a dead academic leaves behind. Who is equipped to sort it out?
