Shaligram:

Sacred Stones, Ritual Practice, and the Politics of Mobility in Nepal

A Dissertation

Presented to

The Faculty of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences
Brandeis University

Department of Anthropology

Dr. Janet McIntosh, Advisor

In Partial Fulfillment
of the Requirements for the Degree
Doctor of Philosophy

by

Holly Walters

August 2018

The signed version of this form is on file in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences.


This dissertation, directed and approved by Holly Walters’s Committee, has been

accepted and approved by the Faculty of Brandeis University in partial fulfillment of the

requirements for the degree of:

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY


Eric Chasalow, Dean
Graduate School of Arts and Sciences


Dissertation Committee:

Dr. Janet McIntosh, Anthropology
Dr. Sarah Lamb, Anthropology
Dr. Ellen Schattschneider, Anthropology
Dr. Frank Korom, Dept. of Religion, Boston University








































Copyright by
Holly Walters

2018
 Acknowledgements

My research for this dissertation began in 2012, when I first arrived in India on a midnight

flight to Kolkata with little more than a small department grant and a bus ticket to Nabadwip. Since

then, I have accrued many debts. First, my thanks go to the many pilgrims and devotees who took

the time and interest to involve themselves in this work. Without their patience, careful correction,

and suggestions for other avenues of inquiry, my research in both India and Nepal would not have

been possible. In India, I owe a debt of gratitude to Rama Vigraha Das and his wife Muralipriya,

without whom I would never have been introduced to Shaligram stones or their meanings. Those

afternoons of fresh coconuts and conversation formed the very first foundations of what is written

here and their continued help from afar has only made the narrative and experiences richer.

Additionally, I wish to express my gratitude to Mahalakshmi devadasi and Krishnalaulya devadasi,

who took me under their care as I wandered the villages of West Bengal and saw to it that I became

more family member than researcher.

In Nepal, I offer sincere thanks to Kul Bahadur Gurung, whose knowledge of and connections

among travel companies and local travel guides ensured that an ethnography of mobility remained

feasible, even when monsoons, landslides, and high altitudes seemed to suggest otherwise. While

my research many have informed him as much as it informed me when it came to religious practices

in Nepal, there is simply no substitution for the in-depth knowledge of mobility and concern for

successful travel out in the field he brought to this project. Additionally, no project such as this

would have succeeded if not for the guidance and assistance of Dil Gurung, who brought me to

Mustang and back again more than once and each time in one piece. Without his assistance and

guidance in and around the villages of the Muktinath Valley and high above in the fossil beds of the

Annapurna mountain range, this research would never have benefitted from the perspectives of
iv
Hindu, Buddhist, and Bonpo peoples in the way that it has. In Kathmandu, I also owe an additional

debt of gratitude to Ankit and Keshav Dulal, whose knowledge of Shaligram practices and the

meanings of sacred stones is exceeded by only a few. Their hospitality and sincerity is truly a

testament to the very best that Nepal can offer. Finally, my thanks go to Dinesh and Renuka Thapa,

who took me into their home for the better part of a year, sat me at their dinner table each night,

and called me sister.

Deep thanks are also due to the Brandeis-India Initiative for their early support and to

Brandeis’ Department of Anthropology for being my unrelenting touchstone and home base while

researching and writing this dissertation. My three dissertation committee members, Janet

McIntosh, Ellen Schattschneider, and Sarah Lamb, guided this work both with care for their student

and with keen minds in the theoretical and practical approaches of anthropology. Professor Frank

Salomon of the University of Wisconsin-Madison was the first to begin my training in the

anthropology of religion, but it has been Dr. McIntosh, Dr. Schattschneider, and Dr. Lamb whose

pointed questions and profound theoretical mastery that has shaped the contours of this work.

Because this project crossed a number of disciplinary boundaries, I must express my thanks

to both Jen Bauer of the University of Tennessee and to Christian Klug of the University of Zurich in

Switzerland for their kind assistance in fielding all of my paleontological questions. Without their

patience and assistance in identifying the ammonite species represented in this project as well as

taking the time to explain many of the important geological processes necessary for their formation,

I would not have been able to join the discourses of science and the discourses of religion together

in the ways that I have. I may have been a dinosaur enthusiast a child, but their expertise has had

value beyond measure.

v
 My gratitude to the Mellon-Sachar Foundation for the initial funding that took this project

from India to the high Himalayas of Nepal in 2015 and also to the Fulbright Commission, who

funded the entirety of the final year of research both in Kathmandu and all across Mustang from

2016 to 2017. Yamal Rajbhandary and Mily Pradhan provided invaluable support throughout the

process and I thank them for their faith in this research and genuine interest in its outcomes.

Finally, my thanks to the many loved ones who supported the research, writing, and

completion of this dissertation. Without their patience and sacrifice, such an endeavor would never

have been possible. Thank you to my husband, Christopher, for always believing I could do it even

when I doubted it over late night tea and endless revisions. Thank you to my parents and extended

family, Patricia Buske, “Porky” Buske, Tom and Shari Harsdorf who followed my travels and

tribulations as closely as distance would allow. And for inspiring me to great learning as a child and

for continuing to celebrate my successes with exuberance usually reserved for visiting dignitaries,

my last and sincerest thank you to my grandmother, Frieda Wiech, who passed away just one week

after I arrived in Nepal in 2016. Though she knew her final days had come and I was offering to turn

around and return home immediately, she would have none of it. I was exactly where she wanted

me to be.

Note on Transliteration

While many books and articles transcribe words from Hindi, Nepali, Tibetan, and Sanskrit

using standard diacritical conventions (darśan, purāṇa), I have chosen to transliterate personal

names (Naga Baba, Shankaracarya), referents (Sri, Mataji), deity names (Shiva, Vishnu), place names

(Muktinath, Pashupatinath, Kathmandu), and the names of scriptural texts along with Sanskrit,

Hindi, or Nepali language source materials (Skanda Purana, Devibhagavata) into standard English.

vi
Due to both their multiple spelling variations across a number of linguistic fields and their

inconsistent representation in quoted texts, my choice to render these words using standard English

conventions is intended for both consistency and reader clarity.

Additionally, words that have become incorporated into standard English usage (Shaligram,

ashram) have been neither italicized nor diacriticized, except when their use in the original language

may differ slightly in meaning or context from the English usage (śālagrāma). Finally, my overall

choice to use “Shaligram” in general throughout this work is also due to the fact that “Shaligram”

itself has a variety of different spellings and pronunciations in different areas of South Asia. For

example, sāligrāma (dental) is the typical pronunciation of the term among devotees throughout

South India and to some degree in North India and Nepal, while other sources insist on the

pronunciation as śālagrāma (palatal) as more correct and referential to the original Sanskrit

pronunciation. But since “Shaligram” is generally recognizable by all individuals referenced in this

work, it will be the standard term used herein.

vii
 ABSTRACT


Shaligram: Sacred Stone, Ritual Practice, and the Politics of Mobility in Nepal


A dissertation presented to the Faculty of the
Graduate School of Arts and Sciences of Brandeis University
Waltham, Massachusetts

By Holly Walters


For more than two thousand years, the veneration of sacred fossil ammonites (an extinct

type of cephalopod), called Shaligram Shila, has been an integral part of Hindu ritual practice

throughout South Asia. Originating from a single remote region of Himalayan Nepal, in the Kali

Gandaki River Valley of Mustang, ritual use of these stones today has become a significant focus of

pilgrimage, religious co-participation, and exchange between Nepal and India and among the global

Hindu Diaspora. Viewed primarily as natural manifestations of the Hindu god Vishnu, Shaligrams are

inherently sacred. For this reason, they require no rites of consecration or invocation as presiding

deities over the household, the family, and the community. But at their core, Shaligrams are both

manifest deities and divine movement incarnate, either through a geologically and mythologically

formative journey down the sacred river or transnationally in the hands of devout pilgrims. Pouring

out into the river each year following the summer melt high in the mountains, Shaligrams are

gathered up by pilgrims, tourists, and merchants alike. On their way out of the mountains, they

travel through forests and cities, into temples and homes, across great expanses of time and space;

kept in perpetual motion by indescribable forces of nature and by complex networks of pilgrimage

and kinship.

viii
 In this ethnography, Shaligram mobility demonstrates the ways in which material, spiritual,

social, and digital worlds are deeply intertwined. From the pilgrimage routes required to obtain

Shaligrams to their intimate social ties within community and kinship networks of reciprocity and

exchange, Shaligrams blur the lines between stones and bodies. Through practitioners’ radically

different ways of viewing personhood and agency, Shaligrams become both fossil and deity in such

a way that blends discourses of science and religion into equal parts geology, paleontology, history,

spirituality, and mythology. As post-colonial Shaligram revival expands into online forums,

practitioners also leverage digital technologies as methods for decolonizing and expanding ritual

practices and for increasing community participation in a time of political instability and out-

migration. By offering an intimate, ethnographically rich portrait of the multiple significances of

Shaligrams, this dissertation demonstrates how new religious developments in the lives of

Shaligram devotees in South Asia shape them into a distinctive, alternative, society which relies not

on any single place or time to define them but on the inclusion of gods, fossils, and ancestors into a

global community.

ix
for my husband, Chris, the incomparable householder

x
“Om Namo Bhagavathey Vishnavey Sri Salagrama
Nivasiney – Sarva Bheesta Bhalapradhaya
Sakala Thuridha Nivarine Salagrama Swahah! “

~Salagrama mula mantra (From Shaligram Mahimai by Murali Battar)

(I pray that the LORD Sriman Mahavishnu, who is residing inside the Salagrama, which
provides all wishes, fulfills all desires, quickly answer all our prayers)

xi
 Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Living Fossils .............................................................................................................................2

Chapter 2 – Beginning of a Journey ............................................................................................................37

Chapter 3 – Picked Up Pieces .................................................................................................................... 86

Chapter 4 – A Mirror to Our Being ...........................................................................................................137

Chapter 5 – A Bridge to Everywhere .........................................................................................................171

Chapter 6 – Turning to Stone ................................................................................................................... 209

Chapter 7 – The River Road ......................................................................................................................257

Chapter 8 – Ashes and Immortality ...........................................................................................................306

Chapter 9 – The Social Life of Stones .......................................................................................................332

Appendix 1 – Identifying and Interpreting Shaligrams ...............................................................................374

Appendix 2 – Shaligram Puja ....................................................................................................................408

Appendix 3 – Popular Shastric and Puranic References ............................................................................418

Bibliography ..............................................................................................................................................423

xii
 Maps and Figures

Fig. 1 - Nepal

Fig. 2 – Mustang District, Nepal

xiii
Fig. 3 - The Annapurna Mountain Circuit

xiv
Fig. 4 – Upper Mustang showing the Damodar Kund

xv
1

Chapter 1
Living Fossils
Impressions on a Once and Future World

“Full fathom five thy father lies:

Of his bones are coral made:
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.”
–Shakespeare, The Tempest

A Hindu pilgrim, recently arrived from South India, stood anxiously next to a bus stand

in Mustang, Nepal. "I'm going to burn my passport,” he said. “I'm going to destroy all my

documents and go to Damodar. I came here (on pilgrimage) to find Shaligram and I will find

Shaligram. You can't put borders on sacred land." I was taken aback. The Damodar Kund, a

glacial lake several days’ walk far to the north, lay beyond the boundary between Upper Mustang

and Lower Mustang, and without special permits and astronomical fees, foreigners were not

allowed to cross into the politically contentious zone between Chinese-occupied Tibet and

Himalayan Nepal. But this was not the first time I would encounter these sentiments. More than

once a Hindu or Buddhist pilgrim would explain how they might hide their passports in a

mountain crevasse, strip off their clothes and travel as mute hermits (so that their accents would

not give them away) and steal across the border late at night or in an area where there were no

roads for government jeeps to travel. But in every case, the reasoning was the same: they had

come in search of sacred stones and there was no border that could stop them. This was

Shaligram pilgrimage, and where the Shaligram goes, so do the people.

2
 For more than two thousand years, the veneration of sacred fossil ammonite stones,

called Shaligram Shila (or alternatively, sāligrāma śila or śālagrāma śila),1 has been an integral

part of Hindu ritual practice throughout Nepal and the Indian subcontinent. While ammonite

fossils are common throughout the world, these unique types of black shale river fossils originate

from a single remote region of Himalayan Nepal, in the Kali Gandaki River Valley of Mustang

District. Today, ritual use of these stones has become a significant focus of pilgrimage, religious

co-participation, and exchange between Nepal and India and among the global Hindu Diaspora.

Their characteristic ridged spirals and ebon-black coloration readily reveal their presence in the

silty waters of the river as pilgrims and devotees step carefully through powerful currents to

reach Shaligrams just beginning to appear out of the eroding riverbanks. Each Shaligram is one-

of-a-kind where the forces that formed it have left behind distinctive combinations of

characteristics: spiral shell reliefs, white quartz lines, and perfectly rounded black shale nodules

sometimes paired with small holes or intricate internal impressions where the original fossil-

mold has long since worn completely away. But these characteristics are not only geological in

nature, they must also be religiously interpreted, to determine precisely which deity has made

their presence available within the stone.

Viewed primarily as natural manifestations of the Hindu god Vishnu, Shaligrams are

called svarupa (“natural form”) and are therefore inherently sacred. The meaning of ‘natural’

then, is often locally articulated as something whose formation lies distinctly outside of human

agency (with the gods, with the landscape, etc.). Shaligrams are natural in that they are not

human-made and who ultimately demonstrate their own agency. For this reason, they do not

require any rites of consecration or invocation, such as the prana pratiṣṭha (lit. establishing of

breath/life force),2 when brought into homes or temples. Shaligrams are also highly valued as

3
symbolic manifestations of divine movement, either through a geologically and mythologically

formative journey down the sacred river (which runs from the Southern Tibetan plateau, down

through central Nepal, and into Northern India), or transnationally in the hands of devout

pilgrims. Pouring out into the river each year following the summer melt high in the mountains,

Shaligrams are gathered up by pilgrims, tourists, and merchants alike. On their way out of the

mountains, they travel through forests and cities, into temples and homes, across great expanses

of time and space, carried by the indescribable forces of nature or the complex networks of

pilgrimage and exchange that underlie their vital mobility. As divine forms, Shaligram stones are

representative of power expressed as a journey through a sacred landscape, and in the high

Himalayas, religion is constantly on the move.

The pilgrim went on to remark, "I've known many who have destroyed their passports to

get to Kali Gandaki. They say that I am foreign so that's why I need permits for Damodar (the

source of the river in nearby Upper Mustang). But I am Hindu and this land is Shaligramam (a

reference to Vishnu). I could never be foreign here."

In recent decades, the mobility of Shaligrams has also come to represent the mobility of

pilgrims and the fluidity of ritual practices themselves. Given Mustang's long-standing status as a

travel-restricted political red zone, Shaligrams are fast becoming metonymic for sacred

landscapes that are continuously coming into conflict with political landscapes. Through

competing claims to Tibetan, Nepali, and indigenous origins, the national identity of Mustang is

currently framed by the region's perilous political position near the borders of Tibet, where it acts

as a buffer region between China, India, and central Nepal. As a result, many Hindu and

Buddhist pilgrims have come to treat these national borders and Mustang's political isolation as

affronts to religious identities that depend upon individual mobility and the movement of sacred

4
stones to extend family and community belonging beyond the boundaries of nation, ethnicity, or

caste.

It is then this combination of movement through vast expanses of geological time, across

historical and mythological landscapes, and into the daily lives of families and communities at

the conclusion of pilgrimage that defines what it is to be Shaligram and therefore for devotees in

turn, what it is to be Hindu or Buddhist. For Shaligram practitioners, to be in the presence of a

Shaligram is to be in the constant presence of the gods themselves. To ritually worship a

Shaligram, is to accept the deities as members of one’s own family, and to begin their veneration

properly, one must go to the places where Shaligram appears.3 The aniconic character of

Shaligrams and their natural formation within the Kali Gandaki River comprise the first part of

their journey into sacrality, and in this way, their geological formations as well as their

geographical migrations from mountain to lake to river, which gives them their characteristic

appearance, are just as much a part of their religious narrative as their legends and stories are.

Framing Shaligram practices through the themes of movement and time along with divine

personhood and multispecies will then begin to reveal what Shaligrams are as well as how Hindu

and Buddhist devotees in South Asia have come to experience them.

Moving in Time with Life

At its core, a Shaligram is symbolic movement made physically manifest. The journey

begins with the stones’ geological and mythological travels down the sacred river and includes

their equally divine transnational mobility in the hands of devout pilgrims returning to homes in

regions and countries throughout the world. But to complicate matters, because the national

identity of Mustang remains ambiguous and contested, the Nepalese government has continued

5
to make travel and access difficult for pilgrims as it attempts to control and homogenize the

territory’s identity under the central purview of Kathmandu. As a result of various restrictions on

pilgrimage, the Shaligrams’ own mobility has thus become weighted with special meaning; for

example, a Shaligram’s natural movement in eroding out of the mountains and tumbling down

into the river to flow outwards into the landscape becomes both an analogue and an alter for

pilgrims’ own ideal mobility—a parallelism which is only made possible by the kinship between

stones and people.

In this example, and in the others that follow in succeeding chapters, I will demonstrate

how the co-mobility of stones and pilgrims is a kind of political practice that facilitates

formations of national, community, and religious identity that are both linked to places and

transcendent of them. As such, pilgrims and regionally indigenous peoples also come to

experience themselves as being “from” a particular sacred place even though they encounter

pressures from outside entities, such as local or foreign governments, geological and political

research studies, and national resistance movements, that mark the landscape as unstable and

contested. As time goes on, it is then the divine personhood of the Shaligrams themselves, as

deities endowed with consciousness and intent and as kith and kin to ritual practitioners, which

continues to connect community and kinship networks across extraordinary expanses of time and

space, and beyond the boundaries of nation-state, ethnicity, or caste.

With a theoretical grounding in the anthropological literatures of space and place-making

(i.e., Gupta and Ferguson 1992, Hirsch and O’Hanlon 1995, and Basso 1996) in articulation with

ethnographies of personhood and kinship in South Asia (Lamb 2000, Carsten 2000, Franklin and

McKinnon 2001, and Uberoi 1993), this work links together current theories of cultural time and

material temporality (Mieu 2015, Hodges 2008, Munn 1992, Hanks 1990, Parmentier 1987,

6
Geertz 1975, and Evans-Pritchard 1940) with critical mobility studies (Ingold 2011, Hausner

2007, Urry 2002, Fisher 2001, and Graburn 1989). While the object-agency and object-

personhood (Gentry 2016, Geismar 2011, Hoskins 2006, and Schattschneider 2003) of

Shaligrams themselves situates this research within broader theories of cultural linking (de

Bruijn and van Dijk 2012, Salazar 2010, Horst and Miller 2005, Castells 2004, and Appadurai

1986), I contend throughout this work that it is the life-long and generational relationships

between Shaligrams (as both divine persons and objects), their practitioners, pilgrimage, and the

landscape that generates new kinds of histories, transactions, and social belonging. As such, this

work also articulates with many of the current threads of inquiry now gaining ground in the study

of religion and materiality. Religious scholars in this area focus specifically on how religion

happens through material culture, which may include everything from images, ritual objects,

architecture and sacred space, art and archaeology, and religious objects produced for decoration

or mass consumption. In addition to material forms, this growing sub-discipline also addresses

the role of different practices that engage material religion in spiritual action, such as how

various types of ritual language and performance, teaching and instruction, pilgrimage, magic

and spiritual medicine, or liturgy and exegesis constitute and maintain religious worlds (Morgan

1999 and 2010).

Issues of temporality will also come up repeatedly in the formulation of Shaligrams as

kin, where they link ancestors with descendants in such a way as to construct families and

communities of the living, the dead, and the divine. Time is a valuable tool in the ethnographer’s

toolkit. This is not only because anthropologists should attend to their own and their participant’s

temporal views in the construction of intersubjective fieldwork (a lá Fabian 1983) but, as in the

case of Shaligram ritual practices, it is the layering of different kinds of cyclical and linear events

7
in the lives of both individuals and communities that reifies these complex identities and

relationships in the present day.

Because the theme of boundaries is so pervasive in my findings, I must also attend to

what it means to traverse those boundaries. In previous studies of mobility in Africa and in the

Middle East, roads, electricity and infrastructure, mobile phones, and the internet have all

become objects of study in the ways that they remake political and economic power relations and

introduce new spaces of peril and precarity (Bishara 2015, Dilger et. al 2012, McIntosh 2009,

and Comaroff and Comaroff 1993). But instead of focusing on the rise of specific technologies in

the growing concerns about the global “field,” I offer a new view on an old topic: sacred stones

as mobile techne. In this mobility paradigm, interrelationships between place and culture are

reframed by the interrelationships between object and personhood/kinship so that the ways in

which (im)mobility and (in)flexibility shape relationships are foregrounded. Mobile techne, a

concrete and context-dependent method of making something mobile, will then also involve

physical movement through landscapes as well as symbolic and spiritual movement through the

dham, the immaterial landscapes and dwelling-places of the deities.

In this ethnography, mobility itself is the locus of transformation. But rather than a

transient space of liminal communitas (à la Victor Turner) that lies between categories of social

belonging, mobility is taken here as a permanent potentiality that is quite literally set in stone.

The mobility of Shaligrams thus provides an ambiguous, shifting space of change and renewal

continuously available for renegotiating one’s place in an unstable world. Along the pilgrimage

route required to obtain a Shaligram, mobility includes the political practice of recreating and

resisting ideologies of national and ethnic belonging in Nepal and India, where political

restrictions on the movements of both people and Shaligrams becomes a contested point for the

8
realization of national and religious identities. Like the bhola, the “gullible fools,” of the Kanwar

pilgrimage in India (Singh 2017), Shaligram pilgrims also use the mobile spaces of pilgrimage to

reassert the power and sovereignty of individual lives regardless of economic, caste, or national

status.

As practitioners and pilgrims move outwards and return to their places of residence, the

mobility of Shaligrams is then translated into ritual and divine personhood through their intimate

ties to community and kinship networks of reciprocity and exchange; a transformation that will

also position them within community and familial relationships in a time of great social upheaval

and out-migration. This places this particular ethnography of mobility into a somewhat odd space

in relation to current anthropological literatures that use mobility as a framework for

ethnographic study. Given that these literatures tend to focus primarily on the movement of

groups of people in the context of social mobility4 (the symbolic movement of individuals and

groups between social strata), physical population mobility5 (such as migrant labor, tourism and

travel, pilgrimage, and diaspora studies), or ascetism and concepts of freedom,6 this work draws

together frameworks that merge physical and symbolic movement as conducted through object-

person relationships, in the form of Shaligram stones, as producers of meaning and as positions

for the negotiation of identity.

In this work, I am interested in how mobility stops being a means to an end (or a place)

but instead becomes a vital practice in its own right. In the spirit of multi-sited ethnography

(Marcus 1995), Shaligram practice can move out of the more traditional frameworks of single-

site analysis to reveal the macro-constructions of a larger social order that cross-cuts common

dichotomies such as “local” and “global” or “lifeworlds” and “systems.” This is why I will use

the term “mobility” with a view towards several equally important valences: to mean physical

9
movement across space, to mean the potential for movement among both people and their

deities, to mean exchange within kinship networks or as commodities, and to mean the capacity

for a Shaligram to exist in both individual life times and in historical, generational, or geological

time. Whenever necessary, I point out which meanings are most salient to the argument at hand

but it is important to realize that people often use the term “mobility” to leverage multiple

meanings at once and are not especially troubled by the apparently contradictory pivots between

one meaning or another. Rather, it becomes mobility itself that remains the primary concern.

A Lifetime of Movement

Shaligram pilgrimage is the first vital preceding step to Shaligram practice, which

transitions movement in space (pilgrimage and exchange) to movement in time (birth, life, and

death alongside the generations of families and communities). Because of this, Shaligrams add a

fascinating new dimension to recent studies which use temporality to capture ever more dynamic

ways of “being in time.” Because temporality is not merely a product of structural circumstances

but is produced through concrete practices where people come to actively construct and embody

time (Bourdieu 1977; Munn 1992), the links between spatial movement and temporal movement

become clearer where practitioners continuously reinterpret pilgrimage both as a physical

journey to specific places for the purposes of personal transformation and as an ongoing,

lifelong, process of aging and achieving milestones. In fact, ‘pilgrimage as life’ was such a

common metaphor among Shaligram practitioners it often became unclear as to whether they

were referring to actual plans for an upcoming pilgrimage or were commenting more generally

on the transient state of existence.

10
 The layering of time, mobility, and space is also especially important when the meanings

of Shaligram ritual practices are expanded outward into the global South Asian Diaspora, who

often view Shaligrams as vital links anchoring them back to family members back home, to

ancestors, to presiding household deities, and to the sacred lands of pilgrimage. As kin,

Shaligrams then articulate with reflexive models of temporal kinship that permit people to

establish kin relations with persons they meet, persons they are biologically related to, or with

otherwise unrelated persons elsewhere, as well as with ancestors and deities largely distant from

this particular moment in time. Therefore, as a kind of composite ‘kinship chronotype’ (Ball et

al, 2015), Shaligram relationships enable persons and communities to co-locate themselves and

their kin or kin-like others in a wide variety of places and times, and to use these ties to

participate in collective belonging outside of typical boundaries of caste, religion, or nationality.

Taking temporality to be an embodied symbolic process unfolding in practice (Mieu 2015),

through which people imagine themselves to inhabit a present in relation to various kinds of

pasts and futures (Munn 1992: 115–116), we can then begin to understand how a variety of

large-scale political and historical processes affect practitioners’ views about national mobility

and belonging which they may then articulate through communal ritual practices using sacred

stones.

This view of time and nationalism is the most initially productive relative to Akhil Gupta

and James Ferguson's notion of "space": a critique of location, displacement, and community that

unmoors naturalized notions of essential places from their representations in geographical

locations (1992). By attending to spaces and places as continually constituted and renegotiated

over time, this project leverages mobility as an analytical viewpoint from which to re-theorize

anthropological notions of contact, contradiction, and integration. For example, like other

11
ethnographies of space, pilgrimage and mobility constitute an intriguing ethnographic point of

intervention into how the conceptual and material dimensions of places and landscapes are

central to the production of social life.

But unlike ethnographies that tend to focus more on issues of global economic

restructuring, urban displacement, migratory flows, or deterritorialization (Olwig and Hastrup

1997, Low 1999, Dawson et. al 2014, and Haenn and Wilk 2016) as they have undermined

assumptions about the fixity of people, this work demonstrates how objects (Shaligrams), which

are both distinctly from a specific place, transcend that place (See Chapter 5), and yet carry

notions of space and place with them upend assumptions about the fixity of place itself and, as a

result, about how identity and belonging are perceived among a community of religious

practitioners who often describe themselves as being “from” a sacred place of pilgrimage that

they have generally only ever visited (or have never seen at all, in some cases). What is more, by

attending to the movability of placeness itself, the mobility of Shaligrams can then take on even

more complex meanings of flexibility and ambiguity.

As one elderly Tibetan woman living in Pokhara, a town roughly 200km west of

Kathmandu, once described it, “I have lived in Nepal since the 60s but I am not Nepali. I was

born in Lokha (a city in southeastern Tibet) but I have lived on the other side of the Himalayas

for most of my life, so I am not Tibetan really either. But I carry Shaligram with me. Do you see

it in my chuba? It also comes from Tibet but it was found at the refugee camp in Mustang where

my family settled. It stays with me always. It can’t be taken away. So, you see, that is where I am

from.” 7 Whether she meant from Mustang or from “Shaligram,” she would not say.

Deities and Multispecies

12
 The presence of a Shaligram stone within a Hindu household often marks the family

within as especially pious, and many devotees consider the worship of Shaligrams as a way to

link themselves, their ancestors, and their descendants with ancient Hindu stories and traditions

and with sacred places extending thousands of years into the past. As is often the case in

Shaligram worship, specific stones are also associated with the specific ancestors who acquired

them on pilgrimages decades or even centuries previously. These Shaligrams are typically passed

down from generation to generation of first and second sons and many Shaligram devotees can

recount the long genealogical histories of both their families and their Shaligrams accordingly.

Ritual stones of this magnitude are usually venerated with daily pujas (ritual worship) and

offerings of water, tulsi (holy basil) leaves, flowers, food, sandalwood paste, and turmeric and

vermillion (kumkum) powder. The presence of Shaligrams is also indispensable to the

performance of yearly festivals and important ceremonies (the Marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram

festival being one especially salient example). Shaligrams often make appearances at weddings,

funerals, at house-warming functions (such as grhapravesha and vastu-puja), during pacificatory

rites of various types (shanti), and at any point where the welfare of the household and family

may be at stake.

In temples, Shaligrams play important roles in the construction of deity altars. The

famous image of Vishnu at Badrinath is reported to be carved out of a Shaligram, as is the image

of Krishna at Ud͎ upi in Karnataka and the Shiva Linga within the main temple of Pashupatinath

in Kathmandu. Also, the present deity altar in Sri Padmanabhaswamy temple located

in Thiruvananthapuram in Kerala is said to be constructed of more than 12,000 Shaligram stones

arranged to form the icons of Padmanabha (Vishnu) who is reclining on the serpent Ananta. The

serpent has five hoods facing inwards which signify contemplation while the deity’s right hand

13
has then been placed over a Shiva Lingam. Lakshmi, the Goddess of Prosperity, and Bhudevi the

Goddess of Earth (two consorts of Vishnu) are arranged on either side of the main icon

while Brahma emerges on a lotus emanating from Vishnu’s navel. Similarly, the reclining

Vishnu deity residing in another temple in Thiruvattar, about 50-60 kilometers from Trivandrum,

is reported to be made out of 16,000 Shaligram stones.

In other cases, Shaligram stones are said to reside inside deity icons (murti – meaning

divine image), such as the wooden icon of Lord Jagannath in Puri, at Venkateshwar Temple in

Tirupati, at Dwakadheesh Temple in Dwarka, and in the Krishna Rukmini Temple at Bhet

Dwarka in Gujarat where they act as padartha (literally ‘object’ or ‘category’ but used here to

mean ‘essence of existence’) within the images. According to many pilgrims to Muktinath

Temple in Mustang, the icon of the Buddha of Compassion, Avalokiteshvara (Tibetan:

Chenrezig),8 who also serves simultaneously as the icon of Vishnu, sits on the very first

Shaligram to have ever been discovered in Nepal and who therefore holds within him the divine

essence of all Shaligrams as a whole. In his seminal work on Shaligram mythography, S. K.

Ramachandra Rao notes that it is a Shaligram stone that officiates as the snapana-murti, or the

icon for bathing, at the shrine of Natha-dvura in Rajasthan and that a group of Shaligrams remain

the principal focus of daily worship at the temple of Vengad͎ am at Tirupati Tirumalai (1996: 2-4).

Lastly, the largest and heaviest temple Shaligram known currently resides in the Jagannath

Temple at Puri in Orissa while the largest collection of Shaligrams outside of India remains at

ISKCON’s Karuna Bhavan temple in Scotland.

For those deity altars which cannot accommodate Shaligrams inside the murti, it is not

uncommon to see small collections of Shaligrams resting at the deity’s feet, where they are the

subject of daily pujas in connection with the iconic deities associated with them, or in the case of

14
large temple collections, arranged on a side altar in full view of all ritual activities. In other

cases, garlands (mala) of Shaligrams are used to decorate deities at particularly auspicious times

and many of the Shaligrams comprising these garlands are said to have been collected by

successive groups of pilgrims over spans of hundreds or even thousands of years. One such

garland, for example, occasionally used at the temple of Mayapur in Northern India is made of

silver strands attaching one hundred and eight small Shaligrams together in a manner similar to a

japa mala (Hindu rosary). And finally, though Shaligram practices are most common among the

Vaishnava (Vishnu worshippers) traditions of Hinduism, among Shaivas (Shiva worshippers),

Shaligram stones may also be used in homes and in temples as forms of the Shiva Lingam.9

Though Shaligram stones might initially appear to be good candidates for broader “object

ethnographies” that track the movement of commodities through globalized free markets,

resource distribution, and the commodification of religious objects for tourism, Shaligram

practitioners actively resist this paradigm of cultural exchange in a variety of ways. Drawing on

networks of kinship exchange, they routinely point out that no Shaligram should ever be traded

for money but should, rather, only move from person to person through inheritance, through

marriage or family transfer, or gifting. Furthermore, they have also begun to leverage digital

technologies, such as internet communication (See Chapter 8), in order to “hide Shaligrams from

money” and to facilitate the exchange of stones among people who are otherwise unable to travel

to Mustang on pilgrimage. As a result, one of the central arguments of this work, Shaligrams as

divine persons and kin, is more closely engaged with the mode of research termed multi-species

ethnography.

In previous anthropological studies, non-humans (animals, plants, mountains, deities,

etc.) were often relegated to the margins of discussion and framed as either symbols, food, part

15
of the landscape, or otherwise peripheral and supplementary to human action. In recent years

however, ethnographies of animals (Ingold 1994, Sanders 1999, and Irvine 2004), insects

(Raffles 2010), plants (Tsing 2005), fungi (Tsing 2016), microbes (Latour 1988, Paxson 2008,

and Helmreich 2009) and even “earth beings” such as mountains (de la Cadena 2010) have

shifted non-human agents and entities out of the realm of Agamben’s zoe or “bare life;” that

which is acultural and killable, and into the purview of bios; being possessed of legibly

biographical and political lives (Agamben 1998). As once living (fossilized ammonites) and now

alive again (deities), Shaligrams present something of a conundrum to the study of organisms

whose lives and deaths are so intimately linked to human social worlds. Indeed, they challenge

even the very notion of what it means to “be alive” in the first place. While unkillable in the

conventional sense, Shaligrams are never-the-less viewed as distinctly and actively living,

carrying communal and family activities into what Eduardo Kohn might call a human

“entanglement with other kinds of lived selves” (2007: 4). In other words, a Shaligram, while no

longer an organism in the biological sense (though it once was), is reborn out of the landscape

into a new kind of life whose livelihood is shaped by the religious, political, economic, and

cultural forces that surround it (Kirksey and Helmreich 2010). Like many other multispecies

ethnographies, this is an account of where nature and culture break down.

This view of Shaligrams through the lens of “multispecies” proceeds to complicate a

number of conversations in the anthropology of religion. Firstly, Shaligram practices do not fit

into any popular dichotomy that views science/religion or objectivism/relativism as theoretically

opposed. More importantly, Shaligrams as divine persons and kin also continue to question

whether there is such a thing that we might call ‘religion’ universally (Lambek 2008, Bubant

et.al 2012). Secondly, considerations of Shaligram ritual and pilgrimage complicate the

16
conversation as to whether religion constitutes an experience (associated with particular

psychological and phenomenological ideas of the sacred, i.e., Eliade 1959, Otto 1958, and van

der Leeuw 1938) versus a presence; a distinct social reality (Taves 2009, Engelke 2007). This is

because the presence of Shaligrams facilitates relationships with the divine through multiple

competing authorities, texts, actions, and objects. Furthermore, the discourses of Science and

Religion, even among Shaligram practitioners, tend to be blended together as two related (and

not mutually exclusive) “mythologies” that work together to explain the continued importance of

Shaligram veneration in South Asia and elsewhere.10

The incorporation of Shaligrams in family life also challenges the distinction between

“sacred” and “secular” categories that serve to elevate religion out of the context of everyday

life. For the majority of Shaligram practitioners, the gods participate just as much in the

mundanities of cooking and eating, work and rest, household maintenance, gardening and animal

care, and child-rearing as they do in the interactions between people, spirits, and religious ideals.

This is how Shaligram practices pull religion out of the medical, phenomenological, and

naturalistic models of “spirit possession” and “mediumship” especially popular in modern

anthropological accounts of religion as well as categories of “folk” or “primitive” religion versus

“high” religion more common in theological studies. For these reasons, I pay particular attention

to the multiple roles Shaligrams play in the day-to-day, in wider political and social concerns,

and in related conceptions of geological and mythological time. These distinctions between

object, person, deity, and fossil will then help me to demonstrate complementary ways of

studying religion that interrogates and describes the things which people may or may not define

as “religious” versus systems that anthropologists might delineate as “religion.”

17
Persons of Precious Stone

It may sound paradoxical to link objects with persons in this manner, but this work is

indeed about an alternative view of the boundaries between “human” and “non-human” as it

relates to shifting boundaries between the “sacred” and the “every day.” While scholars have

already described the ways in which personhood in South Asia is often constructed through

external relationships with other persons, places, objects, and ideas (Deleuze 1992, Lamb 2004),

this research furthers those descriptions by demonstrating how divine persons (particularly

divine objects as persons) are constituted similarly. Shaligram practitioners do not refer to

Shaligrams as “stones” and the paleontological term “fossil” is suitably contentious. Rather,

Shaligrams are typically referred to simply as “bodies” or otherwise given nominal distinctions

using gendered pronouns (His/Her) depending on which deity is materially manifest. More

importantly, Shaligram practitioners themselves do not generally use representational language

when referring to Shaligrams. In other words, Shaligrams do not symbolize or “stand in” for

deities, they are deities. The use of representational terms was more common on my part than on

the part of my research participants, who were often quick to point out my misconceptions

regarding who and what might be present at a given moment. My analysis of symbolic meanings

is therefore largely my own and intended to clarify the relationships between broader cultural

systems of mobility and religious practice than on the manifest nature of Shaligrams themselves.

As a result, personhood here is therefore repositioned as a process that includes bodies that “are”

present and bodies “as if” they are present so as to blur the distinctions between reality and its

representations.

What is important to stress here once again, is that Shaligrams are a part of the broader,

every day, interactions between Hindus, Buddhists, Bonpos and the divine—where the gods are

18
immanent in the world, simultaneously transcendent, and embodied in multiple different kinds of

earthly forms. Offerings and gift-giving to these forms is then meant to draw the deity’s favor

and to nurture good relationships with them through physical exchanges. The simultaneous

presence of the divine in material bodies (such as stones, trees, elephants, rivers, etc.) then helps

to mediate needs, problems, and conflicts in people’s everyday lives by creating connections

between an individual’s, family’s, or community’s present circumstances and the actions or

desires of the gods. There are also no specific standards of practice related to either Shaligram

stones or to Hindu deity images (murti) broadly. This means that some Hindus use Shaligrams in

association with a wide variety of other ritual objects, altar objects, sacred places, and deity icons

while others use Shaligrams alone. Some devotees might also only worship occasionally (such as

at a temple which houses a Shaligram or on festival days) while others practice Shaligram rituals

daily. Some may keep Shaligrams in their homes, others may prefer to keep them in places of

community worship. In any case, I do not, in any way, imply here that Shaligram veneration

stands uniquely separate from the routine and familiar interactions the vast majority of devotees

have with the daily appearances of the divine.

Shaligrams are generally contextualized within larger ritual systems that venerate

naturally-occurring objects interpreted as divine-persons or divine person-like beings (such as

Shiva Linga stones, Dwarka Shilas,11 rudraksha seeds, mountains and rivers, trees and forests,

stars and celestial bodies, and certain animals 12) but they are also commonly associated with

specific deity murti (especially statues) with whom they share household and altar space. Briefly,

note that ‘person’ here does not specifically refer to a “human” but to a being that can have

agency, speak, engage in social relationships and exchanges with other people, be cared for and

19
care for others in return, have a life course and go through life-cycle rituals, such as a marriage

or a funeral.

Shaligrams are also situated within cultural systems of reincarnation, within the concept

of karmic life cycles, that view birthmarks, congenital abnormalities, and other notable

characteristics on human bodies as clues to a person’s past life experiences. For example,

psychologist Ian Stevenson’s Reincarnation and Biology 13 contains ten such examples of

children in India with various birthmarks or birth defects which were said to correspond to places

where their previous personalities were shot, injured, or otherwise fatally wounded. As persons

then, Shaligrams are equally integral to pilgrimage circuits as humans are, especially in terms of

landscapes and practices that span hundreds of miles and reach across the national and geological

borders of multiple countries and sociopolitical identities. Their “birth,” in the Kali Gandaki

River, indexes the beginning of a new kind of belonging where landscapes of pilgrimage are

repositioned as “homelands” in a different sense; as the birthplaces of family members, deities,

and ancestors manifest in naturally-occurring stone.

What is a Shaligram?

From the viewpoints of both religion and science, there remains a fair question as to what

one might mean when one says “Shaligram.” The ontology of Shaligrams is, therefore, a theme

central to much of this work. Briefly, ontology refers to the nature of being, the nature of reality,

or theories of being. This means engaging with Shaligrams as inhabitants of a different “world”

and not merely as objects in a particular “worldview” (Kohn 2013: 9-10). In a sense, this entire

dissertation is an exploration of the ontology or nature of being of Shaligrams and will

encompass a variety of analytical categories related to place, divine-person, and kin.

20
 In the discourses of geological and paleontological science, Shaligrams are ammonite

fossils. Ammonites are the common name given to the subclass Ammonoidea, an extinct order of

cephalopod that, despite their outward similarities to the modern day chambered nautilus, are

more closely related to other living coleoids like squid and cuttlefish. The first occurrence of

ammonites dates back to the Devonian period around 400 million years ago. The last surviving

lineages disappeared, along with the dinosaurs, around 65 million years ago following the

Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event. According to the Geological Survey of India, printed in

1904, Shaligram ammonites date specifically from the Early Oxfordian to the Late Tithonian age

near the end of the Jurassic period some 165-140 million years ago (1904: 46). Up to around 40

million years ago, the land that is now Mustang, Nepal was submerged beneath a shallow ocean

called the Tethys Sea located at the southern edge of one of two continents called Laurasia. As

the Indian subcontinent broke away from the east coast of the continent of Gondwanaland

somewhere around 80 million years ago, it moved northwards, eventually crashing into the south

coastal regions of Laurasia and resulting in the massive geological uplift that created the

Himalayan mountains. But as soon as the mountains were born, they were destined to die by

erosion.

After the Tethys Sea was completely drained, the fossilized remains of its seafloor were

left slowly wearing out of the slopes of the rising mountain-sides. Consequently, the ammonites

would tumble out of the mud-shales and slate beds and into the rivers to churn their way smooth;

a vital part of the movement that will eventually transform them into Shaligram. In almost every

respect, Shaligrams (and the ammonites that precede them) symbolize a crossing of lived culture

with tectonic history – where each stone acknowledges the vast span of Deep Geological Time

compared to a human lifetime. This discourse is, however, extremely contentious within the

21
religious discourse of Hindu pilgrimage and many pilgrims who journey to Mustang to obtain the

stones express significant ambiguity in reading Shaligrams through the lens of paleontology. In

many ways their ambiguity recalls the conundrum of the Shakespearean lines with which I

opened this chapter, where the pearl opacity of the subject’s eyes hint of a corpse transformed;

dead, yet seeing; completely still, but quite alive.

Since antiquity, ammonites have been associated with religion or with religious

histories. Part of the challenge of writing about Shaligrams comes from the many layers of time

and levels of antiquity which must be sorted through and, it is important to note, that many

Hindu and Buddhist pilgrims still refer to the scientific classifications of ammonites as its own

kind of “mythology:” as a series of stories about events, persons, and arbitrary categories that

took place in the past and explain specific phenomena in the present. This is a “mythology” they

will eventually link with their own in determining the answer to the ultimate question, “What is a

Shaligram?” As origin stories, the fossil history of the Himalayas and the tales of world creation

as relayed in the Puranas are often taken to be equally authoritative, though value-laden in

different ways. For the former, the taxonomical units of geology and paleontology are viewed as

ways in which new forms of life are brought into being and described so that non-practitioners

(i.e., Westerners and “modernized” South Asians) might be able to understand the significance of

Shaligrams in space and time, couched in the language of logic and biology. For the latter, the

progression of events within sacred texts render Shaligrams’ kinship and descent from gods to

men meaningful and relevant to issues in the present day. Or, the fossil taxa of ammonites are

made comparable – are made the same way, for the same reasons, of the same elements – as the

religious taxa of deities and ancestors.

22
 There is a primordial layer, the ancient times of ammonites themselves. Then there are

their Greek and Latin source names along with their Vedic categorizations and Indian

descriptions; another time of the “ancients.” There is also their history of research within the rise

of both Eastern and Western sciences, followed by their personal histories, which animates all

earlier times in the shape of the Shaligram in hand. In ancient Rome,14 ammonites were known

as “Cormu Ammonis,” “Corni de Ammone,” or “Cornamone” because their shapes were

thought to resemble the tightly coiled ram’s horns used to represent the Egyptian god

Ammon. Pliny the Elder (AD 23 – AD 79) even referred to them in the 37th volume of his work

Naturalis Historia. In it, he writes: “The Hammonis cornu is among the holiest gems of Ethiopia,

it is golden in colour and shows the shape of a ram’s horn; one assures that it causes fortune-

telling dreams” (see also Nelson 1968). The ‘golden colour’ he refers to is a likely reference to

the fact that many ammonite fossils, including Shaligrams, are often covered in iron pyrites

which give them a sparkling golden appearance. Georgius Agricola, sometimes referred to as

“the father of mineralogy” and the author of De Re Metallica, a work based on Pliny’s Naturalis

Historia, also referred to ammonites as Ammonis Cornu. Even today, ammonite genus names

often end with -ceras, the Greek word (κέρας) for "horn.”

The Swiss naturalist Conrad Gessner included some ammonite illustrations is his work

De rerum fossilium (1565), but even toward the end of 17th century, it is especially interesting to

note that the organic nature of ammonites remained under debate (a debate which takes places in

the Hindu Scriptures as well). Robert Hooke, the famed experimental scientist and nemesis of Sir

Isaac Newton, was fascinated by the logarithmic coil of ammonite shells and their regularly

arranged septa (recall the classic image of the golden ratio). It was he who reached

the conclusion that ammonites were not only of organic origin but also widely resembled the

23
nautilus and may therefore be related. However, it wasn’t until 1716 that ammonites would

finally join scientific taxonomy with a classification scheme first recorded by another Swiss

naturalist, Johann Jacob Scheuchzer. The modern form of the word ammonite was coined by the

French zoologist Jean Guillaume Bruguière in 1790, but it wasn’t until 1884 that the subclass

Ammonoidea was finally formalized in modern zoological taxonomy (Romano 2014).

In China, ammonites were called horn stones (jiao-shih) and were typically used in

traditional medicine. Japanese texts, on the other hand, refer to them as chrysanthemum stones

(kiku-ishi) and Buddhists interpreted their clockwise spirals (a representation of the direction in

which the universe rotates) as a focus for meditation or as symbols of the eight-spoked wheel of

dharma (an interpretation currently shared by many Buddhist pilgrims to Mustang as well).

Additionally, among ancient Celts, these fossils have been interpreted as a kind of

petrified venomous snake (ophites) and referred to as “serpent stones.” In medieval England,

ammonites (along with various other types of fossils) were taken as evidence for the actions of

Biblical saints such St. Patrick, St. Keyne Wyry of Wiltshire (ca 461 – 505), or St. Hilda of

Whitby (ca 614 – 680). According to Sir Walter Scott’s Marmion,15 fossil ammonites were

serpents that infested the region of Whitby before the coming of St. Hilda, who subsequently

defeated the serpents and turned them to stone on the site where she intended to build an abbey

(see also Skeat 1912).16 In the Americas, Cretaceous baclitid ammonites were also once collected

by the indigenous peoples as “buffalo stones,” and were kept in medicine pouches as aids in

corralling bison (Mayor 2005). Called Iniskim, members of the Blackfoot First Nations continue

to harvest bright opalescent ammonites for ceremonial purposes even today.17 Furthermore, aside

from their role as Shaligrams, ammonites also have a long and storied history more broadly in

what Van Der Greer refers to as the ‘fossil folklore’ of South Asia. He relates in detail, for

24
example, entire regions of fossil beds containing not only ammonites but ancient giraffes,

elephants, and tortoises near the Siwalik Hills of the Himalayas in India, which are used as

evidence in proof of the great cosmic battle of Kurukshetra as described in the Mahabharata epic

and which are also visited by religious pilgrims from all over the world (2008).

According to the Epigraphia Indica (Vol. 2, pg. 204), the earliest evidence of Shaligram

worship in India dates back to the 2nd century BCE with an inscription near Mewar in Rajasthan

that mentions a shrine for the twin gods Vasudeva and Samkarsana as being made out of

Shaligram stones. There are additional inscriptions, one dating back to the 1st century BCE in

Madhyapradesh for example, that also describe the worship of Vishnu in the form of Shaligram,

along with the well-known Mora inscription near Mathura, dating to roughly the same period,

which mentions the “five worshipful heroes of the Vr͎ s͎ n͎ i dynasty in their luminous stone forms:

śālagrāmas, bhagavatām, vr͎ hs͎ n͎ īnām, pan᷈ ca-vīrān͎ ām͎ , pratimāh͎ ….” (Epigraphia Indica, Vol. 24.

194 ff.). Indian scholars interpret this inscription as a likely reference to the five vyuha-forms

(incarnations of a divine attribute and not full deity incarnations) of Vishnu: Vasudeva,

Samkarsana, Pradyumna, Anirudda, and Samba (son of Pradyumna) (Rao 1996: 4).

In the first millennium AD, Shaligram practices were finally written down in the Purān͎ ic

scriptures and commentaries, though an effort to standardize their interpretations and rituals

wouldn’t come about until much later with many of the bhakti (devotional) reforms of the late

15th century. In South India, the Hindu saints Ramanujacharya (around AD 1017–1137) in Tamil

Nadu and Madhvacharya (AD 1238–1317) in Karnataka would also set forth ritual proscriptions

still followed by the Hindu Vaishnava and Smarta traditions today. In North India, the traditions

of Gaudiya Vaishnavism (in West Bengal) and Sri Vaishnavism (Vishishtadvaita) as well as the

Hare Krishna sect have maintained their own Shaligram practices, many of which have now been

25
exported to the West, leading to new demands for stones in places far outside South Asia. While

few Vedic texts mention Shaligrams specifically, the Brahmavaivarta Purana, Garuda Purana,

and Skanda Purana, as well as the commentaries of 8th century philosopher Shankaracharya,18

are currently considered the most authoritative. Despite this however, the majority of Shaligram

practices remain, at their heart, largely composed of oral traditions, regional variations, tradition

and sect specifics, and individual preferences.

The presence of Shaligrams in collections of archaeological artifacts excavated from

earthen mounds inside caves occupied by the very first inhabitants of Mustang indicate that

Shaligram practices likely pre-date the arrival of Hinduism in Nepal by several centuries and

may have begun as a localized shamanic practice later adopted and disseminated by the spread of

Vedic religion in the late centuries BCE. This is not surprising given the commonality of

aniconic imagery in the early religions of South Asia. As Diana Eck writes: “the most ancient

non-Vedic cultus of India was almost certainly aniconic” (here referring to a lack of

anthropomorphic characteristics). Stones, natural symbols, and earthen mounds signified the

presence of the deity long before the iconic images of the great gods came to occupy the sancta

of temples and shrines” (Eck 1986: 44). Even fewer modern books and manuscripts discuss

Shaligram pilgrimage or ritual practices in any depth, usually relegating them to a passing

mention in the context of other cultural concerns or political issues. As of this writing, no

detailed ethnographic descriptions of Shaligram pilgrimage exist in the academic literature and

almost no accounts of Shaligram practices have been analyzed at length in the corpus of the

social sciences.

While Vedic and Puranic texts are often consulted as foundational authorities for

Shaligram ritual practices, they do not encompass the depth and breadth of Shaligram pilgrimage

26
and ritual practice among Hindus, Buddhists, and Bonpos (indigenous Himalayan shamans)

today. Therefore, any account of Shaligrams must be attentive to both change and continuity: to

sort out the processes and influences of various cultural contexts, cultural exchanges over time,

and the issues of great distances between the mobility of pilgrimage and the spaces of veneration.

To encounter a Shaligram at any one given point is to experience its significance particularly for

that context, a kind of localization which, though enlightening, is potentially unrevealing of its

broader meanings, substance, and connections. Privileging any single historical moment,

including this one, at which the scholar might enter the scene does not help us to understand

‘why a Shaligram?’ Undoubtedly, any one of these moments would be informative as to that

particular Shaligram’s use and importance in that context, but without a more expansive view

that includes the movement of person, object, and narrative together beginning with pilgrimage

to the high Himalayas of Mustang, to destination temples throughout South Asia and elsewhere,

to the homes and communities of devotees the world over, a greater understanding of the

profound nature of Shaligrams will remain obscured.

27
Ammonite versus Shaligram: The fossil on the left has only recently worn out of the mountain and has not made its formative
journey into the sacred river to be worn smooth and rendered completely black. The Shaligram on the right has been “birthed”
from the Kali Gandaki River and bears the expected characteristics that can be read as the presence of Vishnu Sudarshan.

The following chapters explore the cultural meanings of the material world in motion for

the religious communities of South Asia who venerate Shaligram stones. They describe how

space, time, and boundaries, especially the fluidity of political, geographical, and material

boundaries, are constructed and experienced by Shaligram devotees in contemporary Nepal and

India. In the place where both immigrant and indigenous Hindus, Buddhists, local Bonpos, and

their deities converge, I found that religious, ethnic, and political identities became fluid and

unstable, deities became manifest in the objects of the natural world, and people began to speak

of a fossil which was not a fossil but a living member of the family and of the community.

Through this ethnographic exploration, this research then shows how these particular aspects of

material religious practice are used to create and reproduce personal and familial identities as

well as community belonging and cohesion among members of various, outwardly disparate,

South Asian religious traditions. It also discusses how these attachments through mobility are

28
translated into anti-nationalist and boundary-rejecting political practices by allowing for the

agency of stones who have become bodies and divine persons in their own right.

Writing an Inconstant World

While discussions of scriptural traditions will be important, this dissertation discusses

Shaligram pilgrimage and veneration from an ethnographic perspective, not a textual one. This is

partly because texts (including reading Shaligrams themselves as texts) play only a partial role in

the overall complexity of Shaligram practices as a whole and partly because actual ethnographic

accounts of people who use Shaligrams in their daily lives are almost non-existent. An essential

task of ethnography is to convey a sense of the lived experiences and practices of people – in this

case to demonstrate how devotees, landscapes, and Shaligrams actually interact – rather than

reproduce textual ideals or religious ideologies which are never quite truly realized in the day to

day. In truth, most of the complex intricacies of actual Shaligram practice bear little superficial

resemblance to their descriptions in religious texts. Yet, these systems are connected, not only in

how people view their own positions within the greater context of Hindu and Buddhist traditions

but also in the way in which devotees reconcile various contradictions that arise between day to

day practices and sacred ideals. To some, the myths and stories contained in the Purān͎ ic texts are

taken as a kind of practical instruction; a set of divinely-inspired guidelines for conducting

oneself properly in the presence of the sacred and through life in general. To others, such esoteric

reading is irrelevant (thought to be mainly abstract and symbolic) to the kinds intimate and direct

sense experience required to truly apprehend the material world and the divinity within and

beyond it. For my part, it was vital to understand how Shaligrams fit into people’s lives and

experiences – as mediums of exchange, as symbols of religious affiliation, as material

29
manifestations of the divine, as objects of cultural or political communication and organization,

and as members of the family and community.

Instead of focusing on the textual histories of Shaligrams then, I use real-life stories,

quotations, conversations, and observations from the periods I spent working with Hindu and

Buddhist devotees to convey the complex dimensions of Shaligram pilgrimage and practice such

as it was in the first decades following the re-opening of Mustang, Nepal to foreign travel in

1992. In the sense that I am using it, ethnography is the study of communal meaning-making, the

description of material practices and experiences as they appear in particular places at particular

times. Shaligram devotees’ descriptions of space, place, object, and movement therefore

constitute the basis for my arguments. Through the use of Shaligram stones by adherents in

multiple religious traditions (including co-participatory and hybrid forms), this work shows how

mobility and transiency itself become the basis by which power and sovereignty are reclaimed

and expressed. Through thinking about multiple different communities as they are unified by the

movement of a particular object that is both rooted in a place and transcendent of all places, we

will arrive at new ways of understanding mobility as a factor of collective identity, and new

ways of imagining how persons are embodied in objects and how objects therefore become

persons.

To that end, there is also a fair amount of information that I had no choice but to leave

out. In the future, there could be any number of books written on specific Shaligram practices in

specific places, including the use of the courts in Kolkata, India to determine the “paternity” of

Shaligrams for the purposes of inheritance, or the Shaligram festival traditions of Tamil Nadu, or

even the ritual interpretations of particular Shaligrams specific to the Brahmin castes of Western

30
India. But alas, only so much can be included in any one work and I have chosen to begin this

one where the Shaligrams themselves begin, in Mustang, Nepal.

Kali Gandaki River, Kagbeni Overlook (Tiri Village in the background): This is a popular location for finding Shaligrams

Structure of this Dissertation

This ethnography is divided into nine chapters. Chapters 1 and 2 lay out the theoretical

and anthropological groundwork of ritual and material practice for the ethnography of Shaligram

religious and social worlds that follows. These chapters also act as the theoretical pivot of the

work, joining the discourses of religion, science, semiotics, and place-making together to

demonstrate the ways in which Shaligrams are constituted as divine persons and act as agents in

their own right. Contrary to popular Western viewpoints, geological processes (including

fossilization) and social processes (such as ritual) in the formation of Shaligrams are not

mutually exclusive and do not necessarily constitute two opposing versions of the creation of a

single entity. This argument then demonstrates that both the physical and cultural constitutions of

31
Shaligrams are consistent with general understandings of personhood in South Asia and are not,

in fact, incongruous with formations of families and communities involving human persons.

Chapters 4 and 5 detail the histories and ritual landscapes surrounding the region of

Mustang, Nepal and of the temple site of Muktinath. By addressing issues of political conflict,

religious fluidity, and the corpus of Shaligram creation stories specifically tied to the Kali

Gandaki River Valley, I demonstrate how the changing paradigm of mobility and nationalism

along the pilgrimage routes has contextualized and influenced modern Shaligram practice as well

as how government and scholarly narratives of the region have deeply influenced the ways in

which pilgrims and local peoples speak about their own understandings of the world. These

chapters present an anthropological overview of the political and cultural issues currently facing

Mustang; describing its history of conflict, migration, and religious blending as a way to address

the conflicts between sacred and political landscapes from which Shaligrams are produced,

collected, and exchanged.

Chapters 5, 6, and 7 constitute the core of the ethnography by addressing issues of

mobility and pilgrimage at the point of Shaligram origin and the subsequent social and ritual life

of the stones once they return “home.” These chapters are much more empirical than theoretical

and are based directly on the stories, experiences, and narratives of Shaligram pilgrims and

devotees themselves. By taking up topics of physical space and movement as they transition into

symbolic space and movement, I demonstrate how devotees construct and reproduce meaning

out of the material world and then leverage those meanings in political practice.

Chapter 7, “The River Road,” is set in Mustang between 2015 and 2017. In this chapter I

set out to show how a shared mythic view of the landscape constitutes the first linkage by which

Shaligram devotees create a shared identity, despite differences in almost all other aspects of

32
their lives. I contrast this with the experiences of resident and indigenous peoples, many of

whom rely on pilgrimage and tourism to support themselves economically. I argue that it is then

mobility itself which becomes the ultimate expression of power and autonomy on the margins of

a developing State. Where the sacred and the everyday become fluid, both pilgrims and residents

continuously re-instantiate a sacred landscape over a political one, favoring religious affiliations

over national identities in a space of relative political disorder. This is where the natural elements

of the Himalayan landscape – its rivers, mountains, valleys, and terraces – combined with

mythological readings of Nepali and Indian political relationships mutually support Shaligram

pilgrims’ and local peoples’ social networks, economic livelihoods, and religious realizations.

These realizations then help to upend notions of “foreignness” and “belonging” so that

communities can be reforged and recreated across national boundaries despite the growing

militarization and political contestation of Mustang’s sacred landscapes.

In Chapter 8, “Ashes and Immortality,” I address the nature of Shaligram “death” and the

problem of Shaligram commodification, particularly the rising issue of global markets for selling

stones in South Asia and now increasingly abroad. As globally-mobile religious commodities,

however, Shaligrams are not diminished as agents in the eyes of devotees but rather, begin to

take on even greater symbolic meaning as representatives of the plight of human bodies caught

in webs of marketing and global capitalism.

Chapter 9, “The Social Life of Stones,” follows several Shaligram pilgrims and families

out of Mustang and into the rest of Nepal and Northern India. Recalling two works from which is

derives its name (Appadurai’s “Social Life of Things” and Blanes and Santo’s “Social Life of

Spirits”), this chapter continues to challenge the notion of Shaligrams simply as representations

of human experiences, or symbols, rather than agents in their own right by demonstrating how

33
Shaligrams as persons become kin through their movement within networks of kinship relations

and ritual exchange in the darshan, in the dham, and through puja. Their mobility then becomes

the locus for creating families and communities outside the boundaries of biological reproduction

and single generational lifetimes. Shaligrams can be gods, persons, story-tellers, traveling

companions, family members, and inheritors of communal history. By attending to the ways in

which the nature of sacred images translates into physical embodiment and interaction, this

chapter presents a livelier, more diverse environment of entities, who live out their own histories,

motivations, and social interactions in rituals, festivals, and everyday events and who therefore

extend the notion of familial, ethnic, and community belonging to encompass a wider world of

beings beyond the mortal and human.

Apart from contextualizing discussions in the first and second chapters, I have kept

detailed historical discussions of Mustang, Nepal (and of the complex national relations between

Nepal and India generally) to a minimum. More in-depth histories and ethnographies of Mustang

and its peoples are available elsewhere (Fisher 2001, Craig 2008, Ramble 1983 and 2002,

Snellgrove 1961, Dhungel 2002, and Messerschmidt and Gurung 1974) and should be consulted

by any student or academic wishing to learn more about the region and the more expansive

ethnographic underpinnings of my analysis of Mustang District. I include historical discussions

here as a way of contextualizing both the origins of Shaligram pilgrimage as well as the modern

political and economic concerns facing the mobility of Shaligrams today.

Finally, while certain aspects of Shaligram practice are relatively consistent from one

circumstance to another, most others are contextualized by time, place, religious affiliation, and

history. This means that, should one encounter a Shaligram or Shaligram devotee at any given

point, their specific ideologies and practices might not be rendered here exactly as one

34
encounters them at that moment. This dissertation is written in the hope that the reader might

gain a larger, more overall sense of what Shaligrams are and what their meanings and practices

entail for Hindu and Buddhist devotees in South Asia and to some degree, among the South

Asian Diaspora. But also, perhaps more significantly, by delving into the ways in which one

diverse and disparate group practices their faith and forges connections between persons and

ideas at particular moments in time, we might come to better understand our own ways of being

in the world, both physically and spiritually. In a world where ‘living fossil’ no longer simply

refers to the living and breathing simulacra of a more ancient creature petrified in stone, it may

be possible to imagine, for a time, a stone that has lived, died, and once again come alive.

35
 A Shaligram on the Kali Gandaki River bed

36
 Chapter 2
Beginning of a Journey
A Multi-Site, Multi-Local, Shaligram Ethnography

“Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow.”

― Anita Desai

If ethnography is the “writing of culture,” then it must also include the perspectives of the

researcher, embedded in specific cultural contexts and working to make some kind of narrative

sense out of many bits and pieces of confusing and sometimes contradictory information. When I

began this research with my first fieldtrip to India in 2012, I was initially setting out to study the

construction of deity altars in Hindu homes as contrasted with deity care in temples. While I did

not yet know how I was going to go about my research precisely, I knew that this kind of work

would require a fair degree of long-distance traveling (especially from temple site to temple site)

as well as what Clifford Geertz refers to as “deep hanging-out” when it came time to visit

individual homes and spend time with local families. Fortunately, attempting something as vague

and imprecise as hanging-out was quickly expedited by the amount of work that always needs to

be done in households full of children and extended relatives. As I helped cook evening meals,

offered to assist with the care of the household deities, and did my best to distract rambunctious

children or feed hungry animals I quickly found warm welcomes in many different places. It was

then, in a village in West Bengal, that I first encountered Shaligrams, revered in almost every

household I entered.

The very first time I heard the term “Shaligram,” I was almost dismayed that, despite

nearly four years of studying Hinduism prior to that point, I had never heard of such a thing

37
before. As I learned about the collections of strange black stones, resting on their silver puja

trays or in little silver water baths, hearing tales of pilgrimage and inheritance from elderly men,

attentive sons, devout mothers, and ascetic widows, I began to get a sense that something much

more was at stake. But it also fueled a growing intellectual concern. How was I to assess a

system of cultural values and meanings when the object of focus was located in temples and

homes stretching all the way across Nepal, down the entire Indian subcontinent, and now little by

little into Europe, Australia, and the USA? How was I going to “arrive on the scene” so to speak,

when Shaligrams were expected to move from sites of ritual practice, to be kept in temples, and

then to be distributed to devotees who then continued to distribute them even further; to their

families and friends and sometimes to other temples of pilgrimage and veneration?

In many instances, Shaligrams are the consummate gift; the nature of their exchange and

reciprocity clearly acting to enmesh both giver and receiver in webs of meaning, relations, and

obligations (Mauss 1954). I knew that any choice of place that I might make could only be

temporary and that any Shaligrams in question could simply end up passing me by on the way

there; moving right along with the people dedicated to caring for them. The only possibility then

would be to follow the Shaligrams, and therefore the people, wherever they might go.

Shortly after I began my work in Northern India, with much urging from my friends and

research participants, it soon became clear that I would have to go to Nepal, specifically to

Mustang, the ostensible origin point of all Shaligrams. I first arrived in Kathmandu in June of

2015, only five short weeks after the massive Gorkha Earthquake that devastated large parts of

the country the previous April. My work was to begin at Pashupatinath, one of Hinduism’s most

sacred temple locations, which contains two well-known Shaligram veneration sites; a small

temple-house near the shores of the Bagmati river and a deep well which sits at the head of a

38
large stone slab used to wash the dead before they are brought to their funeral pyres on the

cremation grounds just below. The neighborhood surrounding Pashupatinath also serves as the

home of a number of Shaligram devotee families and more than one active family of Shaligram

sellers, who have been making the pilgrimage and venerating sacred stones from the Kali

Gandaki for nearly four generations. From there, I would head to Mustang.

Bodies and Landscapes

My first journey to Mustang was, in a word, breath-taking. I arrived at the dusty airport in

Jomsom (at roughly 3,100 meters), a moderately-sized town which serves as the district’s

administrative headquarters, on an early morning flight from Pokhara, a foothills tourist town

just below the Annapurna massif. Stepping off the tiny twin-engine Otter aircraft and into the

thin Himalayan air was made only more staggering by the surrounding 8000+ meter peaks of the

region’s two most prominent mountains, Nilgiri and Dhaulagiri. Located in Nepal’s Dhaulagiri

Zone, Jomsom is only some 15 minutes by mountain flight but nearly 180 km and more than a

five-day’s walk from Pokhara. Even today, many native Mustangis, as well as Shaligram

pilgrims, still traverse the treacherous distance on foot or by horseback. For centuries, this region

had been one of the primary thoroughfares for Trans-Himalayan trade. Yak and mule caravans

once traveled through the Kali Gandaki River valley exchanging highland salt for lowland

grains, braving the extreme high-altitude winds to trade goods between the Gangetic plains and

the Tibetan plateau. Areas of the lower valley are still dotted with evergreen forests, an area

where people continue to grow extensive apple orchards today.19

Mustang is currently divided into upper (northern) and lower (southern) regions:

distinctions which are both locally and nationally relevant and which have had profound

39
economic, social, political, and cultural ramifications. Following the Chinese invasion of Tibet in

1950 both Upper and Lower Mustang were closed to travel and even today Upper Mustang

remains highly restricted to foreigners. The village of Kagbeni marks the first boundary between

the two divisions. Foreigners are not allowed to travel north beyond Kagbeni without special

permissions, expensive trekking permits, and the services of a guide; an issue that has become

especially relevant to Shaligram pilgrimage in the area since the lake which principally produces

Shaligrams, the Damodar Kund, lies in Upper Mustang. Kagbeni is also one of the main stops on

the Shaligram pilgrimage route. It sits directly on the banks of the Kali Gandaki and it is the

furthest south Hindu pilgrims can reliably find Shaligrams by wading through the river

themselves.20

Mustang is also home to a number of Tibetan Buddhist traditions, to the Bon (Tibetan: བོན

- also spelled Bön) religion (a pre-Buddhist Tibetan tradition sometimes described as shamanic

or animist), and to various shamanistic traditions and practices dating back to the first occupation

of the valley’s cave systems sometime around 800 BCE (Chetri et. al 2004: 15).21 Some of the

cave systems in the region are massive, including one cave in Chhoser called Sijha Dzong Cave

has over 40 room arranged in 5 stories. Early cave dwellers decorated their cave walls with

carvings, ornaments, and murals. Unfortunately, most of the murals have long since

disintegrated, leaving only two surviving examples in the Luri and Chapel caves of Sao Khola

Valley. Though little archaeology has been done in the region save for a study conducted by

German researchers in the 1990s,22 the caves are also known to contain extensive examples of

early material culture. The early cave-dwellers of Mustang (sometimes referred to as

Troglodytes) buried their dead with shell-pendants, musk deer teeth, glass, bone, copper beads

and arm rings, and here and there, a Shaligram ammonite. The richest burial caves are often

40
found associated with old settlements such as Chokhopani (near Tukche), Myabrak (opposite the

valley from Jharkot), and Fudjling (opposite of Khinga). These caves have alternately been

occupied and abandoned throughout the occupation of Mustang and have been used most

recently by monks, lamas, and priests as places of meditation and spiritual seclusion. It is

therefore important to point out that Tibetan Buddhist, shamanic, and Hindu traditions have long

overlapped in Mustang and the boundaries between traditions are often extremely fluid and

occasionally indistinguishable from one another.

As is typical throughout much of Nepal, distinctions within and between religious

traditions are virtually non-existent. In what William F. Fisher refers to as the ‘river metaphor of

culture,’ relationships between narrative, person, and object do not readily conform to notions of

“pure” culture, despite the continual marketing of Mustang to trekkers as a kind of “lost kingdom

of Tibet.” This means that no particular religious shrine, sacred object, or even ritual practice can

be said to “belong” specifically to one tradition or another. In fact, sacred sites are often shared

by various traditions simultaneously with devotees and practitioners blending rituals,

celebrations, and deities together in myriad ways. In describing the Thakali peoples, one of two

primary ethno-linguistic groups inhabiting Mustang, Fisher writes that their culture “is like the

Kali Gandaki River. It flows in a wide riverbed that allows it to break up into several meandering

streams that merge downstream again. The separations and mergings vary unpredictably over

time, but the separated channels always rejoin further downstream. If you ask me which channel

is the main channel, how could I answer? I could tell you which stream was the strongest one

today, but I could not tell you which channel was the original or true channel of the river.”

(2001: 20).

41
 Just as the peoples of Mustang shape and are shaped by changing conditions, constraints,

historical contexts, and reinterpretations, so too are Shaligrams and the pilgrimage that devotees

depend on to obtain them. Mustang is, in fact, a focal point of several kinds of religious

pilgrimage and contains a high number of famous sites, including my primary goal at the time,

the combined Hindu/Buddhist/Bon shrine at Muktinath (4,100 meters), the final pilgrimage

destination where Shaligrams are principally venerated. Given the confluence of cultural and

religious exchange in this region, it is not surprising then that many of these pilgrimage sites and

circuits are overlaid with extensive mythologies tied not only to place but to movement across

the landscape as a whole.

For Hindus, the linking of sacred spaces (and pilgrimage locations) with the presence of

divine bodies is relatively common. For example, the pilgrimage site of Amarnath contains a

column of ice interpreted as a Shiva Lingam (phallus), a mountain shrine in Garhwal (Kashmir)

is said to be a part of the body of a buffalo briefly incarnated as Shiva, and even Mount Kailash,

the Tibetan mountain home of Shiva and his consort Parvati is often described in terms of

anthropomorphic forms. The landscape of Mustang is no different. Consequently, there are a

number of variations of the origin story of the Kali Gandaki River and of Shaligrams in Mustang.

The most common (and in some sense, most popular) version of the story involves the tale of the

demon Jalandhar and his virtuous wife Brinda. There are, in fact, two versions of this story

recorded in the Puranas: the Padma Purana (kriya-yoga-sara section) and in the Prakrtikhanda

chapter of the Brahmavaivarta Purana, where Jalandhar and Brinda are substituted with the

prince Sham͎ khacud͎ a and his wife Tulasi (the events of the story are, however, much the same).

As I will discuss in greater detail later on, a hybrid version of the tale involving Jalandhar and

42
Tulasi is the most commonly related version of this story in the context of Shaligram origins (See

Chapter 6).

As the tale goes, in brief, Jalandhar was, by his nature ferocious and cruel. Having

completed extreme austerities in order to obtain a boon of immortality (or in some cases, a set of

invincible armor), he attacked the realm of the gods and terrorized the Earth. The gods, helpless

to stop the demon, first appealed to Brahma to repeal the boon. Unable to do so, Brahma

appealed to Shiva, who felt that Vishnu would be able to provide the solution to their dilemma.

Vishnu indeed offered a plan, explaining that he would provide Shiva with a spear (shula) with

which he would engage Jalandhar in combat. Once engaged, Vishnu suggested that he would

then take on the form of Jalandhar so that he might have sex with his pious wife, Tulasi. This

was because it was Tulasi’s chastity that maintained Jalandhar’s boon of immortality and

invincibility and once this chastity was broken, the boon would become invalid and Shiva would

easily kill him. The plan carried out and Jalandhar was struck dead by Shiva. On realizing that

her virtue was lost, Tulasi, know that it was Vishnu who had violated her modesty in the guise of

her husband, levied a curse. Because Vishnu had shown himself to possess a heart of stone

through deceit, he should become a stone himself. When she then fell into the ravages of grief,

Vishnu was moved to compassion and pronounced to her:

Give up this body, and let your spirit be merged in Lakshmi’s, so that I am always with
you. This body of yours will be transformed into a river, which will become sacred and
celebrated as Gandaki. And the lovely tresses of your hair will become holy plants, which
will be known as Tulasi, and the leaves of this plant will invariably be employed in my
worship. Further, I shall abide always in the river Gandaki in the shape of śālagrāma-
stones (the more typical Sanskrit transliteration of Shaligram), even as you have cursed
me now. (Translation: Rao 1996: 39) 23

In some Puranic accounts, women are warned that they will accumulate various karmic

sins by touching or worshipping Shaligrams and should, if necessary, only worship them from

afar. Such restrictions are, however, typically only found in texts that date to the late medieval

43
period (Rao 1996: 40-41) and today, a large majority of Shaligram practitioners take these

passages as later superstitions which were added to the texts due to prevailing attitudes about

gender at the time. In practice, Shaligram pilgrims and practitioners are often women, especially

if they are the wives of high caste men and have the responsibilities of caring for household

shrines. Subsequently, many Shaligram devotees treat these restrictions in much the same way

that they also view the rumors that Shaligrams will produce daily quantities of gold as irrational

(an idea stemming from the presence of “gold” or iron pyrites in many Shaligrams).

Despite this, some Hindu traditions still maintain strictures on the participation of women

in Shaligram worship. This became, on occasion, a barrier to my own research, particularly in

circumstances where I, as a female researcher, was not permitted into certain spaces or could not

gain the satisfactory confidence of ritual specialists in order to discuss their perspectives at

length. Over the course of my travels, it was one of the few times that my gender, more than my

foreignness, shaped my interactions with pilgrims and devotees in the interests of my research. It

was not a barrier to Shaligram pilgrimage however, because the landscape of Mustang (and of

the temple complex of Muktinath) is considered by many religious traditions, including Hindus

and Buddhists, to be an especially potent locus of female divine power. This is one reason why

most of the Buddhist and Hindu holy sites in Mustang are tended by women (particularly

Buddhist nuns), despite the fact that Shaligram ritual specialization is almost entirely under the

purview of elder men.

For Buddhists, the story of Mustang’s landscape is equally complex and includes a wide

pantheon of deities, many of whom pre-date the arrival of orthodox Buddhism to the region. I

had heard a number of Buddhist stories in the early months of my research relating tales of

demonesses (sinmo) specifically tied to landscapes.24 For example, a Buddhist friend of mine in

44
Kathmandu once explained that the 7th century monastery of Katsel (ska tshal) in Tibet was built

at the bottom of the Kyichu Valley in order to pin down the right shoulder of a powerful sinmo

who routinely caused natural disasters. Afterwards, in order to fully subdue the sinmo, the then

king of Tibet, Songtsen Gampo, had more four temples and monasteries built on geomantically

significant places so that the sinmo’s body would be permanently bound to the earth using the

holy places of the Buddha to force her into the topography of the ground. Another story

involving Songtsen Gampo explains that even the very founding of Tibet itself was the result of

the king’s construction of twelve temples that “tamed” the demoness (a rakshasi) whose supine

body now symbolizes the entire country.25

Later, I heard a similar story regarding the monastery of Simtokha Dzong in the Thimpu

Valley of Bhutan. Built in 1629, the site of the current monastic school was said to have been

chosen because the carefully planned geometry of the sacred spaces was needed to guard over a

demon that had vanished into a rock nearby; hence the name Simtokha, from sinmo (demoness)

and do (stone). In Mustang, several local villagers were also happy to explain that, each year in

Lo Monthang in Upper Mustang, they held a festival to commemorate the deity Dorje Jono's

defeat of his demon father Tenchi. This is because Dorje Jono was responsible for sending the

yearly rains to refresh the high mountain water pools. This is why it was necessary then, they

explained, to re-enact the story by engaging in vigorous dancing and horn blowing in order to

banish the demons so that the water would come on time. Finally, as I was preparing to leave to

Mustang for the second time, a visiting Buddhist monk from India on his way to one of regional

gompas (Buddhist temple/ecclesiastical building) explained that even the great Siddhartha

Gautama, the historical Buddha, had once tangled with demons. After all, it was the great demon

lord Mara who had attempted to disrupt the Buddha’s meditative journey into enlightenment by

45
summoning nine great storms. It wasn’t until the Buddha then called upon the earth itself to

witness and support him that the demon was cast out.

Prior to my third trip to Mustang in 2017, I had read Sienna Craig’s account of another

such story in her work Horses Like Lightening, which recalled a sinmo who once terrorized the

land of Mustang before the coming of Guru Rinpoche (also called Padmasambhava, the 8th

century Indian Buddhist master who helped construct the first Buddhist monastery in Tibet and

who is also revered among New Bon lineages for his tantric cycles). With this in mind, I began

to ask the local peoples near the village of Ranipauwa about the sinmo of Mustang. On my way

up from the jeep-stand a few hundred feet from the village gate, I finally encountered a Mustangi

Buddhist, a village resident, who was keen to relate the tale. At my continued questioning, he

explained that there was indeed once a sinmo who had inhabited the land but she was subdued by

Guru Rinpoche as he traveled through Mustang on his way to Tibet; spreading the teachings of

the Buddha as he went. With some reluctance at first, the elderly man, still sitting confidently

astride his horse, related the tale.

“There was once a sinmo in Lo,” he began. “She was never still and traveled all over the

Himalayas, sometimes hiding in caves. Someone once told me that she was fire-like, and if you

saw her she could burn you up by looking at her. She was also very old and sometimes would

possess animals until they died of fright or she would summon great storms that would destroy

all the fields and gardens or trick herds into wandering away. She caused all kinds of problems

and people said that she could appear in dreams and would bring sickness. She also traveled on

the wind, and it was her who made all the wars happen between the people in the mountains. One

day, the sinmo came to Mustang and decided to stay here permanently. She had been told by

other sinmo that a great teacher was coming from India and would soon go to Tibet, so maybe

46
she thought that in Mustang he wouldn’t find her. But this was Guru Rinpoche.” He pointed to

the massive golden statue of the guru overlooking the village a short distance away. “But the

sinmo was not afraid. Like the land, there was no compassion. She made it so the people became

angry and started fighting with one another over stupid things. Everyone wanted to be rich and

become important men, so they went after money and things like that. Sometimes I think that is

why there is still so much trouble here. But Guru Rinpoche was a very powerful teacher and he

came to Mustang looking for the sinmo. He came to Mustang flying on a tiger-skin and carrying

a great dorje (a thunderbolt scepter). When the sinmo saw his dorje, she was finally afraid. But

she also did not want to leave, you know?” He patted his horse contentedly.

“It was because of the Buddha’s teachings that he could do this and because of that the

sinmo ran away and hid. Mustang has so many caves and mountains and rivers, she thought she

could get away. But then Guru Rinpoche took out his bag of Tibetan salt and he started to leave

the salt wherever he traveled [I recalled from earlier that this salt was obtained from other earth

spirits he had tamed in other places]. Even though the sinmo also tried to disguise herself as an

old woman, Guru Rinpoche could still see her and he continued to follow her all over the land.

The sinmo thought that the land would protect her but it didn’t, and Guru Rinpoche could see her

no matter where she went. Finally, he struck her with his dorje and tore her open. He poured out

her blood and that is why the dirt is red in some places and pulled out her intestines to cover over

the plains. He threw her liver to Ghami but now there are only ruins there. Then he destroyed her

heart by cutting it up into a hundred and eight pieces, you know like the one hundred and eight26

water fountains at Muktinath, and then he buried them under the chorten (Tibetan: ‘religious

construction’ - a reference to the many large monument shrines of mani stones found throughout

47
Mustang). That is why we must maintain these chorten carefully because as long as they hold

down the sinmo’s body, she can’t get up and terrorize us again.” 27 28

As is not uncommon in Tibetan mythologies, the land of Mustang was an animate one

that required “taming,” a world of uncontrolled natural forces that are often interpreted as stand-

ins for the conversion of local peoples to Buddhism. Within these ancient landscapes, wrathful

gods guard their earthly domains but they also protect and preserve their peoples within it. In

many of these tales, sinmo are especially difficult to deal with and stories of their violent

encounters with famous Buddhist figures abound within both Tibetan and Mustangi traditions.

As in Tibet, Mustang’s sinmo are both literally and figuratively tied to the landscape by the

power of Buddhist teachings and through the actions of Buddhist practitioners themselves. This

is why great walls of mani 29 stones and prayer wheels cover the landscape, meant to give it

symbolic form and meaning in the context of human spiritual battles embodied as relationships

between person and nature. For these reasons, many Buddhists and Bonpos in Mustang also

leave Shaligrams inside or on top of roadside stupas that mark crossroads and places of

particular physical or spiritual danger. Their clockwise spirals (or counter-clockwise for Bon)

mark the divine movement of the universe and guard the traveler against misfortune by

anchoring the vengeful spirits of the land within the peaceful and orderly motion of the cosmos.

This corpus of legends and stories provides an important perspective to beginning any inquiry

into Shaligrams. This is because any question of a Shaligram’s origins; geographically,

historically, or mythologically, are always intimately bound up in the ever-changing character of

Mustang.

Living History

48
 The name “Mustang” is the Nepali cognate of the Tibetan monthang, a term meaning

‘plain of aspiration.’ Founded as the Kingdom of Lo in the late 14th century, it emerged as an

independent kingdom in AD 1440 (Dhungel 2002: 4). Yet from its founding until the Gorkhali

conquests of Jumla in 1789, and in reality, until the Chinese occupation of Tibet in the 1950s, Lo

retained strong cultural and political ties to the ancient kingdoms of western Tibet, namely

Zhang Zhung, Guge, and the Gung Thang region of present-day Ngari Prefecture (Tibetan:

mnga’ ris skor gsum) (Craig 2001). Even today, people often refer to Upper Mustang as “Lo”

and the peoples who live there as the Loba (or conversely, and sometimes derogatorily, Bhotia),

who are distinguished from the peoples of Lower Mustang not just by a militarized border but by

language, lineage, and ritual observances. By the later 15th century, the Kingdom of Lo was

already actively engaged in trade and cultural exchange with the Kathmandu Valley, Lhasa,

India, and Persia. In 1769, King Pritvi Narayan Shah, the first king of unified Nepal, swept

through the Himalayas with his Gorkha army and conquered the Kathmandu Valley. At the same

time, Lo and many of its connecting principalities (what would eventually become Mustang)

remained closely connected with Tibet but eventually sided with Nepal during the Nepal-Tibet

wars of the 18th and 19th century. Later, Lo was politically incorporated into Nepal but the

region’s cultural and linguistic mores still reflect its close associations with Tibet.30

Lower Mustang begins with the region of Thak Khola, an area roughly encompassing the

upper Kali-Gandaki valley which lies between the peak of Dhaulagiri (8,167 meters) and

Annapurna I (8,078 meters). Most scholars and cartographers place the southern border of Thak

Khola at the village of Ghasa, the first village that marks the narrow canyon that accesses the

Kali Gandaki valley from the south. The northern border of Thak Khola is variously placed in

the village of Tukche, in Jomsom, or occasionally as far north as Kagbeni; or just about

49
anywhere south of the border with Upper Mustang (Fisher 2001: 24-25). Other scholars suggest

that Thak Khola is better divided into two parts, a southern part encompassing the areas of the

Panchgaon (Nepali: panchgaun or “five villages” which were originally Thini, Syang, Marpha,

Chimang, and Chairo/Tsherog but now include quite a few more) and Thaksatsae (Thāksātsae,

literally “the seven hundred Thak”) and a northern part surrounding the area known as the

Baragaon (Nepali: baragaun or “twelve villages” – which includes many more villages than

twelve, but incorporates the areas around Jhong/Dzong, Jharkot, Kagbeni, Ranipauwa, and

Chusang).

About an hour’s walk just north of Jomsom, the Kali Gandaki is joined from the east by

the Panda Khola, a small river that marks the boundary between Panchgaon and Baragaon and

must be crossed when traversing from Kagbeni back to Jomsom. The Bon village of Lubra is

also considered to be a part of Baragaon, though the land on which the settlement was founded in

the 13th century originally belonged to Thini (see Ramble and Vinding 1987: 18). On the

opposite side of the Kali Gandaki are two more villages, Dangardzong and Phelag. Continuing

north closer to the river is the settlement of Pagling. The village is said to be the most recent in

Baragaon, having been settled by one family from each of the existing communities. A short

distance north of Pagling then, on the left bank of the river then is the village of Kagbeni, whose

name is derived from its position at the confluence (Nepali: beni) of the Kali Gandaki and the

Dzong Chu rivers, the latter indicating a mountain stream coming down out of the Muktinath

Valley which runs parallel to and north of the Panda Khola.31 At the head of this valley stands

the temple of Muktinath, the Hindu/Buddhist pilgrimage site at the center of Shaligram

veneration in Mustang, although the entire temple complex also includes shrines that are visited

and revered by a number of Hindu, Buddhist, and Bon traditions. The peoples of Lower Mustang

50
are generally categorized under the ethnonym “Thakali,” though divisions within and among

various groups and villages, such as between Thaksatsae and the Panchgaon, continue to

challenge the meaning of the term and of the ethnic cohesion it might imply (see Fisher 2001).

The Thakali of Lower Mustang have long inhabited a shifting and uneven cultural terrain.

Many of them speak a combination of Nepali and English in addition to their Thakali native

tongue and the local dialects of Tibetan common to the area. Those that engage heavily in the

transportation and lodging service industries also tend to have a strong command of Hindi, if

they work primarily with pilgrims, as well as what is often referred to as Trekker’s English; a

kind of linguistic short-hand that combines simplified English vocabulary and grammar with

well-known local terms and place-names. They are also culturally fluent in a number of religious

and ethnic worlds; gracefully shifting between state-sanctioned Hinduism, local Buddhist

practices, and Bon observances.32 As a number of scholars of Mustang have noted, this is due in

large part to the region’s history. The Thakali, much like the Newars of the Kathmandu Valley,

had long operated as consummate traders and facilitators of exchange between Tibet, Nepal, and

India (Fisher 2001, Messerschmidt 1974).33 The diverse communities living in Mustang District

retain a wide variety of strong cultural, linguistic, and political ties to Tibet as well as migratory

and economic ties to other areas of Nepal and India. Indeed, tourist literatures designed to

encourage tourism to Mustang still refer to it as the “lost” or “hidden” kingdom of Tibet, as

though it were a place suspended in time where a “pure” and “untouched” Tibetan culture could

still be experienced intact. But as the people and history of Mustang reveal, no time or place is

ever so static.34

This rising isolation from the historical trends of mobility has led to many of the

continuous contentions between religious pilgrims attempting to travel to Mustang, residents

51
striving to build a working economy in the region, and government officials who both want to

“preserve” Mustang and keep it separate. This is why access to the Kali Gandaki River, where

the vast majority of Shaligrams are collected, is often fraught with difficult travel, expensive

permits and transportation, shifting weather, and highly unpredictable local conditions, as I

would soon discover. As I left Jomsom for the first time, heading northeast towards Kagbeni, I

followed the contours of the Kali Gandaki riverbed. There I encountered a group of pilgrims who

had been out on the river all morning in search of Shaligrams.

“Look here!” one of them shouted as I carefully made my way over to where several

members were conducting an impromptu puja and aarti (lamp offering) on edge of the river. The

pilgrim gently touched the Shaligram to his forehead before extending it towards me in his open

palm. “This is Sri Kurma (the tortoise incarnation of Vishnu), revealed just an hour ago! He

walked from the mountain all the way down here to us. I can see by the chakra (spiral) on his

back that Vishnu is merciful with me today. The river has been so strong with the rains and I am

grateful for the stability!”35 36 Within the social and political world of the Tibetan-Himalayas,

Mustang is indeed a complicated living landscape: a landscape that both begins the journey of

Shaligrams into religious consciousness and physical movement and began my own journey into

the world of Shaligrams. When I returned to Nepal again for the long-term in June of 2016, I

hadn’t even begun to realize the distance yet to go.

An Ethnography of Mobility in Time and Place

As any researcher or trekker who has ever been to Mustang will tell you, getting there is

quite an entire adventure unto itself. On reflection, the endless difficulties and challenges I faced

traversing the distances from Calcutta (Kolkata) to Kathmandu to Mustang to Muktinath speak to

52
the conundrum of an ethnography of mobility. Ethnography is, by design, iterative, combining

responsivity with observation, analytics with experiences, and a determination to attune oneself

to circumstances as they present themselves. And in this case, all of this had to be done while

moving through any number of itinerant and transient contexts. Looking back on these

experiences, I later realized that many of my most informative interviews and interactions were

carried out on pilgrimage buses, sitting at jeep stands, on horseback, or walking breathlessly up a

mountain road. To recall Robert Louis Stevenson’s aphorism: “to travel hopefully is a better

thing than to arrive.” But the continuous shift between national, geographical, and religious

contexts can quickly become overwhelming.

My focus on the ethnographic object, the Shaligram, was only as revealing as the people,

practices, and places could make them in any given moment and I was determined to attend to

movement just as much as I would attend to place. The notion of progress along a pilgrimage

route presents something of an intellectual quagmire. It embodies a belief in the “destination,”

which while important, ignores some of the more pressing concerns of actually getting there and

of the processes of meaning-making that take place, not in arriving, but in traversing. As a point

of departure, then, from more typical literatures on pilgrimage, this work takes the encounters

and co-mobilities of persons and objects together as the focal point for undertaking the journey

in the first place and not specifically in a need to arrive at the temple of Muktinath at the

conclusion of pilgrimage. For Shaligram devotees, the object/person movement through the

sacred landscape is truly what is meant by “undergoing pilgrimage” and not specifically

implying that an individual is intent on “going somewhere.” This is because, though the places of

Shaligram pilgrimage are significant, they are not the primary goal of this particular community

53
of devotees. Having been to the Kali Gandaki, or to Muktinath, was not the end of the journey,

but the beginning of one.

There was simply so much potential data in any one place, linked to even wider networks

of information above and beyond the presence and use of a Shaligram wherever I might

encounter one. As Sondra Hauser once described her work with Himalayan sadhus (wandering

religious ascetics), “all circumstances, like all experiences, are endlessly interpretable” (2012: 7).

I had to remember that at each moment I was sampling what amounted to a few brief snapshots

in the larger lifetime of a person, itself a fragment of the time endured by Shaligrams, themselves

a brief instant in the whole of geological and mythological time. I also needed to understand how

and why it was that Shaligrams were meaningful and profound in so many variable contexts

across so many different variations of religion, community, nationality, and caste. So how then

was I going to take these conversations, detailed observations, and participatory experiences and

make them interpretable? Part of the problem, of course, is that narratives (both oral and textual)

are not always neatly reconciled with practices or, more succinctly, what people say and what

people do are not always the same.

In the case of Shaligrams, I knew I would also need to consider the relationships between

individual voices and the communal systems they reference, because what people do and what

cultural and religious ideals they strive to are also not always consonant. Narratives had a

tendency to come in fragments. As I came to know more pilgrims and devotees, either on the

road or in their homes, I found that narrative elements discerned in the field had ways of coming

back. While I was still in Mustang, many of my research participants (who had long returned

home from their pilgrimages) began to send me videos of their home practices, photos and

recordings of local festivals and temple celebrations, and lengthy descriptions of puja rituals and

54
Shaligram veneration events. Some of that information has been included in these pages. In the

end, there is no final truth in anthropology. Every new anthropologist brings something of his or

her own to the field: a new methodology, a new perspective, a new observation, even a few new

mistakes. The past changes and shifts while the researcher remains on a perpetual journey to

know a world that can never fully be known. We are caught up in the river of culture, carrying

us, and everyone else, along.

This ethnography is my interpretation of the years I spent among Shaligram practitioners

in South Asia, rooted in the theoretical frameworks of social science. This research took place

between 2012 and 2017 with Hindu (Vaishnava, Shaiva, and Smarta) and Buddhist Shaligram

devotees in Nepal and India. Many of these devotees were also pilgrims to the Kali Gandaki

River and to the temple site of Muktinath in Mustang, where I was able to not only participate in

pilgrimage and the ritual acquisition of sacred stones, but in a few cases, was able to follow the

pilgrims and stones outwards to destination temples and homes in the Kathmandu Valley and in

Northern India.

Among those traveling to the Kali Gandaki, I spent time with pujari (temple priests) and

other ritual specialists, a few of whom had journeyed to Nepal to write their own pilgrimage

pamphlets on Shaligrams and many of whom had studied Shaligram interpretations in their home

temples from New Delhi, to Mumbai, to Hyderabad, to Chennai, to Sri Lanka. Months long

sojourns in Mustang allowed me to spend time with locals as well. In some cases, they identified

themselves as Bon adherents, sometimes Hindu or Buddhist, and at other times, claimed no

religious affiliation at all. In other cases, this time allowed me to work specifically with those

who spend their spring and summer months catering to the needs of pilgrims or collecting

Shaligrams themselves, often times to sell.

55
 Because the buying and selling of Shaligrams is typically forbidden in Hindu scripture

(specifically the exchange of a sacred stone for money), as a matter of contrast, I spent several

months in the company of Shaligram merchants in the village of Ranipauwa, in Jomsom, in

Pokhara, and in Kathmandu. Sometimes Hindu, but more often than not Buddhist, many of these

individuals have been engaged in Shaligram ritual practices themselves for decades and some

even started out as pilgrims to Mustang, bringing rare stones out of the mountains in the years

prior to 1992. The significance of being either Hindu or Buddhist as a Shaligram merchant was

occasionally tied to the Puranic restriction on placing monetary value on sacred stones (which

many Hindu sellers tended to avoid and which is not a central prohibition for Buddhists) but also

often had to do with individuals’ own understandings of Shaligram mobility and on the current

political issues facing pilgrimage to Mustang (See Chapter 8). For Hindu sellers, Shaligram

markets could continue to extend Shaligram mobility around political restrictions on pilgrimage

travel and for Buddhists, oftentimes Mustang was the home from which they had now been

displaced. Shaligrams then, became a part of the larger movement of commodified Tibetan

Buddhist culture. As merchants knowledgeable in their products, many of them also have

extensive training in the interpretation of Shaligrams, so they can offer pilgrims specific stones

tailored to their needs and requests.

Navigating the contradiction to never place a monetary price on a sacred stone with the

now global demand for buying Shaligrams (resulting from the inability of many devotees to

undertake Shaligram pilgrimage), many of these sellers occupy an ambiguous space between

practitioner and outsider. Some sellers unapologetically buy and sell Shaligrams as commodities,

putting them up for sale to pilgrims and tourists alike in the bazaars of Jomsom, Pokhara, and

Kathmandu. Others are more circumspect, and request “donations” to cover their time and travel

56
costs so that they may continue supplying new Shaligrams each season; the stone, however, is

free. In the context of global markets, some Shaligram devotees see merchants as part of the

inevitable degradation of Kali Yuga37 (the decline of the current age and a typical euphemism for

modernity) and continue to speak out against their collections of stones priced in the hundreds to

thousands of dollars. At its core, it is then the potential shift between kinship networks of

exchange to commodified networks of exchange that is considered a danger for Shaligram

mobility as a whole. For other devotees, many of whom cannot afford to or cannot physically

make the pilgrimage to Mustang, these sellers, including several who now advertise Shaligrams

for sale online, are a godsend, representing another kind of mobility inherent to Shaligram

stones. One way or the other, they say, a Shaligram will go wherever it needs to, by whatever

means necessary.

The conversations that came most readily to and among Shaligram devotees were not

actually about movement, however, but space. We were often moving together, along pilgrimage

paths or in and around religious sites, and it quickly became apparent to me that such movements

were always contextualized within structures and landscapes linked through elaborate social

networks of spiritual embodiment. Each place we might stop was a potential moment of darshan,

a term derived from the Sanskrit word meaning “to see,” a kind of ritual viewing of and

interacting with divine forces and persons. Within a darshan, material and ritual practices are

meant to make the deity available to the senses and to bodily experiences (Eck 1998). Because

images and material icons have agency in the darshan, it is vital to understanding the role of

Shaligrams as they move outwards from their places of origin and into the lives of devotees.

Most Hindu deity altars, including temple and home altars, are often arranged with great

care and include a wide variety of deity pictures or icons (murti), deity clothing and accessories,

57
miniature animals or people, photos of ancestors, and, of course, sacred stones. In many cases,

these arrangements reflect specific mythological events or are meant to distill larger

mythological narratives into a single perpetual moment in ritual time. For example, one

particular home deity altar belonging to a Gaudiya Vaishnava woman I met while working in

West Bengal contained an entire miniature diorama of the story of Gajendra, a tale related in the

Bhagavata Purana of the rescue of a devoted elephant king by Vishnu from the clutches of the

crocodile Makara. While the roles of Gajendra and Makara were filled, in this case, by two

intricately carved marble statuettes, the role of Vishnu was supplied by a Sudarshan Shaligram.38

Temple complexes are also carefully arranged, both architecturally, using a religious

system called Vastu shastra (vastu shastra), and in terms of the placements of their deities. While

Hindu temple architectures and arrangements have been described in greater detail elsewhere,

some of the principal themes to note are that of the taming and moderating of powerful natural

forces and the recreation of sacred landscapes that lie elsewhere. The concept of the dham,

literally meaning the “seat” or “abode” of a deity, is ubiquitous in Hindu and Buddhist worship.

Dham refers to the sacred landscape that literally houses the deity in a place of pilgrimage as

well as to the recreation of those landscapes within other temples such that those temples may be

said to actually “be” those places of pilgrimage as opposed to simply symbolizing them. Many

temple devotional events also require various circumambulations around deity altars or from one

altar to the next (a short-form pilgrimage). It is also not unusual for smaller representations of

larger temple deities (called utsav murti, or sometimes “extensions”) to be carried along during

these movements or for these smaller deities to be brought out into the village to “walk around”

and “visit.”

58
 The case of Shaligrams however, might include any one of these roles or even all of them

simultaneously. A Shaligram may be both home deity and pilgrimage companion, playing a role

in a mythological diorama or receiving offerings of worship during puja, acting as temple deity

as well as the one that travels throughout the village region (note: Shaligrams are never

considered utsav or “extensions” however, as they are completely self-manifest and self-

contained forms of the divine). It is therefore not unusual for temple deity arrangements to reflect

mythological narratives or the life journeys of saints and gurus. Larger landscapes are viewed

similarly, with the placement of sacred sites along roadways, near rivers, and on mountaintops

that continuously recapitulate mythic events and direct the journey of mankind within the karmic

wheel of life. This is why questions like; Where are you coming from? Where do you live? How

did you get here? and Where are you going? took on a rather different valence for Shaligram

devotees. Travel routes and methods (did you walk or did you hire a car?), places of religious

gathering (a roadside shrine or the temple of Muktinath itself), and pilgrimage circuits (did you

go to Mount Kailash first? Did you start at Pashupatinath?) clearly help to define the temporal

and spatial relationships of communities of devotees, pilgrims, and Shaligrams alike. Despite not

sharing their lives in one particular place, the community of Shaligram worshippers continues to

produce and reproduce itself as one of perpetual movement in time and space.

Pilgrimage in and of itself is significant, especially for those who wish to obtain

Shaligrams according to the “proper” methods of veneration, but so are the final spaces of

worship in destination temples and in-home shrines. Again, and again, I would hear stories from

devotees that usually began with their motivations for pilgrimage (their fathers and grandfathers

had venerated Shaligrams, they wanted Shaligrams for their own children, they needed a specific

Shaligram to attend to a struggling child, a sick relative, or an elderly parent expected to pass

59
soon) but did not end with the story of pilgrimage itself. Rather, pilgrimage framed the middle

part of the narrative and coming home to install the Shaligrams into their communities and

homes the true culmination of the story which brought their tale to the present day. What was

vital about Shaligrams wasn’t just their mythological formations or their geological antiquity, it

was the way in which divine persons, embodied as stone, continued to live on from ancient times

and consequently, how those divine persons linked together ancestors, descendants, and

community lineages in the present. In short, the Shaligram lived a life.

Keeping Up with Shaligrams

Shaligram stones are “born” from the river, taken into homes where they are fed and

cared for, exchanged in real and symbolic marriages, and then passed down to the next

generation or given a symbolic “death.” In “death,” a Shaligram could be either retired to a

temple, returned to the river, or placed into the hands of the dead just prior to cremation. The

Shaligram would then be ready for its karmic “rebirth,” appearing to a new devotee arriving at

the river for pilgrimage or to a destination temple where it might be given as a gift. For devotees,

it was important to move as the Shaligram does, from place to place and from person to person in

a never-ending cycle of relationships marked by birth, marriage, children, and death. Later on, I

began to wonder whether this collective inclination to describe Shaligrams in this way, as

symbolic manifestations of the movement of life itself, might ground a methodology that viewed

the links between far-reaching people, places, and objects as a way to understand how those links

created and maintained communal identities.

When I first posed the possibility of linking the physical movement of Shaligrams with

the temporal movements of life to Shaligram devotees, they explained to me that this was, in

60
fact, how the entirety of the cosmos existed: a continuous and eternal cycle of material creation

caught up in the persistent rhythms of time. In other words, that it was the nature of all things

material, be it stone, human, or deity; to be born, to live, and to die in this manner, regardless of

how much or how little time it took to do so. Anthropologically speaking, it was also easy to

understand these concurrent understandings of movement as one of the basic elements by which

practices, and cultures in general, are able to reproduce themselves.

Unlike most multi-sited ethnographies this work does not focus on any one particular

community moving from place to place. Rather, my methodology here required something

different: to follow the movement of a specific object as it transitioned between national and

religious contexts, between different cultural contexts, and through various political and

economic conflicts. One of the premises of this research is that, despite extensive geographical

distances and cultural differences, Indian and Nepali Shaligram devotees are participating in and

reproducing larger communal structures in conversation with a broader spiritual framework that

deeply influences and affects political life in South Asia. And it is these communal structures,

dependent on ritual mobility and access to sacred landscapes, that are coming into conflict with

politics of division and isolation as well as rhetorics of “cultural preservation” and notions of

“cultural purity” in academic and development discourses today. In some sense then, this is an

ethnography of the lives of stone persons and their communities.

India is, of course, viewed as the traditional locus of Shaligram practice, but I did not

want this research to be limited to the subcontinent. This was not especially difficult given that

both Hindu and Buddhist views of space make specific distinctions between national boundaries

and religious ones. As more than one of my research participants described, the border between

India and Nepal, the border between Nepal and Tibet, as well as the borders within India and

61
Nepal were really matters of politics and not matters of spirituality. Or as another Hindu devotee

described it, “people are much the same as plants. Plants grow where they grow. They don’t pay

attention to government borders. Neither do people really.”

Most of the people I encountered in my work (religiously-affiliated or not) contended that

there was really no spiritual distinction between Nepal and India and that this was obvious due to

the incontrovertible links between their places of pilgrimage, the similarities between their gods

(conflating multiple deities together is an accepted practice in most places), and the necessity for

people everywhere to access them. These links then manifest in the symbolic connections

between sacred spaces. Just as Kathmandu’s Bagmati river as well as Mustang’s Kali Gandaki

are symbolically associated with the Indian Ganges River, sites like Pashupatinath and Mount

Kailash are connected to entire circuits of prominent Shiva temples throughout South Asia

(Hausner 2012: 13, Eck 2012). Gods share similar qualities in that the icon of Avalokiteshvara at

Muktinath is also Vishnu, Brinda in the story of the creation of Shaligrams is also Tulasi, and the

Hindu manifestation of the Kumari (Shakti) goddess in Nepal always appears in a Buddhist girl.

I chose my region of focus, Northern India to Mustang, Nepal, as a way to encompass as

much of the movement of Shaligrams as I reasonably could at a given time. As a South Asianist,

this also gave me the opportunity to focus less on nations as separate categories of study and

more on the interactions between nations and the ways in which ideas of “nationhood” are

debated, impugned, and challenged by lived experience. This would then include devotees from

multiple Hindu, Buddhist, and indigenous religions hailing from a variety of countries of origin,

Shaligram pilgrims from all over the world (from South India to Australia), and individuals

engaged in Shaligram trade. This was also partly facilitated by the fact that, for Indians and

Nepalis, the border is an open one with no required visas for travel between the two countries.

62
For Mustang, however, this posed a much different problem because, while the border between

Upper and Lower Mustang is open for Nepalis, it is highly restricted for everyone else.

My choice was also about political context. From both sides of the aisle, Nepal maintains

a number of political and economic ties with both India and China; what Pritvi Narayan Shah

was described as “a yam caught between two boulders.” Though it is completely land-locked,

Nepal’s enormous diversity, migration labor markets, sacred history, relatively recent troubles

with a Maoist insurgency, and the ratification of a new secular constitution in 2015 (ending its

status as a distinctly Hindu kingdom) means that India has strong interests in maintaining control

of Nepal’s financial, religious, and economic interests. As a result, both the government and

citizens of Nepal tend to view the Indian state with equal measures of compliance and contempt.

This neighboring relationship between the two countries is also important because it reveals a

number of competing social hierarchies at work in relation to caste, nationality, ethnic identity,

and religious affiliation and it is these social hierarchies which continue to contextualize and

constrain pilgrimage in general as well as Shaligram practices specifically. If Shaligrams help

define what it means to be Hindu or Buddhist, then what it means to be Hindu or Buddhist also

helps define what it means to be Indian, Nepali, or Tibetan.

My decision to work in both India and Nepal was also consistent with the routes typically

taken by the Shaligram devotees that I worked with, almost all of whom were well versed in

crossing national boundaries for the sake of religious realization. Speaking Hindi was the most

vital part of communicating with the vast majority of my research participants, but the moderate

amount of Nepali I learned while living in Kathmandu proved to be equally essential for this

research, especially while in Mustang District and elsewhere in Nepal. Since I never quite

mastered the Tibetan dialects common to the high Himalayan areas I frequented, I was also

63
grateful for the fact that many of those I worked with, themselves engaged in the Shaligram

pilgrimage economy, also spoke a combination of Nepali and Hindi. Many of my Indian

informants were also members of the Hindu Diaspora in the USA, in the UK, and in Australia

and so spoke a combination of Hindi and English. Throughout this research, the vast majority of

interviews were therefore conducted with some combination of Hindi, Nepali, and English.

Places to Go…

The research for this dissertation was primarily focused on the Nepali capital of

Kathmandu, Mustang District in the Himalayas, and in the Indian state of West Bengal beginning

in the summer of 2012. In between my time in India and leaving for my field sites in Nepal for

the first time in 2015, I continued to speak with Shaligram practitioners in the U.S. as often as

possible, to understand the motivations and principals of Shaligram worship, and to participate in

Shaligram ritual life in and around the temples of Boston and New York. This seemed

appropriate to my endeavors in the end: to write an ethnography of mobility one must be highly

mobile. Multi-sited research translated not only into a good deal of travel between various field

sites in South Asia but also an incorporation of my own home country into the narrative of

boundaries and movement. Unsurprisingly, different ethnographic themes began to emerge in

different places.

To conduct research in high altitude, mountainous terrain, in Mustang I used as a base the

pilgrimage village of Ranipauwa, vital to the whole endeavor because it is the village wherein

lies the temple complex of Muktinath. Because of this, it acts as the resting and lodging point for

almost all of Muktinath’s pilgrims coming up from Jomsom or Kagbeni. It also contains a

reasonably large number of Shaligram sellers who offer stones near the gates of the temple

64
complex but who rarely bother to attempt to sell their wares much further down the valley, with a

few small exceptions in Jomsom, unless they plan on traveling all the way to Pokhara.

Ranipauwa also makes for a strong base of operations in that many of the surrounding villages of

the Baragaon are readily accessible by foot a few hours in any direction, including Lubra, Jhong,

Jharkot, and Kagbeni. Once in Mustang, I typically traveled by foot, or by horseback if I could,

or bought the occasional jeep or bus ticket if I needed to reach a particular village at a certain

time (or if the weather was especially bad). As might be obvious by now, it soon became clear

that traveling with pilgrim groups themselves was preferred over solo trekking in the Himalayas.

Over the course of several of these trips, it became evident to me that the sacred terrain of

pilgrimage was not determined by national borders but was certainly subject to them. For many

pilgrims, this was a tense and troublesome topic of conversation that could occupy much of the

trip. This did not detract, however, from the richness of the Hindu and Buddhist legends that

defined the landscape, many of which referred to the various body parts of gods, goddesses, and

sinmo that had fallen there.39 The conflict between the two topics was never far from anyone’s

mind.

In Kathmandu, I worked primarily with individuals and families who venerated

Shaligrams in their daily ritual practices. One such family lived nearby to Pashupatinath temple

where they had maintained a shop (for selling Shaligrams) near the main gate for many years.

Their continued participation in Mustang pilgrimage as well as their generational heritage in

Shaligram practice made them a key part in understanding how Shaligrams move from place to

place and from person to person outside of the religious ideals of pilgrimage. Another family

living further out in the city had been worshipping Shaligrams for multiple generations as well,

and the chance to observe and participate in daily pujas and other ritual preparations helped to

65
supplement and refine what I had already observed among Shaligram-venerating families in

West Bengal in the years prior and among practitioners in the U.S. I had met between seasons in

the field. Moving back and forth between home altars and temple altars, between pilgrimage and

daily life – as so often defines religious practices throughout South Asia – I found multiple

places wherein my questions about mobility, personhood, and materiality revealed deep links

between body, time, and place.

Traversing through multiple physical and mythic locations, bound together by human

movement in time and space, therefore became the method through which my fieldwork

approach coalesced during my time among the Shaligram devotee community. The links I draw

between these themes – mobility as power, stone as body, and geological space as mythological

time -- were not originally planned but developed slowly and organically out of the questions I

asked and the responses I received. When I considered my travels, I was not overly surprised to

find that these themes formed a kind of dialectic with the locations I had worked in but I could

also see that their narratives shifted considerably in the course of my wanderings between them.

That is to say that each place of research may have informed the ethnographic themes produced

from it, but it was the mobility itself between places that contextualized the overall meanings

made from pilgrimage, ritual obligation, and from the Shaligrams themselves. Gradually, I began

to develop the dual sense of both local and global participation within these contexts that so

intimately framed devotees’ experiences: that they were part of an immediately transient physical

phenomenon in the context of actual pilgrimage or daily puja but were also moving through a

history, a mythology, and a communal tradition that reached all the way back to the very

beginnings of time.

66
People to See…

I realized early on that this research would be best served by focusing on large volumes

of pilgrimage interactions with as many individuals as I could manage and by getting to know a

small number of active Shaligram practitioners in specific locations. This approach would then

entail a number of sustained, long-term, interactions with a few groups of people as well as give

me opportunities to interview Shaligram devotees more broadly. This way, I could also stay

where my key participants lived and practiced while maintaining my ability to leave for Mustang

(or any other pilgrimage or temple site) at a moment’s notice. Shaligram practice is highly

variable in time and place, and while it might be impossible to catalogue a completely

comprehensive account of all its possible permutations, I wanted to be as thorough as possible in

attesting to differences in ritual and religious expertise, motivation, and background. More

importantly, by focusing on the experiences and perspectives of specific individuals and groups

in combination with broader narrative themes gleaned from multiple pilgrimages, I would also be

able to explore the range of religious meanings, political concerns, and family histories within

Shaligram practice while at the same time trying to draw conclusions about the community as a

whole.

Over a total of sixteen months of active fieldwork between 2012 and 2017, I worked

closely and consistently with two Shaligram devotee families (Vaishnava) and three sadhus

(Shaiva) in Nepal, one Shaligram family and two elderly widows (also Vaishnava) in India, and

one Shaligram family in the U.S. who had recently immigrated from South India (Smarta). Over

the years that I traveled between my field sites, however, I met hundreds of pilgrims, sat with a

dozen Shaligram specialists (gurus), and had informal conversations with scores of Hindu and

Buddhist devotees and Shaligram sellers. Some of these conversations took place over the course

67
of several days, others were recorded in the context of one-time meetings, often on the trails

between Muktinath and Kagbeni.

In other cases, face-to-face conversations migrated to online emails and messages and

then, on occasion back again, when I met and re-met the same pilgrims again and again. Hearing

that I was once again back in Mustang, devotees would also ask me if I had come across any

particular Shaligram in my travels and, if possible, might I return with one for them of a specific

type. For this, I was invited into homes and into temples to witness the subsequent ritual results

of my gift and be party to the connections and relationships that Shaligram practice engendered.

We would also compare experiences and share what we each had learned on the last time we

undertook Shaligram pilgrimage and catch up on the latest political issues plaguing Nepal or

India at the time. More than once, I was warned, I should be grateful for the Shaligrams I had

now, because there might be a revolution on the horizon.

However brief many of these encounters might at first appear to be, I found it important

to note that these kinds of variable interactions are also common between Shaligram

practitioners. Because Shaligram devotees do not make up a distinct community in and of

themselves (at least, not in the classic sense of overall shared identity, traditions, and history),

they tend to interact with one another with an equal sense of shared experiences and disparate

origin. There may be only a few active Shaligram practitioners in any given Hindu temple

congregation but whenever they encounter others who venerate Shaligrams in their daily lives

(regardless of where they come from or what religious tradition they adhere to) they immediately

come together under the auspices of a shared material world that has revealed, for them, a new

kind of truth that can only be shared with another who has experienced that same truth for

themselves. Because many conversations and interactions within pilgrimage and between

68
practitioners have a typical kind of come-and-go, temporary-communitas, brief or sustained,

character to them I have included many such conversations in this work. These interactions are

just as much a part of a Shaligram devotee’s life as the larger and long-term family, community,

and national conversations are.

The pages that follow detail the structures, views, and practices of Shaligram devotees

broadly, regardless of whether they identify as Hindu Vaishnava, Hindu Smarta, Hindu Shaiva,

Buddhist, or Bonpo. But the range of Shaligram practice is clearly much broader than I was able

to encounter or could possibly convey. I discuss the “Shaligram community” on occasion but in

no way do I imply that this community is a singular, definable, entity. Individual variation, the

influences of religious tradition, regional and national histories, and personal experiences have

all affected Shaligram practice in their own ways. Additionally, Shaligram devotees rarely

worship just Shaligrams alone and typically maintain home altars and temple observances that

include a wide variety of other types of deity manifestations (such as statues – sthula/archa-

vigraha,40 images – murti, and respected persons – gurus, saints) in addition to Shaligrams.

Regardless, what does bind this particular group together, and therefore this ethnographic

narrative, is a shared material practice focused on a single unique object which is contextualized

by pervasively underlying issues of political participation, national identity, and the meaning of

mobility. It is therefore the overarching argument of this dissertation that the living experiences

of Shaligrams – from political conflict and pilgrimage to social incorporation to ritual death and

rebirth – links extraordinarily diverse people together despite their varied backgrounds, divergent

practices, and scattered locations into a new and complex kind of communal being based on the

power and sovereignty of movement itself.

69
Things to Do…

To be a true participant in Shaligram practice, or to acquire insight into ritual and

religious experiences that went beyond removed observation, I was told that I would have to

keep and care for at least one Shaligram myself. For many of the people I worked with, this

included taking initiation from a guru into a particular Hindu order or tradition, but for many

others, it was explained that simply caring for and respecting a Shaligram according to the proper

strictures was enough to achieve good karmic benefits without incurring spiritual danger (and

that my own personal belief system was irrelevant to doing so). While I was open to the

possibility of an initiation during my fieldwork – especially if the circumstances seemed

appropriate or the dynamics of my work happened to inspire such a desire in me – the sheer

number of disparate religious traditions and lineages I worked with eventually precluded my

undertaking such a ritual. After all, initiation into one tradition generally excluded initiation into

others and I needed to attend specifically to the variations of Shaligram practice among devotees

of many persuasions. But perceiving that I was interested in Shaligrams in a deep and abiding

way (or as some of my participants would explain, that I was “drawn to them” likely due to my

experiences of a previous lifetime) that often went beyond the merely academic, several of my

informants referred to me as a Vaishnavi, or at the very least having a Vaishnavi soul, even if I

myself didn’t quite realize it yet.

According to more than one, this work was carried out under the full purview of Vishnu

(or Krishna) regardless, because any work that dealt so closely with such a sacred topic could

only be blessed and guided by Him. As such, many of the devotees I worked with courteously

introduced me to their gurus, their temple pujari, their elder family members, and to their up and

coming descendants even if I never underwent a formal ritual inducting me into any particular

70
tradition. Lastly, this also brought up occasional contexts relating to the rise of Hinduism and

Buddhism as global religions and the issue of Western (read: Caucasian) converts. While I

address issues of religious “ownership” and views on the rights of non-South Asians to use

Indian and Nepali religious culture in a later chapter, it is important for me to mention here that

questions of my conversion/non-conversion did occasionally arise, and where they are important

to the context of my analysis or of my data collection, I have pointed them out.

As primarily a researcher, I remained largely outside many formal Hindu social structures

(such as caste and ethnicity), inhabiting the status of a “foreign observer” but who was also a

kind of honorary practitioner. This was because, early in my research, I was given a beautiful

Shaligram identified as a manifestation of Lakshmi-Narayan: Vishnu and his consort Lakshmi in

her capacity as the goddess of wealth, fortune, and prosperity. I carried this Shaligram with me

as I continuously maintained the daily ritual requirements for caring for a sacred companion,

including abstaining from meat and alcohol as well as making offerings of water, tulsi leaves,

and mantras (the general basics for anyone in possession of a Shaligram).

While not being a formally initiated disciple meant that I paid my respects and fulfilled

my obligations to my research participants in ways other than religiously, my having completed

multiple pilgrimages in Nepal and India and my continued demonstration of my respect and

reverence for the Shaligram granted me the status of a kind of lay devotee. This Shaligram

wasn’t just a literal touchstone for my entrance into the ritual lives of devotees (as well as a way

to start conversations), it also allowed me to experience the kinds of ritual obligations and

embodied practices most common to Shaligram devotees. Additionally, I made it a point to give

away or otherwise distribute virtually all of the other Shaligrams I accumulated through

pilgrimage, making me as much a part of their sacred mobility as it ensured that I would not

71
amass a large collection of stones I was not prepared to properly care for. Though the taking of

Shaligrams from Mustang is not regulated, either governmentally or religiously, I was careful not

to participate in what many devotees and pilgrims have come to see as a growing problem of

Western “butterfly collecting” sacrilege towards Shaligrams, especially among tourists and

trekkers who purchase them as decorations and souvenirs.

Nearly every participant I worked with over the course of five years of research insisted,

however, that no one would ever truly be able to understand the principles of Shaligrams (or

their divinity beyond the material) through purely academic categories. Along with the necessity

of a knowledgeable guru guiding my learning process, the impossibility of a purely intellectual

grasp of “seeing” Shaligrams (darshan) as they truly were was universally agreed upon. This is

because sense experience, which was necessary to interacting with the deity, needed to be

properly interpreted through authoritative scripture. And it was this combination of experience

and supervised interpretation and translation that could finally begin to reveal to me the spiritual

depth of what I was attempting to realize. Faith is something that one must “do,” not something

one “believes.”

Again and again the question of internal states of belief were brushed off as practitioners

explained that what God does is not dependent on what people think. Therefore, in place of

becoming an insider, which would have meant full initiation into Hindu life and subsequently

also the abandonment of this ethnography, I did engage in my own Shaligram practice such as I

was inclined to do. I understood this daily practice as part of my method, the one that spoke

volumes to my informants as to what my ultimate intentions were. As an outsider though, I did

maintain certain research benefits: I was free to come and go as my work required (a necessity

for an ethnography of mobility), to ask probing and naïve questions about Shaligram

72
interpretation and about political and religious life, and to work with pilgrims and devotees from

all manner of backgrounds and customs, which might have become overly complicated had I

been officially initiated into any one particular religious tradition.

The Practice of Shaligram Ethnography

The conversations I had with my research participants were predominantly very informal.

On the rare occasions when I scheduled interviews, they were mostly conducted with ritual

specialists or gurus whose time required appointments or other kinds of formal interactions

before I was allowed to speak with them. Fieldwork mainly involved walking or sitting with

Shaligram devotees, oftentimes during puja or more usually with pilgrims along a pilgrimage

road or settling into an evening meal, watching their interactions, listening to their stories, and

discussing their life experiences with them. Despite the fact that we were both usually strangers

to the land we traveled, I was still treated as a guest or later on as a friend and confidant. While

working among village residents, I continued to assist in as many household chores as I could

(washing dishes, helping to prepare meals, or gathering ritual implements) but I was often

admonished to cease such work and to accept tea so that we might sit and talk. This extended to

ritual events as well.

As a part of a larger crowd, I usually stayed out of the way and accepted kumkum and

sandalwood tilaks (forehead markings) or prasad (food or items which come from a deity or holy

person) if it was offered. As a researcher, and therefore as someone intent to learn as much as

possible, I also did not present myself as an expert in Shaligram practices. It has never been my

intent to supplant the role of gurus or ritual specialists and I endeavored to keep my position as

one of a student no matter how long I spent studying texts, interpreting Shaligrams, or practicing

73
rituals. Even when I knew the mantras required for the performance of specific rituals or already

understood the characteristics of a particular Shaligram as identifying a specific deity, I did not

offer this information unless asked. Even today, I am far more interested in what practitioners

have to tell me than what I already know.

Very few of my interactions with Shaligram devotees were tape-recorded. Rather, I

preferred to take notes by hand in the moment of conversation and summarize and elaborate

them in further detail later on. I also consistently maintain two separate notebooks; one which

contained the written account of my observations and the second which was reserved for

drawings of Shaligrams and their accompanying details and mythological explanations. It was

this second notebook which ultimately proved to be my point of entrance into many deeper and

more long-term relationships.

Drawing Shaligrams became an important aspect of this work for two reasons. Firstly,

photography was often forbidden within the confines of sacred spaces, such as temples or within

the inner sanctum of a shrine and secondly, drawing specific Shaligrams became an invaluable

pedagogical technique for learning how to read and interpret stones according to their particular

characteristics. As happens with many ethnographers in the field (Dejarlais 1992, Hausner 2012),

word quickly spread among pilgrims and devotees that there was a researcher from America

writing a book about Shaligrams and creating detailed drawings of their many different types. On

many occasions, devotees asked to see this notebook, a request I was more than happy to oblige.

Ultimately, this extensive packet of drawings and sketches proved to be exceptionally useful in

starting conversations about Shaligram practices (and provoking memories from gathered

pilgrims or family members) and I was genuinely interested in their feedback as well as in seeing

how my representations corresponded with what my informants wanted me to understand.

74
 These conversations were also useful for in-field fact-checking and helped me to see

where different people and different groups diverged from the information I had recorded

previously. In the end, my research participants’ investment in this work focused primarily on

this portion of the work and quite a few of them requested that, should any final publication

result from my time in Nepal, that printed copies of these drawings or photographs of the

original Shaligrams, along with their corresponding descriptions, be made available to them.

Combining drawing and writing, photography and textual references, the process of

drawing out analytical connections from my informants’ multiple threads of narrative and

experience has continued to evolve over time. However, I have tried to preserve the numerous

voices and perspectives of Shaligram practitioners themselves as the core of my ethnographic

and theoretical discussions. As one Shaiva sadhu explained, sitting outside the gates of

Muktinath as he had off-and-on for some twenty years or so: “The beauty of Shaligram is that it

can be many things to many people. This doesn’t mean that you should not learn to read them

properly, but that whatever Shaligram is to you may not be what Shaligram is to me. And that is

ok, because Shaligram always is what it must be.” While at the time I took him to mean that the

nuances of Shaligram interpretation may sometimes be left to individual perceptions or insight, I

later began to understand that what he was really referring to was a far-reaching sense of the

formlessness of the divine: where the superficial nature of the material object and of the narrative

was meant only to lead one to deeper understanding, not to be that understanding in and of itself.

He contentedly assured me a few moments later that because of this, whatever it was that I would

write couldn’t be completely correct no matter what I did but that it would be enough, for the

right person who read it properly. Having already experienced some of the challenges of the

academic peer review process, I took a strange comfort in that.

75
 Taking the concept of continuously layered meanings as a methodological starting point,

I found it helpful to approach both the conversations I recorded and the texts I included as

referential moorings in an otherwise continuously shifting narrative. This way, I would be

careful not to incorrectly characterize social change as something that moves between static

forms or portray mobility as instability. Instability is, after all, simply a privileging of the stable

and the stable largely depends on one’s point of view. As I gradually came to understand the

broader contexts within which my research participants expressed their understandings or

experiences, I tried to analyze their explanations in ways that most closely fit with what they

were trying to tell me at the time, while also working under the realization that these

conversations were linked to even larger conversational frameworks and issues being shared over

great distances and across numerous borders.

I had to begin with the local, all the while attentive to the impact of the global, which

provided dimensions of context wherever we went and which reflected nuanced layers of cultural

context, some of which would always be inaccessible to me. I knew early on, however, that I

would need to address both the discourses of science as well as the discourses of religious

philosophy and theology concerning Shaligrams (as God and as fossil). This was not only

because geological and paleontological research is exceptional in the Himalayas but because

these two discourses concerned Shaligram devotees in equal measure. This meant that I would

need to be attentive to the point where these discourses diverged in my conversations as well as

being conscientious of how devotees themselves attempted to resolve (or not) these ontological

conundrums. Respect for my informants and taking them seriously as religious practitioners and

as teachers, was paramount to this and though I did not actively profess belief in any particular

religious system (it was mostly unnecessary anyway), my position was not one of professing the

76
truth or objectivity of one discourse or the other. My hope is that this dissertation – using both

the language of Hindu and Buddhist religion in conjunction with Euro-American social theory –

better represents what Shaligram practitioners themselves have tried to convey about their lives,

practices, experiences, and concerns in a time of great social upheaval.

Tangled Up in Texts: The Far-Reaching Implications of Shaligram Ethnography

The highly mobile contexts of Shaligram use and practice presents something of a

challenge for locating discussions and analyses of these practices within potentially productive

theoretical frameworks because, as should be clear by now, Shaligrams at any given point may

conceivably touch on a wide variety of issues and topics that, for the sake of space and argument,

are not fully realized here. This dissertation as a whole revolves around three thematic issues:

mobility, material personhood, and landscape. These three frames of reference then inform a

project grounded in the anthropology of religion, where religious practices are analyzed in

relation to social institutions and compared cross-culturally. By focusing first on the nature of the

sacred and of the sacred object, this work speaks to the paradox of Shaligram personhood and

their incorporation as divine entities and as erstwhile family members into Hindu communities.

Every Shaligram devotee I met was able to explain the necessity of including Shaligrams

in daily life and incorporating them into any worship using “man-made” icons; due to the fact

that Shaligrams were self-manifest and therefore carried their divinity with them in a purer form

than humans could possibly create. This divinity, however, was not always readily visible,

except to the trained observer. What was still necessary for proper veneration then included

extensive social networks of ritual specialists, learned gurus, and masters of ancient texts who

could read a Shaligram and discern its identity, needs, and intents. An “unidentified” Shaligram

77
was always Vishnu (regardless of its appearance) but identification of the exact divine nature of

a Shaligram nearly always preceded its ritual incorporation into family or temple life. Though

described as bodies themselves, Shaligrams were nevertheless said to transcend human

boundaries of caste, class, and gender, and that they linked places, communities, and generations

together without regard for the superficial and temporary characteristics of human bodies, which

by their nature must be born and then die.

A Shaligram, on the other hand, had no need to endure this karmic cycle of birth, death,

and rebirth, even though it did; further proof that God Himself manifested as stone so that He

would join with His devotees just as they were and experience all these things for Himself in the

hands of generations of devout families. As a result, the continuing troubles of accessing the

Mustang pilgrimage (be they political or economic) became not only an affront to religious

sovereignty but a transgression against the divine workings of time itself. And in the end,

defining and maintaining the mobility of Shaligrams, and by that token the people involved in

their veneration, was paramount to ensuring the continued longevity of the practice and of the

community. But this does not mean that Shaligram practices cannot be viewed in light of other,

more localized concerns of religious or ritual practice, religious hybridity, or national unification

and development. These concerns, however, though informative of this work are secondary to

the main arguments.

One of the issues concerning this ethnography lies in the literature. While there currently

exists a significant body of research regarding pilgrimage, shamanism, and ritual practices in

Nepalese society (See Hitchcock 1976, Gellner 1994, Guneratne 1999, and Maskarinec 1992),

there are only two major published works available that are specifically dedicated to the study of

Shaligram stones: the Śālagrāma-Kosha by S.K. Ramachandra Rao (1996) and the Śāligrāma

78
Purāṇa by Ram Charan Sharma (2000). Both of these works, released in several volumes in the

late 1990s and early 2000s, contain detailed descriptions of Shaligram myths and stories as well

as numerous drawings depicting various types of Shaligram stones but contains little in the way

of analytical explanation and no commentary at all in terms of Shaligram traditions located in

specific times or places. More generally, both of these works are primarily concerned with the

religious and mythological significance of Shaligrams and Shaligram ammonites as supported by

references in Vedic literature but are not ethnographic in terms of practices, pilgrimage, or ritual

use.

Other works on Shaligrams tend to fall into one of two categories: colonial-era geological

surveys with very brief commentaries on “Shaligram cults” and pilgrimage literatures. In an

effort to address ongoing understandings and interpretations of Shaligrams, these types of work

will be addressed where appropriate, including the commentaries of Gustav Oppert (French:

1901) and Joseph Kohl-Bonn (German: 1936), modern paleontological work on ammonites in

the Himalayas (Page 2008, Sakai 1989, Enay and Cariou 1999), and local pilgrimage literatures,

such as Muktichhetra Mahatmyamam by Madhu Sudhan Ramanujadas (2003), and other

compilations of Puranic references. The considerable dearth of ethnographic work, however,

means that addressing questions of the ritual and economic roles of Shaligrams, and of sacred

objects in general, in the building of cross-cultural religious identity, in the negotiation of

economic development strategies based on pilgrimage and the exchange of the stones, and in

manifestations of South Asian political inequality will be vital. Given that this research must

address the movement of sacred objects between and among different nationalities and between

and among different religious affiliations and identities, mobility is taken, not as a transient

79
process necessary for getting from place to place, but as an expression of identity and meaning in

its own right.

Up until this point, I have also avoided referring to Shaligram practices as “syncretic.”

Religious syncretism has long been a contentious analytical method in the social sciences and I

have chosen not to use it to describe Shaligrams for a number of reasons. One, because the

boundaries between religious traditions in Nepal (and in India as well) overlap to such a degree

that they become virtually non-existent and two, because the methods by which any particular

practice or object can be said to be “Hindu,” “Buddhist,” or “Bon” is often a matter of

perspective and belies more about the person making the claim than it does about any actual kind

of objective “belonging” to a definable tradition.

I have drawn principally on the works of Charles Stewart, Rosalind Shaw, and Melville

Herskovits in understanding religious syncretism as a method of exploring difference (Stewart

and Shaw 1994 and Herskovits 1958) but also on the works of Stephan Palmié, who argues

convincingly for the reconsideration of the very notion of syncretism/hybridity in favor of

viewing religious blending and exchange as an integral part of the nature of religious practice

itself (Palmié 2013). This is especially useful here in that this analysis speaks against the

literatures of “pure culture” common to travel brochures, international development policies,

historical revisionism, and desktop photography books that portray Nepal and India as lands of

“untouched history,” “pure peoples,” and “ancient cultures unchanged by time.” And where

mobility in terms of pilgrimage, tourism, and migration is viewed as polluting, a “leakage” into

the pristine nature of resident cultures. This is why my use of religious syncretism is that of a

label, constructed from a momentary point of view, that does not represent any actual kind of

ongoing hybridization of otherwise “pure” traditions of origin. Rather, any use of religious

80
syncretism here addresses the fact that these moments of religious overlap are part of

perspectives (both ethnographic and academic), rooted in specific contexts, that categorize

religion according to relevant contexts at the time.

National unification is also something of a staple of scholarship in South Asia. From

conflicts over development and nation-building (Allen 1994, Guneratne 2002, and von Einsidel

et. al. 2012) to the post-colonialist concerns of medical anthropology (Pigg 1996, 1997, and

2002, Stone 1976 and 1986, Subedi 1989, Streefland 1985, and Archarya 1994) to the

frameworks of religion as a social healing practice (Desjarlais 1992a, Maskarinec 1995, and

Dietrich 1998), ethnographic work in personal, national, ethnic, and religious identity in Nepal

and India often emphasizes the role of ritual practices and religious agents in the stability or

instability of state formations. Some inroads into the complexities of unification, social change,

and identity in Nepal have already been made through historical and comparative views of caste,

gender, and kinship (Bennet 1983, Parish 1996, and Ahearn 2006), the perceived division

between "tradition" and "modernity" (Fujikura 2004, Heydon 2011, and Pigg 1995), Hindu views

of asceticism, the body, and the self (Hausner 2007, Parish 1994, and Desjarlais 1992b), and by

the renegotiation and recreation of ethnic boundaries among various groups (Adams 1996 and

Guneratne 2002). However, my goal here is to build on this body of work by demonstrating how

the material representations of the divine (to wit, Shaligrams), the cross-tradition co-

constructions of sacred objects, persons, and communities, and the movement of religious

practitioners through sacred and political landscapes bind together and sometimes refute the

existence of multiple different nationalities, castes, and ethnic identities within contexts of state

power.

In this approach, Stacy Pigg's work (1997, 1996, and 1995) on medicine, belief, and

81
tradition in Nepal helps to frame wider contexts that show how “belief” in any particular spiritual

claim is never a zero sum game. By demonstrating that Nepali villagers’ belief in the efficacy

and ontology of both medical interventions, shamanic healing, and the presence of spirits can

vary drastically from one person to the next (and from one context to the next), the fact that

Shaligrams are viewed as both fossils and deities in similar contexts demonstrates a consistent (if

varied) internal logic to how religion operates among Hindu, Buddhist, and Bonpo practitioners

in South Asia. Steven Parish's work on caste, morality, and personhood (1994 and 1996), Sondra

Hausner's work on asceticism and the body (2007), and Robert Dejarlais's phenomenological

work on healing and ritual practice (1992) will also be key in further understanding the current

cultural frameworks of Nepal (and India) within which Shaligrams are produced as both sacred

and economic objects. In Hausner’s work on Hindu renouncers in Northern India and Nepal

specifically, she considers a particular paradox that shapes the lives of transient religious

ascetics; that of the solitary spiritual practitioner who is also embedded within a distinctive, yet

alternative, mobile community that is not located in any particular place. In some ways

analogous to the community and mobility of Shaligrams, this work is especially useful in

continuing to demonstrate how shared views of space, time, and the body among religious

practitioners create new grounds for everyday experience that do not neatly fit into normative

cultural categories of fixed family, community, and belonging.

Questions of alternative kinship networks and object personhood are also central to this

research. In that vein, I take Lucinda Ramberg’s work on categories of divine kin-making among

the devidasis of India (2014) as an important starting point in theorizing kinship beyond

systematic lenses (Lèvi-Strauss 1969) or culturalist viewpoints (Schneider 1984), all the while

taking into account the nature of persons in general and their understandings of their role in the

82
world (Strathern 2005). However, due to the object-nature of Shaligrams, this work must also

dispense with the privileging of relatedness through the conjugal pair, as Ramberg does, or the

biological tree of relationships mapped out between parents and their children (Hayden 1995,

Rubin 1975, and Weston 1997). This is because the designation of “fictive” in terms of

Shaligram kinship with communities and families does not adequately capture the depth of

relationship and relatedness that is so often expressed between practitioners and their deity-

stones and would unfairly focus attention on the already dominant family forms and genealogical

categories that place biological and genetic ties at the forefront of determining who and what

counts as “family.” Along with a number of new kinship studies in the anthropology of

relatedness, Shaligrams as kin then opens up new possible ways of enacting and valuing

relationships more broadly and continues to trouble our current understanding of what we truly

mean when we say blood or affine (Carsten 2000, Hayden 1995, Weston 1997, and Franklin and

McKinnon 2001).

Finally, David Freedberg's and David Morgan’s studies in the agency of religious images

(1989 and 1999 respectively), Laurie Patton and Wendy Doniger's work on the contextualization

of mythic narratives (1996), Diana Eck's work on the practice of darshan (1998), and both

Ashish Nandy and Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi's work in religious synthesis in South Asia (1998

and 2011) will help to further locate these inquiries in terms of religious theory and the complex

function of mythico-poetic complexes in South Asian contexts. This is largely because the

tensions between science as mythology and religion as mythology are deeply felt by Shaligram

practitioners and the parallels and incongruencies between the two narratives of

Shaligram/Ammonite origins are common fodder for debate as to the nature of humanity, of the

gods, and often of Shaligrams themselves. Interaction with religious icons and images (murti) is

83
also an extraordinarily common form of veneration in Vedic religion and it is the complex nature

of images as agents which foregrounds how people view their relationships with their deities and

with spirits and ancestors through the communal practices of darshan (ritual viewing), puja

(ritual care/worship), and the dham (the spiritual world where a deity resides).

In later chapters, I draw on Elizabeth Povinell’s work in geo-ontology (2016), Tim

Ingold’s work on the ways in which people construct and are constructed by their environments

(2000), and Anna Tsing’s work on the fraught cohabitation of people and the natural world

(1993, 2005, 2016), because they are critical for conceptualizing the links between ritual and

economics within the natural and religious milieus that Shaligrams traverse. This is not only

because Shaligram pilgrimage is situated within the competing sacred and political landscapes of

Mustang and the Kali Gandaki River Valley, including their own localized problems of

conservation and development, but also because resistance to the commodification of Shaligrams

as “precious stones” is a fast-growing problem that many Shaligram practitioners are keen to

face.

These works will frame the need for an in-depth understanding of how the use of

Shaligrams relates to political, social, and economic transformation in Nepal and what effect

Shaligram pilgrimage has on Muktinath and the surrounding region. In the end, by combining

theoretical frameworks in religious anthropology, the social and religious history of images and

landscapes, and previous work on kinship, personhood, and mobility, my inquiries here work to

conceptualize the production and exchange of sacred stones as a method of identity and

community building across boundaries of caste, nationality, gender, and ethnicity particularly in

light of increasing Westernization, fears of "foreign" claims to "domestic" religious sites, and

other recent political and social changes in modern South Asia.

84
Muktinath Valley, Mustang

85
 Chapter 3
Picked-Up Pieces
Constructing a History of Mustang
“Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.”
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Dawn had barely broken over the horizon as Bikas Shrestha and eight other Hindu

pilgrims made their way along the narrow mountain road between Kagbeni and the village of

Ranipauwa. Having spent nearly three days searching for Shaligrams along the banks of the Kali

Gandaki River below, they were eager to reach Muktinath temple by no later than mid-day and

begin their ritual bathing in the 108 water spouts of the Vishnu mandir. Bikas was especially

excited as he clutched the embroidered bag which now held his four most recent Shaligrams,

each of which he hoped to lay at the feet of Sri Muktinath (Vishnu/Avalokiteshvara), the

principal deity of Muktinath temple, during the afternoon darshan. “It is said,” he began

breathlessly, still struggling against the thin high-altitude air, “that wherever there are twelve or

more Shaligrams, that place is the same as the dham. It is no different than Muktinath. These

four make fourteen for me now, so I think that this will be my last pilgrimage. I have enough for

my children to take when they are older and two that I will give to my guru. Wherever I go now

with them, it is pilgrimage to Muktinath.” 41

Several hours later, as we approached the temple complex just beyond the village, we

passed a small group of Buddhist nuns of the Nyingma order on their way to the Vishnu mandir.

86
“Namaste, aani!” Bikas called out, hurrying the others along more quickly as the nuns began to

open the temple doors in preparation for darshan. Nearly twenty more Hindu pilgrims waiting in

the courtyard gathered closely around. “Isn’t it strange,” I asked. “that a Hindu site of pilgrimage

should be attended to Buddhist nuns?” “Not at all.” Bikas replied, his eyes carefully trained on

the inner sanctum of the temple ahead of us. “Buddhists are Hindus, you see. They are really no

different. Lord Buddha was an incarnation of Vishnu and appears in Shaligram from time to

time. So, it is not surprising that Buddhists also come to Muktinath.”

The landscape of Mustang, Nepal has two kinds of histories. First, there is the lengthy

political history of migration, exchange, and identity reconciliation between the region as a “lost

kingdom of Tibet” and then as part of the Nepali state in the years of territorial consolidation

following the Gurkha conquest of 1768. In particular, this historical narrative encompasses the

Thakali (the most populous Mustangi ethno-caste) control of the salt trade and the eventual

political isolation of Mustang in the years following the Chinese invasion of Tibet in 1950.

Second, there is the mythological history of Mustang, which includes not only the scriptural

references to the land of Shaligram (Śālagrāma) 42 but also the narratives that people forge about

themselves and their own positions in the world, both native-born and pilgrim. This shaping of

historical narrative through a mytho-poetic lens is part of the strategies of adaptation within an

ever-shifting socio-political environment not just in Mustang and in Nepal, but throughout South

Asia. Particularly since the 1950s, Mustangi narratives about themselves have been deeply

affected by the narratives scholars tell about them.

Histories of Mustang are usually constructed from sources outside of the region, and

because many villages and groups are both themselves historically or presently migratory and

have not kept extensive written records over long periods of time, their understanding of

87
Mustang as a kingdom and then as a national polity are most often drawn from books and articles

read in school or made available to them by local booksellers (most of which are also printed in

English). There are also a number of pressing issues behind the competing mythological

narratives of the multiple religious traditions that can be found from Jomsom, to the Baragaon, to

Lo Monthang. Understanding how such histories are negotiated then requires us to examine the

inter-relatedness of the social, economic, ritual, and political circumstances of the pilgrimage

landscapes of Mustang that confronts the various agents involved in the telling and re-telling of

specific narratives, as well as the influences of pilgrims and other travelers on the telling of these

narratives elsewhere. But as William Fisher notes, in regards to Mustang, “not all narratives are

equal.” This is not to say that each version does not have its own particular kinds of merit, but

that various “inequalities arise in different ways: they appeal to different audiences; they adhere

in varying degrees to the so-called facts; some are more persuasive than others, and some are

more widely recognized as “coherent.”” (2001: 45).

There are two particular narratives prevalent among the Hindu pilgrims who frequent

Mustang in search of Shaligrams: the narrative of mobility and landscape and the narrative of

syncretism and hybridity. While neither pilgrims nor local peoples themselves typically use

terms like “syncretic” to describe their own religious practices, many are acutely aware that

scholars, politicians, and tourists to the region are especially keen on labeling art, architecture,

and practices as being Buddhist (Tibetan) or Hindu (Nepali or Indian) or Bon (indigenous) in

ways that local peoples or pilgrims don’t necessarily see. In fact, calling aspects of religious

practice, temples, or the landscape by these terms is viewed more as a political statement than a

religious or historical one, aimed at outside audiences in the NGO and government development

and environmental conservation world or scholars tasked with the agenda of cultural

88
preservation, which thereby weighs some narratives with the promise of a possible economic

windfall in the form of project funds.

Landscape plays a primary role in this analysis as both a location where the connections

between place, space, identity, nationalism, history, and memory are embodied and enacted and

as a cultural process in and of itself. Drawing on perspectives that include discussions of

landscapes in the context of preservation and tourism, as the focus of development narratives, as

mythological constructs, and as spaces wherein socio-political and ethnicized communities are

imagined and created (Stewart and Strathern 2015, Hirsch and O’Hanlon 1995), this chapter

addresses the changing paradigms of mobility and nationalism along the pilgrimage routes of the

Kali Gandaki as a vital context, influence, and origin point for modern Shaligram practice. More

generally, this chapter presents an anthropological overview of the political and cultural issues

currently facing Mustang; describing its history of conflict, migration, and religious blending as

a way to address the conflicts between sacred and political landscapes from which Shaligrams

are produced, collected, and exchanged. My point here is that the political and ethnic fluidity and

hybridity of Mustang in general has produced a long trajectory of boundary negotiations and

political isolation from which deep connections of religious material practice and mobility as

power have arisen.

In both narrative cases, issues of place, space, and time are paramount to the identities of

residents and pilgrims alike. But who tells these stories and for what purpose? How and why do

some people adhere to distinct terms like Buddhist and Hindu or find them so useful even when

the blending between the two sets of ritual practices and religious identities maybe so fluid as to

be virtually indistinguishable? Why do so many scholars react skeptically to the Hindu “origins”

of specific places and practices or find the idea of largely Tibetan Buddhist influences of cultural

89
and social change in Mustang so appealing? How do these narratives fit with verifiable histories

of the region and to whom is this evidence more or less convincing? To answer these questions

this chapter considers the what, why, how, where, and by whom certain narratives of sacred

landscape, the sovereignty of mobility, and political participation become privileged over others.

The relationship of mythological events within these narratives to historical moments and

specific historical conditions within the narratives are considered here against other possible

narratives and interpretations offered by Mustangis and pilgrims alike. As an issue of syncretism,

however, I take to heart Stephan Palmié’s (2013) challenge to rethink ‘syncretism’ and

‘hybridity,’ not as a blending of actual categories of objects or practices, but as conceptual labels

that various people might employ in their own efforts to locate otherwise multivalent religious

practices within certain cultural or political frameworks.

The land of Mustang has long been portrayed at a land of “pure Tibetan culture.” From

travel literatures and coffee table books, to history books and ethnographic accounts, the

privileging of Buddhist origins has been used to paint Mustang as a kind of land outside of time:

frozen, hidden, and untouched. The narrative of syncretism then, serves this image especially

well in that Hindu, Bon, and Buddhist “hybridity” easily implies the prior assumptions of

something there that is “pure.” And also vice versa, where “purity” cannot exist except through

the presence of “hybrids,” which, in many cases, can then be labeled as “foreign corruption” or

“globalized pollution.” This does not mean to say that hybridity narratives always necessarily

carry the assumption that there were ever such things as “pure,” clearly bounded, internally

homogeneous, and monolithic “cultures” which only now are encountering one another in their

most essential states (especially not in a region such as Mustang) but that the use of “syncretism”

and “hybridity” as concepts that are often employed in circumstances where divisions between

90
identities are socially or politically relevant to the cultural contexts of the moment. This use of

syncretism echoes Reinhardt Koselleck’s (1985) 43 use of “asymmetrical counter-concepts” such

as “tradition” and “modernity,” or as will be in the case of Shaligram pilgrimage in Mustang,

“purity” and “mixture.” In the end, understanding the epistemological implications in labeling

Mustang, its peoples or cultures, its history, or its Shaligram pilgrimages as “belonging” to one

specific nation-culture or another is both troublesome and necessary.

The linking of Shaligrams as sacred object-persons and as focal points of mobility (for

both pilgrims and the stones) across sacred landscapes, as opposed to ideal texts and traditions, is

revelatory because it highlights moments where “pure” Tibetan culture (read: Buddhist) comes

into conflict with practices labeled as Hindu. The history of Mustang (and of Muktinath) is often

framed by folk-classificatory systems of religious belonging. Though it might seem odd to refer

to “Tibetan” or “Hindu” as a kind of folk label, pilgrims and even Mustangis themselves often

describe these markers using a blend of scholarly, political, and essentialist travel definitions of

what these cultures are and what they represent. Bruno Latour (1993) refers to these kinds of

categories as the lush jungle of “intermediaries” or “inhabitants of the middle kingdom.” But

when history books, travel brochures, and art magazines continuously visualize peoples,

landscapes, and religious practices as belonging to certain categories or types and call their

points of interaction ‘hybrid,’ pilgrims and Mustangis themselves then come to create new and

somewhat amalgamated forms of categorization that incorporate both printed narratives and oral

ones. My use of “hybridity” and “syncretism” is therefore not situated within the pedagogical

reconstruction of hybridity and purity that so often characterizes past writings on Mustang.

Rather, I aim to demonstrate how Shaligram pilgrimage (as well as the general histories of

Mustang) defy static preservationist interpretations of peoples and cultures.

91
 Most classical ethnographies tend to include a notion of ‘setting,’ where the ethnographer

can lay out a detailed description of the place in which the research was conducted and position

their inquiries within certain contexts of geography, history, and time. This is because

anthropological ethnographers long realized that their field experiences and their perceptions

about the activities which took place during them included values and memories encoded in

landscapes which then took on a kind of geographic fixity at a site of historical identity (Stewart

and Strathern 2015). This is especially useful in terms of the history of Mustang, Nepal because

it helps to integrate discussions on Shaligram ritual practice and its geographic origins with an

approach to place that emphasizes political change, national identity, historical influences, and

the shifting landscapes of politics and religion; all issues directly salient to current problems

facing Shaligram practitioners on pilgrimage and in other places world-wide today.

The histories presented here explore the topic of landscape with a strong emphasis on the

changing perceptions of regional history because, as with Shaligrams themselves, the texts that

currently record Mustang and Muktinath’s histories are highly contentious both among scholars

and local peoples alike. But rather than simply viewing historical texts as unreliable, I echo here

Clifford’s view of the “partial truth.” Where no two people will paint the same landscape since

no two people will ‘see’ the same image nor reproduce it in the same way. The “partial truths” of

history and anthropology can then take into account how each point of view tells us something

about the world as it is experienced just as it also leaves something out in the telling. The

historical accounts in this chapter therefore summarize material that can be found in secondary

sources (referenced accordingly) but I have done so in order to emphasize the processes, events,

and ideologies vital to contextualizing and explaining many of the tensions and issues at the

heart of Shaligram worship and pilgrimage.

92
The Fossil History of the Himalayas

Abheesh Maharana, a Hindu pilgrim from Kerala, scowled up at the sign displayed

prominently on the permit check-in building in Jomsom, Nepal. In large, English, block letters it

read, Ammonites and the Tethys Sea: A History of Mustang. After reading for several minutes,

he turned to me. “I am an educated man.” He said. “I went to college. I know it’s a fossil. We

learned all this in school when I was a boy, you know. How the Himalayas were formed, how

fossils are made, how old the world is. This is all very common. It’s the history they teach you

about your home. But why would they put this here? This is Kali Gandaki not the school. Is it for

tourists or do they think pilgrims should read this? Why wouldn’t they have a sign about

Shaligram here then? It doesn’t say a thing about them. This makes no sense to me.” 44

The history of Mustang is complicated, contentious, and a source of relative animosity

between scholars, local peoples, and pilgrims but not more so that the geological history of the

Himalayas. By and large, Shaligram practitioners are well aware of the scholarly discourses

surrounding mountain paleontology, plate tectonics, and the previous existence of Shaligrams as

ammonites. For many of them, the scientific discourses, however, are not necessarily to be

rejected out of hand but rather comprise one part of the story of Shaligram origins. These

discourses are also often paired with textual authority and the stories of Shaligrams in Hindu

Scriptures to further prove the authority and authenticity of their practices. For example, the

geological date of 175 million years is taken as evidence of the great antiquity of Shaligrams in a

time when the world as we know it was just beginning to form and the stories relayed in the

sacred texts as also concurrently taking place. The uplift of the Himalayas from the Tethys Sea is

viewed as analogous to the story of Samudra Manthan, the rise of the primordial mountain out of

93
the Ocean of Milk and the weathering and wearing of Shaligrams out of the high-altitude fossil

beds as a continuation of the story of Vishnu forever becoming stone in order to appease the

goddess Tulsi/the Kali Gandaki. But more importantly, the geological history of the Himalayas

constitutes the beginning of and a foundation for a series of narratives and events that will begin

the life-cycle of the Shaligram stone. A life-cycle which, at this point, is entirely in the hands of

the Shaligram itself.

The multiple ontologies of fossil, person, and deity also continue to mediate contentions

between contemporary debates on the roles of science and religion more broadly. Take for

example the plethora of books and articles written in the last thirty years or so on the relationship

of the fossil record and paleo-hominid research to the Abrahamic faiths: from Christian Young

Earth Creationism (Ian Barbour, Arthur Peacocke, and John Polkinghorne to name a few), to

Jewish cosmology (Nathan Aviezer),45 and to Islam and evolution (T. O. Shanavas46 and Reza

Aslan 47). Despite widely disparate religious traditions, the central contention of most of these

works however remains the same: does Darwin’s theory of evolution (and by that token, the

fossil record) support or discredit the religious conceptualization of the creation of the world by

God? Similar to the fossil folklores of South Asia, religious stories are equally invoked. Do large

fossil amalgamations (such as Africa’s Karroo Formation or Canadian Edgar Nernberg’s fossil

fish) supply evidence for Noah’s flood? 48 Does the “Cambrian Explosion” of life roughly 600

million years ago indicate the work of Allah, who created all life in its final forms all at once? 49

Or, were fossils simply placed on Earth by God, in defiance of religious texts, to test the loyalty

of the faithful? 50 Similar debates take place in Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism as well and at

their center is the fossil ammonite called Shaligram.51

94
 Abheesh sighed and paused to rewrap his pilgrimage garments and adjust his coat. “There

should be another sign up next to that one, don’t you think? It should say what Shaligrams are

and why you should be respectful when you come here. It’s OK to call it fossil but they should

also have pilgrim books [meaning pilgrimage guides]. I should leave some at the check-post for

people to read. This is only half the story.”

One of the most popular sayings in geology describes layers of fossil and rock as pages of

a book, and the paleontologist and geologist as apt readers, turning the pages of Earth’s history

with each strike of the hammer. But this isn’t just a book we’re reading; it’s also one we’re

writing. Prior to 1950, few geological observations were made in Nepal, owing largely to

political and geographic isolation. Following 1950, when foreign visitors were once again

provisionally allowed back into the country, Nepal soon became a significant focus for

Himalayan geology. However, this particular time in the history of geology, referred to as

“descriptive geology,” considered mapping as the primary objective of research and publication

rather than in-depth stratigraphic analysis or correlative dating. While several notably famous

monographs and the first geological maps of the Nepal Himalayas were produced during this

time, most surveys tended to focus on the rich fossil deposits of the “Tibetan” sedimentary zone

in the north rather than the comparatively fossil-poor meta-sediments of the Lesser Himalayas to

the south. Building on the first references to Himalayan geology in the voluminous “Himalayan

Journals” of Joseph Dalton Hooker (1854) (who styled himself “a naturalist” and intellectual

descendent of Charles Darwin), many of these early researchers took great pains to describe

rolling foothills, difficult footpaths, and awe-inspiring rock formations (see Medlicott 1875,

Auden 1935, Bordet et. al 1968, Hagen 1969, Frank and Fuchs 1970 and Colchen et al. 1986).52

This focus on mapping and surveying reflected many of the widely differing interpretations and

95
conflicting views of the investigators privileged to work in the region at the time; most of whom

favored studying nappe structures (the visible edges and surfaces of thrust faults) over block

tectonics.

With the advent of plate tectonics in the late 1960s, the Himalayas quickly became

distinguished as the “collided range.” This lead to a new advent of microstructural,

mineralogical, and geochemical studies in the search of the stress and heat effects that

characterize tectonic subduction and collision. This is how metamorphism and magmatism

became dominant aspects of later geological study in the Himalayas and in Nepal particularly.

With it went a shift of emphasis from the field to laboratory work and therefore from observation

to interpretation, from mapping to modelling, and from practice to theory (Stöcklin 2008). The

last thirty years of research, however, have shifted from both earlier approaches in that they have

been characterized more by a growing attention to the human effects of geologic instability in the

region and in the strengthening and diversification of geological institutions in Nepal, especially

with the creation of a National Seismological Centre in Kathmandu. The beginning of petroleum

exploration in the southern foreland of the Himalaya has also resulted in an intensification and

modernization of classical geological surveying techniques, specifically those focused on

resources management and mining effects. Finally, following the Gorkha earthquake of 2015,

Nepal has also seen a renewed engagement in the application of geology for engineering and for

the assessment and management of potential natural disasters.

In 1939, Heim and Gansser53 designated the Tibetan zone north of the Central

Crystalline, a term for the band of metamorphic uplift across the Higher (Greater) Himalayas on

the southern edge of the Tibetan Plateau, as the “Tethys Himalaya.” In doing so, they described

it as “made essentially of marine deposits… squeezed and pushed up out of an old sea.” With

96
this, both they and subsequent scholars began to refer to the ancient landscape of the Himalayas

exclusively as the “Tethys Sea,” a name which had been originally conceived in the late 19th

century by Austrian geologist Eduard Suess as a long-stretched, narrow seaway that once

separated the old Laurasian and Gondwanaland continents: out of whose ultimate break-up and

collision the Alpine-Himalayan chains were born. Suess’ “Tethys” then became a classical

example of a geosyncline (a large-scale depression in the earth's crust containing very thick

deposits). Additionally, the history of the Alpine–Himalayan chains was standardized into a

series of subsidence, compression, and inversion events that would be used to describe the

Tethys for years to come. It was this widely accepted view that was then profoundly

revolutionized after the mid-1960s when the new theory of plate tectonics arrived on the scene.

As a geosyncline, the Tethys was believed to have been a narrow seaway, but in the view

of plate tectonics it became a gigantic ocean; some 6000 kilometers wide between what is now

India and Tibet. Where previously the Tethys was imagined as the result of crust down-buckling

during a massive (if slow moving) impact, now it was thought to have originated from the

upwelling and spreading of underlying mantle materials. Previously, deep (eugeosynclinal) and

shallow (mio-geosynclinal) marine deposits overlying unspecified layers of crust were

distinguished in the Tethys. Now, the Tethys became a specific “oceanic” feature, complete with

oceanic sediments and an oceanic crust. This shift in theoretical understanding is important

because, in the geosynclinal concept, the Alpine-Himalayan orogenic belt had been unified since

the birth of the Tethys. Now in the plate-tectonic view, this section of significant uplift was

recognized as the strange composite of two continental margins, a fluid boundary of rock melted

down by indescribable forces. Once thousands of kilometers apart, prior to collision, it was

believed that the two sections had nothing to do with each other in their structural development,

97
but now their borders and boundaries were intimately intertwined. It is this view of the

geological Himalayas which is prominently displayed on signs and on trekking brochures

throughout Mustang and which forms the basis for many calls to step up geological research in

the river valley. For Shaligram pilgrims, there is a pervasive sense that the geological narrative is

also being leveraged by regional governments to appeal specifically to Western scholars and

tourists and that, if left unchecked, will eventually result in further restrictions on the movement

of Shaligrams in and out of the Kali Gandaki. Namely, that if Shaligrams are further classed as

protected State resources or museum-worthy historical items, that the practice of taking stones in

pilgrimage will end.

Theories regarding the enormous width of the Tethys Ocean and its disposal by

subduction did not result, however, from any new geological discoveries in Tethyan rocks, but

largely from new forms of geophysical data (such as palaeomagnetics) which was primarily

obtained outside the Tethyan realm (Stöcklin 2008). Unfortunately, while it is true that these and

other premises of plate tectonics have not remained uncontested, broader discussions of these

issues lie outside the scope of this work (see, for example, Lavecchia and Scalera 2003). What

concerns me here is the consequences which plate tectonics had for geological investigations,

and subsequent paleontological narratives, in Nepal. In the end, the Himalayas became a sort of

scientific test case for the concept of the “collided range” (Le Fort 1975) and this theory thus

required that all orogenic events – deformation, metamorphism, magmatism – were the

consequence of subduction and/or collision. Both geological and paleontological inquiries in the

Himalayas have been subsequently fraught with disagreements regarding precisely how specific

layers should be dated and correlated with similar layers elsewhere. And more importantly, it

continues to affect the ways in which ammonites are understood as markers of geologic time and

98
biological space in the Himalayas today. Lastly, while Heim and Gansser’s 1939 study is one of

a few early 20th century surveys credited with introducing the ammonites of the Himalayan

Paleozoic-Mesozoic sedimentary section to geological science, it was by no means the first time

Shaligram ammonites had been introduced to Western discourses.

Shaligrams are mentioned in inscriptions and texts roughly as far back as the 2nd century

BCE, but according to Hagn (1977, 1988), Shaligrams had already been introduced into Europe

as far back at the late 1600s/early 1700s. In one such example, he describes the French Jesuit

missionary and Sanskrit scholar, Father Jean Calmette (1693 – 1740) who once wrote a letter to

his superior about his encounters with the caillou vermoulu (worm stones), or conversely, the

caillou perce (perforated pebbles) in south India (possible somewhere in Tamil Nadu or Andhra

Pradesh). Additionally, in 1767, it was then the Spanish naturalist Dávila who recognized that

the key components in the descriptions of such stones were fossil ammonites. In 1901, Gustav

Oppert also described Shaligrams is a lecture presented to the Congrès International d’Historie

des Religions on the 7th of September 1900. In his lecture, however, he argues that the veneration

of Shaligrams as icons of Vishnu was only just beginning to take hold within an older practice

that worshipped Shaligrams as manifestations of feminine divine energy (according to him, as a

result of conquering “Aryan” groups imposing foreign beliefs on indigenous cultures); an issue I

will return to later on (See Chapter 3). Suffice to say, he states that “the aborigines of India

believe that the śālagrāma represents their supreme deity, the female energy, Prakriti, which is

introduced by Kapila in his philosophical system called the Sâùkhya…. śālagrāma are dedicated

to the principle of Sakti, where it represents the Kundalini Bhavani and other goddesses. It is

even said that the great goddess Mahadevi remains in the śālagrāma (325-326).” 54

99
 Any discussion of Shaligrams in the West would also be remiss not to mention Joseph

Kohl-Bonn’s 1936 article, “Zum Indischen Steinkult,” (To the Indian Stone Cult) where he

describes Shaligram veneration not only among Hindu Vaishnavas, but Jains as well. While this

text describes Shaligram worship as, at least in this case, entirely referential to Hindu scriptures

(especially the Puranic texts), he does note that the practice of painting Shaligram stones with

faces and other representative murti was already common in his regions of travel. He also notes

that Jain worship differs in both veneration ritual and in the Shaligram characteristics most

valued (such as number of whorls in the spiral and the color of the stone), though he remains

fascinated that the practice of Shaligram veneration itself was equally present in many of the

religious traditions he encountered. I’ve chosen to include brief discussions of these works here

mainly for two reasons. One, many of these short articles form the foundations for much of what

is still understood in Western cultural and scientific discourses about Shaligrams and two, that all

of these authors (like most geologists and paleontologists today) viewed Shaligrams primarily,

and unsurprisingly, as ammonites first and religious objects and deities second.

Widely abundant and distributed throughout the globe, ammonites are probably the most

famous marine fossil of the Jurassic epoch. Today, ammonite paleontology plays a fundamental

role in Jurassic stratigraphy and correlation. With a high frequency of occurrence and wide

distribution across multiple continents, ammonites also provide valuable insights into Jurassic

marine biogeography as well as into evolutionary and other larger palaeobiological processes

through vast stretches of geologic time. Starting from the mid-Devonian, ammonoids were

extremely abundant, particularly during the Mesozoic era. Many genera evolved rapidly and died

out rather quickly, becoming extinct in just a few million years. Subsequently, due to the speed

of their evolution and their widespread distribution throughout much of the globe, ammonoids

100
make excellent index fossils (fossils used to define geologic time periods), and it is often

possible to link rock layers in which ammonites are found to layers of the same time in other

places throughout the world; a point which many Shaligram practitioners are well aware.

Most practitioners, however, view the global relationships of fossil ammonite populations

in two parts. Firstly, that the form of a Shaligram, i.e., the stone-body itself, is undoubtedly and

inexorably linked to the formation of the world and can therefore reveal details about Deep

Geological Time and the creation of the universe but that the manifestation of the Shaligram, its

deity and personhood, is transcendent of purely physical processes. Therefore, while

“ammonites” might be useful in pinpointing global movement in time, “Shaligrams” are divine

presences unique to Mustang. And secondly, that ammonites found elsewhere in the world are

not necessarily sacred and certainly are not Shaligram. This is not only because they have not

undergone the same specific processes of erosion and river wear as Shaligrams have but because

they have not done so specifically in the Kali Gandaki, in the dham of Śālagrāma (see below).

Additionally, due to their free-swimming (or in some cases, simply free-floating) habits,

ammonites tended to live in waters directly above seafloors that were otherwise so poor in

oxygen that they prevented the establishment of other animal life below (resulting in sometimes

bizarrely homogenous fossil formations). Therefore, when an ammonite died and fell to the

seafloor, it was gradually buried in accumulating sediments where bacterial decomposition of the

soft body parts was reasonably straightforward but the mineralization of the shells became

subject to continuous reduction-oxidation conditions over time. This chemical reaction

sufficiently lowered the local solubility of minerals dissolved in the seawater, such as

phosphates and carbonates, and resulted in the concentric precipitation of minerals around the

101
fossil; forming the concretions responsible for the large number of outstanding preservations

seen in many ammonite fossils now.

The Treatise on Invertebrate Paleontology (Part L, 1957)55 divides Ammonoidea, here

regarded as one overarching taxonomic order, into eight suborders: Anarcestina, Clymeniina,

Goniatitina, and Prolecanitina from the Paleozoic; Ceratitina from the Triassic; and

Ammonitina, Lytoceratina, and Phylloceratina from the Jurassic and Cretaceous. In many

subsequent taxonomies, these are sometimes rearranged as orders themselves within a subclass

labeled Ammonoidea. In the Jurassic, roughly seven suborders of ammonites are recognized:

Phylloceratina, Psiloceratina, Ammonitina, Lytoceratina, Haploceratina, Perisphinctina and

Ancyloceratina (Page 2008). In Nepal, several successive faunal assemblages in the Jurassic

(Tithonian-Berriasian56 age) strata of what paleontologists refer to as the Tethyan Himalayas (in

the Thak Khola region), reveal a series of subsequent ammonite genii in chronological

succession: Spiticeras, Blanfordiceras, Corongocer, V. denseplicatus, Hildeglochicera,

Virgatosphinctes, Aulacosphintctoide, and Kossmatia (Enay and Cariou 1997).

Biogeographical synthesis between the ammonite beds of Himalayan Nepal and many

other notable ammonite fossil layers in the Indo-Malagasian, Indonesian, East Pacific, and

Mediterranean has, however, been fraught with numerous problems, including uncertainties in

published taxonomies and the challenges of relating age and species correlations between distant

sites. Even now, extensive paleontological fieldwork in Mustang is difficult and few studies have

been published on the precise relationship of Kali Gandaki ammonites to ammonite-rich strata in

other parts of the world. This ambiguity then, in the precise linkages of specific ammonite taxa to

the interpretive traditions of Shaligrams (i.e., the reading of specific deities in Shaligram

characteristics), forms one of several narrative threads that Shaligram practitioners use to link the

102
discourses of Western science to the discourses of Vedic religion. After all, what is

Blandforiceras really, if not a reading of meaningful characteristics.

Himalayan Jurassic ammonites were first described by Dr. A. Oppel in an 1863 survey of

the Spiti Shales and Gnari-Khorsum fossil layers in north-western India. They were later made

famous in Uhlig’s series of monographs (1903-1910) which also finally identified Himalayan

ammonites as morphologically distinct from their Mediterranean Tethys relatives (Enay and

Cariou 1999: 829). There is quite a degree of disagreement, however, as to the exact relationship

of ammonites in the Nepal Himalayas to ammonites found in India; more specifically, several

scholars continue to question whether the ammonites of the Shaligram Shale Formations (as it is

sometimes called) are actually related to the Spiti Shales or constitute an amalgamation of

ammonite-bearing Late-Jurassic to Early Cretaceous formations either because the original

biological spheres overlapped at various points or because the layered sections broke away from

elsewhere in the world during several massive tectonic upheavals (Gibling et. al. 1994).57

However, despite recent studies that demonstrate significant gaps in the modern biostratigraphy

of the region (see Krishna et. al. 1982, Pathak 1993, and Pathak and Krishna 1995)58 the Western

Himalayas (specifically the Lahul-Spiti and Garhwal-Kumaon areas) remain the standard

reference for Himalayan biostratigraphy and faunal divisions largely due to Uhlig's extensive

103
monograph on the Spiti Shales. It is therefore generally accepted that the geo-morphological

make-up of the areas surrounding the Muktinath basin (though, owing to administrative and

financial restrictions, not the Muktinath Valley itself) includes some upward extending portions

of the Spiti Shales along with Blanfordiceras and Proniceras ammonite assemblages which are

surrounded on several sides by the plant-bearing sandstones of the Dangardzong Formation

(Garzanti and Pagni 1991).

Elsewhere in Himalayan Nepal, many regions include multiple mayaitid (ammonite)

beds. Typically found above 4000 meters, these fossil beds contain rich and diverse faunas and

are noted for the occasional presence of Kossmatia ammonite layers, which are otherwise lacking

in other Spiti areas (Enay and Cariou 1999) – possible further evidence in support of the

amalgamation theory. Unfortunately, tectonic complications, such as the detachments of layers

and disharmonic folding, have been one of the main problems in setting up a complete sequence

of rocks and faunas in the Spiti Shale Formations and therefore, a comprehensive biostratigraphy

of the Mustang region remains incomplete. In fact, the Spiti Shale Formation itself is folded. In

addition to this, owing to continued tectonic movements and to shifting plant cover, certain

layers and out-crops of Himalayan ammonites remain scattered throughout the mountains and

few, if any, contain significant stratigraphic changes or marker beds that allow for easy

correlations between different sections or areas of exposure. Constant renewal of the outcrops,

however, results from active erosion by the Kali Gandaki river and its tributaries. Consequently,

fresh shale sections and nodules in situ are widely exposed and new fossils are constantly

fracturing out and rolling down the slopes and into the rivers that will eventually produce

Shaligrams. Most of these nodules contain fossils, mainly ammonites, but a few also contain

belemnites (e.g., Belemnopsis gerardi) and bivalves (Retroceramus), oftentimes occurring

104
together within the same nodule and resulting in the rich diversity of eroded patterns present in

Shaligrams today.

The Nepal Himalayas contain a wide variety of ammonite species owning to a number of

different time periods, from M. bifurcatus and M. apertusmantataranus in the Ferruginous Oolite

Formation,59 to Kimmeridgian60 Paraboliceras assemblages, to late Tithonian-Berriasian

Blanfordiceras and Proniceras assemblages. Shaligrams, however, are generally comprised of

four particular species of Jurassic ammonites: Blandifordiceras, Haplophylloceras, and

Perisphinctids (both Aulacosphinctus of the Upper Kimmeridgian/Lower Tithonian and

Aulacosphinctoides of the Upper Tithonian). Other Shaligram formations include belemnites

(such as the Ram Shaligram) and the bivalve Retroceramus (such as the Anirudda Shaligram) but

for the most part, “classic” Shaligram manifestations are, by and large, comprised of various

black shale ammonites at assorted levels of erosion and wear.61 Blandfordiceras species (lower

Tithonian age) are widely distributed ammonites especially known for their tight but evenly

balanced spirals and raised, biplicate (Y-shaped), ridges. Geologist Herwart Helmstaedt (1969)62

was one of the first researchers to investigate the ammonites of the Thak Khola region

(immediately south of Mustang) and, according to him, some fifty percent of all ammonites

collected in Mustang belong to the Blandfordiceras genus. He is also credited with discovering

and naming the new species Blandfordiceras muktinathense, though the name does not often

appear in common usage (Dhital 2015: 288).

Haplophylloceras, on the other hand, tends to include fewer rings in the formation of its

central spiral and sports a distinctive chevron-like ridge pattern along the outer phragmocone

(the back edge of the shell). Finally, Perisphinctid ammonites are recognizable by their evolute

shell morphology with typically biplicate, simple, or triplicate ribbing. Larger shells may have

105
simple apertures and smooth body chambers while smaller species tend to have lappets and

ribbed body chambers (Arkell et. al. 1957). Aulacosphinctoides, a member of the Perisphinctidae

family, are well represented in Shaligrams. These ammonites are also characterized by an

evolute shell with whorls broadly rounded, ribs sigmoid that mostly bifurcate (and occasionally

trifurcate), and clearly defined lappets (these are flanges that protrude from the final chamber at

the front of the creature in adult male specimens [the microconch] which some speculate may

have been used for sexual display. These features are not present on the larger female ammonites

[the macroconch]). Aulacosphinctoides also closely resembles its Indo-Malagasian

relative Torquantisphinctes but differs in that it has more rounded or depressed whorls and more

sigmoid and frequently triplicate ribbing.63

Figure 1 - The Tithonian and Berriasian ammonoid successions of the Himalayas with comparison strata

106
 Left: Perisphinctid, Right: Blandfordiceras (both: Lakshmi-Narayan Shaligrams)

Left: Blandfordiceras, with smooth ventral furrow, Right: Perisphinctid (Sudarshan Shaligram)

107
 Haplophylloceras strigilis (Lakshmi-Narayan and Lakshmi Sudarshan Shaligrams)

The paleontological history of ammonites in the Himalayas is a complex one and despite

recent advances in the stratigraphical use of microfossil groups and non-palaeontological

laboratory techniques in geological dating, ammonites continue to retain their pre-eminent

position as one of the most reliable and accurate correlation tools available for marine Jurassic

sequencing (not unlike dendrochronology to the archaeologist and paleo-ecologist). They also

have a number of other uses. Ammonites have been recognized for their value in

palaeobiogeography studies and in the study of evolutionary mechanisms and patterns, such as

speciation and extinction over vast expanses of geological time. As Kevin Page notes however,

these latter studies are often hindered by incomplete understandings of ammonite correlation and

taxonomy, from the species level upwards (2008: 54). This situation is then exacerbated by the

limited funding available for such research given the preference amongst many funding

organizations and media outlets for more mysterious or sensational fossil groups and more

fashionable (if transient) scientific theories and hypotheses. This is why the fossil folklores of

South Asia have something to offer the world of paleontology; adding new dimensions of

interpretation and importance to the image of the ammonite, perhaps even to cultural

108
conversations about the modern meanings of fossils as a whole. For Shaligram practitioners

specifically, however, the constant scientific debate and limited amount of concrete detail for

describing Shaligram ammonites in Mustang is both taken in stride and as further evidence of the

entanglements of different kinds of “storytelling” when it comes to Shaligram origins and

ontologies. Or, as my old friend and mentor Prasad Vipul Yash once expressed it, “They don’t

know and we don’t know. Not all of it, anyway. They call it one thing, we call it another, but it’s

all the same thing. It just depends on what it is you want to know about the world.”

Mustang Before the 18th Century

The history of Mustang is a reconstruction. For many of the current peoples of Mustang,

written regional histories were non-existent up until the 20th century and much of what we know

of the area of Mustang today is currently contained in oral histories, in the rhabs;64 the four semi-

mythological clan histories of the Thakali peoples of Lower Mustang, and the bemchags, or local

village chronicles of the Baragaon and Panchgaon. With little scholarly access to these

documents until quite recently however, much of the current published history of Mustang relies

on outside texts, namely a wide variety of Tibetan historical chronicles and texts authored by

later traveling monks and other visitors to the Kali Gandaki River valley. Because of this, the

histories of Mustang are often contentious, containing accounts of scholars searching for

community and ethnic identities among groups of people who appear to be searching for that

identity just as much themselves (Fisher 2001: 3).

This has also lead to a number of competing interpretations of Mustang’s history that

variably focus on the Sanskritization or Hinduization of local religious practices, the promotion

of Tibetan Buddhist practices and cultural identification, and the revival of local cultural

109
touchstones, such as Thakali d͎ homs (shamans) or the animistic ritual roots of Bon (which is

practiced throughout Mustang). Attempts to clarify the history (and by that agenda, to clarify

culture) of Mustang also tend to anchor their historical claims in issues of authenticity and claims

to traditional pasts, but many of these claims are disparate in form and content and the validity of

each has gone on to repeated challenges by scholars and by the local peoples themselves.

However, identity and ethnic consciousness are of special concern in Nepal’s current political

climate and the selective use of historical information to construct coherent identities is a wide-

spread practice in relating to State views of ‘proper’ citizenship, to caste hierarchies, and other

claims to political and social legitimacy (see also Guneratne 2002).

Over the years, a number of scholars have sought to reconstruct the history of Mustang

by relying primarily on Tibetan texts supplemented with other local sources.65 Unfortunately, as

critics tend to point out, many of these efforts have yet to conclusively demonstrate the links

between these early histories of Mustang and the contemporary populations within it. In the past

decades, there has also been a great deal of animosity between anthropologists and Tibetologists.

The former being accused by the latter of lacking sufficient Tibetan language skills to properly

address historical issues and the latter being said to overly privilege Tibetan religion, art, and

civilization in the formation of Mustang as a political entity (see Dhungel 2002: 6, Snellgrove

1965, and Oppitz 1968). This is because, generally-speaking, Tibetan scholars are particularly

keen to study various aspects of culture, such as art, history, myths, legends, and religion that

pertain specifically to Tibetan civilization. Their research is therefore principally based on

literary texts, documents, and archaeological studies specifically categorized as Tibetan sources.

Anthropologists and ethnographers, in contrast, typically rely on more direct observational

110
techniques for producing subjective and synchronic accounts of given communities and are quick

to note where actual socio-cultural practices are at odds with textual accounts (see Ortner 1989).

Himalayan studies today, however, has come to integrate both Tibetological and

anthropological approaches (Oppitz 1968, Dhungel 2002); where the use of literary and

documentary evidence is employed for both historical analysis and community observation.

Regardless, while Tibetan texts have certainly added a great deal to our understandings of some

key events in the upper Kali Gandaki River valley, it still remains extremely difficult to

document any connections between the current peoples of Mustang and the peoples often

referred to in Tibetan texts. Scholars of Tibetan texts have continuously tried to correlate textual

references to the areas called Lo (commonly associated with Upper Mustang) and Serib

(commonly associated with Lower Mustang) with what was also referred to as the Kingdom of

Lo in the upper Kali Gandaki valley and the present-day Baragaon, respectively.66 The

Dunhuang Annals of Tibet, for example, refers to the existence of a Lo and Serib as far back as

the 7th century and was said to have come under the influence of the Tibetan Yarlung Dynasty

around that time. Conversely, David Jackson has suggested that the 15th century Lo kingdom in

the upper Kali Gandaki valley in Nepal is, in fact, the Lo mentioned in the Tibetan chronicles.

Serib, he then goes on to speculate, must then refer to the area farther south, most likely the

Baragaon or the Panchgaon.

Historians of Mustang have also not been generally supportive of one another, though

they all tend to view Mustang through the lens of a Nepalese-Tibetan borderland; a landscape

perpetually caught between competing, and disparate, cultures on either side of a contentious

dividing line. But while this view of Mustang as a borderland between two conflicting sides is

common in the literature, it pays little attention to the realities of contiguous change, migration,

111
and exchange that mark historical narratives within the region itself. Academic reconstruction

makes it clear that, while both Upper and Lower Mustang lie in a relatively remote area of the

Himalayas, the peoples of the region were never isolated from external influences as other

Himalayan groups have been from time to time. Over the centuries, prior to the Gurkha conquest

in the late 18th century, the upper Kali Gandaki valley has shifted political affiliation and come

under the influence of a number of regional powers over time, such as Ladakh and Jumla in the

west, Lo to the north, and Parbat to the south (Fisher 2001: 52). It is therefore difficult to say

with any certainty where any particular community, group of practices, or political and religious

system may have originated and certainly flies in the face of many of the modern books and

brochures that portray Mustang as a “lost kingdom” of “pure Tibetan culture.” The ruins of forts

and other military fortifications throughout Mustang also attest to a history of outside threats and

contentious political relationships, but before the 18th century there is little in historical accounts

of Mustang’s history that can be taken at face value. To be sure, Tibetologists and other

historians of Mustang even admit this contention in their own works, noting that the availability

of Tibetan archives and Nepali works based on those archives tends to paint a very specific

picture of the region through the primary use Tibetan cultural elements in historical narratives

(see Jackson 1978, Dhungel 2002, Ramble 2008a: 2).

The typical history of Nepal’s Mustang (Lo in Tibet) sees the region first appearing as a

definable entity in the mid-7th century; a region of trans-Himalayan trade with a mercantile

population in the process of gaining significant trans-regional visibility. Emerging as a kingdom

in AD 1440, Mustang was then considered a stronghold of classic western Tibetan culture until

well into the 1700s (Dhungel 2002: 3). However, it was also besieged on multiple sides by

stronger neighboring kingdoms all the while continuing to maintain its status as a trans-

112
Himalayan way-station for trade between China, Tibet, and India. By dint of its situation and

location then, Mustang has had a long history of boundary making and un-making through shifts

in power, occasional autonomy, and trade and migration-based economies all the way up to its

incorporation into the unified kingdom of Nepal in 1789 and into the formation of the Nepali

State in the present day. From the earliest sources pertaining to Lo/Mustang (La-dvags rgyal-

rhabs – “The Chronicles of Ladakh,” Dunhuang/Tunhuang Annals, and the Deb-ther dkar-po –

“White Annals”), it is assumed that Tibetan influences first arrived in Mustang by the 7th century

on the heels of a number of rapid cultural and political changes throughout South Asia. Later,

according to these chronicles, as the early Tibetan empire began to disintegrate in the 10th

century, the region of Mustang came under the influences of the more local powers, namely the

Gung-thang principality; a southwestern Tibetan kingdom (alternatively known as Ngari Me

(Lower Ngari)) established under Sa-skya overlordship around AD 1265. Not surprisingly, the

name Lo appears in Tibetan literature from the earliest times, but by a number of accounts the

region itself remained relatively uncertain and obscure in Tibetan records until it was seized, in

the 15th century, by Amepal (A-ma-d’pal), a nobleman from Gung-thang. Amepal established

himself in a stronghold, which he called Duri Khacho, on a strategic hilltop. The city of

Monthang (the current ‘capital’ of Upper Mustang) was founded by Amepal’s son, Agonpal,

who then later shifted the capital to a plateau near the base of his father’s fortifications (Ramble

2008b). This kingdom, whose boundaries are sometimes said to have extended as far south as

Kagbeni, then survived through unstable political alliances with neighboring kingdoms for

almost four centuries: the wealth of art work and gompas of the northern villages remaining a

testament to Lo’s cultural and political ascendancy during that time.

113
 According to other Tibetan histories, Tibetan Buddhist and reformed Bon missionaries

arrived in the area of Lo and Serib in the 12th century (Jackson 1978: 200). One of the Bon

missionaries was a man called Lubra Tashi Gyaltshan who is said to have founded a monastery

in the village of Lubra in Baragaon around AD 1160 (Ramble 1983, Jackson 1978: 204-5). Even

today, Lubra’s Bon identity is prevalent and many Mustangis view the village as the locus of

Bonpo practices in Mustang. Buddhism and Bon continued to have supporters in the following

centuries though it is difficult to tell from textual readings exactly how and when their influences

waxed and waned over time. The oldest and southernmost local evidence of Buddhism in Lower

Mustang (Thaksatsae) at present is the temple of Meki Lha Khang, founded some three hundred

years later, in the early 15th century (Jackson 1978: 218). None of these texts, however, mention

the ritual use of Shaligrams or of Shaligram pilgrimage, though both pilgrimage and trade were

likely a part of the local economies at this time (much as they are today and still rarely

mentioned).

Since Shaligram practices and the Kali Gandaki location of Śālagrāma are mentioned in

Vedic and Puranic texts preceding this time by several centuries, it is interesting to consider that

the Tibetan texts make no mention of them, though it may explain why Shaligram pilgrimage is

often left out of historical research. The reliance of scholars on Tibetan texts to account for the

history of Mustang before the 18th century (when Shaligrams begin appearing in Himalayan

travel literature) privileges the views of Tibetan Buddhist monks, many of whom were never

within a hundred miles of the Kali Gandaki River and have little incentive to discuss religious

traditions (especially transient ones) not in line with Tibetan Buddhist orthodoxy. Not

surprisingly, their accounts tend to be concerned with the establishment of monasteries and

temples, the achievements of missionaries and lamas, and to support the narratives of scholars

114
for whom Buddhism figures prominently. But as William Fisher goes on to note in his

ethnography of Mustang’s Thakali peoples, “the lack of other voices should not lead us to

assume that the area was uniformly influenced by Buddhism.” (2001:53). In either case, be it via

Tibetan texts or Puranic accounts, the history of Mustang is still largely constructed through

outside viewpoints whose choices to include or omit various social aspects or cultural practices

continue to render more comprehensive histories of the region unattainable.

According to Nepali historian Ramesh Dhungel, during the 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries,

Lo/Mustang remained under the principal domination of the Khasha/Ya-tshe kingdom (Tibetan

Ya-tshe or Ya-rtse),67 whose center was in the Karnali basin and extended all the way into

western Tibet and the Kumaun-Garhwal region of present day northern India (2002: 4). After the

fall of the Khasha/Ya-tshe kingdom, Lo/Mustang then declared its independence, becoming an

autonomous kingdom in AD 1440 (even today, Mustang is often still referred to as the Kingdom

of Lo). By the middle of the 16th century, however, Lo/Mustang formally came under the control

of the kingdom of Jumla, one of the many successors of the Khasha/Ya-tshe kingdom. By this

time the region was no longer called Lo and was instead referred to as the “mustang rajya” due

to the political dominance of the Indo-Aryan speaking Khashas of Jumla. In fact, it appears that

because of the hegemonic tendencies and lack of general knowledge of Lo’s local languages and

cultures among the many authorities within the surrounding powers, such as Jumla and Parbat,

Lo often had trouble keeping its name. This may explain, to some degree, why textual references

to the actual boundaries and location of Lo are so contentious because, as may also have

happened with the mythico-historical location of Śālagrāma, various competing or shifting

locales may have been called Lo at various points over time and for various reasons. In other

words, the Lo and Serib mentioned in Tibetan chronicles may or may not always refer to the

115
actual region of Lo/Mustang. Some scholars even consider it something of an oddity that this

centuries-old, trans-Himalayan, kingdom later came to be known as mastan or mastan rajya, a

name that roughly translates to “fertile plain,” given that it has very little in the way of natural

resources and is hardly flat. When the kingdom became a dependent tributary of Nepal, Nepali

authorities simply recognized a slightly corrupted version of the name, Mustang, and the name

carried on as the region’s official designation.

From the 16th century through the middle of the 18th century there were a number of

struggles between the kingdoms of Lo, Jumla, and Ladakh. In the 1500s, both Ladakh and the

Malla Kingdom centered in Jumla had influence in the upper Kali Gandaki valley and by the late

16th century, Jumla appeared poised to overpower the kingdom of Lo along the northernmost

stretch of the Kali Gandaki (Jackson 1978: 219). After the decline of the powerful Malla

kingdom in Jumla, however, local rajas continued to rule over Jumla and its capital of Sinja

(Semja). But these rulers had trouble asserting their authority over the marginal areas of their

kingdoms and it was not uncommon for tributary chieftains to spring up and contest one another

across the region (Fürer-Haimendorf 1975: 138-39). Therefore, while a history of the early

kingdoms surrounding Mustang emerges from Tibetan texts, there is little additional evidence or

corroborating works that helps correlate the history of the surrounding areas with that of the

peoples currently inhabiting Mustang or with the peoples who have moved in and out of the

region on trade and pilgrimage over the past millennium or so. It also doesn’t help us establish

when Shaligram pilgrimage or Shaligram ritual practices enter into the history of Mustang

specifically. Rather, we are left with evidence drawn from the places where Shaligrams ended up

over their places of origin. Ironically, this problem echoes the short prayer to the four clan gods

and four clan ancestors written in the rhabs of the Thakali peoples of Lower Mustang: “Although

116
we could not meet at our birthplace, let us meet at our gathering place.” (Fisher 2001: 50).

Finally, while it is possible to date with some certainty the founding of the Lha Khang Temple in

Kobang in Thaksatsae, Lower Mustang in the 15th century, which many Tibetans consider the

southernmost boundary of Tibetan cultural influences, the dating of other cultural influences,

including those from India and elsewhere in Nepal, is much harder to pin down specifically. The

transience of pilgrimage and trade likely account for much of this, and the fact that the kingdoms

and political entities of India quite some distance to the south presumably had far less direct

political influence on the day to day administrative activities of Nepal’s high Himalayan regions.

Additionally, with a focus on Tibetan historical texts in the re-telling of Mustang’s histories, it is

likely that many of these influences will remain academically obscure.

Matching references in Tibetan chronicles to actual events in Mustang is no simple task

given the dearth of concrete evidence to confirm connections between specific lands, events,

peoples, and texts. This does not, however, prevent the superimposition of texts onto landscapes.

Tibetan texts that deal with early periods of Mustang’s history, for example, are primarily

focused on the political and economic well-being of the Kingdom of Lo (see Ramble 2008a),

which is described in several cases as somewhere around a several day’s walk to the north of the

village of Tukche. In some instances, superimposing the histories of Lo and Serib as they are

detailed in the texts onto the region of Mustang encourages a casual set of assertions about early

history that continues to confuse rather than clarify understanding of the extent to which the

peoples of Mustang were or were not subject to these outside influences and it doesn’t

adequately explain to what degree Mustangis were traveling or migrating outwards themselves.

Based on existing evidence, it is premature to assume that the political boundaries of the

contemporary regions correspond to those mentioned in texts. Moreover, in view of the uneven

117
patterns of influence contemporary powers have had in Mustang, it seems likely that areas and

peoples lying within the regions now called Upper and Lower Mustang were varyingly affected

by invasions and conquests of the upper Kali Gandaki River valley by the kingdoms of

Gungthang, Yarlung, Ladakh, Jumla, or Parbat, by missionaries of Buddhism and Bon, the

continuous flow of merchant traders and religious pilgrims from both north and south, and the

rise of local rulers in areas called Lo, Serib, Thini, or Tukche.

What evidence does exist suggests that the southern stretch of the upper Kali Gandaki

valley was less integrated into the Tibetan political and cultural sphere than were the areas to the

north. This is especially important to note given that modern Shaligram pilgrimage focuses

largely on the stretch of perpendicular Muktinath/ Dzong Chu valley space between the villages

of Kagbeni and Ranipauwa (in the Baragaon and Panchgaon enclaves, respectively) with only

the most dedicated (or wealthy) pilgrims braving the high altitudes and rough travel of Upper

Mustang to reach the Damodar Kund. But whether this is due to the current political climate and

heavy restrictions on travel to Upper Mustang or to historical influences in the political

landscape during the establishment of earlier Shaligram pilgrimages is unclear. In any case, the

border of what is now known as Thaksatsae in Lower Mustang appears to have been one of the

true border areas where goods from the plains were exchanged for goods from the north and

where further south there were no more Tibetan Buddhist temples. This region was also clearly

involved in, important to, and peripheral to larger northern and southern political influences,

though it seems to have never been truly central to the struggles that went on between the

competing political powers at the time. Lastly, and perhaps most notably, the villages records

(bemchag) of the five original villages of Panchgaon describe a very different set of events and

important persons from those that are typically found in Tibetan texts (Fisher 2001: 54). For

118
example, these records make no reference to a place called Serib and even fewer of the named

places and groups in the bemchags can be linked to any of those currently living in Lower

Mustang (see Dhungel 2002 for extensive discussion on the complex etymology of Mustang

ethno-place names).

By at least the 18th century, the kingdom of Parbat (Malebum), one of the more powerful

of the twenty-four principalities to the south known collectively as the Chaubisī Raja, had some

influence in the area.68 In fact, a 1705 treaty signed by the rulers of Jumla, Lo, and Parbat, as

well as by the head-men of Thak, Thini, and Marpha, regulated trade and relations among these

areas (Schuh 1994: 75). From the treaty scholars infer that Parbat ruled as far north as the village

of Dana but that Thak, Thini, and Marpha (which is just an hour’s walk south of Jomsom) were

autonomous.69 This is not to say that the ethnic affinities of the people and authorities of

Lo/Mustang with those of greater Tibet are not closely affiliated, both culturally and politically.

But even when Mustang was incorporated into Nepal in 1789 along with the Baisi and Chaubisi

states (twenty-two and twenty-four principalities, respectively), it continued to maintain a

separate cultural identity from both the homogenizing efforts of the early Nepali State and from a

truly classical Tibetan identity. Mustang also adhered strictly to an agreement of dependence

made with Nepal after the Gorkhali conquest of Jumla in 1789 and from that time on, continued

to adapt to its dependent status all the way up to the implementation of the government of

Nepal’s Dependent Principalities Act of 1961 (rajya rajauta aina 2017), which officially

abolished the last four remaining dependent principalities, of which Mustang was one (Dhungel

2002: 4).

While no complete picture emerges of Mustang before the Gurkha conquest, it is at least

clear to some extent that in the centuries preceding the unification of Nepal many different

119
influences on the Kali Gandaki area routinely disrupted local power structures, introduced new

religious traditions and ritual systems, and encouraged some degree of population movement and

migration in and out of the valley. It is within this context then that Shaligram pilgrimage and the

exchange of stones with Hindu practitioners in India likely gained its most prominent footholds

sometime in the early centuries of the first millennium AD. While no early histories of Mustang

directly address the presence of Shaligram pilgrims (or pilgrims in general), these early Tibetan

and Nepali texts taken in combination with Indian accounts of Shaligram veneration in the Hindu

texts and later Western travelogues noting village Shaligram practices, evidence the likelihood

that Shaligram pilgrimage and veneration was ongoing at the time, regardless of the agendas and

ideologies present in written recording. The coming of the Gurkhas then meant the addition of

another external influence; one that also dramatically shifted the orientation of the region from

Tibetan influences in the north to burgeoning Nepali influences to the south.

Mustang in the Modern Day

Although Nepal has a history that dates back two-thousand years or more, the socio-

political picture of modern Nepal was drawn after the Gorkhali conquest of the Kathmandu

valley in 1769. The nation-state of Nepal finally then began to crystallize in the second half of

the 18th century, when Prithvi Narayan Shah, the young king of Gorkha (a town west of the

Kathmandu valley), and his army, the Gorkalis embarked on a series of conquests that would

bring a vast portion of the Himalayas under a single, autonomous, rule. The Gorkhalis (or

Gurkhas) were Hindus who claimed high-caste Thakuri status, descendants of the raja of Sinja

who, in turn, was believed to have descended from the Rajputs who fled India during the Muslim

invasions (Fisher 2001: 55, Dhungel 2002: 12). The process of unification, which was later taken

120
up by Prithvi Narayan’s many successors, continued into the early years of the nineteenth

century and came to a halt when the boundaries of the new kingdom finally extended from the

Sutlej River in the west to the Tista river, between Sikkim and Bhutan, in the east. The Gorkhali

campaign of consolidating mountain kingdoms and other territories was then only finally stopped

by the Anglo-Nepal War of 1814 and these dimensions were reduced by about a third following

the treaty of Segauli in 1815, which concluded a war with the British East India Company. But a

substantial area of fertile lowland was later returned to Nepal in recognition of the military help

it had provided the hard-pressed British during the Indian Mutiny of 1857. Until then, the

political borders and territories of Nepal were not clearly defined.

Although Nepal’s territories had been loosely consolidated during the reign of the

Licchavi dynasty (3rd to 9th centuries AD) and even expanded to include the Koshi region to the

east and the Gandaki region to the west, the fall of the Licchavi rulers in the central regions is

marked as the point of disintegration of the Ancient Kingdom of Nepal. Consequently, a number

of smaller, petty, principalities emerged in and around the Kathmandu valley in the wake of the

political fragmentation of the time. By the 13th century, a new and powerful ruling dynasty called

the Malla appeared and ruled the Kathmandu valley and many of its surrounding territories as a

single, unified, political entity for nearly three hundred years. In the late 15th century, however,

this kingdom was divided into three branches: Kantipur, Bhaktapur, and Lalitpur (Dhungel 2002:

12-13, Thapa 1990) and continued to decline in subsequent years. Similarly, other political

powers emerged, developed, and declined throughout eastern and western Nepal over several

centuries following the decentralization of Ancient Nepal.70 The medieval period of Nepali

history (between the 10th and 18th centuries), in fact, is distinctly marked by the continuous rise

121
and fall of major kingdoms and the emergence of more than fifty petty principalities all across

the region of the modern-day state.

Nepal has been historically characterized by continuously shifting borders, changing

national and political identities, and uncertain margins. This remained true even when, finally,

the Kingdom of Gorkha successfully consolidated the territories of Nepal between the river Tista

in the east and the river Satja in the west in just under fifty years’ time. During the height of their

military campaigns, the Gorkhali rulers were able to unify the entire territory up to the northern

Himalayan borders with Tibet. During this process of consolidation, the Gorkhalis were then

able to bring a number of trans-Himalayan and Tibetan cultural regions under their control.

Lo/Mustang was one of them, but the conquest of the Chaubisi Raja, including the territories of

the Thak Khola and the Panchgaon, did not come to fruition until nearly two decades after the

conquest of the Kathmandu valley. Parbat, whose control of mines and large areas on the

southern slopes of Dhaulagiri mountain made it one of the strongest and most persistent points of

opposition to the Gorkhalis, was not defeated until the Gurkha rule of Bahadur Shah in October

of 1786. In the following three years, Shah went on to add some twenty thousand square miles to

the area under Gorkhali control. He began this phase of the Gorkhali conquest by attacking

Jumla through a northern route extending from Mustang and with the conquest of Jumla in 1789,

he opened the way for conquest of the regions farther west (Stiller 1973: 181 and Fisher 2001:

55).

In the years following the conquest, the Gorkhali’s ambition to make their kingdom a true

Hindustan, a unified homeland of Hinduism, faced a number of both internal and external

challenges. Although Lo (Upper Mustang) lies within the border of present day Nepal, the region

is principally inhabited by the Lo-pa (or in some discussions, Bhotia)71 peoples and their

122
cultures, which was not incorporated into Nepal until 1789. Until that time, other major high

Himalayan settlements such as Dolpo, Manang, Nubri, Nar, and Nyishang were not originally

incorporated either and even after the incorporation of these Himalayan settlements into the

Nepali state, they were not considered a part of mainstream Nepali culture and society until very

recently. This marginality is what earned the people of Lo/Mustang the term bhot, a popular

Nepali name for Tibet (mustanbhot or mananbhot, accordingly). Nepal’s Hindu identity was also

challenged by the Mughals of India and by the British during the 19th and 20th centuries,

especially in cases where internal difficulties posed by geography, religious and ethnic divides,

and political differences among subjects threatened the stability of rulers at home and abroad.

Over the ensuing decades, the political and administrative efforts to integrate the outlying areas,

maintain a steady income for the central government in Kathmandu, and forge a common nation

out of diverse populations with widely different cultures, languages, and religious practices has

had a profound effect on the peoples of Mustang.72 In more pressing concerns related to

Shaligram pilgrimage, this particular historical narrative frames many of the current issues with

labeling people or practices in Mustang as “Hindu.” Regardless of any actual historical

influence, claims to Hindu identity are today often taken as political statements in alignment with

the cultural homogenization efforts of the central Nepali government and therefore, many local

Mustangis are circumspect when it comes to claiming any specific religious basis for Shaligram

practices or for pilgrimage sites such as Muktinath.

Today, Mustang district comprises a number of administrative enclaves that have been

recognized either as the residues of old administrative entities or as the territories of ethnically

distinct groups (Ramble 1992, 2008a). The northernmost part is still referred to as Lo (or

occasionally as Glo bo, Blo bo etc.) while Upper Lo is a designation given to the territory that

123
was once ruled by the King of Mustang at the time of the unification of Nepal (which the

Gorkhas recognized as his domain even after conquest). In academic and ethnographic sources,

this area is referred to more fully as Loto Tshodun (Glo bo stod tsho bdun), “the Seven Sectors

of Upper Lo.” The Tibetan word tsho is often translated “sector,” and is an old Tibetan

administrative division that might also be rendered as analogous to “county” in present political

contexts.

Below Gemi, the southernmost village in the region of Upper Lo, is the large community

of Gelung which (with the help of Jumla) broke away from the kingdom in 1754 (Schuh 1994:

85). Immediately to the south of Gelung is Baragaon. South of Baragaon is a group of

settlements known as Panchgaon (Nepali - Panchgaun, the Tibetan equivalent is Yulkhanga (Yul

kha lnga)). Both terms mean “the Five Villages,” which, in this case refers to the villages of

Thini, Shang, Tsherog, Cimang and Marpha (Ramble 1992). Mustang’s current district

headquarters, Jomsom, began life as a little satellite of Thini on the left bank of the Kali Gandaki

river, but has now acquired the proportions of a mid-sized town along with the region’s only

airport, a large military barracks, and a great many hotels geared towards the burgeoning tourism

and trekking economy. The region between Panchgaon and the southern boundary of Mustang

district, comprising thirteen settlements, is known as Thak, and the people who inhabit it as

Thakalis, an ethnonym that is also sometimes, but not always intentionally, extended to include

the inhabitants of Panchgaon (see Fisher 2001). In terms of Shaligram pilgrimage, the

Baragaon73 and Panchgaon regions figure most prominently.

The standard Shaligram pilgrimage trek begins with arrival in Jomsom. From Jomsom,

pilgrims can then proceed about an hour’s walk north of Jomsom, along the banks of the Kali

Gandaki river to where it is joined from the east by the Panda Khola, a small river that

124
traditionally marks the boundary between Panchgaon and Baragaon. The village of Lubra, and

traditional center of Bon worship, lies on the southern side, (though it is considered to be a part

of Baragaon), and is occasionally visited by Shaligram pilgrims interested in some of the more

esoteric ritual histories of the stones within the region. The inhabitants of Lubra are also

considered to be of a general priestly class (Tibetan: bla mchod), as principal followers of the

Bon religion, and are often referred to as lama or lama-guru by attendant pilgrims (Ramble

1992, 2008a).74 On the opposite side of the Kali Gandaki, and visible from the valley floor, are

two other villages, Dangardzong and Phelag. A short way to the north of these, and closer to the

river itself, is the settlement of Pagling. North of Pagling, on the left bank of the river, where the

gorge converges to a narrow waist, stands the village of Kagbeni, the first primary destination on

the Shaligram circuit. The Nepali name of Kag/Kagbeni, derives from the fact that it stands at the

confluence (Nep. beni) of the Kali Gandaki and the Dzong Chu (Thorong La) (Ramble 2008a),

the stream of the Muktinath Valley which runs parallel to and north of the Panda Khola. At the

head of this valley is the temple of Muktinath, the final stop on the pilgrimage route for all

Hindus, Buddhists, and Bonpos in Mustang. From Kagbeni, pilgrims must turn northwards up

the Muktinath valley, passing through the villages of Khyenga, Dzar, Purang and Chongkhor on

the south-side of the valley or, the villages of Putra and Dzong should they take the northern

route. Chongkhor, which stands on land donated to the founder lama by the village of Purang, is

also a community of householder priests (Tibetan: dbon po) of the Nyingma Buddhist sect (the

sect which also serves Muktinath). For most pilgrims, the south side route is considered more

direct and accessible, with better access to food and lodging in the villages along the way and no

need to cross the steep valley in order to reach the village of Ranipauwa, where most will stay a

day or two before returning to Jomsom. According to Charles Ramble, the communities of the

125
Muktinath Valley are sometimes referred to collectively as Dzardzong Yuldrug, ‘the Six villages

[including] Dzar and Dzong’, or, more popularly, Dzardzong (2008a).

Lower Mustang is inhabited by a mix of Lo-pa, Baragaunle, Panchgaunle, and Thakali

peoples. Upper Mustang, however, remains largely inhabited by Lo-pa peoples, who continue to

maintain strong cultural, ethnic, and linguistic ties to western and central Tibet. Historical

sources show, however, that many of the peoples from rDzong-kha, gZhis-ka-rtse, Gyangtse,

Lhasa, Kuti, Gu-ge (Zhang-zhung), Purang, and even Kham migrated to Lo/Mustang at different

times and from different regions and were subsequently blended into Lo-pa culture (Snellgrove

1967: 91-92, Dhungel 2002: 14). Additionally, up until the late 18th century, many settlements in

Upper Mustang, such as Khar-rag, Bod-grub-pa (near Gelung village), Chungjung, Samdzong,

Chodzong, and Dar-chog were considered to be settlements of Tibetan migrants (taken from the

bemchags, quoted in Dhungel 2002: 14). In fact, continuous settlement and resettlement by

Tibetan nomads (Brog-pa) and by the descendants of nomadic Himalayan groups (Na-ka) was

considered common in Lo/Upper Mustang until the 19th century. Lower Mustang, however,

including the Kagbeni-Baragaon area, Thini-Panchgaon area, and Thak areas is ethnically more

complex. Linguistically, the people of Dzar-dzong, Kag, Phen-lag, Brag-dkar rdzong, and Klu-

brag are similar to the Lo-pas of Upper Mustang but the inhabitants of Chuk, Te, Tangbe,

Chelep, rGyadkar, Thini-Panchgaon, and Thak are all distinctly different (Dhungel 2002). This

includes speakers of Thakali languages in the south and speakers of the Tibeto-Burman language

Seke in Shoyul, the region of five settlements located north of Tiri village near Kagbeni.75 While

no comprehensive linguistic study of these regions has yet been attempted, scholars observe that

the ancestors of a large portions of Mustang’s current peoples – Thakalis, Thini- Panchgaunles,

and Baragaunles – apparently migrated, not from Tibet, but from other high-mountain regions in

126
Nepal. A point that continues to challenge specific “Tibetan” historical narratives throughout the

region. 76

While few, if any, local documents concerning the political and administrative situation

of Lower Mustang much before the arrival of the Kyekya Gangba have been found, there are

significant grounds for assuming that these systems of inter-kingdom and inter-community

exchange, tribute-paying, strategic economic opposition, and political reciprocity continued in

some form or another for quite some time even after the Gorkha conquest (Ramble 2008b).

These systems likely even survived later eras of the Thakali salt monopoly, awarded to the office

of the customs collector in Thak in 1862 (which also declined in the 1950s following post WW II

modernization of Nepal), and probably remained largely unaffected up to the end of the Rana

government in 1951. The Lo-pa (or Bhotias), however, never fared particularly well under the

administration of rulers in Kathmandu. While the raja of Mustang would retain some authority

over the enclaves of Lo for a few decades, the central government came more and more to

regulate the area in order to redirect its flows of revenue accordingly. When the Rana rulers

eclipsed the Shah dynasty, the peoples of Mustang continued to decline into poverty. Even when

the salt monopoly was abolished officially in 1928, the competition from other trade routes had

already irreparably damaged Mustang’s economic trade prospects in several areas. The raja of

Mustang finally lost the last of his political power in 1950, with the re-emergence of the Shah

dynasty and the democratization of Nepal that begun its first forays into global politics.

This period of time, when few Westerners ever traveled beyond Kathmandu, was one of

the few times when Mustang was readily accessible to the Western world but soon enough,

China’s occupation of Tibet would throw Mustang head-first into Tibetan resistance efforts,

resulting once again in the political segregation of Mustang from the rest of Nepal and the rest of

127
the world. In the end, the final blow to Mustang’s traditional forms of power probably came with

the democratic reforms that followed the implementation of the party-less Panchayat System in

the 1960s. These reforms then precipitated the decline of many of Mustang’s local administrative

and reciprocity/exchange systems overall. 1960 was also the year when Tibetan guerillas

established a base near Kesang, close to Jomsom. With the help of the US Central Intelligence

Agency, close to 6,000 Tibetan rebels, called Khampas, skirmished with Chinese forces across

the border. Desperate to appease China but unable to control the Khampas, the Nepali

government declared Mustang restricted, and censored all news of Tibetan guerrilla activities. In

the view of some scholars, this disintegration and segregation has then only accelerated

following the advent of multiparty democracy in Nepal in 1990 and the opening of Mustang’s

borders to foreign travel in 1992. Unfortunately for Shaligram pilgrims, this continuing shifting

of access, national identity, and political conflict has done more to shape current pilgrimage

practices than anything else.

The Tibetan struggle for independence left many of the villagers of Mustang caught

between both political and cultural forces that were not theirs. There were Khampa camps in

almost every village and many people reported that Khampa leaders were not above using

intimidation and threats of violence to garner local support. Because of this, Khampa activities

posed a political problem for the peoples of Mustang, who could not afford to jeopardize their

standing as citizens of Nepal and who also didn’t want to endanger their cultural and economic

ties to Tibet. The CIA ended its support of the Khampa rebels in the early 1970s, when the

United States officially recognized the sovereignty of the People’s Republic of China (which

would now include the Tibetan Autonomous Region or TAR). This, however, did not end

guerrilla resistance in Mustang, which continued on for some years afterwards: divided into two

128
factions – one headed by Gyatso Wangdui and the other by Gen Yshe. When the Dalai Lama

appealed to the Khampas to surrender Gen Yshe complied, and resettled most of his fighters in

Nepal, with a few even in Mustang. But in response to political pressures from China, the Royal

Nepal Army moved to Mustang and set-up a large military base in Jomsom in 1973. The

following year, the army ambushed Gyatso Wangdui’s group and killed him in Tinkar in west

Nepal near the Indian border.

In the mid-1970s, the Nepali government moved further in Mustang with development

plans for schools, health posts, police stations, and water taps. Lower Mustang opened for

tourism and trekking, but Upper Mustang continued to remain closed. The monarch-ruled

Panchayat government, then in full force, had a strong ideological base in Nepali nationalism,

specifically in resurrecting Prithvi Narayan Shah’s image of a unified Nepal. The Panchayat

government forwarded their own ideology of a particular pan-Nepali identity that touted its

abilities to level ethnic differences and to integrate them into the State’s all-encompassing Hindu

social model. The king of the Hindu Kingdom of Nepal and the Nepali language became the two

most prominent cultural “unifiers” and Nepal was envisioned as a “garden” of four castes and 36

ethnic groups (though the concept of the four Hindu varnas – the socioeconomic classes or

castes depicted in Hindu books -- was largely alien to most of Nepal’s Himalayan tribes).

Regardless, Hindu norms were advanced through school outreach programs and through Hindu

karmachari and border guards, all of whom sought to “integrate” and “Nepalise (Sanskritize)”

the peoples of Mustang and pull them into a Hindu “mainstream” along with the rest of the

nation.

129
 Following the Gorkhali conquests, politically and administratively uniting the country of

Nepal proved to be no easy task. There were a series of wars, attempted coups, blockades,

occupations, and general political instability at the center of Nepali political life for much of the

130
time up to the present. Politically and geographically marginalized areas, such as Mustang, often

needed to take advantage of social and political reorientations, migrations, ethnic reinventions,

and religious blending between regional and national traditions. This is because state-building in

the era following the mid-1800s required the formation of a national ideology, a process that

proved to be even more disruptive to social and national cohesion. This attempt to a forge a

common nation out of diverse peoples affected the people of Mustang by continuously changing

many of the social contexts within which they operated.

With the fall of other Hindu principalities in South Asia to the British, Nepal came to see

itself as the only independent Hindu kingdom within the sacred lands of Hindus and began to act

accordingly to preserve the sense of “purity” it had developed towards its political culture

(Burghart 1984: 106-16). Within the regions consolidated by the Gorkhali conquest there were a

wide array of groups speaking more than forty distinct languages, with three historically and

geographically distinct caste hierarchies, loosely defined groupings throughout the middle hills, a

variety of culturally distinct Tibeto-Burman-language-speaking peoples all along the northern

borders, and a plethora of ritual and religious systems drawn from local shamanism, Bon,

Buddhism, and Hinduism alike (Fisher 1987 and 2001, Levine 1987, and Höfer 1979). Over the

years, strategies employed to create a Hindu nation out of many religiously and ethnically

disparate populations included persuading a number of outlying peoples to adopt some Hindu

practices (and broadening the definition of “Hindu” in the process) and outlawing the conversion

of Hindus to other religions. In the case of Mustang, this also included the promotion of practices

earlier identified as Hindu by their association with pilgrimage from India and other heavily

“Sanskritized” regions of South Asia. This promotion did not, however, specifically include

Shaligram pilgrimage, but rather focused on the more iconic and identifiable aspects of “Hindu”

131
culture such as the preservation of temples, deity statues, and yearly festival traditions to gods of

the Brahmanical Hindu pantheon.

This burgeoning of political “Hinduization” also created a context wherein the peoples of

Mustang, the Thakalis and the Lo-pa and so on, began to vie for stable Nepali footing. Gurungs

and Thakuris (high-caste ethno-identities) sprung up among historically unrelated groups, new

ethnic associations and identities were forged, and the Nepali language slowly gained ground.

Rongba (a generic term meaning foreigner, often applied to Westerners) clothing, ideas, and

media came into fashion and even the very foundations of ethnic identities began to be

challenged. As a result of this, the raja of Mustang’s informal power over the area continued to

diminish and the central government’s administrative reach strengthened. Fewer and fewer Lo-

pas went to him to settle disputes and more and more began to resent the labor the raja

demanded from them as a kind of royal tax. Their exposure to the norms of the West, to the

ideology of the central government, and to the struggles of the communist system in Tibet, gave

them an impetus to seek change. Meanwhile the Panchayat government did little to compensate

for the economic stagnation caused by the political isolation and policies of restriction in

Mustang, which is further echoed by many Mustangi’s current concerns that the government of

Kathmandu will continue to withhold access permit revenues and other monies drawn from

tourism and pilgrimage to the region that could be used for much-needed infrastructure and

development projects. Subsidies and some special allowances were made for Lo-pas as well as

for a few other peoples classified as “remote.” Gompas were given small grants and here and

there, NGOs and development companies would arrive on the heels of a cultural preservation

ideology to repaint and rebuild. But ultimately, there were no concerted efforts to help the

communities of Mustang become self-sufficient or to effect significant improvements in their

132
standards of living. And while, later on, trekking and tourism (and foreign-aid funded projects)

would slowly begin to improve the economic situation of Lower Mustang, including a revivalist

focus on Muktinath, Upper Mustang remains on the periphery, left to fend for itself.

Control of the high Himalayas and other marginal hinterlands increased dramatically in

the middle of the 19th century after the Rana family took control of Nepal’s central government;

reducing the previous king to no more than a figurehead and beginning a century of rule by a

series of hereditary prime ministers. The Ranas initiated a significant step in the process of state

formation in 1854 with the codification of a national hierarchy that granted certain rights and

political status to each category of social group defined in the legal code. This 1854 code, called

the Muluki Ain, was a primarily Hindu model which was superimposed on an otherwise

heterogeneous population. It served the dual purpose of distinguishing Nepal’s own national

society and culture from that of “foreign” societies and cultures and justified the placement of

Rana (and other high-caste Hindu) rulers at the top of the hierarchy. Unsurprisingly, this socio-

political composite of ethnicity and caste ranked high Hindu castes at the top, followed by a wide

array of non-Hindu hill peoples and Bhotes (meaning all Tibetan Buddhists peoples) in the

middle, and untouchables at the bottom. 77

Ambiguities in the middle ranges of the hierarchy established by the Muluki Ain

combined with the code’s use of categories that did not, for the most part, correspond to precise

groups of people has continued to produce a number of creative approaches to identity

throughout Nepal. Strategies of genealogical reckoning designed to lay claim to higher caste

ancestry became common, 78 as did the tactic of redefining what ethnicity and caste even meant

(see Guneratne 2002). In other cases, like those of the Tamang and Chhetri, the legal recognition

of new and higher categories improved certain groups’ interactions with the state and allowed

133
those who were able to claim membership to achieve better upward mobility and higher positions

specifically by emulating Hindu norms (Sharma 1977). The “Hinduization” of the religious

practices of Himalayan and other “lower” groups has then become one of the most pervasive

academic, political, and local concerns in the time since the unification of Nepal.

For scholars, the debate as to the “legitimacy” of Hindu practices among Himalayan

peoples (Thakali, Lo-pa, etc.) is a contentious issue because of fears that their work might be

taken as an attempt to align academic analysis with State aims. Giuseppe Tucci in 1951, for

example, argued that both Hindu and Buddhist practices were prevalent in the Himalayas but that

Buddhism was gaining ground while just a year later, David Snellgrove argued that Buddhist

culture was already in significant decline in Lower Mustang. In 1953, Japanese scholar Jiro

Kawakita wrote that that Thakalis of Lower Mustang were following neither Buddhism nor

Hinduism in favor of reviving their own local “shamanistic” practices (1957: 92). Then in 1958,

Shigeru Iijima saw Hinduism gaining strength in Mustang and argued that the shamanic practices

mentioned by previous scholars had already been reduced by Hinduization. And then by 1962,

Fürer-Haimendorf observed that what was viewed as Hinduization was simply secularization

camouflaged in the terminology of state-sponsored Hinduism. In 1978, however, Fürer-

Haimendorf revised his earlier claims and went on to describe how certain people were

intentionally and unilaterally altering their ritual and religious behaviors to conform more closely

to high-caste Hindu norms, a view that would be echoed again by Messerschmidt in 1984 (266).

By 2001, this ongoing debate surrounding what appeared to be simultaneous religious revival

and religious decline in Mustang, Nepal transformed yet again and scholars now view the

religious blending of Mustang as a perpetual kind of “eclectic ritual pluralism,” to borrow

Fisher’s characterization; where the contexts of ritual practices have never been static and

134
religious identities never fixed (Fisher 2001, Guneratne 2002, Walter 2003, Hausner 2007, Craig

2008). Within this context, Shaligrams pilgrimage and ritual practices have remained equally

difficult to categorize. For some, Shaligram veneration is labeled as a distinctly “Hindu”

practice, while others point out that Bon shamans and Buddhists alike also often keep Shaligrams

in their homes or use them to mark significant areas of the household or the landscape. Ritual

veneration and interpretation of the stones is also not limited to Hindu deities, but can also

include various Himalayan spirits, such as the Dakini wind spirits and the Buddha himself.

While an assertion of a hegemonic Hindu ideology accompanied the formation of the

Nepali state and high-caste Hindus have dominated the political elite ever since, these processes

cannot be read simply as the temporal movement of groups undergoing a steady process of

Hinduization (or Sanskritization) as they progress towards some kind of ideal Hindu model.

While the Muluki Ain may have been designed to create a homogenous society, this aspiration

has not been and never will be realized. The Muluki Ain is a projection from political powers

above that represents a social order that was, for a long time, little known and even less accepted

in the regions of the high Himalayas (Fisher 2001, Höfer 1979). This does not mean, of course,

that practices labeled or identified as Hindu did not exist in Mustang prior to 1854 or that

Hinduism was unknown in the high Himalayas at any point preceding the unification of Nepal;

far from it. Rather, the codification of Hinduism during the era of the Muluki Ain and afterwards

to the invasion of Tibet by China in the 1950s, to end of the Rana government in 1951, and to the

ratification of the new secular Nepali Constitution in 2015, has largely been leveraged for a

number of political aims that have more to do with foreign policy relations (with India, Tibet,

and China) and political maneuvering (support for Tibetan autonomy, aftermath of the Maoist

insurgency) than they do with the history of any actual religious practices.

135
Vishnu-Chenrezig Mandir, Muktinath

136
 Chapter 4
A Mirror to Our Being
Locating Muktinath, Finding Śālagrāma
“The moment I have realized God sitting in the temple of every human body, the moment I stand in
reverence before every human being and see God in him - that moment I am free from bondage,
everything that binds vanishes, and I am free.” --Swami Vivekananda

A young Muktinath nun, who gave her name as Sister Pemba Dorje, had awoken very

early in the morning to begin preparations for the darshan of Vishnu-Chenrezig. “Muktinath is a

great example of a place of harmony,” she told me, still gathering together a few ritual

implements. “Many people come here. Hindus and Buddhist from everywhere. They give rice

and money and bring their children and elderly parents. Or they come with photos when people

cannot come or who have died. I didn’t come because I was Buddhist. I came because I very

much like this way. I pray for all beings. For all suffering to stop. I pray for good health and

good karma and I look after all the cultures in Nepal and Tibet and India and everywhere. That’s

why everyone comes to Muktinath. We are for everyone.” “And what about the Shaligrams?” I

asked. “Oh, yes. Shaligram is also for everyone. Shaligram is a part of Muktinath and Muktinath

is for the world.” 79

Textual evidence of Hindu influences in Mustang is extremely limited and many accounts

of practices labeled as either Hindu or Buddhist have drawn on historical texts selectively while

often ignoring evidence that might contradict their contentions. While it is clear that there are

not, and probably never have been, any major Hindu temples directly south of the Baragaon, it is

nonetheless untenable to argue that Mustangis were ever unfamiliar with Hindu ideas, status

distinctions, and ritual systems prevalent in other parts of Nepal (Fisher 2001: 182, Fürer-

137
Haimendorf 1966: 140. See also Ehrhard 1999). As multiple scholars and ethnographers of

Mustang have argued, it is important to recognize that, despite the dearth of historical

documentation, Buddhism and Hinduism in the middle hills and high Himalayas of Nepal have

always been mixed with indigenous practices.

Earlier scholars’ arguments that Hindu influences, in the region of the Thak Khola as

well as further north, are relatively recent ignores two significant aspects of the upper Kali

Gandaki valley that have long mitigated against cultural isolation. The first is trade: while it is

common to think of Himalayan populations as isolated and remote, it is especially inappropriate

to apply this label to peoples resident in a major trans-Himalayan trade route that has been in

constant operation for at least a millennium. The second aspect is pilgrimage: the significant

Hindu pilgrimage site of Muktinath lies just north of Kagbeni and the practice of Hindu

pilgrimage to Muktinath (meaning either “Place of Salvation” or “Lord of Salvation,” depending

on what sources you consult) by way of the Kali Gandaki River valley is even noted to have

predated the arrival of a number of modern ethnic groups to the area (Fisher 2001).

There is, of course, a scarcity of documented and reliable sources that can directly

address the antiquity of the Muktinath temple complex. As discussed previously, religious

sources do not necessarily speak of the Muktinath temple specifically and generally only go so

far as to identify the region or area of ‘Muktinath’ as that which is synonymous with

‘Muktikshetra’ (meaning “Field of Salvation”). For this reason, it is almost certain that the

current temple site of Muktinath (and its attendant murti) was not present in ancient times and

likely didn’t comprise a significant Shaligram pilgrimage destination until sometime in the last

few centuries. The religious significance of Muktinath then, is not necessarily in the physical

temple site itself, but it its role as a site of veneration for the pilgrimage practices that far precede

138
it. This is because the pilgrimage to “Muktinath” plays a role in significant portions of Puranic

texts as well as warranting mentions in the Purva Vritanta of Kakabhusundi of Uttarakanda in the

Ramayaṇa, and also in the Ramesvarakanda section of the same epic. By way of these texts,

many Hindus thus claim that the site of Muktinath must have been revered as ‘Mukti Tirtha’

(“great bridge”) as early as the time of the Ramayaṇa’s composition (or around 2500 to 3000

years ago). But it must also be repeated that there are ongoing debates, among scholars and

among theologians, as to the dating of any of these Puranic or Epic mentions, including those in

the Ramayaṇa. In other words, there is no way to know for certain when these ideas and

descriptions were added to scriptural texts, or if they were ever part of the original compositions.

Given the continued references to Muktinath/Muktikshetra and Shaligrams in various

Hindu texts we can safely say that the mountainous landscapes of the Kali Gandaki river (which

is the source of and meets up with many other sacred rivers across South Asia) was likely highly

revered as a sacred landscape possibly as far back as the Vedic period. It should be noted,

however, that if we take the description of ‘Mukti Tirtha’ in the Ramayaṇa to mean the present

day location of Muktinath temple, we can argue that the site has been a site of pilgrimage for the

last two to three millennia (to say nothing of attempting to date Shaligram pilgrimage itself), but

if we rely on the perspective of the Himavat Khaṇḍa (Skanda Purana) and Varaha Purana, we

would have to cede that the current temple site can only be reliably dated to the early Medieval

Period of Nepali history (somewhere around the 6th to 10th centuries). To some degree, this

ambiguity owes its troubles to the Gupta period of Indian history (approximately AD 320 to

550). Most of the Hindu Puranas, such as we know them today, were composed and standardized

during the Gupta period and it is through these Puranas that knowledge of places such as

Muktinath/Muktikshetra and Śālagrāma spread throughout India and became popularized among

139
burgeoning bhakti reformer traditions. This is why discussions of Shaligram pilgrimage and

practices largely revolve around Puranic texts and the problems of chronology they present.

The temple complex of Muktinath lies at an altitude of roughly 3,710 meters at the foot

of the Thorong La mountain pass and close-by to the village of Ranipauwa (which is also

sometimes simply referred to as Muktinath). The entire complex contains a number of mandir

and gompas including the central temple, or Vishnu-Chenrezig mandir, the Narsingh Gompa, the

Sarwa (or Sangdo) Gompa (where the 18th century satguru Swaminarayan is said to have

performed his famous penances), the Shiva-Parvati Mandir, the Mebar Lhakang Gompa (or

Salamebar Dolamebar Gompa, or Jwala Mai Temple), the Yagyashala (sometimes called the fire

sacrifice or hom temple or the Shaligram mandir), a series of chorten, or monument stupas to the

deceased, and as of June 2016, the tallest standing statue of the Buddha in Nepal.80 Considered to

be the 105th pilgrimage destination among the 108 Divya Desams81 (and the only one in Nepal)

as well as one of the 51 Shakti Pīthas,82 Muktinath has long been a site of pilgrimage as well as

the principal shrine for the veneration of Shaligrams. Also sacred to Buddhists, who refer to the

temple complex as Chumig-Gyatsa (Tibetan: “Hundred Waters”), Muktinath is believed to be

one of the main sacred locations for the 21 Taras (female deities) as well as the Dakini,83 or Sky

Dancer Goddesses, and one of the 24 Tantric places of meditation. The central temple shrine

contains the murti of Sri Muktinath, the deity of Muktinath temple, who is Vishnu for Hindu

pilgrims and the Buddha of Compassion, Avalokiteshvara/Chenrezig, for Buddhist pilgrims. This

shrine, housed in the Vishnu Mandir, is also considered by Hindu Vaishnavas to be one of the

eight Svayam Vyakta Ksetras: or self-manifest fields of salvation.84 The ongoing theme then, of

self-manifestation, is carried through to the Shaligrams themselves. Meaning that no human

agency was involved in their physical appearances on Earth.

140
 While the temple is quite small, it houses a copper murti of Sri Muktinath (about a meter

in height and around 96 cm around) and his two consorts, the goddesses Lakshmi/Bhumi and

Saraswati, which measure about 86 cm high each. This altar also contains three principal

Shaligrams which reside permanently at Vishnu-Chenrezig’s feet (which represent the three

principal deities and are recapitulated again in the Shaligram Mandir), a smaller statue of Garuda

(Vishnu’s celestial mount), and an assortment of other smaller images and icons spread

throughout. The prakaram, or outer courtyard sanctum, contains the 10885 bull-faced water

spouts, as well as the two front kunda (water pools), within which pilgrims to Muktinath must

bathe in order to cleanse away all karmic sins. These sacred water spouts also represent the

sacred waters (Pushkarini waters) from all the other Divya Desams including the Divya Desams

considered outside of the earthly realm. In Hindu texts, Muktinath is often praised by Hindu

saints, particularly in the Vishnu Purana and in the Gandaki Mahathmya (Gandaki Mahatmya

Parishistha, part of the Himavat Khaṇḍa section of the Skanda Purana).86 As a Shakti Peetha,

Muktinath is also one of the abodes of the Devi (Shaki), formed by the falling body parts of the

corpse of Sati while Shiva carried it about, wandering through the Himalayas. Each Shakti

Peetha therefore contains a goddess shrine as well as a Bhairava temple (the fiercely monstrous

manifestation of Shiva). In the case of Muktinath, the Shakti shrine is referred to as “Gandaki

Chandi” and Bhairava as “Chakrapani,” and is said to be the place where Sati’s forehead fell.

Conversely, in Tibetan tradition, Muktinath is said to be the place where Guru Rinpoche

(Padmasambhava) meditated on his way to Tibet.

As Sister Pemba motioned me towards the main temple, she offered a small handful of

white candies to give to the deities of Muktinath as prasadam. “We are so lucky to be here.” Her

gestures indicated that she was referring to herself and to me. “Shaligram brings you to

141
Muktinath, my life brings me also and we meet here. Now we are friends and we can always be

happy. This is why it is so special here. Everyone comes together. Maybe different reason and

maybe different life but they come here and then they leave and take it all with them. We stay

connected.”

Map of the Muktinath-Chumig Gyatsa Temple Complex

142
Muktinath - Chumig Gyatsa Main Temple - The Vishnu-Chenrezig Mandir

The 108 Muktinath Water Spouts

143
 The first mention of the site of Muktinath in Tibetan texts dates back to the Tibetan king

Lhachen Udpal who ruled Ladakh from AD 1080 – 1110 and who is also said to have ruled up to

Chhu-la-me-war in the province of Lo. In this account, both Tibetans and local peoples are

described as knowing of a place called ‘Muktijwala,’ which is also called Chhu-la-me-war (fire

on water), Do-la-me-war (fire on rock), and Sa-la-me-war (fire on earth). Conversely,

‘Muktikshetra’ is occasionally mentioned in other Tibetan sources as well. It appears by name in

the famous ‘Pema Kathang,’87 a text related to the activities of Guru Rinpoche (Padmasambhava)

while in Mustang and it also appears in the Tibetan guidebook of Muktikshetra (here noted with

the Tibetan name Chhu-mig-gya-chha; called ‘Chhu-mig-gya-chhagye, Ku-chhab-ter-nga, Mu-

le-gang gur-sung-phug-sog-kyi-kar-chhag-sal-bo-me-long ngo-chhar-chen-nam.’) Lastly, as

Ramesh Dhungel points out, a wide variety of other local official paperwork, treaties, and

records written in Tibetan indicate the presence of a site called Muktinath as ‘Chhu-migya-chha’

and Damodarkunda as ‘Chhu-chhen.’ Later on, after control of Mustang was acquired by Jumla,

other local accounts begin describing Muktinath as being primarily administered in reflection to

the primary deities of Jumla. It is possible, however, that the rulers of Jumla regarded Muktinath

as part of their own religious systems even before acquiring control of the region since they were

already incorporating Badrinath in the far east into their deity hierarchies. Much of the evidence

for this comes from the seal of the kings of Jumla wherein we find the phrase “Sri Badrinatho

Jayati Sri Muktinatho Jayati.”

It is also possible that the tradition of incorporating these sacred sites into their own ritual

systems passed down to the Jumla kings from their Malla predecessors. The kings of Jumla were

geo-politically related to the Malla kings and succeeded them chronologically. The first mention

of Muktikshetra as ‘Muktinath’ may even be evidenced in the seals of Jumla, which are known

144
as ‘Syaha Mohar.’ When all Tibetan sources around them appeared to address the site as ‘Chhu-

mig-gya-cha’ and ‘Chhu-la-me-war,’ and other sources called the land ‘Muktikshetra,’ it is of

particular interest then that the kings of Jumla began calling the site ‘Muktinath.’ In other words,

that the blending of religious traditions between India, Nepal, and Tibet was already heavily

underway. Unfortunately, there is no further documentation that establishes whether or not the

Jumlas engaged in any temple or murti building at Muktinath or whether or not a temple already

existed there. The present-day four-armed copper statue of Muktinath is dated to around the late

16th or early 17th century but given that this overlaps with the era of Jumla rule, one might

speculate that the word ‘Muktinath,’ which seems to appear only from the time of the ‘Syaha

Mohar’ of the Jumla kings, was brought into contemporary usage after Jumla established the

current murti of Muktinath and constructed a separate temple away from the Jwala Mai (Jwalaji)

– the “Mother Flame” a short distance away.

According to many Hindu scholars and theologians, the Puranic mentions of Muktinath,

Muktikshetra, Śālagrāma, the Krishna or Kali Gandaki River, and Shaligrams, demonstrate that

the area of Muktinath was important to Hinduism before periods of recorded Nepali or Tibetan

history in Mustang. In one overview account, for example, Puranic textual sources were given as

evidence that the creation of and pilgrimage focus on Muktinath closely aligned with the

standardization of Hinduism as a global religion. This was largely due, in this case, to the widely

unifying aspects of Shaligram pilgrimage and ritual practices across variable Hindu traditions

from South India all the way north to West Bengal, Nepal, and Tibet (mentioned in Dahal 1988).

Therefore, despite the fact that Shaligrams are commonly thought of as direct manifestations of

Vishnu, the disparate texts and traditions were said to actually demonstrate that Muktinath was a

blending of the two divine powers of Hari and Hara (Vishnu and Shiva). Additionally, as

145
mentioned in the Skandha Purana and Varaha Purana, the unity of water and flames found in

Muktinath could only then be read as the unity of the Shaiva and Vaishnava traditions. For

Shaligram pilgrims today, this is largely true as both Vaishnava and Shaiva Hindu lineages and

sects undertake Shaligram pilgrimage and many local traditions of reading and interpreting

Shaligrams take their name-type lists from a mish-mash of deities important to any number of

different South Asian pantheons.

The oldest known religion in Mustang is Bon (Bonpo) and was likely followed prior to

the to the arrival of Buddhism. In Bön, natural phenomena and nature are worshipped and today,

their most prevalent expressions appear in the head-gods of the four Thakali clans who often

appear as birds or other animal totems.88 There are also two types of Bon, Bon dKar (white Bon)

and Bon gNak (black Bon). According to some accounts, black Bon was indigenous to Mustang

before white Bon, which became mixed with 11th-12th century Tibetan Buddhism of the Shakya-

pa section arriving from the north and continued mixing with other indigenous practices (such as

the dhami-jhankri shamanic traditions) throughout the Kali Gandaki River valley up until the

19th century (Chetri et. al. 2004).

It is the influences of Bon which are commonly cited as the reason that the site of

Muktinath is also revered for its singular combination of the five sacred elements, which, also

according to both Hindu and Buddhist traditions, all material things are made.89 In these

philosophies, the elements are: fire (from natural gas vents coming up through the rocks), water

(flowing out of the mountain-side into the 108 spouts), sky, earth (or stone, referring to

Shaligrams), and air (the high winds typical to the valley). Some traditions also note the presence

of sacred trees at Muktinath, growing at an altitude generally considered outside of their normal

range (and another possible reference to the sal/shal trees of Śālagrāma). The fire aspect, referred

146
to as the Jwala Mai (Mother Flame), is housed in the Jwala Devi gompa and is tended to daily by

the resident order of Buddhist nuns who live at Muktinath. In fact, the traditional caretakers of

Muktinath-Chumig Gyatsa are an order of Buddhist nuns of the Nyingma (or, “red hat”) sect, the

most prevalent form of Buddhism in Mustang today, currently headed by the abbot of Muktinath

and head of the Gye Lhaki Dung, Lama Wangyal (Hira Bahadur Thakuri). The Gye Lhaki Dung

is also popularly known as the Lama Domar family, an unbroken lineage of Tibetan Buddhist

(Nyingma) lamas originally from the Muktinath Valley who have claimed Muktinath as their

religious seat for several centuries (MFI 2016). Lama Wangyal, the current abbot of Muktinath,

was born in AD 1956 (Tibetan Buddhist Year of the Monkey) during the tenure of his

grandfather, Lama Jampal Rabgyè Rinpoche, the author of the Buddhist pilgrimage guide to

Muktinath-Chumig Gyatsa, The Clear Mirror.

There are, in fact, a number of pilgrimage guides to and discussions of Muktinath that

have been written and published over the years. The most prevalent Hindu one available near

Muktinath today is Madhu Sudhan Ramanujadas’ Muktichhetra Mahatmyamam (2003), which

includes large sections of Sanskrit, Hindi, and Nepali text drawn from the various Puranas that

outline the multitude of Shaligram origin stories discussed previously. Another is Pandit

Bhavanishankar Shastri’s Shalgram-Rahasyam (“The Mystery of Shaligram”) published with the

support of Subba Mohan Man Sherchan of Tukche village in 1947. This work also makes a case

for the importance of Muktinath, the Kali Gandaki, and Shaligrams based on Hindu religious

texts. The obscure book Mustang Digdarshan90 is also occasionally referenced in terms of

historical material, but given that it contains no citations or references, it is usually ignored in

favor of more comprehensive texts, such as Rao’s 1996 Śālagrāma – Kosha. Apart from

religiously oriented pilgrimage materials, some devotees also cite Ramesh Dhungel’s

147
“Damodarakunda: Ek Parichaya” (Damodar Kunda: An Introduction)91 as especially helpful in

researching the history of Muktinath and Shaligrams as well as his “Muktinath: Kehi Aitihasik

Tathya” (Muktinath: Some Historical Facts)92 and ‘Dharmic Sahishnutako Prasanga Muktinath’

(Muktinath: A Context of Religious Tolerance).93

In the first of these short research essays, Dhungel discusses, in quite spectacular detail,

the nature of the Damodar Kund as well as the main pilgrimage route to Muktinath, its current

geographical location, its present state of administrative affairs, its religious significance and a

few historical facts which are related to the reader in the form of a travel log (a format which

many pilgrims find particularly useful). In the other two papers, Dhungel references a series of

Tibetan and Nepali sources as a basis for formulating a general historical perspective on

Muktinath. One of the main points of interest is that many of these pilgrimage literatures are

reasonably circumspect about where the boundaries of “Muktinath/Muktikshetra” actually lie

and there continues to be some debate as to the extent of Muktinath’s sacred boundaries (i.e., the

extent of its dham). Dahal, in his discussion of these literatures, points out for example that the

Himavatkhanda mentions that Lord Brahma meditated at the center of Muktikshetra and that this

particular spot where Brahma meditated is the where the present-day Muktinath temple and

Jwalaji (Jwala Mai) currently reside (1988: 6). In this case then, the sacred boundaries of

Muktinath may be said to lie between the central temple and the Jwala Mai gompa.

As for the boundaries of Muktikshetra (the Field of Salvation) as a whole there is

additional contention. In some cases, both pilgrims and theologians delineate the areas directly

around the Kali Gandaki river valley where Shaligrams are found as the boundaries of

Muktikshetra. In other cases, devotees are apt to cite the Himavatkhanda Purana again in regards

to the Jwala Mai (where Lord Brahma invokes Lord Shanker in the form of fire onto Lord

148
Vishnu who takes the form of water in this account), as the center point of Muktikshetra which

then extends outwards from there. However, as to how far north or south of this center point one

should consider the land to be Muktikshetra is not universally agreed upon. For example, the

Varaha Purana explains that Muktikshetra extends around 1 yojanas (approx. 8.8 km) and

Shaligramkshetra extends around 12 yojanas (approx. 105 km) from the center point.

The Varaha Purana goes on to say: “two ascetics going by the names of Pulatsya and

Pulaha sat down at a spot in Muktikshetra and meditated.” The present-day ‘Pulhasrama’ of

Myagdi district is then subsequently described by some Nepali Hindus as the place where these

two ascetics sat down to meditate. Because it is stated in the Varaha Purana then that this place

of meditation must also come under Muktikshetra; Muktikshetra must then extend from Myagdi

District to the south of Mustang to the Damodar Kund in the north. In Dahal’s claims, the

distance from Damodar Kund to Pulhasrama roughly corresponds to the distance given in the

Varaha Purana (1988: 7) but few scholars elsewhere appear to be entirely in agreement on the

exact measurements of Puranic distances as translated into modern units. In any case, based on

scriptural references, most Shaligram devotees tend to regard the lands between the Myagdi

confluence of the Kali Gandaki river to the south and the Damodar Kund mountain to the north

as Muktikshetra and not just the areas immediately surrounding the Kali Gandaki where

Shaligrams are collected.94

This does not mean, however, that there is not some contention as to whether or not

Muktinath is the actual location of Śālagrāma (see Chapter 1). Regardless of its continued use in

the veneration of Shaligrams, many Hindu schools of thought doubt the actual connections

between Muktinath temple and the dham of Vishnu connected to the Kali Gandaki River. In

some cases, pilgrims cite the source of the Kali Gandaki as the real place (“nath”) of salvation

149
(“mukti”) while others note the historical and textual ambiguities around calling any number of

places in the high Himalayas of Mustang “Muktinath” or “Muktikshetra.” Even the pilgrimage

travel book of R.S. Gherwal, published in 1927, locates Muktinath at 17,000 feet (as opposed to

12,300 feet) at the base of the Nora Pass rather than at the current site of the temple at the

Thorong La Pass (pg. 82).95 In practice, however, the primary route of Shaligram pilgrimage in

Mustang begins at the Kali Gandaki (usually somewhere near Kagbeni) and ends at Muktinath,

where Shaligrams recently taken from the river are left at the feet of Vishnu-Chenrezig for

special blessings and rituals before being removed from Mustang and taken home.

The preponderance of pilgrimage guides, written over various time periods, has also led

to significant disagreement among Shaligram practitioners as to how the Puranic texts should be

read in terms of modern day pilgrimage. Some devotees choose to rely on texts deemed

authoritative to their own religious traditions (which vary from one Hindu sect to another) while

others view the ambiguity of the texts as evidence of the ever-shifting nature of the Śālagrāma

dham. In other words, as the river changes course and the Shaligrams move down the valley, so

too does the field of Muktikshetra, and it was this movement that each author was attending to.

Even more interestingly, many practitioners have also come to link this movement with

narratives of environmental conservation and climate change, noting that, should the Kali

Gandaki river ever dry up or deviate significantly to the east or west, so too will the sacred dham

of Śālagrāma follow.

Finally, the Jwala Mai gompa is situated slightly south of and a short distance below the

central temple and, aside from the mandir of Vishnu-Chenrezig, is one of the most popular

pilgrimage destination points within the Muktinath complex. Inside the gompa (and to the strong

accompaniment of the smell of natural gas) is a small, clay and mesh box that rests over the three

150
continuously burning flames and a natural spring that flows just beneath. These three holy

flames, “The Flame of Soil,” “The Flame of Rock,” and the “Flame of Water” are continuously

fed by the deep natural gas vents coming up through the rocks below. However, today, only two

flames are still burning, the third having gone out unexpectedly some years ago. For Hindus,

these flames are either the natural representations of Brahma (the creator of the universe) who

has set fire to the water (Vishnu) – Jwalaji – or representations of the Shakti in her capacity as

the creative force of the universe – Jwala Mai – the Mother-Goddess of Fire.96 For Buddhists, the

sacred flames represent Guru Rinpoche who is thought to have meditated and achieved

enlightenment at that specific place. However, the exact pilgrimage routes through Muktinath

have changed significantly over the years.

From the time following the establishment of the Jwala Mai Gompa and the central

Vishnu-Chenrezig (or Muktinarayan) temple by the kings of Jumla, many other monuments and

buildings have been constructed throughout the site; gompas, stupas and chorten, water-spouts,

supporting temples, pilgrimage shelters and housing and so on. The main pilgrimage gompa

housing the sacred fire, however, has started to slowly fall out of favor for many Hindu pilgrims.

The primary sites of veneration today include the 108 water-spouts (Muktidhara) and darshan at

the central temple. The Jwala Mai/Jwalaji is now largely tended only by the Muktinath’s

Buddhist nuns (jyomo or tsun-ma). The main Hindu priests who attend Muktinath temple are also

now principally attended by the nuns, who perform many of the traditional rites of worship. For

those pilgrims who do continue their pilgrimage paths throughout the temple site, after

completing prayers and pujas before the Jwala Mai, many pilgrims then move on to the Mharme

Lha Khang Gompa, which is situated slightly north of the central temple. Mharme Lha Khang,

which translates as “A Thousand Holy Lamps,” is the main gompa dedicated to Guru Rinpoche.

151
Inside, his huge clay image is flanked by two Bon deities, the red deity Trakpo97 to the right and

blue deity Singe Doma to the left. Because Singe is also a lion-headed deity, Hindu pilgrims to

Muktinath often consider him to be Narasimha, the lion-headed avatar of Vishnu.

The central deity, Sri Vishnu-Chenrezig or occasionally, Sri Murti Mahatmyam or just

Sri Muktinath, is currently housed in the pagoda-style Buddhist-Hindu temple of Vishnu and

Chenrezig (also often referred to by pilgrims as the Vishnu Mandir), which was built somewhere

between AD 1814-15 by the Nepali queen Subarna Prabha (second wife of Shah Rana Bahadur

(1775-1806)) as an offering to the veneration of Shaligrams (and then renovated around 1929).

By a number of local accounts, the original temple at Muktinath was made of clay and some

speculate that the subsequent temple built over the site by the Jumla kings reflected an earlier

Nepali-style of temple-building and was still intact at the time of the current temple’s

construction. These accounts may also explain one of the more pervasive stories about the statue

of Vishnu-Chenrezig as well, who, according to several Shaligram pilgrims and a few ritual

specialists, was once a large Shaligram stone (the first found in the region, as a few will tell it)

that was then hidden inside of the current murti statue when the temple was built. As an

interesting counterpoint, there is, in fact, a very large Narayan Shaligram venerated at Muktinath

(along with an additionally gigantic Shaligram, roughly the size of a car tire, brought out only for

special occasions), but it does not reside within the main temple murti. Rather, it currently sits on

the main altar of the Shaligram Mandir near the main gate, flanked by two additional Shaligram

murti representing Lakshmi and Saraswati who also stand beside the main icon.

152
 Sri Muktinath at the Vishnu-Chenrezig Mandir: The Primary Deity of Muktinath Temple

Sri Muktinath recreated in Shaligrams at the Shaligram Mandir (Yagyashala) a few hundred meters below the main Muktinath
Temple

153
 At issue in both Mustang and Muktinath is often then what it means to be Hindu and

what it means to Buddhist in these contexts (believing in and doing “Hindu” or “Buddhist”

things) and where these ideas of belonging become exclusive or where they overlap. The history

of Mustang and of Muktinath temple demonstrates that religious orientation is almost never a

matter of historical continuity, but more a matter of when, why, and to whom it is an issue all the

while bearing in mind any number of historical, political, and social influences and their effects

of a variety of distinct groups (For a longer assessment of the challenges and contentions of

Hindu and Buddhist ideas of belonging at Muktinath, see Dana 2011). Recalling Tucci’s

assessment of the interactions between the forces of Bön, Buddhism, and Hinduism among the

Thakali peoples of Mustang, it is therefore advisable to avoid treating such religious distinctions

as reified entities at all:

A deep study of Thakali religious beliefs would demonstrate imprecision of whatever

denominational labels might be given to them. We would see that the former Lamaist still
survives within every Hindu, but that the Lamaist in turn reserves a not unworthy place in
the depths of his soul for Hinduism. In every soul we would see the two religions, not in
conflict but coexisting by mutual consent and happily sustaining each other. And surely if
we looked deeper still, we would find the secret fire of the original primitive beliefs is
still burning. ([1953] 1982: 50).

Viewing religious practices at Muktinath as processes of alignment within a pluralistic ritual

landscape, we can see how neither professed religious beliefs nor authoritative religious and

historical texts can be used to predict actual practices accurately. Any specific individual (nun,

pilgrim, or resident) may perform or participate in rituals from any range of traditions; be they

Bön, Buddhist, Hindu, or related to some other local deity or legend without much concern to

specific loci of political or spiritual power. Both the varied ritual practices of individuals and

group participation in other rituals (such as darshan or festivals) continue to fuel contestations

over internal and external boundaries that separate different Mustangi populations from one

another, Mustangis from other Nepalis, Nepalis from foreigners and Hindus from Buddhists (See

154
Dana 2011). Scholarship, however, is bound up in endeavors to discover, delineate, or create

boundaries: of groups, of cultures, of fields of knowledge, of contexts of action, and so on. This

is because boundaries and the categories that they index help make sense of complex and

overlapping cultural variations by drawing specific attention to where ideas and objects are

incommensurate or where discontinuities threaten the perceived order of the world. Such

boundaries also help to heighten our sense of human diversity and allow us to make sense of

contradictions, or, as is all too common in the case of Mustang, to view a place or a culture as

something pure and in need of preservation. These essentialisms, then, tend to drive the

narratives of conservation and preservation that Shaligram practitioners (and many Mustangis in

general) find so difficult to engage with and with the scholarly literature that purports to define

and claim the history of Mustang, the history of Muktinath, and the nature of the Shaligram

stones themselves.

Introducing the Ritual Landscape

I sat quietly along the side of one of Muktinath’s two kunda, patiently waiting as Lalita

Thapa (who insisted I call her “Lala”), a Nepali Hindu pilgrim from Chitwan who had recently

arrived with her husband and two children to Muktinath, arranged five Shaligrams on a small,

silver, tray along with a number of other sacred objects she continued to produce from within the

folds of her sari. “This is panchayatana puja,” she explained. “We Nepalis typically worship the

five major deities of Vishnu, Shiva, Devi, Surya, and Ganesha. My father used to conduct his

pujas with only one Shaligram for Vishnu. He used a lingam for Shiva that was a gift from his

grandfather and then other stones for the other deities, but I am helping my children to learn the

rituals of Shaligram. My husband, you see, is a third son. His eldest brother inherited the family

155
Shaligrams some years ago and so now we come to Muktinath so that we can begin the new

tradition for our children. These will be their Shaligrams, to begin their households.” 98 It was

late in the day already, and few other pilgrims remained in the outside courtyard of the Vishnu-

Chenrezig mandir, most of them having already completed their required rituals and headed off

down the steep mountain walkways to dinner at the local guesthouses. It was a cold day for

August, and the monsoon rains continued to threaten additional downpours with each passing

wave of cloud and fog drifting over the mountain peaks. With little sun to warm the aquifers, the

waters of Muktinath were especially freezing that afternoon, and few of the day’s pilgrims had

been brave enough to strip down and chance a run through the 108 spouts just beyond where we

sat.

I watched carefully as she arranged her Shaligrams, with Vishnu in the center and the

other four deities at the four corners of the plate. Three she had brought with her from their home

in southern Nepal and the final two she had just purchased from a Shaligram merchant near the

gates of Muktinath. “I bought these two,” she motioned to the newest Shaligrams representing

Durga and Ganesha, respectively, “because I did not think we would have enough time to find

them in Kali Gandaki. The ones we did find I gave to my husband, who is over there now

waiting for darshan so that we can have them blessed at Vishnu’s feet and take prasadam (holy

food). Those, I think, we will give to our home temple. One is Ram Shaligram I think, and the

other two I’m not sure. The pujari (temple priest) here will be able to tell us later. But I only

want these five.” I nodded, “How will you worship them here then?” “I conducted puja down at

the Kali Gandaki yesterday after we found the Shaligrams.” Lala replied. “Now I will conduct

puja again here at the water pools for the five that will remain in our home and then I will walk

through the water spouts. This is very important because these five gods are also the five

156
principal elements. Vishnu is sky, Shiva is earth, the Devi is fire, Surya is air, and Ganesha is

water. These elements make up all the world and every human body. My father also taught us

that one of these elements is especially dominate in each person’s personality. I am far more

attuned to sky and to Vishnu, I think. That is why I place him in the center.”

Lala then pulled a small plastic bag containing tulsi leaves from her handbag and

carefully laid a single leaf on each Shaligram as she chanted the mantras she had been reciting

since girlhood. Then, she washed each Shaligram in the waters of the Muktinath kunda before

replacing them in the pack she had brought along specially to carry the stones. “Now,” she said

as she got to her feet, “I’m going to go undress so that I can bathe in the spouts. Will you watch

the Shaligrams for me? I don’t want them wandering away while I am changing.” “Of course,” I

said, “but how will I know if they are trying to wander away?” Lala laughed and she began to

unwind her sari. “Oh, that’s easy. You’ll see them floating away in the kunda waters, trying to go

back to Kali Gandaki. That’s why I brought them for puja up here to Muktinath. First, they are

bathed in Kali Gandaki, then bathed again at Muktinath, and then finally when we return home to

Chitwan. That way, they can carry with them the dham Śālagrāma and be ready to leave it

behind. The river is their mother, you see, and all children want to go back to their mother. But it

is time for them to leave and live their lives elsewhere. This will help them.”

I watched as Lala scurried off into the small, walled, enclave which served as the

women’s changing room near the nun’s quarters. She emerged shortly afterwards clad only in a

yellow wrap, her hair loose around her shoulders as she prayed before the first water spout. And

then, with a deep breath and sudden burst of courage, she bowed her head and took off at a brisk

pace around the outer courtyard of the mandir, careful to ensure that she passed beneath each one

of the 108 spouts in turn. As she emerged from the last water spout at the far end of the

157
courtyard, she stopped to shout out a long string of mantra-like phrases that I took to mean that

she was both joyous in having made the it through the spouts as well as a commentary on their

late summer temperatures. From there, she preceded to the main door of the Vishnu Mandir,

where she offered prayers to the murti within, all the while shivering in the crisp monsoon

breezes. Her husband met her there, handing over the recently-blessed Shaligrams, resplendent

with their newly applied spots of kumkum and sandalwood paste that had been done by the Hindu

pujari within the temple, and a handful of sweets given to him by the Buddhist nun minding the

main darshan. Later, as I stood near the gate to the Muktinath temple complex, Lala stopped me

on the way down towards the village of Ranipauwa. “I am so excited!” She tugged at my sleeve

with barely restrained glee. “I feel as though I am welcoming a new child into the family. Which

I am I suppose, you know. Shaligrams are the children of the Devi (goddess) and I am now

adopting them. Come with me! Let us share our first meal [with them]. After such a long

journey, I’m sure we are all hungry.”

In the early 1980s, the term ‘ritual landscape’ gained significant ground in the study of

British archaeology as a way to describe the means by which people modified the countryside

around them as both a representation of and interaction with sacred or spiritual worlds. This

concept departed, however, from conventional studies of monuments and sites because it became

concerned with more relational aspects of artifacts and landscapes, such as the classification of

icons, sacred writings, ceremonial spaces, funerary monuments, and ritual implements. As

archaeologists and later anthropologists noted, religion was everywhere: in deity figurines and

temple architecture, in standing stones inscribed with religious images, in burial sites, in the

careful arrangement of houses, sewn into clothing designs, and in the recordings of natural

omens. This term could then, of course, be readily applied to Mustang with its hundreds of mani

158
stone walls, ossuary stupas, temples and way-side shrines, cross-road offerings, and sacred

mountains and rivers, but here, I also add the current Shaligram ritual practices as they are

carried out along the Kali Gandaki River, on the road to Ranipauwa, and at the temple of

Muktinath itself. As a combination of movement and the specific physical undulations of the

land itself, this modern ritual landscape takes into account pilgrimage, not just as a kind of

exploration of the world, but as an introspective, personal, and semiotic journey as well. It also

must take into account the practice of puja; any number of different types of “service” rituals

performed at the juncture of physicality and spirituality, between embodiment and emotion.

The ritual world of Shaligram practitioners contains a relatively constant core of shared

beliefs and practices set within a wider field of religious pluralism. This core of rites, which

includes various types of puja rituals, festival celebrations, and pilgrimages, uses movement in

space and time to reinforce sets of social relations and identities, such as pujas to obscure the

distinctions between family members and gods or festivals to celebrate a deity’s life events

(marriage, death, birth, etc.). The practice of these rites then derives from and fuels many of the

ongoing tensions between national affiliations or political leanings and the sacred landscapes

wherein unfettered mobility remains the principal method by which ultimate religious realization

is achieved.

While it may appear, at first, that the participation of any given Shaligram practitioner (as

well as his right to call himself that) is contingent on the possession of one or more Shaligrams

themselves, it became clearer to me over time that the object of the Shaligram itself was taken

more as a facilitator of, or impetus for, sacred movement or as a literal guide and companion on

life journeys (of both the physical and metaphorical kind), rather than as the end goal to mark the

completion of specific pilgrimages or ritual practices (as say, a souvenir might index the travels

159
of the person who keeps it). Though a comprehensively detailed compendium of Shaligram

rituals, pilgrimage practices, and performances is beyond the scope of the current work, it is

sufficient to say here that Shaligram veneration provides fora within which devotees might

demonstrate, not an identification with particular religious traditions or lineages (as Shaligrams

themselves have no such affiliations), but with broader narratives of belonging that include ties

to both ancestors and descendants, relationships to landscapes contingent on the movement

between times and places, and continuity with a historical and a mythic past.

“My family’s Shaligram has shown us many miracles.” Abul Shikdar, a Hindu who had

recently arrived from his native Bangladesh, walked slowly through the streets of Kathmandu

towards Pashupatinath temple. “I believe in him. I have often wondered if getting another

Shaligram will be doing injustice to him, because he has been so integral to my family for such a

long time. He is from our ancestral temple in Bangladesh where my grandmother’s father had

been a zamindari (landlord). They had to leave during Partition and when we returned back to

Bangladesh many years ago our tutelary priest gave it to me. I consider him as my friend first

and then a god because he has helped us a lot. As soon as my mother prayed to him she

found her lost diamond earrings, my father’s business improved when we prayed again, and my

brother passed his school exams with top marks. Now we give him small gifts such as gold

crowns, gold necklaces, and a lot of silver items. Every morning I put sandalwood and crimson

(kumkum) on his forehead here.” He held up an image of the large, grey, Shaligram on his mobile

phone. With his index finger, he then indicated a small depression near the top of the stone. “And

I talk to him and bathe him. All the time. So now when I get to Pashupatinath, I intend to pray to

Shiva and ask him about getting another Shaligram. I do not know yet if I will go to Kali

160
Gandaki. I want to. But it is a great responsibility. Maybe I will just go to Muktinath and pray

with my Shaligram.” 99

“This is my second time to Muktinath.” Amit Kumar Kapoor smiled over his tea. We met

in a quiet café near Durbar Marg in Kathmandu just as he was preparing to leave for Mustang on

a late bus heading towards Pokhara. “My family is Shaiva mostly and a few have converted to

Christianity recently, but it doesn’t matter. It is not important to be Vaishnava for Shaligrams.

What is important is how you treat Shaligram. I have two at home now which I was given by a

pujari at a temple in Chennai some years ago. Now I am going to try and find a Ganesha, or

maybe a Durga or Hanuman. Are there Hanuman Shaligrams? I don’t know. These are the gods

of my family and my home village, so I want to bring them home as Shaligram. Then I will do

the full Abishekam puja. Do you know it? We will gather all our family from all over and do the

Ganesh puja. This is why I must find Ganesha this time, so he can attend our Ganesha puja and

come to live with us. Then we will put all the Shaligrams together on the puja plate with Shiva

lingas and all the other gods in the household. Then we will do abishek and bathe them with

milk, yogurt, ghee, honey, and plain water. Then Chandan100 water, then water with flowers, then

Rudraksha101 water, water with gold ornaments in it, and then water with ashes. Then my father

will recite the mantras, give aarti (lamps), and then we will all drink from the Shaligram waters

for good health, good family, and good community.” 102

Pilgrimage and puja constitute the core of the complex, heterogeneous, ritual world of

Shaligrams. Understanding the complexities of this ritual landscape is facilitated by bearing in

mind several important points. First, while puja is often translated as “worship,” most Shaligram

devotees view ritual pujas that involve offerings of food, water, bathing, and mantras more as a

kind of “service” rendered to the deity that is analogous to the obligations one might have to care

161
for fully-functioning and participatory human members of the family or of the community-at-

large. Second, rituals wherein the Shaligram is not necessarily offered service directly but is

instead used to offer services to divine others (ancestors, gods, spirits, etc.) often contain

complex layers where the Shaligram traverses multiple interlaced fields of mythology, family

histories, community events, and personal needs and desires; linking them together through

various movements and associations in time and space. Third, different practitioners disagree on

the precise details of ‘proper’ Shaligram veneration and many of these differences are revelatory

as to the specific identities, intents, and agendas that exist within and between devotees. Fourth,

rituals of Shaligram veneration are derived from a number of culturally plural communities. For

example, many devotees are widely versed in concepts and terminology of more than one major

religious tradition as well as differences with the various sects and divisions within their own

tradition. It is also not uncommon for Shaligram practitioners to use the vocabularies of

Hinduism, Buddhism, and other traditions to explain their ritual practices. Fifth, Shaligram

rituals may occasionally be used as complements to other ritual complexes – deity darshan,

festivals in honor of specific deities, ancestor pujas, marriage and funeral rites – or Shaligram

rituals may be honored and conducted in their own right for specific purposes as determined by

the practitioners in the moment. Sixth, within the parameters of these rituals there is a fair degree

of latitude for variation. Seventh, pilgrimage is far more politicized than other rituals and, as a

result, is a far more contentious subject than the specifics of puja.

In its most fundamental form, puja is a prayer ritual that is performed in order to host,

worship, and to interact with one or more deities. Pujas are also performed to spiritually

celebrate specific events, such as major festivals, weddings, or funerals.103 In other cases, pujas

are conducted to honor the presence of special guests, elderly relatives, and religious teachers, or

162
their memories after they pass away. The word puja (Devanagari: ) is originally derived

from Sanskrit, and can be alternately translated as reverence, homage, adoration, and

worship.104 As one of the most common ritual events throughout South Asia, pujas are an

integral part of the ritual complexes practiced by Hindus, Buddhists, Jains and Sikhs. An

essential part of puja for the Hindu devotee is in making a spiritual connection with the divine

and in inviting the attention of the divine to matters of the physical world. As mentioned

previously, these interactions are most often facilitated through an object: an element of nature, a

sculpture or icon, a vessel, a painting, or some other image of the deity in question (darshan).

Puja can also be done on a variety of occasions and in a number of different settings. Any

given Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, or Sikh practitioner may include daily pujas done in their homes or

may only participate in puja at the occasional temple ceremony, annual festival, or even just a

few lifetime events. Pujas are, in fact, quite often associated with dramatic shifts in a person’s

life course, such as the birth of a baby, a wedding, or the beginning of a new business or school

venture.105 The settings of many pujas also often reinforce their correlations with certain stages

of life: the home and in the temple. Pujas done in the home are thus typically geared towards

domestic concerns (healthy children, plentiful food, a strong household, securing a good

marriage, etc.) and pujas conducted in the temple towards community concerns (marriages and

funerals, births, festivals, agricultural concerns, visitations, etc.). While there is certainly some

overlap on the settings within which certain pujas are conducted, there remains a continued focus

on incorporating the participation of divine persons in the day to day life of the family and of the

community through ritual. The variability of puja specifics106 also makes it an ideal ritual for

both venerating special events and conducting day to day ritual tasks, a characteristic that often

blurs the boundaries between human and divine, between sacred and every day.

163
 The specific steps involved in puja varies according to the particular religious school of

thought and may also vary by region, occasion, and the deity or deities present. In this way,

Shaligram puja is no different. Shaligram pujas are conducted in a variety of contexts, from the

river banks of the Kali Gandaki and the temple courtyard of Muktinath during pilgrimage to

destination temples the world over and in households where Shaligrams are brought to take up

their residence. In both temples and homes, performed alone or with the assistance of a pujari or

guru, Shaligrams are offered food, fruits, sweets, clothing, a bath, a lamp, money, incense and

perfume, or even a bed complete with pillows and blankets for them to take rest whenever they

might need: all of which, after the prayers are completed, becomes prasad – blessed food and

other objects that have been ritually ‘consumed’ by the deity and can then be shared by all

present at the puja.

Within the arrangement of the puja-darshan altar (deities, deity accessories, miniature

objects, photos, sacred stones, etc.), each piece of the diorama is connected back to the sacred

texts, to local events, and to historical narratives that relate to the lives of the people involved.

For example, a favorite story of one pilgrim to Muktinath, a Gaudiya Vaishnava from West

Bengal by the name of Bhanu Kiran Bawari, involved Krishna's pastimes as a young cow-herder.

He often spoke of his many Shaligram pilgrimages to Mustang in order to find the specific

Krishna Govinda Shaligram he had always wanted and on one particularly day as we waited at

the Jomsom jeep stand, he was keen to explain why. “Back at my home temple near Kolkata we

close the temple darshan and veil all the deities during the middle of the day. This is because

Krishna leaves the temple at this time and engages in his activities within the Vrindavan dham,107

He often goes out and spends his time as a cow-herder again with all the cows that wander

through the streets and in the fields. When I receive my Govinda (Shaligram), I will dress him as

164
the cow-herder and give him small cow figurines, so that the cows might remain with him when

he comes into my home.”

The objects of both puja and darshan used in ritual performances then quickly become a

kind of sacrifice in as much as they are no longer simply material objects. Fundamentally, they

become the very things they signify—a cow figurine is a real cow and water sprinkled on a

Shaligram is water to slake real thirst. This is because, through their relationship the deity’s

activities, objects are invested with characteristics beyond 'mere' materiality that are not

attributable to substances in the physical world. Object becomes essence or entity. This is how

pieces of daily life become linked with mythic events from divine narratives, everything from

places where a deity may have once lived and how he or she dresses to intricacies of preferred

meals and favorite games all played out ritually across the sacred landscape (Eck 1998: 68). This

overall geography is then expanded to encompass all of India and Nepal, and in some cases the

entire world, through the construction of a historical, material, and narrative contiguity between a

mythological past and other historical and contemporary cultures and events across the globe.

For Shaligrams, these kinds of puja rituals demonstrate the layering of personhood, agency, and

materiality, through relationships of ‘substantive’ exchange (See Chapter 5), especially when we

note where, when, and with whom Shaligram puja is conducted.

Puja is conducted when a Shaligram is born out of Kali Gandaki and may be conducted

again, with the same Shaligram, at the birth of a human child, linking new family members with

mythic cycles of birth, death, and rebirth located in the origin myths of Shaligrams themselves as

well as scriptural narratives related to the specific deity (For example, Krishna Gopala

Shaligrams – Krishna as an infant – are popular in these cases). Puja is performed during the

festival celebrating the marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram (Vishnu) and then once more during

165
family weddings (See Chapter 9), linking the newly-wed couple to the narratives of reproduction

located within the dham, or sacred landscape, of Muktikshetra’s mountains and rivers. Puja is

done to welcome the Shaligrams to their new home or temple (and often to care for them every

day after) following their long travels just as puja is done for honored guests and great teachers.

And finally, puja is done to honor the passing of the dead, where an honored Shaligram may

accompany the body into the cremation fire and carry them along with it into another life; to be

sent as ash into the sacred river and then reborn once again from it. As such, a Shaligram ceases

ontologically to be simply stone by its movements between physical landscapes as well as its

movements through life events, religious narratives, and communal events. By building

relationships, it becomes body and person; replete with all the trappings necessary to carry out a

social life among family and community.

The scriptural rules which govern Shaligram veneration therefore do not establish a set of

rigid boundaries delineating the correct performance of rituals for Shaligrams, but rather function

like the banks of a wide riverbed, much like the Kali Gandaki, within which streams of

traditional and practical variation may appear, meander, and merge as they move across the

landscape. While the river may then slow to a trickle or come flooding out of the mountains,

break up or reconverge, or even occasionally overflow its banks, it nevertheless exists within a

relationship of myths, narratives, practices, and traditions that locate it within a particular

conceptual category. Or as William Fisher might say, a particular riverbed. It may never be the

same river twice, but it will always be the Kali Gandaki. The similarity of many of these rituals

and the pilgrimages that support them vary in different ways from time to time and from place to

place, but their family resemblances remain recognizable as well as the Shaligrams that define

166
them. In other words, though the specifics of time and place may not be especially important, the

anchoring of rituals and landscapes within times and places is.

There is no standardized doctrinal consensus among Shaligram practitioners as a whole

but neither can professed religious beliefs be used to predict actual practices accurately. And

specific individual practitioners may perform or participate in Shaligram rituals reflective of any

range of traditions, be they Buddhist, Hindu, animist, specific to one’s guru lineage, or related to

a specific local deity or legend. Even secular, agnostic, and scientific atheists have been known

to take part in Shaligram ritual veneration. Regardless, both the varied ritual practices of

individuals and group performances of rituals fuel the intense fluidity of internal and external

boundaries that might otherwise appear to separate devotees in different Hindu traditions from

one another, from Hindu traditions and Buddhist traditions, and from those who would mark

certain places and concepts as Hindu, Indian, or Nepali from those who would mark them as

Buddhist, Tibetan, or foreign. Shaligram ritual practices reflect not so much a religious

syncretism as they do a kind of public and private religious pluralism in which the ritual

conducted, deities propitiated, and religious experts and authoritative scriptures consulted vary

depending on a variety of factors that include age, gender, level of experience and education,

ethnicity, nation of origin, nation of current residence, family history, economic standing, and

community relationships. But despite these continuous shifts in context and historicity,

Shaligram worship remains explicably tied to the land (both origin and destination), to times and

places where spirits, ancestors, and deities must be engaged and propitiated, and to concepts of

identity, meaning-making, and community building. The specific community may be unique but

the ritual process of its construction remains relatively the same.

167
 The arrival of scholars to Shaligram practice also represents something of a transition

point in the history of Shaligram worship. Their focus on standardizing mythologies, locating

historical narratives, and contextualizing these narratives within certain times and places, tends

to predisposition an approach that assumes one “real” story that somewhere, somehow, unfolds

in a unilinear and irreversible direction. To revisit the river metaphor of culture; it is far too easy

to mistake a single stream for the whole river of Shaligram veneration. When anthropologists

began arriving in Nepal in the 1950s, they had already been working with Hindu, Buddhist, and

indigenous religious practices in India and elsewhere in South Asia for more than a century. In

many ways, the anthropology of Nepal had not only missed entire decades of ethnographic

theorizing, it also was immediately contextualized using social theories from religious traditions

elsewhere (a common theme, as we’ve seen).

The early scholarship of Nepal, as was not unusual at the time, tended to essentialize

categories and cultures; scholars acting as coartificers of cultural narratives right along with the

people themselves. In many cases, this was done by associating certain groups or practices with

the historical trajectories of religious traditions from elsewhere in South Asia (i.e., Indian

Hinduism or Tibetan Buddhism) and by simplifying and polarizing perceived differences

between reductionist dichotomies of Hindu/Buddhist, resident/tourist, and pure/hybrid. The first

arrive of anthropologists to Nepal also coincided with dramatic social and political changes more

generally, including the closing of Nepal’s northern borders by China (as a direct result of the

invasion of Tibet in the 1950s) in 1960. During this period, Nepal’s internal infrastructure began

to grow, as did significant political concerns about Nepal’s long-term sovereignty and stability in

the face of internal political unrest and pressures from both India and China. As a result, the

traditional northern trade routes were closed, merchant groups, such as the Thakali, began to

168
migrate outwards, and access to Mustang, and to the river of Shaligrams, was severely curtailed.

But this has not meant the end of Shaligrams or the end of Shaligram pilgrimage. Rather, it has

been the beginning of something new; a new movement, a new transformation, for people and

their sacred shilas. Today, a new kind of Śālagrāma is born.

169
The Kali

Gandaki River, Kagbeni, Mustang

170
 Chapter 5
A Bridge to Everywhere
The Birth/Place of Shaligrams

Ato'dhisthana Vargesu Suryadisviva Murtisu

Salagrama Silaiva Syad Adhisthanottamam Hareh

“The Lord resides in many places in which he may be worshipped, but of all the places
Salagrama is the best.” – from Garuda Purana, Ch. 9, 1-23

Early one morning, late in the summer of 2016, I awoke just before sunrise and set out

for the Kali Gandaki River. Clad in thick canvas pants and a pair of Vibram KSOs (well-suited

as they were to walking around in fast-moving, shin-deep, river water), I made it a point to tie

my Australian field hat securely to my head with a chinstrap before venturing out into Kagbeni’s

lively pre-dawn streets. Since the wind was always threatening to steal the hat every time I

turned my head, I figured that the discomfort of a spare bit of leather was a small price to pay

against an afternoon burnt red in the glaring Himalayan sun. A mother and daughter in chubas,

traditional Tibetan dresses, passed me cautiously, hunched over their hand brooms as they swept

the previous day’s goat droppings from the cobblestones and out into the adjacent fields. An

older Mustangi man, passing by with his caravan of mules and donkeys laden with rice and

kerosene, shouted out a compliment. “Just like cowboys!” he yelled, touching his own imaginary

brim. It was a typical morning in Kagbeni, filled with young women chatting on their way to

fetch water from the village taps, small children playing in doorways, and the clink of copper

cookware banging out breakfast in nearby guesthouse kitchens. I turned west and headed towards

the roar of the water.

171
 The Kali Gandaki river bed is nearly a quarter mile wide in most places around the

village, and as the river slowly meanders back and forth across the valley, breaking up and

remerging, undulating from bank to bank over the course of the day, it is continuously revealing

a new landscape of stones and silt. The trick to finding Shaligrams, as one veteran pilgrim once

taught me, was to first find one of the many small, shallow, side-streams branching off from the

deep central currents. The best streams were the ones in the process of moving off course, easily

identified by the tall banks of sediment actively breaking off and sliding down into the water

below. Conversely, one could also seek out a stream that had recently petered out in favor of

rejoining the main river and walk along its muddy edges slowly up-river, all the while keeping a

sharp look-out towards any recently exposed areas.

As one picks their way carefully along through sun-warmed, clear waters, Shaligrams

reveal themselves to the discerning eye. The constant flow of water combined with the settling of

the heavy black silt grains that compose the Kali Gandaki are always exposing new stones, new

pathways across the river bed, and new landscapes. Heraclitus was rather befitting when he said

that, 'No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same

man.’108 Apt in this regard, the Kali Gandaki renews its places of pilgrimage as often as it renews

its arrival of pilgrims. I too was also discovering a new landscape, stepping out onto the very

same riverbed I had visited just the day before but which now looked completely different—any

familiar hills or rocks washed away in the night. Within a few minutes a Hindu pilgrim I had met

previously in the week, a middle-aged Indian man dressed all in white, came up alongside me

and asked if any Shaligrams had been revealed to me today. I smiled and replied that they hadn’t

yet but that I was ready and the day was still young. He nodded. “Darshan will come,” he said.

“I am waiting too.”

172
 I was familiar with the practice of darshan from my time in India three years earlier. For

Hindus, darshan is one of the most important aspects of ritual veneration, especially when it

comes to the worship of murti, the sacred images and statues of Hindu deities present in homes

and temples. Darshan is a Sanskrit word meaning “to see,” but this aspect of “seeing” does not

just mean to see the deity physically. Darshan means to behold the deity as he or she truly is

beyond the material form obvious to the eye and in return, to be beheld by the deity yourself. In

other words, “seeing” is a form of direct contact between persons (human and divine) mediated

by an exchange of gazes in the physical world but not limited to the material bodies involved. It

is also a kind of knowing (Eck 1998: 2-5); through sight, both deity and devotee are said to

participate in the essence of the other.

In the act of darshan, the deity is an agent who "gives darshan" (darśan denā in Hindi),

and it is the devotee who "takes darshan" (darśan lenā). In the views of many Hindus, God

presents himself to be seen in material form because humans are, by their natures, limited to the

use of their senses in order to apprehend the world they live in. Therefore, when a deity is

present to offer darshan, devotees arrive to "receive" what is given. What is given then is a kind

of physical, bodily, and spiritual, interaction through the medium of the senses. Like the

physicality of interacting with holy places, the dhams (the spiritual abode of the deity), the

reciprocal gift-giving relationship in the darshan draws on sense experience to construct a

concrete, material, appearance of the divine through continuous cycles of relations and

obligations exchanged through ritual. Not only does one "see" the deity and be "seen" in turn,

one also "touches" the deity with the forehead and hands (sparsha) and is "touched" as well.

Devotees may also variously touch the limbs of their own bodies to establish the presence of

certain aspects of the deity or to invite the deity's attention to a particular physical issue or desire

173
for contact. During the darshan devotees also equally "smell" the incense and lotus flower

perfumes and "hear" the sacred sounds of the mantras,109 the ringing of bells, and the blowing of

the conch shell (Eck 1998: 11-12).

This "exchange of gazes" is then what enables a subject/object transformation where it

often becomes unclear who is acting upon whom and in what capacity. Similar to Nancy Munn’s

description of Aboriginal ‘transformations,’ where ancestor spirits produce material objects

within which they are in some way embodied (1970), deities in the darshan (Shaligrams

included) demonstrate their own dynamic subjectivities in an association with an object world

(1970: 143-147) that includes human bodies, ritual objects and other sacra, and landscapes. But

Hindu deities are not only consubstantial with the objects they produce or inhabit, they are often

described as being no different than them—their mythic presence and their material presence as

one and the same thing. This is where the exchange or attribution of viewpoints also becomes

possible; where the deities' desires and actions are open to interpretation, ambiguous, and

communally shared. For Shaligrams, darshan constitutes the first vital link merging stone and

body as well as between deity and fossil, a link that is initially established beginning with the

physical movements and spaces of ritual.

Arrangements of darshan altars (deities, deity accessories, miniature animals or people,

photographs, sacred stones, etc.) are often carried out with the intention that each piece of the

diorama can be connected to sacred texts, local events, household needs, and historical narratives

that relate to the place or to the person that the altar currently serves. On an earlier trip to West

Bengal, where I was first introduced to Shaligrams at the Radha-Krishna (Sri Sri Radha

Madhava) temple in Mayapur, a local brahmacharya (celibate monk) once explained that his

favorite stories involving Krishna's pastimes were any one of the many tales of his days as a

174
young cow-herder. During the middle of the day, when the temple darshan altar was closed and

veiled, he said that Krishna would then leave the temple at this time and engage in activities

within the village dham, namely that he would re-enact his time as a cow-herder in the nearby

goshala, where the sacred cows were kept. The brahmacharya often liked to represent these

activities by placing small cow statues at the Krishna deity’s feet before closing the altar. For

Shaligram devotees, the altar begins at the Kali Gandaki.

“I think that the river is like the flow of the mother,” commented a Hindu woman with a

blue sari and a neat, white, bun sitting near the river banks. She held two small Shaligrams in her

hand and, as I watched, began preparing a memorial puja ritual to mark the first anniversary of

her own mother’s death110 and cremation. “It comes from the mountain. Shaligrams come from

the mountain first. Then the river. I brought one Shaligram from my home here. It is Krishna

Gopala; Krishna the infant with mother Yashoda. And then today another appears to me in Kali

Gandaki. Now I have two Krishna Gopalas. This one you see,” she held the slightly larger of the

two Shaligrams aloft, “this one is me just like I am with my mother. This one,” she now held

aloft the other, “this one is my mother, who always worried after her children, letting me know

she is with God. She is gone now, but I see her here. Krishna is here. She is here. I see them here,

and they see me.” 111

The complex mapping of kinship, deity, time, and distance was common among

Shaligram practitioners who often described, as this woman did, a Shaligram as being both a

manifestation of God (in this case, Krishna Gopala) as well as evidence of the presence of a

deceased loved one. The “birth” of a Shaligram from the mountain and the river could be

expressed both as a divine birth and as a representation of the devotee’s own birth, the birth of

their families, or of specific children. But this layering of time in the context of mythic origin

175
became even more complex within the relationships between Shaligram and devotee where, in

the example above, the Shaligram is simultaneously Krishna as an infant in the presence of his

mother Yashoda as well as the Hindu woman in the presence of her own mother now deceased.

Unsurprisingly, several areas along the banks of the Kali Gandaki River are often used to

perform death memorial pujas and more often than not, Shaligrams are incorporated. This begins

the bridging of birth and death through the flow of the river which mirrors the bridging of birth

and death in the familial genealogy (inheritance) of the Shaligram. In this case, an old Shaligram,

passed from mother to daughter, was carried and worshipped by a woman who spent her lifetime

as a doting mother to her children. Then, a new Shaligram is born out of the river, which

becomes that same deceased mother’s care beyond death, encapsulated in the story of Krishna

Gopala. Through the material linking of myth, ritual, and landscape, both the deity and the dead

can then be “seen.” This practice of seeing and being seen by the deity (and the dead) is one of

the most common, and most important, parts of ritual practice among observant Hindus and is,

also, one of the major driving forces behind pilgrimage in Mustang, and throughout South Asia.

Searching for Shaligrams is its own kind of darshan. As I walked with particular care not

to disturb too much sediment in the water, I noticed two especially important things about the

experience I was undertaking. Firstly, the dark, almost inky, black color of a Shaligram is the

first thing that tends to catch the seeker’s eye (since it stands out against a mix of silty grey and

dirt brown); the second was the subtle appearance of ripples or spirals (the tell-tale ridges of the

fossil ammonite shell) along an exposed surface that might indicate that a stone in question was,

in fact, Shaligram. But not every stone that might initially appear this way was really Shaligram.

Oftentimes, the refraction of light through the flowing water gave the impression of similar

patterns on otherwise smooth stones and the accumulation of silt underneath the current was

176
occasionally responsible for the appearance of analogous ridges in the sand that covered the river

bed. More than once, a burst of excitement and a quick scoop of water to retrieve a Shaligram

appearing in the riverbed would end with nothing more than a handful of sand and a plain rock.

Finding a Shaligram often left me with the sense of something truly born from the river,

something which was appearing only at the very moment that I happened to see it. Carried down

through millennia of time (or 175 million years if we’re going by geological counts) by an

ancient and sacred tirtha (a Sanskrit term meaning “bridge/place of crossing/ford”) revealing

itself just at that moment and just for me. Something that I was “seeing,” perhaps, that hadn’t

been there a moment before. Tirthas often refer to places where the divine world and the

physical world are closer together, and it is not unusual for important pilgrimage sites and sacred

rivers throughout South Asia to be labeled as tirtha. Additionally, many Shaligram devotees

themselves describe their Shaligrams as various kinds of tirthas; as links to a wide range of other

places, people, and events in their lives. Later on, I also found tirtha to be an apt concept for

describing Shaligrams and Shaligram practices as a whole. In Western discourses, religion and

science are often juxtaposed against one another. But among Shaligram practitioners, “deity” is

equally “fossil,” and “stone” is also “body.” Nor do Shaligram devotees hybridize religion and

science, as two possible if unrelated points of view regarding the essential nature of the same

object, but instead, use them to draw links between two different ways of knowing. This is to say

that, rather than describe a blending of separate, “purer,” forms of knowledge (as one might use

syncretism to describe the blending of religious traditions), Shaligram practice demonstrates how

Shaligrams as ammonites, Shaligrams as persons, and Shaligrams as deities constitute a shared

reality.

177
Tattva Mimamsa, or All Existing Things

The object-person view of Shaligrams is not unprecedented within current

anthropological threads regarding the study of ontology (the nature of being). The “ontological

turn,” however, is a recent movement within cultural anthropology that advocates for

representational frameworks which move away from an idea of cultures as systems of belief that

provide different perspectives on a single, objective, existence. Rather, theorists who write in this

new mood of relativism shift their descriptions of many “cultures” or many “belief systems” to

that of many “worlds.” Ontological anthropology then seeks to open us to other kinds of possible

realities beyond what has typically been taken for granted. While all good ethnography has

always been ontological in some fashion (particularly in the ways it strives to get at local ‘emic’

realities), I find only a few select positions in the cultural study of ontology as potentially

productive in terms of Shaligrams—which are those focused on the problems of ethnographic

misrepresentation and not those more geared towards speculative futurism. This is to say that I

do not refer to devotees as “believing” in Shaligrams any more than I might refer to a

paleontologist as “believing” in fossils. In other words, just as scientists would not describe

myatid paleontology as a belief that ammonites are fossils, devotees find it equally

incommensurate to describe their practices as a belief that Shaligrams are deities. They are

fossils. They are deities.

For some scholars, the ontological turn offers a way to finally resynthesize

anthropology’s fractured post-humanist progression (Descola 2013, Kohn 2013) while, for

others, it shifts anthropology’s ultimate goal from a critique of the present to the building of

better futures (Latour 2013; Holbraad, Pederson, and Viveiros de Castro 2014; cf. White

2013). What is more popular, though, are the three potential positions on ontology laid out by

178
Holbraad, Pedersen, and Viveiros de Castro (2009): ontology as the search for essential truth—

how things are; ontology as the critique of all possible essences—how things should be; and

ontology as the exploration and potential realization of other “reals”—how things could be. My

work here, however, tends to follow along the same lines as that of Eduardo Kohn, for whom

ontology means a more thoughtful, critical, engagement with different “worlds” rather than with

different “worldviews” (2013: 9-10). In this thread of ontological inquiry, the ethnographer can

explore how humans relate to other beings (animals, ghosts, spirits, forests, mountains, etc.) and,

in turn, how those beings themselves think, act, live, and exert force (Kohn 2014). The aim then

is to present ‘emic’ viewpoints carefully and seriously or to become, one could perhaps say,

“even more emic than emic” in the analysis and representation of the worlds we study.

Initially, it would appear that the ontology of Shaligrams could also be cogently argued

as both multiple perspectives on a singular reality (a stone which is fossil, person, and deity) and

as unique ontological beings (see Pederson 2012, Holbraad 2012, Keane 2009, Geismar 2011,

and Laidlaw 2012). But by attempting to draw the boundaries of personhood or even entity-hood

around Shaligrams as a category we also cannot presuppose that their ‘beingness’ ultimately

subsumes the processes by which they are created. The ontology of Shaligrams, by the various

intersecting processes through which they are constructed, is neither essential nor absolute.

Rather, it shifts continuously as the stones move from one context to another. While the majority

of anthropologists would agree that no ontology of an object is ever essential or immutable, but

is always ultimately socially constructed and shifting, what I argue here is that the ontology of

the “Shaligram being” itself is also often up for debate. An ammonite fossil in certain contexts. A

deity in others. Kin and relative in still others. And yet, all of these simultaneously—where the

very essence of who or what might be present could be different depending on the context or

179
situation in the moment even though the physical existence of the object itself remains

unchanged.

Shaligrams routinely straddle the boundary between being and object and may be either

or both at different times. My point then is to foreground the relationships among objects,

people, and landscapes as the producer of ontological categories: categories which change

depending on the processes in question. Shaligrams are in perpetual motion, constantly reacting

to the conditions of possibility and central in the question of their own doing and undoing. In

multiple traditions of Hinduism and Buddhism, the boundaries between reality and its

representations are often seen as blurry and indistinct, where deities and their icons are both one

and the same thing as well as materially separate from one another (Walters 2016). As a result,

Shaligrams become as much agents in the making of their own fate as the people who venerate

them are. Shaligrams cannot then be theorized as either exclusively objects or as exclusively

beings but rather, must be analyzed through a hybridized view of agency as object-beings.

I therefore take my cues from Shaligram practitioners themselves and begin my analysis

with the view of Shaligrams as tirthas, whose continuous forming and breaking of personal and

emotional relationships over time constitute them as persons in some of the same ways as human

beings are. Over the past several decades, one of the primary themes of sociocultural and

ethnographic studies in South Asia has been to question the universality of individual-centered

(human) personhood versus other alternatives. In fact, numerous such studies have demonstrated

the particularly fluid nature of personhood in South Asian contexts (Marriot 1976, Marriot and

Inden 1977, Lamb 1997 and 2000), where individuals have relatively permeable and passable

boundaries that are continuously shaped and remade through transactions of food, conversation

180
and interaction, services both economic and intimate, and the exchange of daily and ritual bodily

substances.

Bodily Attachments and the Making of Persons

Sometimes called “ties of maya” (bodily-emotional attachments that make up the illusion

of the material world – Lamb 2000), transactions between persons also include various personal

connections to friends and relatives, to places of personal meaning, to favorite household

possessions, to village gods and gurus, and to the care of household deities. Many scholars have

noted that South Asian cultural worlds are made of continuously “flowing substances” (Marriott

and Inden 1977) wherein persons are made through networks of interactions and relationships; or

“dividuals” rather than closed, contained, “individuals” of the West (see also Lamb 2000). As

both Sarah Lamb and E. Valentine Daniel (1984) emphasize in their work among Indian West

Bengalis and Tamils respectively, all things in the material world are perceived as in constant

flux. Persons are then comprised of the inevitable intermixing of substances brought about by

their lifetime relationships with other people and with places and things, and which are

especially highlighted in significant life events such as birth, marriage, co-habitation, and sharing

food (see also Inden and Nicholas 1977).

Through the daily exchange of substances and relationships, Shaligrams become persons

in some of the same ways as humans do (an issue I will return to in Chapter 9 as well) even if

they are not necessarily perceived as the same kinds of persons as humans. They eat and drink,

they are concerned with their own cleanliness and ritual purity by accepting or rejecting

substances that touch them, they observe the daily activities of the family, they participate in

community events, and often travel with their family members on special occasions or

181
sometimes just to the market and back. Shaligram mobility then translates to personhood, though

a kind of divine personhood, where they actively participate in everyday life by sharing meals

and engaging in crafts, attending festivals, officiating at weddings and funerals, overseeing the

births of children, and when they are bathed, clothed, and cared for as any other member of the

family. Many Shaligram devotees then went on to describe how their Shaligrams became

embedded within their communities such that they could never be unmoored and for that reason,

could never be given away.

Learning to properly conduct myself in the presence of a Shaligram was an endless

source of anxiety in my early days of fieldwork. “Never let your hands touch meat or blood

before you touch a shila” was a constant reminder. Prasad Vipul Yash was one of the first

Shaligram ritual specialists I worked with and from whom I initially learned the expected ways

of handling sacred stones. From beneath the thick cloths he used to shield his eyes from the

glaring summer sun of Kathmandu he would keep careful watch of each movement I made near

the altar [under his direction]. “As a woman you must be especially careful,” he noted. “No

blood. Not ever. If you do, the shila might become angry. Blood is to them a wounding or a

threat of sickness. They reject it. You must be without sickness, or it [the Shaligram] will bring

you misfortune and pain to your family until you have washed properly and then washed the

shila. Offer only pure foods with clean hands. Grow tulsi (holy basil) in your home and offer

that. Give water from the house or from a holy river every day. If you watch them, you will even

see the water go into the shila as they drink it up. Then the Shaligram can breathe in all the love

and care and will become a part of you. It will live in your house and keep away bad things. It

will look for you and wait for you and only you can look after it. This is the responsibility we

182
accept with Shaligram in our homes. You can never give it away once you have done this. Not

until death.” 112

Shaligrams as persons bridges the kinds of “distributed personhood” described by British

anthropologist Alfred Gell with concepts of object-agency described by Christopher Tilley and

Janet Hoskins and the animate nature of religious icons in the work of Amy Whitehead. Where

Gell (1998) describes the dynamic by which any given person’s agency or sense of self is said to

extend beyond the boundaries of the body in order to relate to and animate other persons, places,

or things, Shaligrams act both as bodies themselves and as extensions of the bodies of deities and

practitioners. But they are also embedded in material ritual practice.

Christopher Tilley, in his “Ethnography and Material Culture,” states that the meaning of

an object is produced when that object is used towards a purpose by a group. For example, that

“meaning is created out of situated, contextualized social action which is in continuous

dialectical relationship with generative rule-based structures forming both a medium for and an

outcome of action” (Tilley 2001: 260.) From this perspective, an object, a Shaligram, therefore

gains agency only when it is used for a specific means by a human. From my own experiences

with Shaligram veneration, however, the agency of Shaligrams is at least partially derived from

the fact that they are seen to move “of their own accord” through the landscape (via river

currents, erosion, wind, etc.), and many devotees regularly relay pilgrimage experiences with

Shaligrams “swimming up to them” in the river or “getting away from them” by tumbling into

the currents or off a landslide. The processes of fossil formation also have agentive meaning in

the viewpoint of landscapes as bodies, which move, are injured, give birth, and die. It is therefore

not human action alone which gives Shaligrams their agency, but their capacity as beings in their

own right to enjoy movement free of human intervention.

183
 Prasad Vipul Yash did not typically allow women to touch his household Shaligrams. As

a devout Sri Vaishnava Brahmin (a high-caste denomination within Hinduism), he was ever

concerned with the potential for ritual contamination or for possible insults to the Shaligrams he

kept. But on my last day in his company, before I would travel to the Kali Gandaki in Mustang,

he motioned me into the small room where he kept the deity altar. “When you go,” he began,

“look very carefully into the water. If you are mindful and clean, you will see Shaligram

swimming there. If you are quiet and think on spiritual things, they may choose to come up to

you. Here, hold Devi Lakshmi [he then placed one of his own Shaligrams into my hands].

Remember how she feels. Understand what she wants. Bring some tulsi with you to offer to the

Shaligrams in Kali Gandaki. If they come up to eat it, they accept you.”

Janet Hoskins, in “Agency, Biography and Objects,” cites Laura Ahearn’s understanding

that “agency is ‘the socio-culturally mediated capacity to act’ and is deliberately not restricted to

persons, and may include spirits, machines, signs, and collective entities” (Hoskins 2006: 74).

Objects, she goes on to say, are then made to act upon the world and on other persons; otherwise,

they would not be created (though the non-man-made “creation” of Shaligrams provides

something of a complication here, as will become apparent shortly). Hoskins also cites Gell, who

explains that “things have agency because they produce effects, because they make us feel

happy, angry, fearful, or lustful. They have an impact, and we as artists produce them as ways of

distributing elements of our own efficacy in the form of things” (Hoskins 2006: 76). To possess

true agency in this sense, an object must make some sort of real impact on the mental or physical

states of humans and undoubtedly, Shaligrams readily do so. Shaligram agency is, therefore,

rooted in a combination of aspects, from their ability to move about the landscape (as if) on their

own accord, from their manifestations as gods whose choices are unrestricted by the material

184
world, and from the feelings and responses they engender within people participating in

pilgrimage, puja, and the darshan (i.e., as ritual objects). What is more, they also carry with

them the very nature of the place within which they are formed.

Carl Knappett argues that objects cannot have agency entirely on their own. In his

“Animacy, Agency, and Personhood,” Knappett states that “if an artifact holds any kind of

psychological presence, it is only a secondary effect of its connection with human protagonists,

the ‘real’ and primary agents” (2005: 29). He asserts that objects cannot have true agency

because they are not alive, whereas, when imbued by humans with a purpose, an object may act

in a manner that is only similar to that of an actual agent. However, this view of object-agency

does not take into account the contexts and mirrored processes by which both humans and

Shaligrams are mutually constituted as persons in South Asian ritual practices. It also does not

adequately address Shaligrams’ link to “placeness” in the landscapes of Mustang nor the ways in

which the connections, the tirthas, of Shaligram practice “emerge from specific ways of being in

the world” (Fowler 2010: 352) or the ways in which they transcend the representational and

symbolic (as in Whitehead 2013, ‘animism’ and ‘fetish’) into embodiment and religious

performance to interact with people directly in the darshan. And perhaps even more importantly,

any place where a Shaligram resides is considered to be “no different than” the place where the

Shaligram was born (Mustang/the dham of Śālagrāma, see Chapters 3 and 4) with all the

resulting ties to pilgrimage, landscape, and the karmic life cycle of gods and people.113

Shaligrams are also divine persons, different from human persons. As deities, Shaligrams

are embedded within broader religious systems that understand the personhood and agency of

gods through their material manifestations in murti (sacred images) or as avatars (deities who

descend to earth in physical forms). In fact, people often speak of their murti, in homes or in

185
temples, as Krishna or Vishnu or God and not merely as representations of them. Shaligrams

carry this understanding to the extreme, whereas self-manifest (not man-made), they completely

forgo all the usual rituals required to install a deity and call them into the material world (such as

the prana pratistha—the ritual that establishes or infuses the murti with life and divine essence).

Shaligram veneration is also not generally restricted by caste and gender (except in a few

notable circumstances, particularly in reference to menstruating women) because, as most ritual

specialists explain, there is nothing in the physical world that can possibly violate or unmake a

Shaligram, only temporarily insult it. Shaligrams are already God and nothing can change that.

God not only resides within them but is them. The fact that divinity exists in material form and

engages in intimate social bonds with humans and have their own agency is, however, quite

familiar to and widespread within Hinduism. And as this ethnography shows, Shaligram

devotees, as well as Hindus in general, see their deities as quite ordinarily person-like because of

how they are cared for, fed, and bathed. These linkages of divinity and everyday life then form

the bridge between material and immaterial worlds that constitute the tirtha, the connection

between deity-persons and human-persons in the Shaligram murti/avatar.

Tirtha, the Bridge to Everywhere

When I described Shaligrams as tirthas, my research participants were also quick to point

out that material objects were often used for the purposes of understanding broader realities. As

is the case of murti, the ubiquitous divine image, the form of the divine is not necessarily an

indicator of its nature but that the presence of the material object is often required for people to

begin understanding the formless complexity of divinity as it truly is. Put more simply, while the

material form is necessary in the moment to help in human understanding, the object in question

186
is not actually the divine person in their entirety. The stone is God, but God is not the stone. This

division is equally important for understanding how Shaligrams become persons because, while

they maintain something of the personality of the divine being who is manifest in their form,

they are also often described as having unique personalities of their own—constituted by the

specific set of circumstances, attachments, and environments which surround them in the present

moment.

This means that, while two different devotees might have Shaligrams who are

manifestations of the same deity (two Krishnas, two Kurmas, etc.), the two Shaligrams will differ

from one another in their individual personalities because they live in different households and

therefore have different relationships. Accordingly, a relationship to a Shaligram acts as both a

literal tie to the material world for both deities and people (and for itself) but it also takes on

myriad viewpoints related to political, national, or scientific discussions relevant to the

immediate present. This is how “fossil” and “deity” often came up in questions and concerns

about modern Shaligram personhood because the connections and understandings implied by

each category were viewed as potential modifiers to the ultimate “substance” of what made a

Shaligram a Shaligram.

As a study of ‘things,’ then, this ethnography pivots from the standard anthropological

methodologies that view material culture through a kind of experience/analysis divide (Henare

et. al. 2006, Whitehead 2013) and into an ethnography of people and the divine who are also

potential in objects. It wasn’t until I had spent a significant amount of time working in the high-

altitude fossil beds of Mustang, however, that one traveling guru, himself the son and grandson

of Shaligram devotees, illustrated the matter even more elegantly.

187
 Having resided in Mustang for some months over the course of two years, I finally visited

one of the ammonite fossil beds located a few hundred meters above the Muktinath Valley. This

particular fossil layer, the remnants of an ancient sea floor, can be found up around 4500 meters

just a short distance outside of Chongkhor village at the northernmost point of the valley gorge.

As the shale layer slowly erodes out of the mountain, it forms a large wash of broken stones and

fossil shells extending some 300 meters down the mountain, tumbling en masse into the Dzong

Chu (or sometimes called the Thorong La) river below (which joins up with the Kali Gandaki at

Kagbeni a few kilometers to the south west). My purpose for visiting this particular fossil bed at

the time was two-fold: one, it allowed me to observe some of the earlier geological forms that

might eventually result in a few of the ammonites becoming Shaligram and two, it gave me a

chance to see “raw” unmodified structures in the stones that, given an additional few thousand

years rolling through river silts, would become the characteristics of deities as read in the stones’

final manifestations. I brought with me one of my favorite Shaligrams, called Krishna Govinda

(Krishna the Cowherder). It’s a typically palm-sized, smooth, and perfectly round black

Shaligram which bears a white “cow hoof” impression on one side (an effect created by the

cross-sectional breakage of a concentric quartz ring inside a belemnite shell). And as luck would

have it, I was able to find just such a structure in one of the “raw” ammonites in this particular

fossil wash-out as well.

When I returned to my lodgings later that day, with both Shaligram and ammonite in

hand, I brought them to a man named Sriram Bhavyesh. He had spent decades of his life

studying Shaligrams in the temples of South India and was now in Mustang on his seventh

personal Shaligram pilgrimage. We had met by chance at Muktinath the year before and had kept

in touch as often as possible after I had returned to Boston and he to Chennai and had been

188
happy to meet up again while both of us were visiting Nepal. He took the two stones, touched

them to his forehead, and set them on the table before us. He pointed to my Shaligram, “Do you

remember this one?” he asked. “Yes,” I responded, “Krishna Govinda. The cow-hoof makes it

clear.” “And this one?” He pointed to the ammonite. Though heavily fractured and dark-orange

with iron oxidization, the white hoof-like quartz structure was still easily discernable. “It is still

the cow-hoof,” I answered. “But it is not Shaligram, correct?” He smiled, the wide grin that

wrinkled his face in such delightfully characteristic ways immediately putting me at ease. “It is.”

He patted my hand. “But it is different. It is still Dasavatara, just changing. Just moving. Not

quite there yet. But we can still see what it will be, can’t we?”

The majority of active Shaligram devotees are Vaishnava Hindus and one of the defining

characteristics of Vishnu’s story is the theology of the Dasavatara, or the 10 incarnations of

Vishnu. In this particular aspect of Vishnu’s lengthy mythological history, is it said that he has

appeared on Earth in some form on 10 particularly notable occasions (or will, given that we are

currently only up to 9 in the 10-avatar stretch). This does not mean, however, that each avatar

was human (or even human-looking); rather each avatar took on a specific form and function

designed to accomplish some particular set of tasks necessary for the given time in which the

avatar appeared. Given the circumstances of his appearance, Vishnu has manifested as a fish

(Matsya), a tortoise (Kurma), a boar (Varaha), a half-man half-lion (Narasimha), a dwarf-man

(Vamana), a warrior bearing an axe (Parashurama), Sri Ram the god-king of Ayodhya, Krishna

the divine lover and hero of the Mahabharata, the Buddha (depending on what tradition you

come from, there is some contention on this one. Some traditions place other famous gurus or

teachers in this position – such as Chaitanya Mahaprabhu in Gaudiya Vaishnavism, or who swap

Krishna for his brother Balarama as the 8th and 9th avatars respectively), and finally Kalki, the

189
destroyer of the current age who is yet to come. Given this, it was not difficult for me to imagine

that becoming a stone shouldn’t be all that difficult in the grand scheme of Vishnu’s divine

omnipotence, but I was not entirely sure at that moment what he meant in saying that the

ammonite was “moving.” 114

“The Dasavatara are in Shaligrams,” he responded. “There are Matsya Shaligrams and

Kurma Shaligrams, Ram Shaligrams and Krishna Shaligrams, each appearing according to the

characteristics laid out in the Puranas and in the Epic stories. You call this one ammonite.” He

held the fossil in his palm. “This is what science tells us. You think that we reject this, but we do

not. Science is right, you see.” I asked him for clarification. “We live in the age of Kali Yuga,”
115
he explained earnestly, his words coming faster with excitement. “In Kali Yuga, people are

very far away from God and it is very hard to understand things we used to understand in ancient

times. Science tries to explain it. Religion tries to explain it. But you see,” here he pressed the

ammonite into my hand. “This is an age of science. Vishnu comes in the form that is needed

most, so this one comes in the form of science. He is God moving as fossil, hiding in fossil,

because that is how people are going to come to understand this now.”

It was at that moment that I began to see the conundrum of describing the relationships

between people and their Shaligrams. It was not that my approach in this particular case should

necessarily be a distinctly scientific one; replacing religious interpretation with geological

analysis; or “cow hoof” for “quartz erosion” to look at it another way. But that by replacing one

method of analysis in favor of the other, I was never going to be able to answer the overarching

question: “What is a Shaligram?” As my work continued, I encountered many more fascinating

ways in which Shaligram stones joined scientific discourses with religious narratives, as opposed

to assuming differing interpretations to be mutually exclusive.

190
 Not everyone agreed, however, and in many cases the association of Shaligrams with

ammonites was viewed as a result of the continued influences of Western colonialism in South

Asia or as evidence of the spread of Western secularism, which, at its core, threatened the

legitimacy of religious ways of knowing. As one devotee explained: “We Hindus certainly see

divinity in nature, but not everything that occurs in nature is necessarily part of worship.

Shaligrams may look like ammonites from other places in the world, but their similarities are

only superficial. It should be obvious that just because one thing looks like another thing doesn’t

mean that they are the same thing. We recognize the authority of the Shastras and of the sacred

texts that tell us about the divine formations of Shaligram and Shiva Linga, and how the Lord

comes to dwell within them. Scientists and rationalists do not trust in the authority of the sacred

texts and they think they know better. But they do not. This is because scientists can only

describe what they see [literally, physically]. But Reality is not something you can see [darshan]

with just your eyes.”

During my time in India, Rajiv Kamalnayan, a Gaudiya Vaishnava devotee similarly

agreed: “I read online once that scientists name ammonites after themselves or their discoverers

and not according to the characteristics. I suppose that makes sense if you think it is only a rock.

If you knew its personality, if you knew how to relate to it, you wouldn’t name it like that.” But

in dissention, there are links between Shaligrams as persons and deities and Shaligrams as

ammonites with many Shaligram practitioners remarking on the similarities between the two as

evidence of the symbolic communication of the divine through naturally occurring materials.

“When the Lord takes a body,” Rajiv continued, “He does so using ways humans can understand

him. The shapes and symbols and characteristics we see in nature are all things He can use to

speak to us. It is how we first come to meet Him and know Him. But that doesn’t mean that all

191
occurrences of those things are sacred. The Scriptures will tell you how to discern between the

two and that is how we will come to understand who Shaligram is for us.”

As ammonites, the geological history of Shaligrams spans millions of years and through

dozens of evolutionary taxonomies. They provide us with a tremendous amount of information

about the early ocean environments of ancient Earth and the history of life on this planet. As the

direct manifestations of divine movement in the form of deities of the Hindu pantheon,

Shaligrams take us through millennia of dedicated history and lore; joining a physical landscape

to a sacred landscape and linking individuals and families to traditions and ritual practices that

have been in use for at least 4000 years. In other words, not only have Shaligrams passed down

through eons of wind, river currents, and tectonic uplift but they have also equally passed down

through inheritance, births, deaths, marriages, and pilgrimage: neither type of movement denying

the existence nor importance of the other. And most importantly, a Shaligram is not a Shaligram

absent either one of these threads. In short, modern Shaligram stones exist at a juncture where

scientific and religious discourses are in conversation with one another, in particular, a

conversation about what it means “to be” something (or even “to be alive”). This is how

Shaligrams can be both ammonite fossil and divine manifestation, person and stone; just as rivers

can be both vital economic and social waterways emerging out of the glacial melt as well as

tirthas into the sacred world. If we are to address tirthas, however, we must also address where

they go.

It is the experience of seeking and finding Shaligrams within contested landscapes that

bestows a sense that these objects come from some other place beyond the everyday workings of

humanity. It is no wonder that so many travel so far just for the chance of being granted the

smallest glimpse of something truly beyond, a darshan of time and space itself. Whether fossil or

192
Fossil wash-out near Chongkhor village, Mustang, Nepal

deity, the Shaligram comes to us from a place that is utterly somewhere else. But to understand

the intimate linkages that constitute Shaligrams as persons, the outward relationships that define

them as beings within a network of exchanges, it is important to begin with a discussion of where

they begin; as fossils within Himalayan geology and as deities within a complicated

mythography of gods and spirits. This is because questions about the ultimate ontology of

Shaligrams continues to focus on their movement, not just across landscapes, but between

scientific categories of fossil; which brings with it connections of globalization, Deep Time,

immutable ritual “purity,” and ties to the landscape and pilgrimage places of the Himalayas, and

the religious category of deity; which implies connections of family and community belonging,

193
ritual interaction (darshan and puja), daily household and temple life, and mythological and

scriptural association.

The Birthplace of Shaligram

“There are two ways to tell if a Shaligram is real.” Anandi devi turned briefly from her

puja tray to motion me closer. “The first is to place the Shaligram in a bowl of water or milk. Not

too much, just enough to cover the bottom. Then touch the very tip of your finger or your

fingernail to the center of the shila (stone). If it begins to spin, it is real. This will also happen if

you place a pendant or something near it. The pendant will spin around the Shaligram. The

second is to place the Shaligram on a small bed of rice. If the rice increases by the next morning,

it is Shaligram. This was told to me by a guru who said that these were the only reliable ways to

test Shaligrams without the help of a great master who would know them by touch.” 116

For a Shaligram to be the deity fully manifest, it must first be authenticated as a real

Shaligram. As many devotees note, the marketing and selling of real Shaligrams is enough of a

problem without the marketing and selling of fake Shaligrams, which to many represents the

worst human tendencies for deception, greed, and mindless souvenir-taking. Fake Shaligrams

can take a number of forms, from pieces of broken stones glued together, stones that have been

cast from mud or cement and carved, or real Shaligrams which have been intentionally broken by

human hands to reveal their internal chakras, most often for salability in tourist shops (as

opposed to Shaligrams naturally broken by the river, which is not an issue for worship). Actual

Shaligrams which bear intricate religious carvings, on the other hand, present something of a

different issue. For some devotees, these painstaking works of art are highly prized and

venerated as powerful murti representing gods and other celestial beings. For others, carved

194
Shaligrams are viewed with caution: one-part divine manifestation, one-part human intervention.

In the end, a Shaligram can never be made by man; who may or may not have performed the

proper rituals of cleansing and may not be devoted in practice or possessed of pure intentions. As

aniconic and self-manifest, Shaligrams appear just as they are to those worthy of obtaining them

and they appear in only one place in the world: the Kali Gandaki River of Mustang, Nepal.

In most vernacular etymologies, Shaligram is said to have originally been a place-name;

supposedly that of a remote Nepali village called Śālagrāma or Shaligraman where the stones

were first collected.117 While it is now also considered an obscure name of Vishnu, Shaligram/

Śālagrāma is typically thought to have once been a village located somewhere along the banks of

the Kali Gandaki River but whose precise whereabouts are now essentially unknown. Most

published works on Shaligrams then derive the name from the Sanskrit word for ‘hut’ or ‘house’

(grama – which, in some translations, can also mean ‘village’), referring specifically to the hut of

the sage Salankayana who once beheld the form of Vishnu as a tree just outside his door (see

Varaha Purana). In this version of the story, this particular hut also sat directly on the banks of

the Kali Gandaki where the stones first appeared, which then subsequently bestowed on them the

same name. In some cases, the hut of Salankayana is part of a larger village which also shares the

indicative name, in other cases he lives alone and the village appears at the site of his vision

much later on in the mythological time line. In other variations on the etymology, the region of

Mustang which now contains the temple of Muktinath is said to have originally been called

Saligramam (Or in some cases Thiru Saligramam is used. Thiru is translated as “holy” or

“sacred” and is also a Tamil name for Vishnu)118 before the arrival of Buddhism to the area, but

this claim is largely unsubstantiated and tends to be leveraged where claims to the Hindu origin

of the region are politically contested. Lastly, in another version of the Shaligram etymology, a

195
number of modern Shaligram devotees tend to reference the sala (or shala) tree (shorea robusta)

as a possible origin point for the name.

Native to the Indian subcontinent, the sala tree ranges south of the Himalayas,

from Myanmar in the east to Nepal, India and Bangladesh and holds significant religious

significance for Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains. In the Hindu tradition, the sala tree is especially

favored by Vishnu and is praised in Sanskrit literatures for its use as housing timber (perhaps one

reason for the similarity in names). In fact, the Kurma Purana identifies “shalgrama” as a village

on the banks of the river Gandaki (and the Gandaki as a tributary of the Ganga), so named for its

shal trees. In the Kathmandu Valley in Nepal, builders often make use of sala trees in Nepali

pagoda-style temple architectures, especially those that contain intricate wooden carvings. A

significant number of the temples, such as Nyatapol Temple, are, in fact, ideally thought to be

made of bricks and sala wood. For Jains, it is stated that the 24th Tirthankara (literally

“Teaching God,” meaning a great guru) and founder of modern Jainism, Mahavira, achieved

enlightenment under a sala tree and for Buddhists, tradition holds that Queen Maya of Sakya,

while en route to her grandfather's kingdom, gave birth to Gautama Buddha while grasping the

branch of a sala tree in a garden in the village of Lumbini in southern Nepal.119 In any case,

various Hindu schools of thought continue to have different opinions regarding the exact location

of the original village and even of the origin of the name itself, but all agree Śālagrāma is a place

that is deeply connected, both mythologically and historically, to the Kali Gandaki River valley

and to the people, plants, and animals that surround it. This has not, however, prevented scholars

and explorers from trying to find Śālagrāma and solidify its position on maps and in atlases once

and for all.

196
 One map, published in a 1975 English translation of the Mahabharata locates Śālagrāma

near the source of the Kali Gandaki River.120 A second map, however, published in the The

Geographical Dictionary of Ancient and Medieval India in 1971,121 appears to place Śālagrāma

along the upper ridge of the Greater Himalayas. It is especially interesting to note here that the

course of the Kali Gandaki on both maps does not correspond with its actual course today, for

reasons that may be related to both inadequate surveying and a reliance on religious texts, but it

is, in both cases, a central point of orientation for the location of Śālagrāma. While neither map

explains precisely what the Śālagrāma label is meant to indicate (i.e., a village versus a natural

formation), it is clear that according to the second cartographer, Śālagrāma is located at the

source of the Kali Gandaki River near the border with Tibet. The first cartographer, on the other

hand, locates Śālagrāma about 60-70 miles below the source of the river. In his book Mustang, A

Lost Tibetan Kingdom author Michel Peissel also mentions that he visited the source of the Kali

Gandaki River (1992: 215). In this case, however, he locates the river’s source near the border of

Tibet at a called village of Namdrol, in Mustang, Nepal.122 This is somewhat strange considering

that, while the source of the Kali Gandaki is indeed near the Tibetan border, the river actually

originates at an elevation of 6,268 meters (20,564 ft.) as it flows southwards out of Mustang’s

Nhubine Himal Glacier.123 Even the Damodar Kund, the glacial lake which lies along the

Damodar Himal on the far eastern edge of Mustang and is the point from which the majority of

Shaligrams first make their way into the river system, lies further to the south within the rain-

shadow of the high Himalayas just north of the Annapurna range (4890 meters) and therefore

also does not correspond with the locations of Śālagrāma on the maps in question. While it is

sometimes credited as the source of the Kali Gandaki River, the Damodar Kund is actually part

of the Damodari Ganga estuary system (springing up along the Shaligram Parvat) which joins up

197
with the Kali Gandaki via the Ghachang Khola further to the west and just south of Surkhang in

Upper Mustang.

198
 A true Shaligram can then appear anywhere between the Damodar Kund and

Gajendramoksha Divyadham (a temple to the elephant-king Gajendra located in Triveni, a town

in Katari Municipality in Udayapur District in the Sagarmatha Zone of south-eastern Nepal.

Here, the Kali Gandaki is called Narayani or the Sapt Gandaki and is known as “Muktinath’s

Feet”). Triveni is also the confluence wherein the Kali Gandaki crosses the Indo-Nepal border

where it becomes simply the Gandak. Consequently, the regions encompassing the Upper Kali

Gandaki, the Muktinath Valley, and portions of Lower Mustang are often referred to in religious

literatures as Mukti Kshetra (the field of salvation), Mukti-Natha-Kshetra (The field of the lord

of salvation), or Saligrama-Kshetra (the field, or place, of Shaligrams). On occasion, sacred sites

further afield might also be included in these terms. Depending upon their geographical

relationships to either the Kali Gandaki River or any one of the many tributaries and in-flows

that makeup its 46,300-square kilometer catchment on the way to the Ganges near Patna, any

sacred site along the way may well also be called Śālagrāma.124 As for the Puranic scriptures,

many of them mention the place called Śālagrāma (such as the Gautamiya Tantra and Varaha

Purana), but they’re never quite specific on where exactly one might find it.

Locating Śālagrāma within an actual landscape is something of a futile endeavor mainly

because its mythological dimensions are actually more instructive than the potential possibilities

for its actual physical location (not unlike the religious conceptualization of the dham more

generally). In other words, determining where Śālagrāma lies on a map is a far less pressing

concern to Shaligram practitioners than re-instantiating a sense of its “placeness” through the use

of sacred stones wherever they may be undertaking ritual and spiritual practices. Invoking

199
Fisher’s metaphor of the river once more, it is the constantly shifting placement of Śālagrāma

within the landscape that allows both Shaligram pilgrimage and Shaligram veneration to flow

through space and time, breaking up into several meandering streams of tradition and merging

again later downstream with each return to Mustang (or other pilgrimage sites, as may be the

case). As devotees describe it, wherever Kali Gandaki goes is Śālagrāma, therefore everywhere a

Shaligram goes is Śālagrāma. Additionally, each Shaligram is itself a “dwelling place for Lord

Vishnu” and acts as the deity’s principal home wherever it is kept (another parallel to the

etymology of the name). For example, the Skanda Purana says:

mlecchadese sucav vapi cakranko yatra tisthati

yajanani tatha trini mama ksetram vasundhare
tanmadhye mriyate yastu pujakah susamahitah
sarva vadhavinirmukto punah so api na jayate

"A Śālagrāma-śila when duly worshipped at any place inhabited by any class of people, is able to
purify an area with a radius of 24 miles. That area should be considered Vishnu-loka, it is non-
different from the abode of Vishnu. If someone believing in the sanctity of Śālagrāma-śila, as per
the verdict of the shastra, breathes their last within that 24-mile radius, he is sure to
attain mukti, salvation from material bondage."

For this reason, through the movement of Shaligrams, a particular place of pilgrimage or

place of ritual devotion may be described as being Śālagrāma, regardless of said place’s actual

geographical relationship to Mustang, Nepal. As long as Shaligrams are present, the place in

question is Śālagrāma, endowing it with all the sacred characteristics and links to myths and

legends possessed by the physical landscapes of the Kali Gandaki River valley, an issue I will

return to in more depth in Chapter 6. For now, what is important to note is that within larger

contexts of sacred landscapes throughout South Asia, these kinds of connections between places

and landscapes are not unusual and many famous pilgrimage circuits (such as the Shakti Peethas

and the 108 Divya Desam temples – of which the Muktinath temple complex is both) are

200
characterized in this way; where one sacred space is said to be “no different” than another or is

linked to other sacred spaces through the mythological movement of deities and the physical

movements of people. The mobile “placeness” of Śālagrāma then directly challenges

representations of space, within both political and academic spheres, which are dependent on

images of spaces (societies, nations, and cultures) that are based upon unproblematic divisions

and arbitrary borders. But the “placeness” of Śālagrāma also challenges notions of perpetual

discontinuity as well. As Gupta and Ferguson (1992) argue, the premise of discontinuity assumes

that all spaces are fundamentally discontinuous despite peoples’ beliefs and perceptions in the

“rootedness” of a culture or society to a particular place (7). Or, in other words, it deconstructs

the perception that the borders of a nation on a map also define the location of a distinctive

culture or society (i.e., “Indian culture” or “American society”). Discontinuity then forms the

starting point from which social scientists can theorize contact, conflict, and contradiction

between cultures and societies which blend, overlap, and encounter one another in a variety of

ways. For Śālagrāma however, the perpetual movement and continuous mobility of “placeness”

is the key, creating a continuity of practices and beliefs through the exchange and veneration of

an object which is both linked to a particular place and carries that place with it. The Shaligram

then is both an object-person and a place, both continuous and discontinuous; unconcerned with

borders and regularly uprooted.

201
Stones as Bodies

The theology of Shaligrams is based on the concept of vibhuti, a philosophy of worship

dating back to the composition of the Rig Veda (1, 8, 9 evāhite vibhūtayah͎ indram āvate and 6,

21, 1 ravir vibhūtir īyate vacasā)125 that roughly translates, in this usage, to “might” or “power.”
126
Specifically, in reference to the material manifestations of this power, subsequent religious

works provide long listings of such incarnations of the Godhead and of various emanations and

characteristics of the gods as suits their intents. In the tenth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, for

example, the 13th century commentator Sayan͎ a explains that vibhuti means “to possess special

powers” and that it is this power which is responsible for all of the variety, creativity, and great

expanse of the universe (Rao 1996: 4). The term then connotes a spread of or a great abundance

of divine forms within the material world which also forms the foundations for the Hindu

202
concept of omnipotence, and in this analysis, ontology and personhood. In other words, that God

himself can and does manifest in the world in multiple different forms simultaneously, be they a

person, several persons, an animal, a group of animals, man-made works of art, or a series of

naturally occurring objects, or some combination of all of them at once. This is another way in

which Shaligram persons are not necessarily the same as human persons but rather, represent a

different kind of personhood—namely, a multi-physical, multi-local divine one.

The concept of vibhuti also plays a significant part in the relationships of male and

female divine forms. The most direct manifestations of male deities are always described as

being inseparable from their Shakti counterparts. Shakti here means "power" or "empowerment"

in the form of the primordial cosmic energy and dynamic forces that are thought to move through

the entire universe. Shakti more generally is considered to be the personification of divine

creative power (which is coded feminine), that is also sometimes referred to as 'The Great Divine

Mother' depending on the Hindu tradition in question. As the mother, she is known as Adi

Parashakti or Adishakti. Materially manifest, Shakti is most commonly represented as the male

deities’ female consort who embodies all possibilities of creativity, fertility, and divine agency.

When not represented, Shakti is still considered to be present in all direct manifestations even if

the power resides within a male figure as a potential and unmanifest form.127

The direct manifestation of the divine is called nitavibhuti, while the presence of the

divine in the souls of humans is referred to as naijavibhuti; an innate and continuous emanation

of the divine. The manifestation of divinity present in man-made icons and statues (those which

have been properly ritually installed) is described as ahita-vibhuti (and also includes cows, tulsi

plants, and the sacred ashvattha tree) which translates as ‘placed’ or ‘projected.’ But the

manifestation of Shaligrams, as well as other sacred stones used in worship such as the Shiva

203
Linga, and the consecrated ritual fire (sam͎ skr͎ tagni), are called sahaja-vibhuti: natural, original,

or congenital (Rao 1996: 5). At first glance, this type of theology then might seem to imply

essentialism in the Western sense, a view where every entity has a set of attributes that are

inseparable from its identity and function. But Shaligram ontologies take the simultaneous nature

of manifestation quite literally. Not only are there millions of separate, individual Shaligrams in

the world but each Shaligram is the same in that it is the same deity (or group of deities) and

carries with it the same place (Mustang/Śālagrāma). Each is also a unique person, formed and

defined by the specific familial and communal circumstances within which it is worshipped and

kept. None of these things unmakes the other.

This hierarchy of manifestations found in vibhuti theology is widely accepted in many

Hindu traditions and has also found its way into later Vedanta and bhakti devotional religious

frameworks.128 Adi Shankara, the 8th century philosopher and the codifier of the Advaita

Vedanta school of Hindu thought (who is also the theologian most often referenced for his

commentary of Shaligrams), famously speaks of vibhuti as the manifestations of the one

Brahman (the universal divine) that takes varied forms so that devotees on earth might approach

a realization of the absolute, formless, reality in whatever manner most befits their needs.129 In

other words, echoing the Shaligram devotee I quoted at the beginning of this chapter, God

appears in whatever form most suitable for what must be accomplished in the moment. Whatever

vibhuti is then, it is one with ultimate reality and regarded by Hindus as “non-different” than the

godhead itself. Shaligrams, therefore, are not simply regarded as representations of the divine or

of some other idea or concept which indexes the presence of the deity, rather, they exist as

manifestations of the divine in its entirety. As S. K. Ramachandra Rao explains:

204
 Śālagrāmas as vibhutis become worthy of worship. In fact, as objects of worship they are
preferred to the man-made iconic representations. The latter suffer from certain
disadvantages, like being carved into a shape by sculptors who may not be clean in body
or pure in mind, being subjected to violence while carving, and being pushed around and
placed on unclean ground. An icon fit for worship must invariably be cleansed of these
disadvantages (shodhana) and properly consecrated (pratistha). Otherwise, the power of
Godhead will not be drawn into it. Śālagrāmas, on the other hand, do not require these
preliminary rituals of purification and consecration. They naturally contain the vibhuti of
the Godhead, and may be worshipped straight away. (Rao 1996: 6)

Each Shaligram, in its broadest sense then, is a piece of the undefinable, all-expansive, divine

that encompasses all of material and non-material reality but who continuously links mundane

material concerns with the proper ordering of the cosmos (tirtha). It is then Vishnu, the Supreme

Being (the Svayam Bhagavan) of Vaishnava tradition, who is identical to the formless,

metaphysical, Brahman, but who takes on various avatars and descends to earth whenever

humanity is threated by evil, chaos, and destruction. It is then the specific avatar, the exact deity,

the precise form necessary for what needs to be accomplished in that moment or in response to

the needs of the devotee who has come seeking it. Taking on hundreds of possible forms, from

ammonite to avatara, from fossil to family, and from stone to deity, Shaligrams look as different

from one another as any person does from another person. As a result, extensive traditions of

identification have grown up around Shaligram practices over centuries of pilgrimage and ritual

veneration; where religious specialists and devotees alike have dedicated their lives to pouring

over ancient texts and engaging in local traditions such that the messages written in the

characteristics of each stone might read, and the personality of the deity within divined.

These practices of interpretation, or “reading the body” of the Shaligram, are a crucial

step in the formation of Shaligram personhood because they will form the foundation by which

devotees will not only construct the pilgrimage narrative (see Chapter 7) of experience and

landscape, but will be the basis for interacting with specific Shaligrams as individuals over their

205
“lifetime” within the family household once they enter the ritual and kinship networks of the

community (Chapter 9). This is because a new Shaligram, freshly appearing in the river is often

described as relatively unbound, save for its mythological and geological formations. It has yet to

form attachments to the people who will ultimately undertake its life-long care.

In fact, it was not uncommon for pilgrims to Mustang to demonstrate a wide variety of

Shaligram “capture” techniques. As one pilgrim, a man by the name of Rajesh Gulati,

demonstrated: “I brought with me a large bag for the Shaligrams and I filled it with water from

Kali Gandaki. That way, they will not know that they have been born yet and they will not try to

run away. I can also take them on the long journey home and not worry that they might escape.

They are still sleeping and they can be born in front of my wife and my parents, who could not

come on pilgrimage. We will also keep the water for as long as possible, to put next to them on

the altar. They will recognize it and want to stay. They will know they are home and they will

share with all of us the cleansing of the river.” This control of a Shaligram’s “birth” then

instantiated each Shaligram’s place within the family and the household. Rather than being born

strictly out of the river, they could also be born at home with mothers, wives, children, and

parents in attendance to welcome them and form relationships with them as new members of the

family.

The practice of Shaligram interpretation then generally follows their appearance in the

river or takes places shortly after the Shaligrams have returned home (depending on the

knowledge level of the specific devotee or their access to ritual specialists at home). In a process

that recalls the reading of human bodies for evidence of their past lives, the reading of Shaligram

characteristics is meant to determine which “person” is present for the sake of knowing his or her

proper care. For example, a Krishna Shaligram may be described as more playful and

206
mischievous as other Shaligrams, a Durga Shaligram as more volatile and hard to please, or a

Kurma Shaligram as more passive and forgiving. In other cases, specific Shaligrams are sought

after for the particular benefits they bring, such as improving wealth or job prospects, healing

illness and infirmity, arranging good matches for marriages, and encouraging the birth of healthy

children. Such Shaligrams are also typically expected to join a family or temple’s already

established altar of deities and sacred objects, where they will contribute their qualities and

agency to the community deities and human beings as a whole. In short, they will transfer their

properties and characteristics to those around them and in turn, take in the interactions and

exchanges offered in return; intensifying all peripheral intermixings of kinship, friends,

community, places, and things by extending the ties of personhood beyond human fellowship

and into the world of the dead and divine. But in order to do so, the deity must first be

determined and the person revealed. The final result, then, is the encounter of a person born out

of the sacred river—a complex amalgam of bodily pieces, physical and spiritual substances,

mythic and geological connections, and pre-existing states of being. Each Shaligram then

invokes one or another deity, ancestor, guru, place of worship, or familial, community, or ethnic

lineage. Then made legible by the multivocal readings of the stones and of the landscape to bring

forth the first interactions of kinship and identity, what is left is to link persons and places with

practices in the high Himalayas of Nepal.

207
The Kali Gandaki River, Kagbeni, Mustang

208
 Chapter 6
Turning to Stone
The Shaligram Mythic Complex

"One who thinks the Deity in the temple to be made of wood or stone, who thinks of the spiritual
master in the disciplic succession as an ordinary man, who thinks the Vaisnava in the Acyuta-
gotra to belong to a certain caste or creed or who thinks of caranamrta or Ganges water as
ordinary water is taken to be a resident of hell." --SB 4.21.12 from Padma Purana

As the rickety bus barely rounded another corner, an audible gasp went through the

passengers. A recent blizzard had taken out the road between the high Himalayan villages of

Ranipauwa and Jharkot, leaving some 800 meters of mountainous mudslides between us and any

number of several-hundred-foot drop-offs all the way down to the Kali Gandaki River Valley

below. A few feet on our right were the steep walls of the Muktinath Valley and the 8000+ meter

peaks of Nilgiri and Dhaulagiri. To our left was a sheer vertical drop which began less than a

foot away from the trundling wheels of our makeshift vehicle as we wound our way precariously

along the peaks. More than once, our bus slid into the treacherous rocks, tilting almost

completely sideways over the edge and holding us out over the endless expanse. It would take at

least another hour white-knuckling to Kagbeni, the village along the river that would be our

stopping point on the trip back to Jomsom, a few kilometers away.

Had I known the road was so poor at the time, I would have made my way down the

mountain by my more typical choice of transportation—horseback. But the Himalayas are

nothing if not unpredictable, and I hadn’t anticipated the late-spring weather to be quite so fickle.

My choice in taking the bus was that the trip by horse is somewhat over six hours while the bus

209
is usually only about two, and I had hoped to reach Jomsom before nightfall. Now I, and several

other pilgrims to Roof of the World, clutched our seats and each other for dear life, wondering if

the half-ton truck would make the trip at all. At least, I remember thinking as we lurched wildly

onward, the horse’s sense of self-preservation would have been as strong as mine.

When I arrived in Jomsom at last, I was more than happy to take up a table at one of the

local Thakali tea shops to wait for Binsa Sherchen, a local woman who had been serving as a

Shaligram pilgrimage guide for several years. When she finally arrived, delayed by the same late

blizzard weather, she slid into a chair and immediately produced a large white shell from her

bag. “I thought you’d want to see this first!” She exclaimed. “It’s a Lakshmi Conch! One of the

very rare ones that spiral to the right.” 130 “What do you mean?” I asked, picking up the palm-

sized, white, shell. “That the spiral is clockwise?” 131

Binsa had always had a particular love of ritual objects and had spent years amassing a

collection of puja items and festival crafts which she occasionally sold or gave away to pilgrims.

“Yes!” She squealed, her eyes wrinkled in delight. “The right spiral is the motion of the sun and

the moon and all of the stars moving in the sky. It is also the locks of hair on Buddha's head.

They spiral to the right just like the curl between his eyebrows and the conch of his navel. I will

bring it with me when the pilgrim groups come in a few weeks and we can do puja with it on the

river. They call it the Lakshmi shell and it is the best kind you can have for bathing vajra-kita

shila.” I had heard this alternative term for Shaligrams only once before. “Vajra-kita?” I

questioned. “Yes, Shaligram worms.” She replied. “The worms [vajra-kita] are extinct now, as

you know, but they left many Shaligrams [Binsa often conflated vajra-kitas with ammonites in

our discussions]. That is why there are no new Shaligrams, only very ancient ones.”

210
 The mechanisms through which Shaligrams are formed plays into questions of Shaligram

agency and ontology. There are a variety of stories that seek to explain precisely why it is that

Shaligrams have the form that they do—why their spirals are so clean and precise or why they

appear so consistent in shape, even though their sizes may vary drastically. These mechanisms of

formation also tend to explain why Shaligrams are not only set apart from other stones and rocks

but should be considered bodies with needs and agency rather than as inanimate objects. These

narratives foreground particular concepts of intentional making (recall “techne” from Chapter 1),

where the iconic spiral shape of the Shaligram is never an accident of geology or the ongoing

processes of fossilization but is instead directed by the gods or by the embodied landscape for a

purpose. That purpose being—to foment interactions between deities and humanity. Or more

succinctly, that Shaligrams are made the way they are so that people will see God within them

and return with them to their families as kin.

The Formation of Shaligrams by Vajra-Kita or the Thunderbolt Worm

The formation of a Shaligram is generally dependent on two principal entities: the deity

who manifests within the shila (usually Vishnu or one of his avatars) and the activities of the

vajra-kita (variously translated as thunderbolt, diamond, or adamantine worm), the celestial

worm physically responsible for carving out the holes and coiled chakra formations (recall, once

again, the association with “serpent stones” and “worm stones”).132 The inclusion of the vajra-

kita in Shaligram mythography is, however, both fascinating and steeped in competing Hindu,

colonialist, and Christian missionary perspectives. For this reason, Shaligrams offer something of

a fascinating case study for finding new ways to reconcile the study of South Asian folklore with

competing voices drawn from English, Sanskrit, and vernacular sources (see Korom 2006)

211
because each of these sources tend to reference one another and either refute or blend their

analytical perspectives under a variety of circumstances. For example, many Hindu scholars take

the inclusion of the vajra-kita to be a later addition to the Puranas and some theorize that it may

represent a particular point in time wherein the peoples of South Asia were gaining greater

understanding of the natural processes of the world around them. Additionally, the vajra-kita are

not always included in the story of Shaligrams, and when they are they typically appear only

briefly in the process of divine manifestation: there to do the work of carving the physical form

of the Shaligram and little else. (In some variations of this story, it is the god Vishwakarma, who

presides over art and architecture, who physically carves the stone—another possible reference

to the meaning of Shaligram as “house stone.”) While this may represent an early attempt at

reconciling mythic narrative with empirical observation of the natural world, the continued use

of the vajra-kita today still does the cultural work of linking religious creation stories with

modern-day science and many Shaligram practitioners still reference the adamantine worm as

analogous to the ammonite in discussions about the fossil origin of Shaligrams.

By most Hindu accounts, the vajra-kita is described as a kind of insect or worm bearing a

diamond or adamantine tooth which cuts through the Shaligram in a spiral pattern as the vajra-

kita burrows inside of it. Once there, the worm remains within the shila in perpetuity.

Interestingly, this constitutes another way of rethinking the nature of life in terms of describing

stones as bodies or when it comes to the question “is Shaligram alive?” In some narratives, the

Shaligram is acting as a “house” for the life within it and in other cases it is itself alive. This

explanation then tends to lead to a curious mythological blending in that the inclusion of the

vajra-kita in religious stories never quite results in the same story twice. In one account, from

212
The Missionary's Vade Mecum published in 1847,133 a missionary instructor, commenting on

Vedic Astrology in India, describes the vajra-kita thusly:

The Sálagrám, Ammonite-stone found in the river Gunduk and other rivers flowing
through Nepal from the Himálaya mountains. Ward says – “the reason why this stone has
been deified, is thus given in the Sri Bhágavat: -- Vishnu created the nine planets to
preside over the fates of men. Shani (Saturn) commenced his reign by proposing to
Brahmá that he should first come under his influence for twelve years. Brahmá referred
him to Vishnu, but this god, equally averse to be brought under the dreaded influence of
this inauspicious planet, desired Saturn to call upon him the next day, and immediately
assumed the form of a mountain. The next day Saturn was not able to find Vishnu, but
discovering that he had united himself to the mountain Gandaká, he entered the mountain
in the form of a worm called Vajra-Kita (the thunderbolt worm). He continued thus to
afflict the mountain-formed Vishnu for twelve years, when Vishnu assumed his proper
shape, and commanded that the stones of this mountain should be worshipped and should
become proper representations of himself; adding that each should have twenty-one
marks in it, similar to those on his body, and that its name should be Sálagrám. (pg. 89)

Another legend similar to this one is recounted in P.K. Prabhu-desai’s Devi-kosa ((Vol. III, p.

158-159) Tilak Maharashtra Vidyapith, Pune, 1968). It omits, however, the actions of the vajra-

kita. In this version, Vishnu appoints nine principal planetary deities called the navagraha whose

duty it is to preside over the destinies of all mankind. Having done so, Vishnu asks Shanaishcara

(Saturn) to serve a period of training under Brahma where it would be Shanaishcara’s duty to

cause hardship for a span of twelve years.

After the training was complete, Brahma suggested to Shanaishcara that he should test

himself against Vishnu before he set out to trouble mankind with his inauspicious influences.

When Vishnu learned of the plan he transformed himself into a mountain on the banks of the

Gandaki river in order to escape. But Shanaishcara was not to be outwitted and he attached the

mountain with all his strength. Due to Shanaishcara’s impact however, the mountain was

shattered into millions of tiny rocks which then fell down into the river. These stones became

Shaligram. In these narratives, the formation of Shaligrams is attributed to in-dwelling by

Vishnu, who then vacates the stones which are to become his representations on Earth, leaving

213
behind a kind of shell (pun intended) of a divine self. But while these stories are relatively well-

known among Shaligram practitioners, they are not typically viewed as authoritative. Rather,

many Shaligram devotees take these stories as part of a larger corpus of mythic retellings that

attempt to explain why Shaligrams have chosen to take the forms that they do and not how they

have come to be self-manifest.

In another account, written by the German Orientalist and member of the Asiatic Society

of Bengal Francis Wilford (1761–1822), the vajra-kita takes on a bit more of a sinister bent,

associating Shaligram veneration with colonialist mentalities of idol worship. As a contribution

to the Society’s journal, Asiatic Researches, Wilford includes his own description of Shaligram

folklore stating that:

Once when Vishnu the Preserver was followed by Shiva the Destroyer he implored the
aid of Maya (illusion or Glamour) who turned him to a stone. Through this stone, Shiva,
in the form of a worm, bored his way. But Vishnu escaped, and when he had resumed his
form he commended that this stone of delusion (sala-maya) should be worshipped. As
they are found at Salipura or Salagra, they receive their name from the latter. They are
generally about the size of an orange, and are really a kind of ammonite. (Wilford.
“Asiatic Researches”, vol. xiv, p-413)

A constant collaborator on the journal, Asiatic Researches, Wilford was, however, known for

contributing a number of fanciful, sensational, and highly unreliable articles about everything

from ancient Hindu geography, mythography, to a number of other subjects.

Between 1799 and 1810, he contributed a series of ten articles about Hindu geography

and mythology for the journal, for example, that claimed that all European myths and legends

were actually of Hindu origin and that India had produced its own “Christ” (Salivahana) whose

life and works closely resembled his interpretations of the Biblical Jesus Christ. He also claimed

to have discovered a Sanskrit version of Noah (Satyavrata) and attempted to confirm the

historicity of the Book of Revelation and of the genealogies of Genesis using Hindu and other

214
religious sources. In his essay, Mount Caucasus – 1801, he even argued for a Himalayan location

of Mt. Ararat (the site on which Noah’s Ark comes to rest), incorrectly claiming that Ararat was

etymologically linked to the Sanskrit name for India, Aryavarta.134 It is therefore unlikely that

most of the colonialist and missionary accounts of the vajra-kita are particularly reliable outside

of the common mythemes they include. In terms of Shaligram practice, this particular body of

colonialist mentions, of which Wilford is a fine example, is generally taken as an attempt by

Westerners to blend their own religious traditions into that of Hinduism or Buddhism more

broadly or to discredit Vedic beliefs using European Enlightenment logic. As a result, according

to many, this is seen as both a misuse of religion as well as a misuse of science. Because

Shaligrams are “actually ammonites” just as much as they are “actually deities,” Shaligram

practitioners tend to view any attempt to leverage the story of the vajra-kita as a method for

claiming that Shaligram traditions are contrary or inconsistent as an insult to the complexity of

Shaligram ontologies and capacities to act.

The Asura-khanda section of the Skanda Purana, however, relates the tale of the vajra-

kita differently; placing it directly in the context of the Gandaki/Tulasi origin story. In this

version of the origins of Shaligrams, Gandaki, a pious woman possessed of an insurmountable

will, performed severe austerities while residing in the Himalayas over many years. The rather

interesting purpose of her penance however, unlike that of most female Hindu ascetics, was to

become a mother and to obtain all the gods as her offspring. When her austerities were finally

appreciated, the three principle gods (Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesh (Shiva the Destroyer), in this

case) appeared before her and asked her to choose whatever boon it was that she desired most.

Gandaki, of course, immediately expressed her wish that each of them should be born out of her

womb as her own children. Unfortunately, the gods did not find this request particularly

215
appealing and set out to wonder as to how an immortal deity could be born as child to a human

mother. In fact, they considered the request quite unbecoming of the woman, who apparently did

not adequately understand the nature of gods (an interesting dilemma given avatar theology).

Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesh then pleaded with Gandaki to forget her unreasonable and

impossible request and instead, ask for some other desire that they could satisfy in return for her

veneration. Regardless, Gandaki remained unmoved and when the gods continued to refuse to

grant her wish, she rose up and became indignant. Citing their unwillingness to repay her

austerities, she cursed them to become lowly worms. The gods then became angry in response

and cursed her in return, this time to become a dark and dangerous river.

Gandaki’s curse, as well as the counter-curse levied by the three principal gods, was soon

a matter of great concern for the rest of the gods and celestial beings. Because the pious woman

had acquired significant levels of occult power during her penances, her curse could not be

avoided. Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesh were therefore obliged to become the worms they were

pronounced to become while she became a river. Distressed, the rest of the deities present took

an audience with Brahma and begged him that they should be allowed to intervene and prevent

the curse from coming to fruition. Brahma, regrettably, was unable to think of a proper solution

and so sent them to Mahesh. Mahesh, however, explained that he was but a destroyer and

Brahma a creator. He had no solution either. Vishnu, on the other hand, was the preserver and as

the protector of universal order, it was likely that he would have a better idea as to what they

might do.

Vishnu did indeed provide the answer; "I have a solution. The curse cannot be undone;

they must run their course. But there is a plan whereby the curse and the counter-curse can be

pressed for the good of mankind. Our curse on Gandaki has already taken shape. She has become

216
a river, rendered holy by her austerities. Two of my attendant-devotees, the holy brahmanas,

have previously had to assume the forms of marine monsters (graha-matangau) owing to another

curse. I will liberate their spirits and enter their cadavers. When their corpses decay and shrivel,

you gods can become worms born out of the bone-marrow and fat of the withering cadaver and

enter into the stony parts of the cadaver. Although worms, you will have adamantine bodies, and

hence you will be known as vajra-kita. I will immerse the cadavers of the marine monsters, into

which I would have entered, into the river Gandaki. And when you appear as worms inside the

cadaverous recesses, you would be regarded as the offspring of the river Gandaki. Thus,

Gandaki's curse that you should be born as worms will come true; and she would also have the

satisfaction of having you as her children, for this was the boon that she asked for."135

By this point, there was a part of the river Gandaki which had become known as a

chakra-tirtha, a bridge between the physical and sacred worlds which was especially dear to the

gods. The cadavers of Vishnu's attendant - devotees were placed at the site of the tirtha and the

gods then appeared as vajra-kitas within these now bodies as landscapes. Vishnu himself

appeared as a discus (chakra) in the kingdom of Dvaaravati where he was also able to mingle

with the gods within the river Gandaki. Since that time, it is said that a bath taken in the river at

this place, along with the worship of the “fossilized gods” inscribed with the mark of Vishnu's

chakra (Shaligram) would ensure instant release for the devotee from the karmic cycle. This is

because the Shaligram stones were formed out of “cadaverous fossils” (bodies turned to stone,

another reference to bodies as landscapes) that were inhabited by the gods as worms (vajra-kita)

and by Vishnu in the form of his chakra.

In contrast to the first story related by the missionaries, I note that in the “divine corpse”

version, the vajra-kita are not directly responsible for the formation of the chakra spirals within

217
the Shaligram stones. Rather, they are manifest simultaneously with the symbol of Vishnu’s

discus as fulfillment of the sacred river’s reproductive mandates. Similarly, the Bhavisya Purana

relates a tale wherein Tulasi, a woman who is transformed into the sacred plant that is

particularly dear to Vishnu, curses Vishnu to become a stone during one act of their eternal

dance (lila) (She does this due to his “stone-heartedness”). Vishnu then goes on to say: "To

fulfill your curse, I will become a stone (Salagrama) and will always live on the banks of the

Gandaki River. The millions of vajra-kita worms that live at that place will adorn those stones

with the signs of my chakra by carving them with their sharp teeth."

Finally, one additional legend concerning the formation of Shaligrams through the

actions of the vajra-kita is recorded in Rao’s Śālagrāma-Kosha. Though the author is unclear as

to where this particular version of the Shaligram creation myth comes from, it leverages the

inclusion of the vajra-kita in a manner that is, yet again, different than the previous stories. In

this tale, Narayan͎ a (Vishnu) chooses to transform himself into a golden insect (who is called a

vajra-kita) who wandered about the Earth in ancient times. Witnessing his exploits, the other

gods also decided to assume the forms of insects and became bees. In short order, the world was

apparently filled with these strange, divine, insects swarming, humming, and flying about

everywhere anyone went. However, seeing his master carousing about in this manner, Garuda

(the great golden bird and Vishnu’s celestial mount) turned himself into a giant rock which

prevented all the gods from flying around. Finding no immediate way around the obstacle,

Narayan͎ a entered a crack in the rock while all of the other gods (still as bees) followed suit. The

insects therefore took up residence in the rock and made homes for themselves in the form of

shells shaped like Narayan͎ a’s chakra. These are now known as Shaligrams.136

218
 Shaligram origin stories that include the vajra-kita tend to be the outliers in the overall

corpus of Shaligram creation narratives, both in terms of volume and in terms of common usage.

What I mean by this is that, firstly, the origin stories recounted above constitute only about three

legends out of a list of roughly seven to nine (depending on how one interprets variants, such as

the story of the brothers Jay and Vijay in the Varaha Purana 137) creation myths used to describe

the beginnings of Shaligrams and secondly, that the majority of Shaligram pilgrims and devotees

do not typically reference these particular stories in their own understandings of Shaligram

practices. In the remaining four (or six) versions of the origin of Shaligrams, Vishnu and the

other deities concerned are directly self-manifest and the appearance of the chakra discus in the

stone is taken as explicit evidence of the presence of the divine and not as the secondary action

of a divine worm.

Among Shaligram devotees, the story of the vajra-kita is also taken somewhat piecemeal,

or at the very least, as a secondary cause. Few devotees ascribe to the presence of the thunderbolt

worm in their Shaligrams and even fewer are familiar with the stories of their manifestations. If

they do reference the vajra-kita, it tends to be more as a method of detailing the ways in which

Shaligrams are made by neither humans nor nature and as evidence of their agency outside of

human purviews. For example, one devotee whom I happened to meet at festival in Kathmandu

explained, “the vajra-kita is just part of the divine formation. Shaligrams are not made by man,

and they are not formed in nature either. They are divine, through and through. This is not a

shape that can come about through impure intentions, it is made by the machinations of great

powers beyond us. That is why they say vajra-kita.”

It is unclear where precisely the first mentions of the vajra-kitas come from or whether or

not they were once a part of a localized or indigenous mythological system subsumed by later

219
Hindu influences, but it is interesting to note that their Puranic mentions are comparatively

recent in relation to the chronological timeline of Hindu religious texts. The first mention of

Shaligrams in architectural inscriptions dates back to around the 2nd century B.C.E. but some

Shaligram scholars claim that their origins might be as far back as the Vedic texts around 1500

BCE (Atharvaveda -- 1500 - 500 BCE),138 while the textual references to vajra-kitas only appear

to be highlighted in Puranic texts (such as Bhavisya Purana – probably after the 7th c. CE139 and

Skanda Purana – 9th c. CE) after the 6th century CE. In other words, while the vajra-kita cannot

be dated specifically, it is possible that its later inclusion may have coincided with a more

naturalistic understanding of the world by Puranic writers.

The icon of Vishnu as a bee may date back all the way to the Nad-Bindu Upanishad of

the Rig Veda (c. 1500 and 1200 BC) where the deity Dattatreya or Datta (an avatar of the three

gods Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva), one of the oldest deities in the Vedic pantheon, is referred to

as a ‘honey-bee,’ who collects all of the flowers of Yoga. While Vishnu has, in other

circumstances, also been represented as a bee hovering over an inverted triangle (Shiva),140 the

exact relationship between Dattatreya, later Vaishnava worship, and the origins of Shaligrams

remains unclear. Regardless of these questions of textual antiquity, however, modern retellings

of the vajra-kita mythos views the role of the vajra-kita or thunderbolt worm in the production of

Shaligrams as less a secondary cause of formation and more as a method of explaining the

unnatural and uncanny appearance of the shilas such as they are. This means that what makes a

Shaligram a Shaligram is not just the hierarchy of ideal causes set up in religious scripture but

the view of geological processes as Shaligram agency as put forth by the discourses of geological

and paleontological science and the transmission of human agency into the agency of deities; a

220
transmission that is maintained when devotees are reminded that “you do not find Shaligrams in

the river, they come to you when they are ready.”

Before leaving India for Nepal, I visited the home of an elderly brahmacharya (a celibate

Hindu monk) and his brothers. Mahayogeshvara, a Gaudiya Vaishnava practitioner in West

Bengal in India, patiently explained, “The scientists are not completely wrong when they say that

Shaligram is a fossil insect [I did not correct him on this point]. There are places within the

sacred scriptures that also say this about Shaligram. But the vajra-kita is only a secondary cause

because Vishnu himself alone is the principal cause of all of his manifestations, including

Shaligram. This is the same as the cursing of Vishnu, which is also only a secondary cause.

Another method of the story, not the story. In our (Gaudiya Vaishnava) tradition, Vishnu is the

form of Krishna who is the cause of all causes. We say sarva karana karanam. This means that

the main cause of God's appearance in this world is his own desires and the desires of his

devotees, the Vaishnavas, which are the same desires. Since you ask about Shaligrams, you must

understand that Vishnu desired to appear in the world of Kali Yuga in a form which could be

easily worshipped and maintained by his devotees. This is why we allowed himself to be cursed

to become a stone and for the vajra-kita to carve out his chakras.” 141

The Formation of Shaligrams by River and Mountain

By far the most common narrative surrounding the formation of Shaligrams, and the

narratives that most closely bind them to ideals of space, place, and kinship, are the origin stories

of Shaligrams as they are born out of the mountain and the river. These narratives also more

thoroughly encompass the textual foundations through which pilgrims describe their own

pilgrimage and ritual experiences (see Chapter 7). For the most part, these narratives were used

221
as methods of linking biological processes (like birth and death) to geological processes (erosion

and river wash-out) and to reveal the multiple ontologies of Shaligrams through the ways in

which they formed. That is to say, that all the while a Shaligram was being formed as an

ammonite fossil it was also undergoing parallel formation as a deity and would eventually have

to be born; the first preceding step to forming as a person.

According to the Varaha Purana (12th c. CE)142 some Shaligram stones come from the

water (jalaja) while others come from the mountainside (sthalaja). In common parlance,

Shaligram devotees occasionally refer to these two categories as either water-born (jal)

Shaligrams or mountain-born (kshetra) Shaligrams. In practice, “mountain Shaligrams” are the

term typically given to the reddish-orange, raw, ammonite fossils which can be found slowly

sliding down the river valley walls on their way into the Kali Gandaki River below. While many

of these fossils could be easily obtained by walking the narrow village paths throughout the

Baragaon, few, if any, Shaligram pilgrims ever actually sought them out and I never encountered

any such fossils in the home altars or puja trays of active practitioners. Though they often agreed

that such stones were holy and acknowledged that kshetra Shaligrams were included in the

scriptural texts, I did not encounter a single religious use of such stones at any point in the years I

worked with devotees. Only the smooth, black, formations of Shaligrams born out of the river

were ever accepted for ritual use.

As I walked the river with a group of sadhus late one morning, one of the Shaiva babas

explained further: “It is because they are not properly formed yet.” He said. “This does not mean

they are not sacred, but they have not yet flowed through the womb of Himalaya.” He motioned

down towards the water at our feet. “They have come into the world but are not yet born. They

are not ready yet for the home.” In practice then, such stones may be considered holy but they

222
are not yet truly Shaligram; their proper ties of divine personhood and kinship have not yet been

solidified. Despite textual ideals that label all aspects of the landscape as sacred, kshetra

Shaligrams have not yet begun the movements that will ultimately bestow on them the identity of

Shaligram shila. Because they have not yet entered the life cycle that defines their status as

persons, they are not yet ready to be brought into temple, village, or family life.

One Shaligram seller based out of Pokhara remarked that the jal Shaligrams were simply

of greater spiritual merit due to their contact with both the mountain and the river. Kshetra

Shaligrams were only of middling merit because they were rough, broken, and “lacked essence,”

along with a particularly inferior form of Shaligram called matha (cell-born): Shaligrams which

has been chewed out by insects and were therefore of very poor quality. These particular

divisions, however, were rarely expressed by Shaligram devotees themselves, despite their

occasional references in Shaligram texts, and many cited the merchant’s need to sell the stones

for a particular price as their motivations for arranging Shaligrams by level of quality.

A “mountain-born” or Kshetra Shaligram showing black shale beneath oxidized iron deposits

223
 Besides the Shaligram origin accounts detailed in Puranic texts (mainly the Brahma

Vaivarta, Agni, Padma, Garuda, Nrsimha, Skanda, Brahma, and Brahmanda Puranas),

Shaligrams are also mentioned in a wide variety of other Hindu works (many of which are later

commentaries or compilations of Puranic texts): the Shalagrama-mahatmya of the Gautamiya

Tantra, the Shalagrama-pariksha in the Magh-mahatmya section of the Padma Purana, the Puja-

prayoga, the Haribhaktivilasa of the Gopal Bhat͎ t͎ a, the Shalagramarcana-candrika, the Puja-

pankaja-bhaskara, the Shalagrama-mimamsa of Somanatha-vyasa, the Shalagrama-lakshan͎ a-

panjika, the Shalagrama-pariksha of Anupa-simha, the Shalagrama-mula-lakshana-paddhati, the

Shalagrama-shila-parikshana-paddhati, and an entire section of the Vaishnavanidhi chapter in

Maharaj Krishnaraj Wodeyar III of Mysore’s Sri-tattva-nidhi. Many of these later texts advocate

for the worship of Shaligrams as a method for obtaining material benefits such as great wealth,

numerous children, success in business ventures, healthy herds of cattle, and a long and healthy

life.

Some Hindu theologians view Shaligram veneration as a “kamya,” an optional form of

ritual worship based on the desires of the practitioners in question and therefore not obligatory

for all Hindus. While this concept is largely shared among the attitudes of current Shaligram

devotees (that the practice is optional), few, if any, view the ritual worship of Shaligrams as

specific to desires for material goods. Rather, the worship of Shaligrams is more commonly

associated with religious tradition, family history, and movement across sacred landscapes than

the fulfillment of any specific day to day desire. Shaligram devotees tend to follow the approach

of the Skanda Purana which advocates Shaligram worship for anyone wishing to perform service

or austerities as a way of entering into a relationship with the divine.

224
 Specifically, the Skanda Purana calls for a smooth and shining Shaligram for those who

wish to perform mantras (mantra-siddhi), a black Shaligram for fame or good renown (yasas), a

pale-colored Shaligram for liberation from sin (papa-hara), a yellow Shaligram for the birth of

children and the continuation of the family (santana), and a blue Shaligram for exchanging

sacrifice for the family’s worldly prosperity (abhyudaya). Additionally, the Nrsimha Purana calls

for umbrella-shaped Shaligrams to bring about sovereignty and personal independence or a

circular Shaligram for wealth. In this way, what makes a Shaligram a Shaligram in these cases is

less about provisioning goods in this life and more about ensuring good outcomes for social life

cycles as a whole. As a side note: related to the tensions between river and mountain-born

Shaligrams, I also encountered similar disagreements about color. In fact, despite a variety of

color references in Shaligram descriptions in the Puranas, most devotees described any

Shaligram with a color other than black as potentially dangerous, rife with tension and anxiety,

and a sure sign of misfortune (See Appendix 1).

Bouts of Chastity and Other Curses Vishnu has Endured

The origins of Shaligrams espoused by devotees also tended to fall along the lines of the

relationships between bodies and landscapes; between the river, the mountain, and the deity. As

related in the Padma Purana,143 there was once a massive and deeply destructive battle that took

place between Lord Shiva and the demon Jalandhar. This battle raged on for several days, neither

Shiva nor the demon showing any signs of winning due, in this version of the story, to the power

of Jalandhar’s pious wife Brinda. In the Vishnu Purana, Shiva then requested help from Lord

Vishnu. As the battle between the demon and Shiva continued, Vishnu took on a duplicate form

of Jalandhar and went to Brinda’s home. Subsequently, as Vishnu broke Brinda’s long-held

225
chastity while in the duplicate form of her husband Jalandhar, Brinda’s power, her pativrata or

sati dharma, was unable to protect her husband and Shiva was finally able to kill Jalandhar in the

battle. As a result of this, Brinda became very angry and cursed Vishnu to take the form of a

stone, of grass, and of a tree. It is for this reason, devotees explain, that Vishnu came down to

earth to become Shaligram (stone), kush (holy grass), and the Pipal tree.

In the Padma Purana, the events have a slightly different outcome but the course of the

narrative is not particularly divergent. In this account, Vishnu is actually infatuated with Brinda

and, because of this, the gods Agni, Brahma, and Shiva decide to approach Maya, the divine

manifestation of illusion and concealment. Maya, in turn, directs them to three of her

representatives: Gauri (rajas), Lakshmi (sattva), and Svadha (tamas) who give the gods three

seeds with instructions to sow them in the place where Vishnu dwells. When the seeds were

sown, three plants sprouted: dhatri (Umblica officialis), malati (Linum usitatissimum), and tulasi

(Ocimum sanctum). These three plants were then considered aspects (amshas) of Svadha,

Lakshmi, and Gauri respectively (Rao 1996: 39-40) but it is otherwise unclear precisely what

this variation has to do with the origins of Shaligrams other than to emphasize that Shaligram

and tulsi plants are strongly associated in worship.

In the Brahma Vaivarta Purana version 144 of this story (and in 9th skanda of the

Devibhagavata), the part of Brinda is actually subsumed by the goddess Tulasi (tulsi).145 This

account explains that there was once a daughter of King Dharmadhvaja and his queen Madhavi

who was both a beautiful princess and an incarnation of the hladhini-shakti, the internal pleasure

potency and creative power of the universe (and specifically of the Godhead). When this

daughter was born, she was said to have been marked with unusual good fortune and as she

matured into an exquisitely beautiful young woman, she never appeared to age beyond sixteen

226
years. As the manifestation of universal divine qualities and blessed with incomparable beauty,

she was thus called Tulasi (meaning: matchless). Accordingly, when Vishnu then wanted to

perform his lilas (sacred past-times) on earth, he was obliged to do so only in the association of

his personal potencies; the potency in this case being that of Vishnu's divine pleasure (hladhini)

called Tulasi. (In the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition, this particular manifestation is taken over by

Sri Krishna and his hladhini who is manifest as his consort Srimati Radharani, who is also the

goddess of fortune).

When Vishnu (or Krishna) then descend into the mundane world as avatara to perform

their past-times or undertake acts of heroism, their hladhini manifests along with them. In many

Hindu traditions, these expansions that accompany the avatars of Vishnu are sometimes called

Lakshmis and the princess Tulasi who was born as the daughter of King Dharmadhvaja and

Queen Madhavi is also considered an incarnation of Lakshmi, consort of Vishnu and the

principal goddess of fortune. Finally, in the Devibhagavata, it is noted that Tulasi’s incarnation

on earth is actually due to the jealousy of Radha (Krishna’s principal consort) who became very

angry with Tulasi while in Goloka (the Vaishnava paradise) because Krishna had become overly

fond of her (non-Puranic accounts sometimes explain that it is Lakshmi who curses Tulasi to

become a plant because Tulasi longs to have Vishnu as her husband. Vishnu then joins with

Tulasi as a Shaligram stone).146

As the story continues in the Brahma Vaivarta Purana, it is by the machinations of the

karmic cycle that Tulasi is wedded to Sankhacuda, a powerful demon (subsuming here the role

of Jalandhar). As fate would have it, Sankhacuda had also received an earlier boon from Lord

Brahma to obtain Tulasi as his wife and, having done so, would remain undefeated in battle as

long as she remained chaste to him. Taking full advantage of Brahma's boon, Sankhacuda began

227
to terrorize the world and all the demigods as he was want to. Being severely afflicted by his

attacks, the demigods then approached Shiva for protection. Shiva himself then went to fight

with Sankhacuda, but due to Tulasi’s faithfulness, Shiva was unable to kill him regardless of

what he tried. The demigods then fell into despair but Vishnu (naturally) devised a plan to spoil

Tulasi and render the demon vulnerable. While Shiva continued to engage Sankhacuda in

combat, Vishnu went to the both of them first in the guise of a brahmana to beg charity from

Sankhacuda. Standing before Sankhacuda, the brahmana requested, "My dear Sankhacuda,

famous throughout the three worlds as the giver of whatever one desires, please give me your

kavaca (armor) in charity." Knowing that it was the chastity of his wife, Tulasi, that protected

him, Sankhacuda unhesitatingly gave the brahmana his armor in charity and resumed his fight

with Shiva.

Now dressed in Sankhacuda's armor, Vishnu went immediately to the palace where

Tulasi was waiting news of the battle’s outcome. Thinking that her husband had returned from

the fight to regain his strength, Tulasi welcomed him to the bed chamber for a rest. Thus, the

night passed and the faithfulness of Tulasi was broken by Vishnu’s deceit, and at that moment

Sankhacuda was slain by Shiva in the battle that had also continued throughout the night. When

Tulasi realized that the Sankhacuda she had slept with was actually Vishnu and not her husband

and that Sankhacuda had been killed by Shiva, Tulasi levied her curse against Vishnu: "By

deceiving me, you have broken my chastity and killed my husband. Only one whose heart is like

stone could do such a thing. Thus, I curse you to remain on earth as a stone!"

Accepting Tulasi’s curse, Vishnu replied, "For many years you underwent very difficult

penances to achieve me as your husband. At the same time, Sankhacuda also performed

penances to get you as his wife. As a result of a boon from Lord Brahma, the desire of

228
Sankhacuda was fulfilled. Now that Sankhacuda has left this mortal world and gone to the

spiritual world, your desire to have me as your husband will be fulfilled (recall the

Gandaki/Vajra-kita version of the story). Give up this body, and let your spirit be merged in

Lakshmi’s, so that I am always with you. This body of yours will be transformed into a river,

which will become sacred and celebrated as Gandaki, and from your beautiful hair will grow

millions of small trees that will be known as Tulasi. These trees will be held sacred by all my

devotees. Furthermore, to fulfill your curse, I will become many stones (shaligram shilas) and

will always live on the banks of the Gandaki River."147 Thus Tulasi was transformed and

appeared as both the Gandaki River and as the sacred plant tulsi. Vishnu then came into the

world as Shaligram, born in the waters and on the banks of the Gandaki. At this point,

the Brahma Vaivarta Purana also mentions that Sankhacuda, though a demon in his last

manifestation, was also an eternal associate of Krishna by the name of Sudama who manifested

in the world as a demon so as to assist these events in coming about.

The tale of Tulasi as recounted in the Brahma Vaivarta Purana (and to some degree the

Vishnu Purana) is the most common creation story referenced by Shaligram devotees today. In

part, this is due to the availability of the book “Muktichhetra Mahatmyamam,” a pilgrimage

guide written in 2003 by Madhu Sudhan Ramanujadas which is often available for purchase in

the village shops near Muktinath. The book also contains reprints of sections of the Skanda

Purana, especially the discussion between Lord Skanda and the sage Agatsya relating to the

significance of Shaligrams and their characteristics, and the Varaha and Padma Puranas, where

they mention the manifestation of Shaligrams in relation to the region of Muktikshetra.

In other respects, the popularity of this version of the story owes its fame to the Marriage

of Tulsi and Shaligram (Tulsi Vivah), a festival that takes place throughout India and Nepal on

229
the eleventh lunar day of the Hindu month of Kartik (October/November), an event I will return

to in more detail in Chapter 9. What all three variations of this story provide, however, is the

links between the chastity-deceit-curse version of the Shaligram story and the literal and

metaphorical birth of Shaligrams out of the landscape. To some degree, the variability in the

story likely has to do with narrative blending in both Vaishnava and Shaiva traditions of

Shaligrams veneration where both Vishnu and Shiva are said to play distinctly important roles in

the formation of the Kali Gandaki River and of the Shaligrams within it. Furthermore, for many

Shaiva and Smarta Shaligram practitioners, the implicit association of Shaligrams directly with

Vishnu is not always accepted, noting for example the many instances where Shiva mentions the

worship of Shaligrams in the Skanda Purana 148 or the particular quote in the Padma Purana

where Shiva himself states:

My devotees who offer obeisances to the shalagrama even negligently become fearless.
Those who adore me while making a distinction between myself and Lord Hari will
become free from this offence by offering obeisances to shalagrama. Those who think
themselves as my devotees, but who are proud and do not offer obeisances to my Lord
Vasudeva, are actually sinful and not my devotees. O my son, I always reside in the
shalagrama. Being pleased with my devotion the Lord has given me a residence in His
personal abode. Giving a shalagrama, is the best form of charity, being equal to the result
of donating the entire earth together with its forests, mountains, and all.

For Vaishnavas (particularly Gaudiya Vaishnavas), there is an additional reference to offering

Tulasi leaves to Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita (9.26):

patram puspam phalam toyam yo me bhaktya prayacchati

tad aham bhakty-upahrtamasnami prayatatmanah

(If my devotee offers me with devotion, a leaf, a flower, a fruit, or water, I will accept it).

According to several current Vaishnava acaryas (spiritual masters), the patram (leaf) mentioned

in this verse particularly refers to the tulsi leaf. Tulsi leaves are also mentioned in the Garuda

230
Purana and in the Brhan-naradiya Purana, which state that the worship of Vishnu without tulsi

leaves is incomplete and is unlikely to be accepted by Vishnu as proper veneration: "Without

Tulasi, anything done in the way of worship, bathing, and offering of food and drink to Vishnu

(Krishna) cannot be considered real worship, bathing, or offering. Vishnu does not accept any

worship or eat or drink anything that is without Tulasi."

The Varaha Purana recalls a Shaligram creation story with similar elements but recounts

a somewhat simplified version of the Gandaki/Vajra-kita tale as detailed in the Skanda Purana.

What is important to note here is, again, the primacy of river-mother birth that precedes the

formation of Shaligram deity and divine personhood. In this version, Gandaki, who is already a

river-goddess, performs a series of austerities (such as eating only fallen leaves and drinking

only air) while meditating on the nature of Vishnu. When Vishnu subsequently appears before

her she begins to sing a series of heart-wrenching verses praising Vishnu and her love for him.

Pleased with her devotion, Vishnu then tells Gandaki to choose a boon which he might grant her

regardless of how strange or fantastical it might be. Much as in the previous version of this story,

Gandaki expresses her desire to give birth to Vishnu as her child: “If indeed you are pleased with

me, consent to enter my womb and become my child.” Unlike the Skanda Purana, however,

Vishnu readily agrees to her request and states that he will enter her womb (here meaning the

river’s flow) as a shalagrama whose worship will therefore confer great prosperity to all

mankind (see also Rao 1996: 33-34). Because the stones would then appear out of the flow of the

river, they could be said to be its offspring and the river itself to be pure and holy (mat-

sannidhyat nadinam tyam ati-shrestha bhavisyasi).

The origin of Shaligrams as recounted by the Vishnu Purana (9, 6), the Agni Purana

(152), and the Bhagavata Purana (8th skanda) is, however, the story from which the famous

231
references to Shaligrams in the Hindu epics Ramayana and Mahabharata are drawn and also the

story that tends to dominate debates regarding the feminine nature of the Kali Gandaki River and

the “reproduction” of Shaligrams as persons within the karmic life-cycle. In this version of the

story, the origin of the Gandaki river is included in the tale of the churning of the milky ocean by

both the gods and the asuras (demons) to obtain the ambrosia of immortality (amr͎ ta). This story

begins with a curse levied by the sage Durvasa, which resulted in the loss of all the powers and

might of the gods. As the story goes, Durvasa was walking through a forest which was filled

with the sweet fragrance of Kalpaka flowers that were being worn in a garland by the celestial

maiden Menaka. When the sage met Menaka she offered him the garland and he happily set off

with the flowers wound up in his matted hair. Along the way, he then happened to meet Indra,

the chief of the gods, who was mounted on his favorite elephant. Thinking the beautiful garland

would be more suitable to Indra than himself, the sage presented the flowers to Indra as an

offering.

Unfortunately, Indra, who was often arrogant and unresponsive in these matters, took the

garland and flung it onto the head of his elephant. The elephant then pulled the garland off with

his trunk and threw it on the ground where he trampled it. Infuriated, Durvasa cursed Indra that

all his power and glory should instantly vanish. Realizing his error, Indra then begged the sage to

forgive him but Durvasa was unmoved by the deity’s distress. As time went on, Indra also came

to realize that the curse was working not only against him, but against all the gods within the

sacred realm (the deva-loka). As the gods became increasingly powerless, their charms

disappeared and their strength was rendered impotent. Even the plants growing in the celestial

realms began to wither and die. The world of the gods began to lose its appeal to mankind and

232
the people began to withhold their customary offerings and stop their daily venerations, which

rendered the gods even more debilitated.

Finding the assembled gods in such a sorry state, the asuras (demons) attacked the

celestial realms and humbled the once great deities. No longer immortal or invincible, the gods

suffered injuries and some of the died in the ensuing battles. Agni and Brahma then went out and

collected all the gods that remained and took them all before Vishnu, seeking his help in

overcoming their current crisis. Vishnu counseled them all to partake of amrita, the divine nectar

of immortality that could only be obtained by churning the milky ocean. Vishnu also explained

his strategy in getting the nectar. The gods would need to cooperate with the asuras in order to

accomplish this arduous task and they would also need the mythical mountain Mandara to use as

a churning rod and the dragon (or snake) Vasuki to act as the rope for churning. Vishnu himself

decided to take on the form of Kurma, the great tortoise on which they would need to support the

mountain so that the churning could remain steady. So here, yet again, it is the land and the water

which produce “life;” mortal, immortal, and material alike.

This the gods did, and when at least the bowl of amrita emerged from the ocean, the gods

and asuras immediately began to fight with each other over who would be allowed to drink from

the bowl first. Upon witnessing the argument, Vishnu assumed the form of a fetching maiden

called Mohini, whose beauty and charm were beyond compare, and it was Mohini who then

offered to distribute the amr͎ ta to all gods and asuras who had participated in the churning.

Fascinated by the extraordinary elegance and refinement of the woman, the gods and asuras sat

down quietly in two rows. Mohini then took the bowl in her hands and began to serve the gods

first but when she came to the end of their row, she suddenly disappeared.

233
 The asuras were thusly cheated out of the nectar. The gods, having regained their

immortality and invincibility after having partaken of amrita easily beat the asuras in the

resulting battle and drove them out of the celestial realm. When Mohini (Vishnu) had been

serving the drink, however, Shiva became particularly enamored with her and rushed to embrace

her before she could finish serving. In the heat of passion, both Shiva and Vishnu perspired

copiously and their combined sweat flowed down as the river Gandaki (a slightly different way

of viewing the reproductive qualities of water in this case). This is the reason why the river is

sacred; because it contains the essences of both Vishnu and Shiva (Rao 1996: 35-37).

This version of the origins of the Gandaki also reverses the more common narratives

wherein the river is expressly female (Tulasi, Brinda, Gandaki, etc.) and transforms the

reproduction of the womb (which “births” Shaligram) to the reproduction of semen (sex between

two, ostensibly male, deities). It is particularly interesting to note then that, in this story, the

Shaligrams themselves are not expressly mentioned though this origin myth is quite often

intertwined with several of the previous origins myths detailed already. In many cases, the story

of Durvasa’s curse and the churning of the milky ocean mirrors many aspects of the chastity-

deceit-curse stories wherein the origin of Shaligrams is the result of both the production of a

sacred landscape and the control of female sexuality. But it yet remains the question of union and

reproduction that defines what it is to begin life as a Shaligram. It is within the Shakta texts,

however, that we see landscapes as bodies symbolism truly come to fruition.

The Shakta texts speak of fifty-one places, scattered across distant lands, where the

dismembered body parts of the goddess Sati fell as a grief-stricken Shiva was carrying her about

following her self-immolation on Daksa’s sacrificial altar (these places of pilgrimage are called

Shakti-pit͎ has; of which Muktinath Temple in Mustang is one). The source of the Gandaki river

234
in the Himalayas is one of these places where the texts indicate that Sati’s cheeks fell (ganda-

sthala). Here the goddess takes the form of Gandaki along with her consort Vishnu who appears

as the chakra-pani (the discus-bearer; i.e., Shaligrams). However, despite the continued

association of the Kali Gandaki with divine feminine principles (and its continued reference as a

place of profound feminine spiritual power today), many of the legends which recount the

transformation of a woman (Tulasi, Brinda, Gandaki) into a river and into a plant are taken as

evidence that women are excluded from Shaligram worship.

The Varaha Purana even goes as far as to expressly forbid women from touching

Shaligrams. It states that all the merits they have earned by following their karma and by praying

and performing austerities will be completely nullified if they even touch a shila. They are

permitted, however, according to this text, to worship Shaligrams from afar or through the men

of their families who are duty-bound to perform Shaligram worship. Even Brahmin women are

not permitted to worship Shaligrams nor can they inherit one. If their families have produced no

male heir, the stone is passed on to another nearby Brahmin. This explanation is, however,

almost universally rejected in Vaishnava practice (Vaishnava viddhi) because of the numerous

other texts wherein it is stated that anyone who is properly initiated can worship Shaligram:

grhita visnu diksako visnu pujaparo narah

vaisnavo'bhihito'bhijnair itaro'smad avaisnavahch

“A person who is initiated in Vishnu mantras, and who is expert in worshiping Lord Vishnu,
such a person is known as a Vaishnava. Besides this, everyone else is an avaishnava.” (Hari
Bhakti Vilasa 1.55, from Padma Purana)

yatha kancanatam yati kasyam rasa-vidhanatah

tatha diksa vidhanena dvijatvam jayate nrnam

“As bell metal is turned into gold when mixed with mercury in an alchemical process, so in that
very way, by the process of proper initiation by a true spiritual master, a person becomes a
brahmana.” (Hari Bhakti Vilasa 2.12, from Tattvasagara)

235
 striyo va yadi va sudra brahmanah ksatriyadayah
pujayitva sila cakra labhante sasvatam padam

“Worship of Shalagram shila can be done by women, sudras (untouchables), brahmanas (twice
born), and ksatriyas (administrators). Thusly, they can all achieve the eternal abode of Lord
Krishna perfectly. (Skanda Purana; conversation between Lord Brahma and Narada Muni)

striyo va yadi va sudra brahmanah ksatriyadayah

pujayitva silacakram labhante sasvatam padam

"If one is initiated as a Vaisnava then whether one is brahmana, kshatriya, vaishya, shudra or a
woman, one can worship Shalagrama and attain the Lord's abode." (Skanda Purana)

While there is a plethora of Shaligram origin stories, I have chosen to arrange the Puranic

legends by theme rather than by chronology for two reasons. Firstly, though the Puranas can be

approximately dated and while one Purana can certainly be said to be older than another, few, if

any, of the Puranic texts owe their compositions to a single author or even a single time period.

Rather, most of these texts were written in layers over successive time periods by authors who

heavily borrowed from and referenced one another over time. This is why many of the Puranas

and other sacred texts contain multiple versions of the same stories or additional commentaries

on scriptures that may be shared across several works simultaneously. Secondly, owing to the

nature of Hindu worship in general, there is no central scriptural authority followed by all Hindus

and the majority of Hindu traditions do not ascribe to all of the scriptural texts equally. Where

one tradition may place more religious authority in one set of Vedas and Puranas, another may

disregard them entirely. The mythic and spiritual dimensions of Shaligrams and Shaligram

practices then often varies widely from one tradition or sect to another, though they tend to share

the majority of key themes related in the extant mythography; especially the themes of birth,

death, reproduction, and landscape.

Birth, Death, and Chaos in the Land of Mustang

236
 The aftermath of the April 2015 Gorkha Earthquake provided a unique moment for my

research. Unlike the Kathmandu Valley and the regions around the Gorkha District at Barpak,

Mustang saw little of the widespread destruction and loss of life suffered in the eastern regions of

Nepal. Though the tremors were felt as far north as Muktinath and Lo Monthang, the majority of

the damage was limited to older structures, such as some of the larger mud-brick homes and

centuries-old gompas (Buddhist temples) and shrines. When I arrived in Mustang a few weeks

later in June of 2015, many people were still in the process of cleaning up and rebuilding, but the

primary concern was in re-establishing collapsed sacred structures, which to many, had been

responsible for their safety.

The Kagchode Thubten Sampheling Gompa and monastery in Kagbeni was founded in

1429 and features some of the region’s most beautiful wall paintings, carved masks, and gold

scripts. It was also rendered unusable by the earthquake, which cracked several load-bearing

walls and internal supports. By June many of the monks-in-residence had already begun fund-

raising and plans for building a new gompa directly next to the old one and as quickly as possible

so that daily meditations and rituals could recommence. When I met with Namgyal Lama, a

Buddhist monk and resident of Kagbeni, he was hauling up several large Shaligrams and massive

carved mani stones from the base of the old gompa and placing them near the prayer wheels that

faced the new gompa site.

“We are very lucky,” he explained in Nepali. “People in Mustang are very careful. We

have kept the gompas and chortens (sacred monuments) in good order. People bring mani stones

to honor the Buddha and the gods. We are careful of the river and we have Shaligram. The good

spirals, like these,” he held up an especially well-defined stone with a large central chakra-spiral.

“they go [move] in the way of the universe [here meaning clockwise]. They are gifts to the

237
Buddha and to the gurus here by the gompa. People leave them so that we keep our right place

and so that bad spirits do not get away and cause problems like the earthquake. That is why we

were kept safe. It’s why Mustang wasn’t hurt so much like other places.”

Namgyal Lama was not the only Mustangi to reiterate the sentiment that the reason

Mustang has not suffered even worse during the earthquake was because the gods and spirits of

the landscape were properly contained, held down, and directed. Recall, for example, the story of

the sinmo of Mustang—the demoness who routinely brought natural disasters to the Himalayas

until the Buddhist saint-guru Rinpoche defeated her, cut her body into the pieces that formed the

land of Mustang, and then built chorten and gompas in strategic places so as to pin her body to

the ground forever (See Chapter 2). The arrangement of sacred architecture then holds down the

sinmo’s body so that she cannot rise up and terrorize the world again. Similarly, the stories of the

formation of the Kali Gandaki and of Vishnu’s transformation into the Shaligram stones contain

elements of otherwise wrathful landscapes that are brought under control by sacralized travel and

ritual to guard and preserve the peoples within. While many Tibetan stories focus on the

‘naturalization’ of deities into the land so as to position the Buddhicization of indigenous peoples

as predestined (see also: the Mani Kabum’s story of the origin of the peoples of Tibet as

emerging from the union of a wise and compassionate monkey and a blood-thirsty, earth-bound,

Tibetan demoness 149), the mythic formations of Shaligrams, the Kali Gandaki, and the landscape

of Mustang are intimately tied to overarching narratives of dangerous but reproductive female

landscapes and the productive fluidity of movement.

238
 Kagchode Thubten Sampheling Gompa with the new gompa under construction directly next to it – July 2015

In many of the Puranic tales, the river-goddess Gandaki/Tulsi is sometimes pious and

sometimes vengeful, but in the end always seeks to obtain Vishnu and the gods as her children—

who will be born out of her waters continuously in fulfillment of karmic order. The water, then,

becomes both a passage way between the divine and material worlds (tirtha) and a method of

producing order out of chaos. In multiple variations on the tale, Gandaki performs a variety of

different austerities so as to obtain these divine children, or Vishnu as her husband, but in each

story the links to the reproduction of the landscape with birth, death, and rebirth more broadly

are often articulated by the nature of the boon she is granted. As a result of her desires and

actions, she becomes the mother of gods in material bodies like Shaligrams as well as the

producer of human families and communities who rely on her resources, such as water,

agriculture, and livestock (the Kali Gandaki is, for example, the only reason why much of

anything at all grows in Mustang at such high altitudes). The river, as both literal and figurative

fluidity, is a bringer of fortune and a pathway in and out of life. The Shaligram mythic corpus

can then be viewed through a network of relationality, extending from the gods—who are united

in a variety of male and female forms--to the relations between nature, culture, and humanity.

239
The Hindu Scriptures also occasionally link these stories with that of Sati, whose fallen body

parts form the landscape and the river after her death and whose body therefore continues to be

productive even after her demise.

In each case, the land and the river are characterized as chthonic, primordial, female

powers (much like the sinmo) who must be tamed and constrained into the proper cycles of

creation by the masculine forces of Vishnu or Shiva (or Guru Rinpoche). It is also not surprising

then that images of the Yab Yum (Tibetan lit. "father-mother"), a symbol that represents the

primordial union of wisdom and compassion and which is depicted as a male deity in sexual

congress with a female consort, and the Satkona, a hexagram yantra (six-pointed star) that

represents the sexual union of the divine male and female forms as icons of ultimate wisdom,150

are very common on the walls of gompas, temples, libraries, and schools throughout Mustang.

The mythemes of burying and reappearing are also especially salient for the Shaligram

corpus of texts and continue to reiterate the agency of the landscape outside of human action.

This is because a Shaligram’s birth out of the river (and later its return to it through cremation or

return pilgrimage) links cycles of life and death with issues of mobility and stasis in both the

origin stories of the landscape and with actual human mobility in the present day. Or, as the

landscape continues to undergo cycles of concealment and revelation, so to do Shaligrams appear

and disappear throughout the course of their lives. Pre-Buddhist and Bon spirits are equally

incorporated, where the power and viciousness of the Dakini, the fast-moving female Himalayan

wind spirits, for example, are contained by the placement of Shaligrams at key points along

roads, over thresholds and doorways, and inside stupas due to the Shaligrams’ capacity to

contain and control movement. The potential for violence in the Himalayas, whether by wind or

water or stone, is never far from anyone’s mind. Subsequently, the goddesses of the river and the

240
landscape are then much like similar monstrous mothers from other cosmogonies from around

the world who have then been repurposed through stasis and mobility within or as landscapes –

where her body is controlled and held down while her reproductive energies are redirected

towards human endeavors and her more dangerous characteristics are suppressed or pacified so

as not to result in destruction.

In related narratives about the marriage of Tulasi, the variations on the story of

Tulasi/Brinda and Jalandhar/Sankhacuda continue the theme of a union (again an angry one)

between the feminine divine and God Himself—which again results in the production of the

landscape as well as its reproductive capabilities. It also preserves the feminine/demon principal

who is ultimately tied to the land by the movement and placement of sacred stones (Shaligrams,

mani stones, foundations of sacred buildings, etc.). In many interpretations of Shaligram origins,

these stories then instantiate the existence of each Shaligram as a micro-cosmos within the larger

cosmos of the landscape within the largest cosmos of all creation. As my friend and teacher,

Bikas Shrestha explained, “I once heard someone joke that if everyone keeps taking stones from

all of these sacred places, then it will just be a matter of time until the whole mountain or the

whole country will be in a village in India. But it’s a little different for Shaligrams because each

is a cosmos in and of itself already. This is because Shaligram is both made by the forces of the

cosmos and contains those forces within it. This is how Shaligram can direct the forces around it,

like karma and the spirits you mentioned and people and the land. It is the land and it holds the

land.” 151 These kinds of interpretations of Shaligram manifest mobility also tended to upend the

idea that the world was created specifically to accommodate humankind. Rather, in the telling of

the landscape as a cosmos, it was humankind who fulfilled the potential of Shaligrams and the

world.

241
 Durvasa’s curse and the churning of the milky ocean and the transformation of the gods

into worms and insects (vajra-kita) recapitulate these concerns about life, death, and rebirth as

linked to landscapes. In modern contexts, the inclusion of these stories within the Shaligram

mythic corpus is particularly revealing through their assembly in the frameworks of Shaligram

pilgrimage. The milky ocean provides a progression from the creation of the universe to the

creation of the Kali Gandaki and then the Shaligrams within it in an ever increasingly molecular

cycle of union, birth, and death from the beginning of time to now. These cycles are then

recreated both in pilgrimage and in the social lives of practitioners and their Shaligrams once

they return home. The thunderbolt worms or vajra-kita then are either living entities who carve

out the emblems on the static rock or who enter the cadavers of fallen gods in order to turn them

into useful landscapes on Earth so that the devout can recognize the right places and objects and

find them. In each circumstance, the formation of Shaligrams becomes emblematic for the

ordering of natural chaos into set patterns and cycles that will be the same cycles experienced by

human individuals and by society as a whole. In other words, that the ontology of Shaligrams as

divine persons and deities and their agency in ordering the landscape results in the ordering of

humanity. It is then the mobility of the river and the mobility of the stones, their flow, out of

stationary mountains and established temples and chorten that continues to anchor the gods in

place and assure that, not only will they go on producing goods and resources in the future, but

that they will also continue to protect Mustang, its peoples, and its pilgrims from chaos,

destruction, and the dangers of natural disaster.

242
 Figure 1: Kageni Village and the Kali-Gandaki River (Mount Nilgiri in the background)

Figure 2: Kali
Gandaki River
(Tiri Village
below)

243
Figure 3: The Kali-Gandaki River near Kagbeni Village (a popular site for finding Shaligrams)

Figure 4: Ananta Sesha Shaligram appearing in the river

244
Figure 5: Sri Ram Shaligram (Showing his arrow)

Figure 6: Kalpvriksha Shaligram on the river bank

245
Figure 7: A Mountain Shaligram on its way to the River Bed

Figure 8: Shaligrams and Nilgiri

246
 Figure 9: Vishnu-Chenrezig Mandir (Muktinath)

Figure 10: Shaligram Mandir (Yagyashala) at Muktinath

247
Figure 11: A Laksmi-Narayan temple Shaligram receiving blessings at Muktinath

Figure 12: The 108 Sacred Fountains at Muktinath

248
Figure 13: Sangdo (Sarwa) Gompa

Figure 14: Jwala Mai Gompa

249
Figure 15: The Jwala Mai (natural gas flames)

Figure 16: Chorten at Muktinath

250
 Figure 17: A Home Shaligram Collection in Kathmandu

Figure 18: Temple Shaligram Puja: Mayapur, West Bengal, India

251
Figure 19: A Shaligram is placed on top of a Buddhist stupa at a crossroads in Mustang (white stupa in the center)

Figure 20: The Shaligram at the top of the stupa, placed with sacred juniper sprigs

252
 Figure 21: A small Shaligram is placed inside a village stupa as an offering (Mustang, Nepal)

Figure 22: A large Krishna Shaligram sits in the offering window of the stupa, along with clay images of the
Buddha

253
Figure 23: Ammonite Fossil Wash-out Near Chongur Village, Mustang, Nepal

Figure 24: Ammonites from Chongur village

254
Figure 25: A belemnite fossil cross-section emerging from the sediments, showing the distinctive “cow-hoof”
structure read in Shaligrams as Krishna Govinda

Figure 26: A fossil belemnite bisected, read in Shaligram traditions as Shiva Linga

255
The Road Towards Muktinath

256
 Chapter 7
The River Road
Mobility, Identity, and Pilgrimage
“There’s a place that I travel, when I want to roam
And nobody knows it but me.
The roads don’t go there, and the signs stay home
And nobody knows it but me.
It’s far far away and way way afar, it’s over the moon and the sea.
And wherever you’re going, that’s wherever you are,
And nobody knows it but me.”
~Patrick O’Leary

Jadav Manjhi carefully lifted the teacup from the woven Tibetan rug where he sat with a

small plate of dal bhat and a few apples, steadying the tremor in his hands by pressing his

elbows onto the tops of his knees. “I first came to Mustang for Shaligram pilgrimage back in

1977,” he began, blowing a strand of his long, grey, hair away from the cup. “There weren’t

many pilgrims back then. It was very difficult to come. You needed special papers and a

government official to accompany you. It’s not much better now, sadly. You still need papers of

course though you no longer need a government man, but it has become so expensive that many

can no longer gather the money. Transportation, guides, rooms, food, everything is now focused

on Westerners who come to trek and Westerners always bring a lot of money. Sometimes the

guides and drivers here make the price less for pilgrims, but I don’t know. I suppose it is better to

walk anyway, yes?”

“Was pilgrimage very different back then than what it is like now?” I asked. “Oh yes,

very different,” he nodded as he carefully placed the teacup back onto its saucer before throwing

his sleeve aside to begin mixing the dal bhat with his hand. “When I first walked on Kali

257
Gandaki, there were Shaligrams everywhere! Piled high on the banks, rising up out of the waters,

there wasn’t a single place you could step without seeing Shaligram. You had your pick of the

deities then, each one of them watching you as you took darshan, waiting for one to call out to

you. Now, you must go very high in the mountains to find Shaligrams like this and sometimes

they don’t appear at all anymore.”

“Why is that?” I shifted to sit more comfortably on my feet rather than my knees. “Now

there are sellers who come and pick the river clean,” he answered. “Take Shaligrams to market in

Kathmandu or in India. I am from Hyderabad and I sometimes see them in shops there too. Also,

trekkers who come. They find them in the river and take them, even though they don’t know

what they mean. Just a trinket I guess. Is that the word? ‘Trinket’? Something to remember your

trip by, but never someone who also remembers your trip.” 152

I met Jadav Manjhi on my third journey along the pilgrimage route to Muktinath (though

I had been living in Mustang for some four months by that time). Sitting in the common room of

a Ranipauwa guesthouse, drinking herbal tea over plates of dal bhat, he told me of the seven

Shaligram pilgrimages he had completed since his late forties. Now in his early seventies, he

lamented what he felt would be his last pilgrimage to Mustang. Like almost every Shaligram

pilgrim I met, Jadav’s concerns about the growing inaccessibility of Mustang were foremost in

his mind. Between issues of political unrest, militarization of the Upper Mustang and Tibetan

borders, and rising economic hardship leading to the commodification of Shaligrams, both Jadav

and the Shaligram practitioner community at-large continuously expressed their fears that the

mobility of pilgrims and of Shaligrams would remain restricted and might, eventually, be

stopped all together. And should this come to pass, it would mean the death of the practice and of

the people.

258
 “The bodies of the Lords do not appear as often as they once did,” 153 Jadav continued.

“This is Kali Yuga (the final age) so I think this is how it must be. Maybe one day soon, they

will no longer appear at all. And then what will happen? It is not enough to just get Shaligram

from the market. It is not enough just to see them in temples or have one given to you by holy

men.” He threw down his handful of lentils and rice to wipe at the tears starting to spill down his

cheeks. “You must come to Kali Gandaki (referring to the river valley in Mustang where

Shaligrams can be found). You must come to where Shaligram is born. You must sit at their feet

and listen and learn, this is the yearning of the Vaishnava soul. When they are gone, so we are

gone.”154

Scholars often speak of the images of pilgrimage but to invoke pilgrimage as an image

one must acknowledge what is possibly the most influential text in the anthropology of

pilgrimage: Victor and Edith Turner’s Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture (1978). While

this work is not, despite what its title might imply, strictly about images, it includes a large

number of photographs depicting a variety of religious sites from Mexico, to Italy, to France,

Ireland, and England. Though arresting in their presentation, all, however, are revealing in what

they do or do not impart about the study of pilgrimage. It would be easy to depict Shaligram

pilgrimage in just this fashion; to fill pages with images of sacred stones, pilgrims bathing at

Muktinath, or taking darshan from the shrines all across Mustang. But these images, though

ubiquitous in the coffee table books and travel literatures of Nepal, contain significant, if

implicit, stories of movement and embodiment. Just as the photographs of pilgrims kneeling in

front of Our Lord of Chalma in Mexico do not depict the journey, where pilgrims have

approached the shrine by walking on their knees from a distance of more than a mile, images of

the pilgrims of Mustang are similarly problematic because they reinforce the snapshot narrative;

259
where encountering a Shaligram at any one given point is viewed as a microcosm of its greater

process of being.

Taken together, images of pilgrimage may hint at some of the varieties of physical

movement (walking, crawling, dancing, etc.) necessary to undertake a particular pilgrimage, but

they cannot show the movement itself. This dilemma of representation -- the literal or the

ethnographic snapshot – encourages concentration on images, physical or mental, that lend

themselves most easily to the work of the analyst--relatively fixed rather than fluid. This is not to

say that previous researchers of pilgrimage, the Turners included, were unaware of the mobility

inherent in pilgrimage155 or that pilgrimage wasn’t predicated on movement through a specific

circumscribed cultural field, but the focus on journeying as a continuous possibility of creating

social and psychological transformations (to wit: structure and anti-structure), even if only

temporary ones, obscures the embeddedness of pilgrimage within the everyday structures of

ritual and religious practice.156

Shaligram pilgrimage also challenges place-centered and even purely transitional

perspectives on the various forms of movement – embodied, imagined, metaphorical – that

constitute pilgrimage activities in three ways. One, the distinctions between the sacred and the

everyday in Shaligram veneration are often extremely fluid and blur the boundaries between

temporality and materiality. This is particularly important because this fluidity often extends

beyond the Shaligram pilgrimage itself to instantiate the journey as continuously re-enacted

throughout an individual’s lifetime, as well as to frame Shaligram pilgrimage itself as a

microcosmic recreation of the entire karmic journey of the soul from lifetime to lifetime to

liberation (moksha). Two, the physical mobility of Shaligram pilgrimage is often interpreted by

pilgrims and devotees as a kind of embodied sovereignty that transcends categories of

260
nationality, ethnicity, economic status, and gender. In other words, as political practice. And

three, the goal of Shaligram pilgrimage is both a place and an object, where the place of

pilgrimage is significant only in the individual pilgrim’s capacity to traverse it and leave the

landscape in possession of a sacred stone, which then carries the essence of the place with it

while also becoming incorporated as a new member of the family and community. To put it more

succinctly; where the material world is the everyday life of the body, religion is the everyday life

of the mind.

Shaligram pilgrimage as a political practice refers to a method where belonging and

identity are continuously negotiated between multiple frames of national, political, and religious

reference. Mustangis, who were historically merchant and migrant populations themselves, often

refer to Shaligram mobility and ritual veneration in their conflicts with culturally-normative State

structures that limit their own mobility, and that of the tourists and pilgrims they rely on

economically, in the name of national unity and security. For Hindu and Buddhist pilgrims,

national border controls, militarization, and the economic challenges that result from political

conflict are seen as acting in direct opposition to Shaligram pilgrimage and ritual practices that

fundamentally rely on the mobility of people and stones to maintain the spiritual links between

people and places, between the Himalayan landscape and the dham (the spiritual abode of the

deities). Ultimately, just as Shaligram pilgrimage reproduces and represents the karmic life cycle

and begins the formation of Shaligrams themselves as persons, the political limitations on

pilgrimage are translated into fears and concerns about the interference of governments on the

progression of life itself.

The final pilgrimage destination, Muktinath temple, is by no means, insignificant in all

this. Contrary to popular perceptions however, visiting Muktinath is not the prescribed goal of

261
Shaligram pilgrimage but instead serves as the final stop in venerating the newly acquired

Shaligrams within their contexts of origin, or celebrating their “birth,” before they are carried

home. This perspective then recalls some of Eade and Sallnow’s work (1991) which directly

opposes the communitas paradigm through a focus on the role of major shrines in hosting and

amplifying discrepant discourses among varies groups of pilgrims. My work here, however,

continues to unmoor the centrality of place in pilgrimage discourses in favor of overcoming a

view of sacred movement as simply the arrival to and departure from specific shrines. Through

the dham, Shaligram pilgrimage also disputes the fixity of sacred places at all.

The Turnerian notion of pilgrimage as a liminoid phenomenon has of course proven to be

immensely resonant. In fact, it is something of a trope for anthropologists who study pilgrimage

to begin, as I have, with the pronouncements of Victor Turner and then to employ his

frameworks as a point of departure for their own work.157 I do not, however, aim to either defend

or deconstruct the notion of communitas because Shaligram pilgrimage is neither actually nor

ideally divorced from everyday social, political, and cultural processes. Rather, my frameworks

echo the work of Coleman and Eade (2004) and Tremlett (2003) who view both Victor Turner

and Mircea Eliade as somewhat “romanticist” in their attempt to secure for religion an ‘ineffable

inner space or realm’ that can stand as a critique of modernity and its values. For South Asian

scholars, this division between “tradition” and “modernity” is also both equally ubiquitous and

equally contentious, noting that the romanticism of tradition often misrepresents modernized

(and globalized) India, Nepal, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and others as backward and primitive, or

conversely as static societies continuously living out a purer, more authentic, past.158

What Does It Mean to Move?

262
 Although movement itself has rarely been a major focus for earlier anthropological

studies of pilgrimage, when it is discussed, scholars have adopted quite different perspective on

it. From the standpoint of cultural geographies, such as Surinder Bhardwaj’s Hindu Places of

Pilgrimage in India, pilgrimage circuits constitute interconnecting links between religious

populations and their sacred centers of worship (1973: 7). These routes and landscapes are then

viewed through a kind of functional analysis, where the movements of pilgrims integrate

geography with religion and are therefore said to help create ‘pan-Hindu’ identities through

nationally identified ‘holy spaces.’ In other cases, movement is located within broader semantic

fields related to journey-taking, such as Eickelman and Piscatori’s (1990) juxtaposition of the

Muslim hajj (the main pilgrimage to Mecca) with hijra (emigration) and rihla (travel for

learning) or Trapper’s (1990: 236) demonstration, in the same volume, of how Turkish ziyet,

voluntary movement for the purposes of paying respects to a person or shrine, establishes the

authority of each but in somewhat dissimilar frames of secular or religious reference. Secondary

literatures on both Hindu and Tibetan pilgrimage and their sacred geographies, on the other hand,

contain abundant examples of particular spaces being perceived and experienced as two or more

quite different places.

Recall the dham from earlier chapters, where sacred places are said to be no different

than another, more distant, sacred place. This includes the village of Mayapur in West Bengal,

which is often viewed as the Vrindavan dham (as being the same place as the town where

Krishna spent his childhood), the Char Dhams (literally: “four abodes”) of Vaishnava pilgrimage

(Badrinath, Dwarka, Puri, and Rameswaram) and their four “associated places”

(Kedarnath, Rameshwaram, Somnath and Lingaraja Temple), or where the collection of

Shaligrams themselves at Muktinath becomes the same as the dham of Muktikshetra and

263
Śālagrāma. Similarly, in Tibetan Buddhist pilgrimages, single mountains may be the abode of a

territorial yul lha (the “deity of the territory”) to whom locals pay a kind of pagan reverence,

sometimes even with blood sacrifices, and which pilgrims from all over the world might revere,

with specified circumambulations, as the stronghold of a Buddhist or Bonpo yi dam159 (Ramble

2014: 182).

Perceptions of the plurality of spaces are also not limited to religiously-oriented

viewpoints. Shardung Ri, a mountain in Amdo sacred to Bonpo for example, was converted to a

shrine of the Maoist civil religion based on the claims that the Long March once paused there

(even though it actually bypassed the site by about 170 kilometers).160 The Halesi-Maratika

caves, in eastern Nepal, remain even today the subject of contentious and competing claims

rooted in sectarian, ethnic and economic issues between at least four different communities.161

Even Mt. Kailash, one of the most popular secondary pilgrimage sites for Shaligram devotees, is

only one of numerous mountains deemed sacred by a multiplicity of faiths, each with its own

mythologies, histories, and claims of national belonging. I am therefore extending current

anthropological literatures on pilgrimage to include mobility within the dham as a key

intervention in understanding how physical/material practice concretely links spiritualism and

transcendent experience with political, communal, and family concerns.

In the contexts of political practice, cultural preservation, and revivalism in Mustang

(such as amchi/Tibetan Medicine and temple/gompa conservation), Shaligram pilgrimage also

lies at the juncture of ethno-historical re-creation and national reclamation, where questions of

“Hindu” and “Buddhist” belonging remain contentious on a number of levels (see Chapter 3). I

therefore locate this ethnography within the context of shifting and competing landscapes as a

method for demonstrating how individuals and communities imbue mobility with significance. I

264
am aware, however, that the result of privileging the perspective of Shaligram pilgrimage in

Mustang in this case might be seen as overly reductionist of a complex regional phenomenon to a

single strand, since time and space constraints mean that I must leave many complementary or

rival pilgrimage narratives out of the current account. However, it is precisely the multi-

strandedness of pilgrimage in Mustang specifically, and in South Asia generally, that

contextualizes much of Shaligram pilgrimage itself, given the variety of religious traditions,

nationalities, and ethnic groups that participate in the practice.

During Shaligram pilgrimage, movement becomes a locus for transformation and

transformation the key to mobility as a political practice. This means that pilgrimage mobility, as

well as afterwards, plays a decisive role in devotees’ ideas of “going home” and “belonging to a

land,” where these notions then refer to a routine set of practices in relation to certain people and

objects rather than to a specific place (see also Rapport and Dawson 1998). This perspective gets

to the heart of one of Shaligram pilgrims’ most pressing issues: the continued accessibility of

Mustang, the continuation of national and political unrest in the region, and the growing draw-

down of Shaligram stones for trade and souvenirs. Just as Shaligram pilgrimage relates to

devotees’ and residents’ views and constructions of locality, landscape, mobility, space, place,

the national, and the transnational, it also forms the principal framework for pilgrims’

conceptualizations of what is means to be Hindu, Buddhist, or Bon in an era of ever increasing

political identification and mobilization. The continued economic and political restrictions to

entering Mustang are then perceived as affronts to individual and collective identity- and

meaning-making--where the reduced mobility of pilgrims and Shaligrams comes to represent the

current political constraints on the peoples of Nepal and India more broadly as well as the

potential life and death of mobility-based religious traditions themselves.

265
Arriving in Jomsom

The Hotel Majesty was just a short walk from the airport, but the chill morning winds had

already begun to gust through the streets of Jomsom and the group of newly arrived pilgrims

from India struggled to both carry their small bags and shield their eyes from billows of dust at

the same time.162 Their journey up to this point had already taken most of them more than three

or four days; from securing tickets to Nepal from a variety of cities in India, applying for their

entry permits in Kathmandu, chartering a plane to Pokhara at the base of the Himalayan foothills,

and then waiting for any available early morning mountain flight from Pokhara to Jomsom on

the following day. For a few of them, common flight delays had taken up an additional two days;

sitting in the departure terminal of Pokhara’s small regional airport, standing anxiously by in

hopes that the weather might sufficiently clear for the twenty-seat twin-engine Otter planes to

make it safely to Jomsom’s short high-altitude runway. With little in the way of instrumentation

that can safely navigate the steep Himalayan valleys and unexpected mountain down-drafts,

pilots to Jomsom must fly by sight and incidents of plane crashes and other disasters are not

unheard of. For those who opted not to wait for the planes, the journey could take even longer:

two days by bus or six days on foot. The wealthiest few might even decide to hire a trekking jeep

to cover the distance from Pokhara to Jomsom in a single day (about 7 hours), but at nearly $350

one-way, few pilgrims could manage the expense.

The majority of the arriving group climbed down from the airplane’s modest mobile

ladder and immediately set off for their trekking hotels, while others drifted apart to take up

rooms at Om’s Home, the Dancing Yak Lodge, or the Lo-Monthang Guesthouse. A few

266
stragglers stayed behind to stare in wonder at the surrounding mountains; Nilgiri and Dhaulagiri

Himal towering above the town and marking out a space so vast and so boundless and colossal as

to humble even the most experienced traveler. Covered in snow even during the height of

summer, the two mountains marked out the traditional end points of the Kali Gandaki River

valley some many miles to the south. The river itself, which flowed just beneath the airport

runway, was already white and brown with silt and early spring floodwaters.

It was only around 7am but Jomsom was already bustling with Mustangi villagers riding

their horses down from the mountains to restock on supplies of rice, grain, and kerosene. Tibetan

women in traditional chubas were just coming out to sit along the dusty, gravel, road to sell

apples from Marpha, vegetables from Pokhara, and wool from their home flocks of goats, sheep,

and yaks. A young girl darted past, balancing a flat, round, basket of apricots; halved and ready

to be set out to dry in the relentless sun. Constantly besieged by high Himalayan winds, Jomsom

has the feel of an old town despite its somewhat more recent construction; bright blue, pink, and

yellow paint less than a year old already peeled and faded, a new cobblestone road already

cemented with brown dirt and dust, a road marker painted on large fieldstones barely legible

beneath outcroppings of grass and horse dung. Anticipating the morning influx of travelers,

small market shops and trekking stands hastily unlocked their doors and the aroma of hot milk

tea and fresh Tibetan bread soon permeated the air.

A weathered Mustangi man towing a line of three horses stopped next to me on the road.

“Pilgrims are coming now.” He said, motioning towards the ragged gates of the airport baggage

terminal at the end of the gravel street. “It’s a good thing. They will come for Shaligram and for

Muktinath. It’s time again. Will you go with them?” “Yes.” I responded. “The pilgrimage is

beginning.” He smiled and nodded. “I will wait here then. They will need horses. They will need

267
to get up the mountain and the jeeps are dangerous now so it is better to take horses. And maybe

I will find Shaligrams too. I put them in my house and in the school. Keeps the bad spirits from

coming in.” “You are also going to go on pilgrimage then?” I asked. “Oh no.” He turned to calm

the first horse as the noise of one of the planes overhead cut through the early morning wind. “I

am Bon. I am always here. Always on pilgrimage.” He laughed. “That is how it is in the

Himalayas. Nothing ever stops. Not us, not our horses, not our rivers or our cars or our winds.

Always going somewhere. It’s because when you stop, you are dead.”

As I waited on the steps of the Lo-Monthang guesthouse I suddenly heard my name

shouted from the direction of the river. Subashna Sharma, a Hindu (though, by her own accounts,

also occasionally Buddhist) pilgrim from Kathmandu whom I had known for several months

prior to returning to Mustang, raced up to the guesthouse to greet me. “It’s so good to see you

again!” She pressed a hand to her forehead to keep the wind from sticking errant strands of her

hair to her cheeks as she spoke. “Are you coming with us to the river tomorrow?” When I replied

in the affirmative, she smiled broadly and nodded, her round face and delicately crinkled cheeks

already becoming red with wind and sun. “We will go out to Kali Gandaki early tomorrow, about

6am I think. We will begin Shaligram darshan and do a welcoming puja to the river. Then we

can go to the jeep stand just near there and get bus tickets to Kagbeni. I want to be sure that we

prepare the Devi (Mother-Goddess) puja first for the gracious kindnesses of Gandaki and then

we will prepare new puja depending on the Shaligram darshan (meaning which Shaligrams were

found that day) before we go to Muktinath. I cannot wait! I even brought tulsi from my home

pots, the ones we started to grow after the last Tulsi Vivah (the Marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram

festival). I picked them just before we left so that I can offer them fresh to Narayan (Vishnu)

when he appears out of the waters.”

268
 Recall the Shaligram origin myths detailed in Chapter 6. These stories, by and large, tend

to include three broad themes, each of which is a reference to a life milestone, with a fair degree

of exchange and overlap: Landscape as Pious Woman, Divine Death and Rebirth, and The

Marriage of Tulasi. In the first category, Landscape as Pious Woman, I include the multiple

variations on the tale of the river-goddess Gandaki who performs austerities in order to obtain

the gods as her children, or Vishnu as her husband, as well as the story of Sati, whose fallen body

parts form the landscape and the river. In the second category, Divine Death and Rebirth, I

include the story of the sage Durvasa’s curse and the churning of the milky ocean, Vishnu’s

testing by the planet Saturn, and the transformation of the gods into worms and insects (vajra-

kita). Lastly, in the third category, The Marriage of Tulasi, I include the variations on the story of

Tulasi/Brinda and Jalandhar/Sankhacuda where the union of the deceived woman with God

Himself results in the production of the landscape as well as its reproductive capabilities. I have

separated the list of Shaligram origin stories into these ostensible categories for two reasons.

Firstly, because these are the primary mythic themes most often referenced and ritually leveraged

by Shaligram pilgrims themselves and secondly, because, despite how these origin myths might

be presented in religious texts, they are often recalled and retold by devotees as complementary

(or competing) narratives related to issues of kinship and relatedness. Though Shaligram

veneration has foundations in Puranic, Tantric, and Shastric texts, few Shaligram pilgrims

directly consult textual specifics in their practices and therefore, Shaligram veneration remains a

principally oral tradition passed down through the continuous telling and retelling of Shaligram

creation stories in relation to an individual’s current circumstances.

The relationship of these principal mythemes to the places of pilgrimage is relative to the

qualities of a particular space: the constraints of its physical features and the layout of its

269
surrounding landscapes. This means that the particular meanings invested in specific locations

and their features, and the collectively understood modes of being in them, are at least partially a

matter of cultural (and political) narrative assignments. Symbolic and mythic representations of

landscapes are then canonized and essentialized through narratives such that anyone who has not

previously been socialized within the mythic complex (namely, tourists and trekkers) is unlikely

to perceive the topography of the place in the same way. For example, that without prior

knowledge of the stories of Vishnu and Tulsi or even of the sinmo whose body forms the

mountainous terrain of Mustang, a visitor to the region could never truly comprehend what it

means to move through the landscape, to wash away past lives in the waters of Muktinath, or to

witness the appearance of a Shaligram as its birth. For Subashna Sharma and her pilgrim group,

their relationship to their imminent locality is mutually constitutive, even if their relationship

with the precise texts on Shaligram origin may not be. This observation also belies an additional

consideration: what Charles Ramble calls “the plural identity of the location” (2014: 181) in

which different peoples encounter each other through differing views on the nature of specific

places. Furthermore, Ramble’s point makes it clear that a specific distinction between two

crucial terms related to locality is required: that of “space” and “place.”

In standard anthropological formulations, ‘place’ refers to human perceptions and

experiences of an abstract ‘space.’ ‘Place’ is therefore a construct which holds specific

meanings, identities, cultures, and so on, while ‘space’ aligns with the objective, impersonal, and

potential categories which structure and constrain experiences of ‘place.’ Within contemporary

geography, however the meanings of the two terms are reversed and it can be occasionally

confusing as to how these terms are leveraged among different bodies of work. In terms of

Shaligram pilgrimage, I adhere in this work to the anthropological convention, where space

270
signifies a natural location and place the cultural significance which has been accorded to it but I

also point out that neither ‘space’ nor ‘place’ in the case of Shaligrams is a fixed concept nor is it

always rooted to specific physical locations. This is because, as is especially common in South

Asian ideas of multi-local (perhaps even multiversal) pilgrimage, physical routes may lead to the

same space but not to the same place. And in the case of Shaligrams, for all their physical and

spatial dimensions, they traverse categories of belonging continuously and, in the process, mark

the people and landscape in a variety of material and immaterial ways.

For many devotees, and quite a few residents of Mustang, the thematic elements of

Shaligram practice that specifically revolve around the embodiment of the landscape as female

are taken as evidence that the land of the Kali Gandaki was once inhabited by goddess-

worshipping peoples and even that the Shaligrams themselves may have one been considered

manifestations of the Devi (Mother Goddess) before they were worshipped as incarnations of

Vishnu. Though it is difficult to tell, historically, whether or not this is true, the landscape of

Mustang is often described as a place of extraordinary feminine divine power (see Oppert 1901)

despite the relatively male characterization of most Shaligrams themselves and of the principal

deities and gurus venerated in shrines throughout the region. According to some local accounts,

this is why Muktinath is only ever attended to by nuns and why, according to Shaligram

pilgrims, goddess-identified Shaligrams are exceptionally powerful. Read through a Western,

feminist lens, the transformations of Gandaki, Sati, and Tulasi principally result in the control of

female reproduction by male forces, but this viewpoint tends to ignore the multiple contexts of

male-female union that permeate both Hindu and Buddhist cosmologies.

Tsering Wangmo, a young Buddhist nun from the village of Thini, once explained: “For

many Hindus,” she began, “The male god always has a female counterpart, who represents his

271
creative energies. Lakshmi and Vishnu, Shiva and Parvati, and all the others. Buddhists have the

Yab-Yum, the father-mother, which is painted on many gompa walls here in Mustang. It is the

primordial union of wisdom and compassion. You will know it easily, since I think many

Westerners are surprised when they see it because the Yab-Yum is always a man who is

seated but is performing sexual union with a woman in his lap. The male figure is compassion,

however, and he represents upaya, guidance along the pathway to liberation, while the woman

is panna, insight into the true nature of reality. I have also heard some Hindus say that Yab-Yum

is the same as Satkona, the two triangles that form the six-pointed star (a hexagram).163 That is

Shiva and Shakti also in union and it represents wisdom and enlightened knowledge; the

Supreme Being joined with the Mother of Nature. It is really no surprise that this land is the

divine mother, as you require a body to beget another body, don’t you? How else could

Shaligram be born?” The theme of ‘life-cycle’ thus suffuses throughout nearly all Shaligram

pilgrimage narratives and is reflected again by Hindu pilgrims as they begin the Shaligram

journey in Jomsom.

Subashna Sharma and her group set out from Jomsom just before 6am. Not quite awake

and still working on my second cup of strong Nepali tea I followed them down the main road

towards the Kali Gandaki River. Swollen from recent glacial melt, the grey-black waters raced

past us in loud, roaring, white currents; crashing up against the narrow valley walls and spraying

us with a chilled mist of specks and droplets. Mindful of the dim twilight, we made our way

through the cluster of guesthouses near the airport and out onto the road leading past the army

base a few hundred meters beyond. This base, established in the wake of the Tibetan resistance

in the 1960s, continues to bustle with activity; small regiments of soldiers out for their morning

exercises jog in formation or stand around the outside walls, balancing their rifles while trying to

272
sip tea from fragile, paper, cups. Beyond the army base (and its stark “No Photography” signs),

we passed through a few more scattered shops and local Thakali kitchens before finally arriving

at the slender, and rather precarious-looking, wooden bridge that joined the two sides of Jomsom

together; the “old town” on the far side of the Kali Gandaki, and the “new town” which includes

the airport, the army base, and the most popular trekking hotels.

“I love watching the river from here.” Subashna reflexively took my hand as we each

began to cross the bridge; by twos and only one pair at a time. “It feels angry almost. Raging. I

hope that she will impart this into the Shaligrams for me.” “What do you mean?” I replied as we

stepped out onto the other side of the bridge, making way for an elderly man and a stubby,

brown, horse piled high with saddle-carpets balanced on a wood-frame Mongolian style saddle.

“Every Shaligram has a history, lives that it has lived before this one. Because of this, a

Shaligram must match with your household. It must fit in with the family so that you may live in

harmony together. When a Shaligram matches with you, then there are no suicides or accidents

in your home anymore. It protects your family against all harms and dangers and when someone

dies in the household, there will be no rebirth for them. Shaligram will accompany them into

oneness with God and then return instead of them. This is Vishnu-Pradyumna Shaligram164 that

we use for this.” We paused to wait for the rest of the group to join us before proceeding into the

residences and restaurants of old Jomsom visible just up the hill. “I want my Shaligram to rage

like the river does, to look after my daughters you see. The world is very bad for girls now; not

much education, not much money, much danger. But when Shaligram comes it will hold back all

the bad and the negative. Then they will live good lives. Also, I need a Govinda Shaligram, and a

Madhava and a Damodar. These Shaligrams are best for sickness and they will be good for me

when I am an old woman.”

273
 The walk through old Jomsom followed a cramped and winding fieldstone street

threading its way between squat, mud-brick, houses and the worn wooden lintels of various

shops and market stands, all hoping to catch a traveler’s eye just long enough to warrant a few

minor transactions for packaged snacks, bottled water, or a handful of fresh steamed mo mo

(Nepali dumplings). Earthquake damage from the year before was still visible in the walls of

many of the houses, and a section of buildings just down the road remained mostly still in rubble,

revealing the brick, mud, and wood-frame construction common to high Himalayan villages. As

we emerged finally from the narrow streets, we came upon an open courtyard. On the furthest

edge, across from where we paused to catch our breath, was the Shri Janahit Higher Secondary

School, a low, battered building with a white arch at the gate which serves as one of the few

secondary schools in the region. Just before the school stood a massive Buddhist monastery,

closed off on all sides by a bright, red, wall filled with spinning prayer wheels and an ornate gate

overlooking a group of small boys dressed in saffron robes and stretching in the early morning

sun. And finally, to our right, was the Jomsom jeep stand, a ramshackle ticket counter set-back

against a high cement wall, behind which were the outdoor public toilets and a few pits for

garbage. A few white jeeps, emblazoned with red and yellow logos for “Muktinath Darshan” and

“Tourists” waited while their drivers sipped tea and smoked cigarettes in the doorways of houses

and snack kitchens a short distance away. A massive, tractor-wheeled, bus in bright green and

blue idled near the gompa wall and a pack of shaggy, mud-caked, but happily wagging dogs

wandered over to us to see if we might have some food to share.

“The river is just ahead.” Subashna tugged at my sleeve. “The buses and jeeps won’t

leave until around 9, so we have some time.” We turned and headed for the banks of the Kali

Gandaki a few hundred meters up the road, sliding down the rocky embankment until our feet

274
sunk partway into the muddy waters edge. “You probably won’t find many Shaligrams here.”

Subashna called out. “They don’t usually come down this far, but it is still possible because

pilgrimage begins here. This is where devotees will come first, so sometimes very eager

Shaligrams may come to meet you!” Within moments, the group of some six people had

dispersed out across the wide river bed, slogging through the mud and shin-deep waters in search

of the first Shaligrams of the journey, buoyed by the enthusiasm of potential discovery. “One

day,” Subashna sidled up next to me as I search the shallows for the tell-tale black luster of a

Shaligram, “I want to go all the way to Damodar Kund. I have heard that if you leave one tulsi

leaf in the kunda then the Shaligrams will come to take the tulsi leaf. Then you can catch them

right there if you can. Otherwise Shaligram will take that leaf and go right back into the kunda.”

“I found one! He is here! He is here!” The cry echoed off the steep valley walls.

Immediately, the entire group of pilgrims rushed over to where Ranju Thapa, a Nepali woman

now living in northern India who was accompanying the group, held up a large, oval, stone still

slick, and shiny black, from silty water. “Who is he? Do you know?” Ranju immediately handed

the stone to Ranajit Bhusan, the ostensible leader of this particular pilgrimage assembly. Turning

the stone over and over in his hands, Ranajit furrowed his brow in contemplation. “It is very

large,” He said at last. “There are no chakras that I can see, but it has here the white vanamala.”

He indicated a white quartz line circling the upper portion. “The white vanamala means Sri Ram,

Ah yes!” He shouted excitedly as he examined the base of the stone more closely. “Here is his

arrow as well.” He showed the elongated white marking of a fossil belemnite to the rest of

intensely attentive crowd. “This is certainly Sri Ram!” Exclamations of “Jai! Jai!” punctuated the

announcement of the Shaligram’s identity. “Quickly now, Ranju!” Ranajit handed the Shaligram

275
back to the smiling woman. “Put it in your bag. We will all have darshan later today when we

get to Kagbeni.”

Two more Shaligrams appeared in the Kali Gandaki near Jomsom that morning: the first,

a small Krishna Gopala (Krishna as an infant), which brought a great deal of delight to Madhvi

Bhusan (Ranajit’s wife) who explained that she was eager for grandchildren and that this was

now the sign that such an event was imminent (she also looked forward to gifting the small,

round, marble-like Shaligram to her daughter-in-law for exactly this reason), and the second a

profoundly worn Ananta-Sesha, the serpent of wisdom upon whom Vishnu reclines. As a

Shaligram of the spiritual wisdom contained in the Vedas, it was decided by the group that this

Shaligram would likely need to become a gift to their local temple. According to a mischievous

Subashna later on, apparently the local brahmacharya was “in need of some wisdom” and she

hoped the Shaligram could help. Along the way, we encountered a pair of local Shaligram sellers

making their way up the Kali Gandaki river bed carrying several large doko baskets on their

backs filled with stones. The husband and wife team, residents of the village of Ranipauwa to the

north, shouted out their greetings as we passed. “Many Lords today! Come and visit us at

Muktinath. They are all waiting there.”

As the sun finally rose over the mountains, Ranajit gathered the far wandering group

back together and we set-off back up the embankments and down the road towards the ticket

counter. “We will have to go to Kagbeni by bus because the jeeps only seat about six or so. The

jeep is also very expensive. It’s mostly for trekkers anyway.” He nudged me with a side-long

smile. “But since you are a Westerner, maybe they would give us a better price.” “Why would

they do that?” I laughed. “Oh, I think they prefer to take Westerners,” he shrugged. “More

money.”

276
 I turned to Subashna as Ranajit jogged ahead to buy tickets and ensure our seats on the

mountain bus. “Is that really true? Do they think pilgrims can’t pay?” She nodded, with a terse

set to her lips. “Many times, that is true. I wish they made distinctions between pilgrims and

tourists here. There are no services just for religious pilgrims anymore and we have to manage

our trips all on our own and at our own risk. Pilgrims are sometimes exploited by agents on

websites and by guides and by drivers, all because what they really want is business money (a

term she used to mean money from trekkers and tourists). Many of us also must travel alone on

pilgrimage, but we have no knowledge of this place or how to travel here. As you can see, this

land is wild and the river can be dangerous. The mountain paths are treacherous and can washout

or fall on you or the weather can turn against you. If we want a local guide, it is also very

expensive and how do you know that they know or care about Shaligram? We paid so much

money just to get this far, and our pilgrimage has only just started!” Moments later we climbed

aboard a towering bus filled to bursting with eager travelers; trekkers on the Annapurna circuit

and pilgrims anticipating the ride to Kagbeni and Muktinath, and terrifyingly top-loaded with

frame-packs, personal bags, and boxes of produce and cooking fuel. The driver called out for

everyone to hold on and suddenly off we went, swaying madly up a 60 degree, 2000-foot incline,

straight up the mountain.

Reaching Kagbeni

The trip from Jomsom to Kagbeni by bus takes just under an hour. Navigating the narrow

mountain paths in a bus almost as wide as the road itself was no easy feat, and many times the

driver was forced down to less than 10 kph in order not to accidentally bounce the vehicle right

277
off the edge and send the passengers sliding down the cliffside and back into the river. Through

twists and turns we made our way ever higher until the bus finally crested a tall rounded peak

and revealed the expanse of the Kali Gandaki below. At the edge of the river, nestled among flat

green terraces was Kagbeni, a village of scattered houses, grain fields, goat herds, trekking

lodges, and kitchen-style restaurants. The driver let us off at the edge of the road, stopping only

long enough to unload the pilgrim passengers before he would be ready to head off further up the

mountain to the village of Jharkot. Porters immediately began tossing down our bags along with

boxes of clothing and supplies that several village men were already waiting to collect. We

gathered our things quickly and followed them down the near-vertical indentations in the ground

that served as the path into the village. About half-way down, the gravel path turned to uneven

fieldstones and then finally, to a set of makeshift stairs before we finally stumbled out onto the

slate-slab streets near the far edge of village.

“The winds are already coming in.” Ranajit waved me closer. “We’ll have to find a lodge

for the day and go out onto the river tomorrow. I know a pathway over that rise there that leads

directly onto the banks. From there, the river is so low we could almost walk back to Jomsom

just by way of Kali Gandaki.” He chuckled. “But for now, we should have darshan and do puja.

Then we can eat something.” We made our way along the streets, weaving past herds of goats

and sheep, and even, at one point, needing to redirect a small calf from following us too far away

from its pen. As we passed beneath the main village stupa, a towering structure nearly fifteen

feet high, we ducked beneath it into a low chamber filled with intricate paintings of Buddhist,

Bonpo, and Hindu deities. For many of the villagers however, it appeared to just be a handy

place to store motorbikes out of the way of the biting winds. There, I noted that a set of four

278
Shaligrams had been placed at each of the four corners beneath the stupa, carefully tucked up

into the eaves almost out of sight.

“Ranajit?” I called out. “Do you see the Shaligrams here? I did not think that Buddhists

worshipped Shaligram.” He looked about carefully before replying. “This is Bon practice, more

likely. Maybe from Buddhists also. People say here that this land is ruled by Dakini, the female

wind spirits who howl and scream through the valleys.” He gestured vaguely towards the

outside. “Like now, you hear them coming. That’s why it is best to be inside at this time. But

wherever there is Shaligram, the Dakini will not go. No spirit may enter a place of Shaligram

without permission. That is why you see them like this. On stupas sometimes, like on roads or

near village gates, and in houses. They make the land safe to travel and keep the spirits from

entering places where they might cause trouble.” I turned to him, my confusion likely clear in my

expression. “I don’t think I understand. How does Shaligram keep spirits away?” Carefully, he

pulled one of the four Shaligrams down from beneath the stupa. It was roughly palm-sized, with

jagged edges, and a large, clear, chakra imprinted deeply into its top surface. “Do you see the

great spiral?” He asked. I nodded. “This is Sudarshan Shaligram, the chakra of Vishnu. But the

spiral is also sacred to all religions but most especially here [in Mustang]. It is sacred for

Buddhists, who walk in a clock-wise circle around sacred places. Because that is the direction of

the turning of the universe. The Bonpos revere the counter-clockwise circle. The universe turns

the other way.”

He flipped the Shaligram over and traced the reverse spiral on the opposite side with his

index finger to demonstrate. “For us Hindus this is also sacred, because it is the karmic wheel

and the rotation of the planets. Just like the shankha (the conch shell, a symbol of Vishnu and

Lakshmi), it is a symbol of water, of life, of the childbearing of women, and of serpents. This is

279
ancient symbol. It shows the movement of all that is divine and unseen. No spirit can violate

that.” Gently, he replaced the Shaligram back into the roof of the stupa. “It is regeneration and

nourishment and continuation. Just like the naga 165 serpents coil in a spiral around their

treasures to protect them, the movement of the universe coils around us as we traverse through

our lives.” Subashna gently touched her fingers to a painting of White Tara, a female

bodhisattva in Mahayana Buddhism (or a female Buddha in Vajrayana Buddhism). “We must

follow this karmic cycle always; being born, living, and dying over and over again. But as a

pilgrim, and with Shaligram, you walk the paths like you live your lives. Gandaki is your birth

who births Shaligram, and then caring for Shaligram as your family until you reach Muktinath,

and there you and Shaligram can be reborn. And then you return home to do it again each day

because Shaligram is with you. Each pilgrimage is like a life and Shaligram is a life isn’t it?

Maybe if we do them enough, we will fulfill many lives all at once.”

Within the ritual practices and pilgrimages for Shaligram devotees, a single space often

becomes a plurality of places. A practice that, in the context of religious traditions in Mustang, is

also not unusual (See Ramble 2014). Circumambulations around a sacred space mark the

pilgrim’s transition from movement through physical spaces into movement through divine

spaces as they follow the divine movement of the universe in the proscribed direction. In this

case, circumambulation becomes the method by which individuals traverse between a physical

holy site and the dham superimposed within it: “leaving” Muktinath temple, for example, and

“arriving” in Śālagrāma.

In other cases, as I mentioned earlier, this becomes especially poignant when physical

routes themselves may lead to the same recognizable space but not to the same places. One

particular example of this kind of single-site multilocality happens in Hindu temples throughout

280
Nepal and India where smaller versions of the main temple deities (called utsav murti) or their

associated Shaligrams are removed from the main altar and carried out on specified “pilgrimage

paths” through the village. These paths often do not follow the main roads of the village, which

are easy to traverse and are used for everyday purposes. Instead, devotees carry the deities

through older and often less well-tended walking paths or field roads that take them along a

specified route through the landscape (and often past specific houses or other shrines). Both

roads, however, always bring them back to the temple. But when the deities arrive, the temple is

no longer the temple, but a place detailed in religious myth or a historical place located

elsewhere wherein the deities may now carry out certain activities particular to certain times or

certain places. Sacred shrines and sites map the familiar just as much as they act as signposts to

the other world.

For many Shaligram pilgrims, physical pilgrimage is also heavily associated with “inner

pilgrimage.” In the Tantric traditions, such as in the Kalacakratantra for example, little attention

is paid time to the necessity of making physical journeys to the sacred places especially because

of the correspondences between the places of sacred sites and the components of one’s own

body. Therefore, pilgrimage becomes a method of exploring the self through meditation and the

performance of austerities.166 While Shaligram pilgrims, for obvious reasons, almost never reject

the necessity of actual physical pilgrimage, the overlay of the physical pilgrimage journey

through the landscape with the metaphysical journey of the individual through life, death, and

rebirth is especially salient.

I considered Ranajit’s words thoughtfully as we continued through the village to our

destination, the Hotel Annapurna, a moderate trekking lodge overlooking the river. As we piled

through the door, panting for breath from just our short walk, two Mustangi women greeted us

281
from the baithak (sitting room). A brief negotiation later and each of us went into our small

rooms, unloaded our bags onto the padded bed-pallets, peeled off our shoes, and reconvened in

Ranajit and Madhvi’s room for puja. Subashna sat down next to me as we formed a circle on the

floor. In the center, Ranajit had collected the group’s Shaligrams and placed them on a small,

silver, dish he had carried in his pack, covered with a red cloth. As he began to sift through his

bag in search of the rest of the puja items, Subashna tugged at my sleeve.

“Do you know how to do Shaligram puja?” She asked. “I’ve seen it a few times before.”

I replied. “But I don’t think I could do it myself.” She nodded. “That’s ok. With Shaligram it is

easy. There is no calling of God like in other pujas because God is always present in Shaligram.

It is self-manifest. So, we do not need to do that here. Instead, we will give water and tulsi. At

home, we give milk, honey, ghee, sugar, and Ganga water. Then we will use oils to rub on Him,

fragrant oils like sandalwood or lotus. I use hibiscus though, because it smells so lovely. We can

also offer flowers and fruit too, and then some drinking water. Whatever you have, it is ok. We

also don’t have lamps with us for aarti but we will make do.” Ranajit hushed the group, pulling

out his ghanta (a hand bell used in puja) and setting is aside with a small dish of water and a

wrapped leaf carrying kumkum and turmeric powder. As he lifted the cloth from the Shaligrams,

the pilgrims began to gasp, keen, and pray. Later, as he rang the ghanta in a steady and

unrelenting rhythm, we all joined together to recite the prescribed mantras to Vishnu, Lakshmi,

and Shaligram.

That evening, as we sat hunched over our typical meal of dal bhat, Ranajit continued to

expound on the challenges of Shaligram pilgrimage. “We’ll go out onto the river tomorrow and

hopefully good Shaligrams will appear (good, in this case, typically meant whole, unbroken,

stones).” “Is it difficult?” I asked. “On this part of the river I mean, to find good Shaligrams?” “It

282
used to be easier.” Ranajit replied. “But since they started building (hydroelectric) plants on the

river, some areas are now almost impossible to find Shaligrams. Other parts of the river are still

restricted because of the Maoists, so now there are only specific places you can look now. Many

people don’t even come here anymore. They go to Triveni down by the border (with India) and

look for Shaligram there. But, you know, those are fossils, I think. They have chakras yes, and

they have many characteristics like Shaligram but I don’t think they are. Or they are just not the

same. They are not so pleasing to look at. They are covered in holes and they are oddly shaped.

They are also not black like Shaligram in Gandaki. Most I have seen are sort of brownish or

orange. It is true that shilas are still auspicious, even if they are brown or blue or white but

Shaligram from Kali Gandaki is unique. They are stronger and you never see pure Shaligrams

like Sudarshan or Lakshmi-Narayan at Triveni. The green and white Shaligrams also do not

appear in Muktikshetra. No, you must come to Kali Gandaki. This is Śālagrāma.”

Overhearing our excited exchanges, the elder son of the guesthouse owner appeared in

the doorway. “You have Shaligrams?” He asked. As the group of gathered pilgrims began to

show him the Shaligrams from earlier in the day, he grew more fidgety. “I have a Shaligram in

my room. I’ll bring Him up for you to see Him.” Upon producing a very large Harihara (Vishnu

and Shiva together) Shaligram and placing it on the table, he leaned in thoughtfully. “This was a

gift from my father-in-law when I got married. My wife is from Pokhara and she came with Him

[the Shaligram] at the wedding. I asked him why he would give me Shaligram when I am

Mustangi, I can go out and receive Shaligram at any time. He said it was because my family are

different Thakalis than they are. So, he sends Shaligram back “home” to join us back together.

Then he said it was because he worried about what the government (in Kathmandu) was going to

do to us. Maybe we couldn’t come back here, maybe there would be no people coming to

283
Mustang and no jobs and no money. So maybe Shaligram should come back and bring those

good things with Him.” Ranajit examined the Shaligram carefully. “And has He? Has fortune

come back?” The young man shrugged. “No. We are still very poor. But we are together. That is

fortune.”

In Nepal, many ethno-castes, such as the Thakali, are quite geographically spread apart

and it is not uncommon for one particular group to look on another as “not quite belonging” to

the ethno-caste in the same way (see Fisher 2001). In the elder son’s view of the Harihara

Shaligram then, the binding of Vishnu to Shiva within the stone became analogous to the binding

of the two different types of Thakali families in his marriage to the woman from Pokhara. What

is more, the theme of “going home” to Mustang was also especially salient to his concerns about

keeping the Shaligram properly. It was the hope of his father-in-law that, by returning the

Shaligram to Mustang, it would bring with it the prosperity of his wife’s family in Pokhara

(which is known for its tourist wealth) but in end, though no money had appeared to follow it

back to Mustang, it had brought with it his wife and the wider ties, affections, and support of an

affinal family, for which he was grateful.

The following morning, the entire group rose early, bathed, and gathered in the main

dining room to sip tea and await the rising of the sun. We were joined by two Australian

trekkers, also taking an early breakfast on their rest day before preparing to head northwards

towards Lo Monthang in Upper Mustang. Over a course of eggs and coffee, one of the young

men produced a large Shaligram from his bag, explaining to his companion that he had found the

stone on his walk up from Jomsom and, seeing that it was probably a fossil, wanted to borrow his

friend’s rock hammer to smash it open and see what was inside. Several of the pilgrims shifted

uncomfortably in their seats. Subashna leaned towards me. “You see? They don’t know

284
anything. It’s just a rock for them. I can’t bear to think that they will break it, but I know that’s

how it goes.” Ranajit looked, for a moment, as though he might speak up, but as the two men

continued to debate the best way to break the stone so as to get at the shells in its center, I

watched as he simply turned back to his tea and scowled.

“Why don’t you tell them what it is?” I motioned to Subashna. “Ask them not to break it.

Or maybe tell them why it is important and then they won’t take it.” “This is not how Westerners

are.” She replied. “They don’t understand Shaligram.” In a move that was exceedingly rare for

me as a participant-ethnographer, I turned in my bench seat and complimented them on their

beautiful find. Mentioning that they were incredibly lucky to have found such an exquisite

Shaligram, I asked where it had come from. “A Shaligram?” The first of the two looked up at

me. “What is a Shaligram?” The pilgrims around the table smiled and by the time the sun had

risen, the Shiva Linga Shaligram (as Ranajit identified it) was no longer in danger of destruction

(because the men had agreed not to break it) and the two trekkers and the nine pilgrims finally

parted ways with good cheer.

The river that morning was cold and fast as we made our way down from a rocky out-

cropping and onto the soft, muddy, river bottom. Immediately, the group began to scatter across

the wide expanse of the Kali Gandaki, heads bowed and shoulders hunched in what I always

thought of as the characteristic pose of a paleontologist searching the land for bones and other

clues. The irony of thinking of Shaligram pilgrims in the same way was not lost on me. Several

minutes later, Vijay Pal, Ranajit and Madhvi’s nephew, and I met a sadhu, carefully poking his

walking stick into the river bed as he too examined the silt for sacred stones. “Jai Baba!” Vijay

called out as he approached. The elderly man, with long dreadlocks wrapped tightly around the

top of his head, nodded and smiled. “Have you seen Shaligram today?” Vijay asked. The sadhu

285
again smiled, placing his hand over his mouth to indicate that he did not speak and rattling his

walking stick by way of response. He then pulled a small handful of Shaligrams from the cloth

bag hanging from his waist-wrap and gestured towards the river.

Vijay walked over to him and cautiously looked through the Shaligrams clutched in the

palm of the sadhu’s hand. On spying a small Lakshmi-Narayan Shaligram, a characteristic stone

marked by partial chakras on both sides, he begged the old man in Hindi if he would be willing

to part with it, even offering to trade him the Ananta-Sesha Shaligram that had been found earlier

in Jomsom. The sadhu glanced over towards me and grinned, handing Vijay the Shaligram

without hesitation and shaking his head. He then pointed at me for several seconds before

pointing down at a pile of pebbles near my feet. As he walked off, still poking at the riverbed

with his stick, I looked down to see another Shaligram, just barely visible within the pile beneath

a pool of turgid water. As I bent to pick it up, Vijay held out the new Shaligram he had acquired

from the sadhu for me to see. “I knew this Shaligram would find His way to me today. Every day

I pray that Vishnu come to me and when I finally got enough money together to come on

pilgrimage I knew He was telling me it was time. I made my journey and He made his. We have

crossed the tirtha Kali Gandaki together.”

Defining the precise journey of Shaligram pilgrimage is problematic given the wide

diversity of local and transnational viewpoints and the characteristic merging of geographical

and non-geographical categories. Recall, additionally, the Hindu concept of “inner pilgrimage,”

where individuals visit sacred places within the microcosm of the mind and body and the ways in

which inner pilgrimage and physical pilgrimage often co-exist; where one’s journey through

physical spaces recapitulates one’s journey through life. The Hindu conceptualization of the

tirtha further highlights these correspondences in that a tirtha can be shrines or sacred places

286
along the course of a sacred journey but can just as well be applied to a devoted wife, a spiritual

teacher, one’s parents, or the home in which one is raised (Morinis 1992). Despite cautions

concerning reductionism, movement then becomes the key to Shaligram veneration (if not to

pilgrimage itself generally). As Morinis notes, pilgrimage is ultimately a term that can be “put to

use wherever journeying and some embodiment of an ideal intersect” (Morinis 1992: 3) and that

the very “essence of journeying is movement” (1992: 12). But as Shaligram pilgrimage becomes

clearer, the patterns of movement vary significantly within the actual pilgrimage itself; not just to

the temple or to the river and back, but a spiral that connects the physical with the metaphysical,

bodies with stones, and the everyday troubles of life, death, and rebirth with the movements of

both gods and man through time and space. This issue quickly became all the more important

when it came time to leave Kagbeni

We met the same two Australian trekkers the following morning as each of us prepared to

disembark: they into Upper Mustang by way of Chusang, Dhi, and Geling villages on their way

to Lo Monthang and us to Muktinath. The pilgrims and the trekkers chatted amicably for several

minutes as bills were settled up and bags were repacked, but as the two young men and their

Nepali guide hiked out of the village roads towards the border checkpoint just north of Kagbeni,

Ranajit handed me a cup of milk tea and sat down. “Westerners are very lucky. I don’t think I

will ever get to Damodar. To get guides and permits, it’s so expensive.” “Has it always been this

way?” I asked. “It has been difficult to follow Gandaki past Kagbeni for many years now. Nepal

is afraid of China and of India too. Everyone is stuck. People don’t belong to those places

though; people belong to their people and every time they keep us out it causes problems and

fights. The army patrols the borders and keeps everyone out and the government makes it so hard

to go [with fees] that only tourists can go. They want the tourists though, because of all the

287
money they bring. They don’t want pilgrims anymore. They don’t care about Shaligram. In fact,

you want to know what I just heard? There was a whole group of pilgrims from India just last

week who all paid their money, great money, to go to Damodar. They came but they took away

their permits at the border (with Upper Mustang). The Army said they could not go anymore.”

“Why?!” I asked, concerned with Ranajit’s soured demeanor. “Simple.” He replied. “China was

there. Chinese military. That means no one is allowed. They sent them away. No pilgrims. No

Shaligram.”

Ranajit’s concerns about the divisions between tourists and pilgrims was echoed many

times over the course of my work in Mustang, framed in particular by the viewpoint that the

difference between pilgrim and tourist was that tourists were those who moved through the

landscape, but not in it. In some cases, pilgrims expressed gratitude at what amenities they could

find, such as the building of a pilgrimage dharmsala in the village of Ranipauwa near Muktinath

but for many others, the challenges of undertaking Shaligram pilgrimage as well as the near

impossibility of reaching the Damodar Kund weighed heavily. In nearly every conversation, the

role of national security and the policing of Mustang’s contentious northern borders were the

focus of concern. For the residents of Mustang, continued political isolation was equally

troublesome. “It’s a double-sided problem.” Karsang Yangchen explained.

Karsang had been born in Mustang before completing her primary education in

Kathmandu. She had returned, however, as a young teenager to rejoin her family in the village of

Jharkot and had been working as a cook in her uncle’s guesthouse for the past several years. “In

Upper Mustang it’s even worse than it is here though. Everyone around here wants tourists to

come because that is how they get money but Kathmandu keeps all the permit money. It should

come here but it doesn’t. The government just keeps it. The permits for Upper Mustang are even

288
worse, so few tourists can go there but they don’t get the money either and they [the government]

won’t open the borders because of China and Tibet. They won’t give us the money and they

won’t open the borders. So now it’s tourists or nothing. Many people are leaving because of

this.”

A few weeks later, a group of Hindu pilgrims traveling from the United Kingdom

expressed similar sentiments. “I was born in Kolkata, but my family lives in London now.” Said

Ravi Pandey, adjusting his white dhoti. “Our foreign passports make us foreign now I guess. But

we didn’t used to be. As Indians, it was a little easier to cross the borders because Nepal and

India are close friends but now as English it is very hard to come here. Now we come during

monsoon, when the trekkers won’t come because it is cheaper, though it is more dangerous.

There aren’t many drivers, so sometimes there are no buses or jeeps. And sometimes the

guesthouses won’t take pilgrims because we can’t pay so much. But Shaligram pilgrimage is

more important now than ever! With Hindus going all over the world we must come back to

these ancient places, to keep our traditions alive. To keep connected with our past and our

ancestors. But I suppose pilgrimage has always been difficult and it’s supposed to be difficult.

This is just our karma.”

As I and the pilgrimage group set off up the steep and dusty mountain road on the five-

hour walk towards Ranipauwa, Subashna jogged ahead to walk next to me. “This land is the land

of creation.” She smiled. “This is not Mustang. It’s not Nepal. It’s not India. It’s not Tibet and

it’s not China. This is Muktikshetra, it belongs to no one but those who can walk it.”

The trouble of Mustang, and of Shaligram pilgrimage, is the trouble of belonging. A

crossroads of identity in virtually every sense. For Mustangis, the trouble lies in historically

merchant and migrant populations who continue to struggle against growing State structures that

289
limit the very same in the name of national unity and security. For pilgrims, national divisions

and the economic challenges that result from political conflict are viewed as antithetical to

pilgrimage sites that are both physically located within Nation-States and symbolically and

spiritually situated within multi-sited sacred landscapes. Because Shaligram pilgrimage is also

considered by devotees as a continuous recapitulation of the karmic life cycle (as well as a

method of living many lives at once) and the Shaligrams themselves as persons, family and

community members, the result of political limitations on pilgrimage becomes viewed as the

interference of governments on the progression of life itself.

The View from Muktinath

The landscape of Mustang is truly awe-inspiring. Caves dot the mountain-sides, some

emerging so high up a sheer cliff as to defy belief that ancient peoples once made them into

homes. Monasteries and road-side cairns piled high with mani stones are everywhere, some

nearly as large as a house and laden with massive slate slabs carved with Tibetan mantras or the

images of Hindu or Bon deities. Families often commission these stones from carvers as

offerings to the gods in memoriam to a recently deceased family member or for luck on a new

venture. We also passed trios of earthen stupas, painted with mud pigments in red, black, and

white; a symbol of the Rigsum Gompo, the Buddhist trinity of Avalokiteshvara, Manjushri, and

Vajrapani. As protectors of the sacred geography, these stupas are often placed at major

crossroads and at the entrances to villages or even atop the roofs of houses. Decorated with

sacred juniper sprigs (which the locals call dhupi salla), which is also burned as incense, and

290
goat or sheep skulls, these stupas often contain small offerings left by pilgrims and villagers in

their small square central openings.

These offerings, reliquary tsa tsa 167 for Buddhists and more often than not, Shaligrams

for Hindus and Bonpos, mark the physical passage of people as well as the mystical passage of

the dead and the divine. As one local Buddhist monk also explained, the colors were additionally

meant to symbolize protection (black), compassion (white), and wisdom (red) and that the

combination of the Bodhi Stupa (white), the Dharma Wheel Stupa (red), and the Serira Stupa

(black) were essential to subduing various spirits as they moved across the land and that these

stupas had also been integral in warding off natural disasters. “This is why Mustang survived the

great earthquake” he said. Massive oval stones, hauled up from the river bed or taken from

washouts higher in the mountains formed fence-like barriers around houses or were used in the

foundations of small buildings. Doorways are marked with the images of Shiva and the Buddha

along with other celestial beings, or with yarn mandalas and goat skulls to protect the family

within from uninvited spirits or ro lang (zombies). Groves of poplar trees began to thin out and

soon enough, there were no more trees except for a curious spot of green hiding the white-

washed walls of Muktinath temple many miles away. This was a landscape that was itself at the

crossroads of cultures, religions, and ethnicities. Everywhere, Hindus, Buddhists, and Bonpos

lived together and marked the landscape in ever changing ways.

We reached the village of Ranipauwa nearly six hours later, in the early afternoon of

what had turned out to be a clear and sunny day. A painted red archway over the main road

leading up to the village greets visitors as they enter and from there the road splits; to the right a

short pathway to the Ranipauwa bus and horse stand and straight ahead into the village. As we

passed the low squat houses dotting the side of the road we also passed beneath the golden Guru

291
Rinpoche statue a few hundred feet above us. The overlook, containing the new twenty-foot

statue and a small visitor’s center, was completed in the early months of 2016 and presides over

the main stretch of the village from a barren redoubt of granite boulders and slate faults high

above. Like many Mustangi villages, the main cluster of residences in Ranipauwa circled a

central village square with a government water tap and the primary village gompa just a short

distance behind it. It was well past mid-day and a congregation of local women were gathered

around the water tap, bathing, washing small children, and attending to the laundry. Their

laughter echoed across the open sky, and several called out to welcome us as we slogged by in

exhaustion. On the far side of the open roadway, trekking lodges and small shops with bright

blue, white, and yellow signs crowded in just beyond the police station and trekking permit

checkpoint. Pausing briefly to examine one such restaurant with two mummified yak heads hung

over the entrance, we all then dutifully stopped to register at the checkpoint before heading

further on.

At over 3,800 meters above sea level, the village of Ranipauwa lies very near to the cold

tundra climates of the high Himalayas. Snow falls throughout the winter, but as the village is

situated just below the Annapurna rain shadow, monsoons tend to be foggy, grey, and rainy, but

without the daily torrential downpours common to other regions of Nepal. With limited

possibilities for the cultivation of crops, the majority of Mustangis who do not rely on trekking

and tourism tend gardens filled with potatoes, cauliflower, carrots, and lettuce and keep small

herds of goats, horses, mules, and yaks. In some areas, dzo (a yak-cow cross-breed), also wander

down the mountain accompanying small milk cows or miniature donkeys. As we waited to finish

our permit registration, a caravan of mules decorated with red and yellow Tibetan saddle

292
blankets began to slowly amble through the village, laden with bags of rice, kerosene, and

vegetables just up from Jomsom. The caravan driver waved as he passed.

From the check post, we continued on up the compact mud road, passing small stands of

woven wool scarves and hats, jewelry makers working in copper and silver, and as I took quick

note of, Shaligram sellers. Advertising Shaligrams directly from the Damodar Kund, I paused at

one shop, barely more than a wooden bench, a plastic tarp pinned between two poles for shade,

and several hand-woven baskets of Shaligram stones. “These are all from Damodar?” I asked in

Nepali. “Yes, Oh yes!” The woman nodded. “Did you collect them?” I responded. “No, no.” She

shook her head emphatically, “my husband, he goes to Damodar every year and brings them. He

brings them for pilgrims because they cannot go.”

Ranajit stopped beside me, listening intently before pulling me away. “You must not buy

Shaligram,” he said. “This is a karmic sin.” I nodded. “And yet there are so many sellers here.

Pilgrims must be buying them.” “Yes.” He paused, worrying at the shoulders straps of his

backpack. “Sometimes it is the only way to get Shaligram, especially if you cannot spend the

time in Kali Gandaki or if you need a specific Shaligram. Some Shaligrams only come from

Damodar, like temple Shaligrams. The very large Shaligrams like that one over there.” He

pointed to one of the Shaligrams prominent in the woman’s baskets, a dinner-plate sized stone

with the ridge of a chakra-shell visible around its entire circumference. “Shaligrams like that

only come from Damodar. They do not appear in the river and if there is no other way to get it,

then sometimes it is OK to buy. But you shouldn’t buy them. If it is the right time and you are

worthy of it, Shaligram will come to you on His own.” As we talked, Ranajit lead the group

onwards to our first stop: a small, family-run, guesthouse, the Royal Mustang, to secure rooms

and wash up before making our way to the temple of Muktinath.

293
 By one o’clock everyone was eager to make their way up to Muktinath temple and start

the ritual darshan of the site. Leaving everything but the Shaligram stones in our rooms at the

guesthouse, we once again set out up the road, through the village, and towards the temple. As

we picked our way carefully through the muddy road, dodging the ever-present cow patty or pile

of horse apples, I asked Ranajit how he had first learned about Shaligrams. “My father told me

the stories when I was a boy. My grandfather had Shaligrams and his grandfather had

Shaligrams. The British never paid much attention to Shaligrams during colonial times, so my

family was able to keep theirs even when many of the religious troubles started happening. I

think also that’s why most Westerners don’t know Shaligram, because the British didn’t care

about them so they never made rules about them. My father inherited his Shaligrams when I was

in school and then he gave me half of them when I was married. He has given most of the rest of

them away now but he still keeps a few that he wants to take when he dies. They will go with

him into the fire he says. This is my duty to make sure. When my children marry, I want to do

the same. We have one daughter who is about to go to university, so I will send Shaligram with

her. Anirudda I think, so that she can study well and have great success.”

He smiled at the thought. “It is like the story of Chandrahasa. Do you know this one?” I

shook my head. “Oh, it is my favorite. Chandrahasa was a boy who was very poor and he lived

on the streets. But one day he found a Shaligram just by chance, though he thought it was

nothing more than a normal pebble. He used it to play marbles with his friends and slept with it

under his head at night so that no one would steal it. And do you know what happened to him

when he grew up? He became king!”168

Where the road angles off further on around the Panchgaon villages, the entrance to

Muktinath is marked by white archway (Muktinath-Chumig Gyatsa, it reads) and a short, central

294
pillar set with three spiral Shaligrams embedded within the plaster at the front and a large, round,

smooth Shaligram the size of a melon attached to the top. Beyond the archway is the first flight

of nearly a hundred stone stairs winding their way through the rocky landscape, ever upwards

towards the white walls of the temple complex in the distance. Subashna and her cousin Manish

Prasad were the first two to touch their foreheads to the Shaligram on top of the pillar, press their

palms together in the pronam gesture, and begin ascending the steep stairs one careful step at a

time. As each of the pilgrims followed in turn, the group descended into silence; partially in

reverence to entering the dham of Muktinath and partly due to the constant need to pause and

catch our breaths in the thin mountain air. Along the way, hundreds of small stone piles had been

erected by various pilgrims along the edges of the stairs and out into the scrubby bushes and

patches of grasses, yellow rapeseed, spindly white Silene moorcroftiana, and purple amaranths.

Many stone piles and bushes were also wrapped in strips of colored cloth, gone threadbare and

ragged in the high Himalayan winds. As I stopped to examine one such stone pile, I noted that a

circle had been scratched out in the dirt around it with the remnants of red kumkum powder still

visible on the topmost stone.

Manish stopped next to me. “They’re for puja.” He offered. “To give small offerings as

you come and go. Like personal mandir or stupas. These cloths are prayers to the land. Red is

sky, yellow is lake, the red cord is for jungle, the green is land, the white is river, and the thicker

white one is mountain, and the blue is clouds. They are also like the Buddhist prayer flags, so

everyone leaves them along the trail.” As we continued on, we also encountered several sadhus,

each with a small area staked out with blankets, a small tin to collect donations, several pots of

kumkum and ash, and a few small deities perched on the rocks next to them. I knew from

previous pilgrimages I had accompanied that many of the sadhus were Shaiva sadhus who over-

295
wintered in the dharmsala in Ranipauwa while many of the Vaishnava sadhus made the journey

from Kathmandu, or even from as far as New Delhi, every summer. One such sadhu, who I knew

as Naga Baba, had sat with me for many an afternoon at Muktinath, discussing matters of faith,

pilgrimage, and Shaligram stones. In fact, one of the Shaligrams I carried with me had been a gift

from Naga Baba, who kept a small collection of Shiva Linga and Ananta Shaligrams along with

two small brass deities of Shiva and Parvati in his belt-pouch. Manish stopped to offer a few

rupees to an elderly sadhu resting on a stone platform halfway to the temple and receive the old

man’s blessings and an ash tikka on his forehead.

The entrance to Muktinath is guarded by a heavy metal gate, just beyond which is the

first of many Buddhist prayer wheels, this one nearly 8 feet high and almost as big around.

Another group of sadhus, gathered around the gate entrance, looked up as we approached and

shouted out “Jai! Jai Sri Muktinath! Welcome! Welcome!” Ranajit smiled and bowed, his hands

still folded in front of him. “Jai Babas!” He called out in response before offering a few rupee

notes to several of them as he passed. Walking by the Samba Gompa immediately to our left, we

began our mini-pilgrimage (as the walk through the complex of Muktinath is often characterized)

with our first stop to visit and take darshan at the Shaligram mandir (Yagyashala).169

Ducking through the low door of the white-washed mud-brick building we entered to the

right of the central ritual fire pit and approached the altar at the north wall. This particular altar

was comprised of another large, round, melon-sized Shaligram at the center, Vishnu-Narayan,

and two carved, black, deities of Bhumi (Lakshmi) and Saraswati on either side of the main

Shaligram. To the left of the deities stood a three-tiered table, every inch of which was covered

by Shaligram stones. “Many of these Shaligrams have come for retirement.” Subashna explained

as Ranajit and Vijay began their clock-wise circumambulations around the fire pit, reciting

296
mantras to the Shaligrams in their hands and on the altar. “Retirement?” I asked. “Yes. You see,

if you can no longer keep or care for your Shaligrams, you must either return them to Kali

Gandaki or you may bring them to a Vaishnava temple to be looked after. You cannot simply

abandon them. This would be a horrible thing. You would not abandon a child or your old

parents, would you? No, of course not. Just like elderly parents can go to live at the temple at the

end of their lives, Shaligram does this too.”

After completing our darshan at the Yagyashala, we stepped out onto the stone walkway

and turned towards the first rise of the hill. As we did so, two Nyingma Buddhist nuns in their

characteristic red and saffron robes strode past us. “Namaste aani!” we called out as they

continued further up the path. “Namaste!” They both smiled. “Ranajit?” I asked. “Is it strange to

you that Muktinath is attended by Buddhists?” “Not at all.” He shook his head. “The nuns might

live here all year round to care for Muktinath but there are also Hindu pujari and sadhus here as

well. We worship together, we pray together, we come from the same gods who come from the

same places, and so we care for Muktinath together. I think it is actually better this way. No one

can say that Muktinath is theirs. Not Shaiva or Vaishnava or Buddhist. It belongs to all of us.”

Massive, white waves of fast moving water roared past us, drowning out all but the

loudest sounds (acting as a metonymic stand-in for Kali Gandaki). Originating in an aquifer just

behind the Vishnu-Chenrezig Mandir, the waters sluiced by through barely contained channels of

stone and grass. These waters, which feed the 108 water spouts, are also the reason that we now

stared up in awe at massive green trees and thick, lush, vegetation obscuring the Vishnu-

Chenrezig Mandir from sight at an altitude where almost nothing else will grow. Ranajit stopped

to shake a wide stand of brass temple bells before crossing the walkway to push against another

similar stand of bells on the other side. Several more pilgrims coming up behind us announced

297
their approach to the deities in the same way and together, we walked out of the forested gloom

and into the bright sun shining down on two 6-foot mani wheels spinning madly as the waters

rushed over their paddle wheels and spun them around in perpetuity.

“The Scriptures say that if a person can get even a single chance to come to Muktinath,

they will be immediately liberated in the afterlife.” Ranajit said, motioning the group to hurry

along. “From Puranas and the Vedas and I think in Buddhist texts too, we know that Muktinath

and Muktikshetra have been a tirtha for many religions for a very long time. Sacred places

transform what is different back into what is the same. There is no difference here. That is how

one can achieve liberation don’t you see? This life is the same as all your other lives previous?

You bathe in the waters and cleanse the sins of a million lifetimes and become free from death

and rebirth. You can also free your ancestors from their sins and they can be then reborn in

Heaven. You can assure that your children are liberated in only one lifetime. When you take

Shaligram with you,” He held up the Shaligrams in his hand. “then Muktikshetra is with you,

then this life and the life of Shaligram become one.”

The Vishnu-Chenrezig Mandir sits atop a high stone platform foundation accessible by

two additional flights of stairs beyond the river-run prayer wheels. As we pulled our way up the

narrow stairs and into the main courtyard, we were instantly greeted by shouts of activity. About

thirty pilgrims already congregated throughout the area, some preparing to plunge beneath the

waters of the two kunda pools immediately in front of us, many more in various stages of

undress along the back benches as they braced themselves for a run beneath the water spouts,

and several sitting silently meditating before the mandir itself, waiting for the Buddhist nuns to

reappear for the afternoon darshan of Sri Muktinath himself. Ranajit and Manish immediately

started for the water spouts, carrying their Shaligrams tightly so as not to accidently drop them as

298
they (both men and Shaligrams) were bathed beneath each spout. Vijay and Ranju, on the other

hand, opted to begin with the kunda pools, promising that they would head for the spouts

immediately afterwards.

Subashna darted off with a joyful shout to enter the temple and await darshan. Madhvi,

however, came to sit beside me as I, in my typical ethnographer’s fashion, found an out-of-the-

way bench and sat down to observe. “I am far too old for those cold waters.” She said, playfully

nudging my shoulder. “I will wait for darshan and then maybe I will put my hands in the waters

later.” I smiled as Ranajit and Manish emerged shivering and bouncing from the far-side of the

water spouts, jogging towards the first kunda while dripping water down the slick stone incline.

“I can see why you think so.” I replied. “They look absolutely freezing.” “Oh yes.” She nodded.

“But the body is always cursed to suffer.” I did not ask whether she was referring to her own age

or to the relative temperature of the water. “But the soul does not suffer. Human bodies are like

all other bodies that way. They must eat, come together for children, defend, and die. You see

now how Shaligram is not stone, but body. They [the gods] come to us like this so that we may

know them and so that they may know us. Do you see? This is why government cannot get in the

way of pilgrims. We come and go in birth and death, and they can do nothing. We come and go

as pilgrims of Śālagrāma, and they can do nothing.”

Returning Home

After a day and a morning at Muktinath, it was time for the pilgrims to return home;

Ranajit and his family to New Delhi, Subashna and Ranju to Kathmandu, and the others to their

respective towns and villages. As we sipped our hot tea over plates of Tibetan bread and apples

299
and each of us still wrapped in thick blankets against the bite of the morning mountain air,

Ranajit endeavored to impart the last bits of wisdom before we would need to part ways.

“Remember.” He said, tapping his chest and reciting some of his extensive, learned, knowledge.

“Shaligram is not a rock. Shaligram is the real presence made known for imperfect Man to see

and commune with. Shaligram is not just for practicing concentration like the converts say. He is

so much more. When the eye reveals Him as accepting of your worship and your offerings, then

you know Him to be present and to be with you. The divine is real in the world. It is not possible

for people to reach the depths of consciousness by meditation alone or to communicate with the

formless Brahman. Shaligram and murti are therefore necessary for practicing religion because

religion is not an object but what you must experience. Some people will tell you that one day,

on your spiritual journey, you will have to move past idols. But that is because these people think

that Shaligram is an idol. But it is not. With my Shaligram I can share my happy moments and

my sadnesses. I can talk freely of troubles. When Shaligram is in my home, the family acts

appropriately to keep it clean and our food pure, and to welcome guests with joy. Our home is

now dham of Shaligram. What you do for Muktinath, you do for your home. They are the same

thing.”

An hour later, the entire group stood waiting among a small gathering of villagers and

horses for the bus to Jomsom to arrive. As we waited near the ramshackle coffee house and ticket

stand, sitting alone and forlornly at the base of a granite rise just outside the village, Ranajit

continued his narrative of re-belonging; rejecting the “otherness” of his nationality by seeking to

reject the structures of State that, in his view, had “othered” him. “It is like it was at Partition.”

He gazed solemnly towards the peak of Nilgiri far in the distance. “When governments come and

draw lines on the ground and tell you that you no longer belong over there. Or when men in

300
uniforms come and turn you away and say that you cannot go there because that land is another

government’s land. It doesn’t matter how many times you have been there, it doesn’t even matter

if you were born there. Now you have these papers [indicating his passport] that tell you where

you belong. But for us Hindus, this is an insult. It is an insult for Buddhists too. It is an insult to

all. Even to you, my friend.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “How could this be an insult to me?” “You’ll see one

day,” he responded. “You have been called by Shaligram just as much as we have. It doesn’t

matter that you come from America. It doesn’t matter that you are not Hindu. This land is

Śālagrāma and you have come here at the calling of Gandaki; the calling of Vishnu. Your soul is

revealed as Vaishnavi and now He goes back with you. This makes you a part of my family and

my family is a part of your family. You are my daughter and my sister, your Shaligram is my

son-in-law and your husband too. Your parents are my parents and even though your

grandmother is gone now, you have more grandmothers looking out for you. There are no papers

that can say this and no country far away will change this. It is all the same now. We have been

reborn together from Mother Gandaki today, so I am happy. I can welcome Shaligram as my son

and you as my daughter.”

We boarded the bus once again at just a quarter after nine in the morning. The ride from

Ranipauwa to Jomsom would entail another roughly two and half hours down the mountain,

winding precariously around hairpin turns and bumbling along just inches from drops a thousand

feet or more down the valley walls. As the striking green of Muktinath faded into the distance,

Subashna gripped the edges of her seat with white-knuckled determination. A trekker, also on

her way to Jomsom for tomorrow’s early morning flight to Pokhara, leaned over and, taking note

of the smooth black stones in Subashna’s lap, shouted over to her. “Oh! Are those the fossils that

301
people crack open for gold?” Her face scrunched up into an expression of both sadness and

concern, Subashna replied, “Well, yes, I suppose people will do that, but these are Shaligram

shila. I will not break them.” “Really?” The young woman, long brunette hair tightly drawn back

from her face, brushed at the thin patina of dust clinging to her pack. “I think I have one.” “You

have Shaligram?” Subashna asked excitedly. “Yeah, this old man gave it me while I was

trekking up to Muktinath.” She produced a palm-sized Shaligram from the front pouch of her

backpack, carefully balancing it on her hand for all of use to see as the bus careened violently to

one side. “That is a very, very, special stone. You must treat it with great care and respect.”

Subashna touched the Shaligram gently with her fingers before touching them to her own

forehead. The young woman looked apprehensive at first, and then, to everyone’s surprise she

held out her hand further. “Can I give it to you?”

For the entire ride to Jomsom, Subashna explained everything Shaligram that she could

manage while the trekker, who was on a long-term hiking trip through both India and Nepal,

nodded and asked the kinds of countless questions I remembered from the first time I had come

to Mustang. Finally, Subashna accepted the Shaligram and looked up at the woman. “Why would

you give this to me?” She asked. “Well,” the trekker responded, “I really do try to travel light

and it seems like such as odd thing to carry around a rock. And people keep saying that these are

really important but I don’t really understand what they mean. I mean, people explain it but I

don’t really understand it. Anyway, I just don’t think it’s right for me to be carrying it around.

Maybe later, you know?” Subashna smiled, holding the small collection of Shaligrams in her lap

close. “You brought Him here for me. Thank you. I will look after Him. And when you are

ready, He will come back to you. Just wait and see.”

302
 When we reached Jomsom, pilgrim and tourist parted with a hug and many wishes for

good luck and a good journey. As we unloaded our packs from the top of the bus and began the

slow walk back across the narrow wooden bridge towards new Jomsom and the airport,

Subashna once again walked beside me along the roaring riverbanks. “Now I have what I

wanted.” She took a deep breath of crisp air and river mist. “The Shaligram she gave me? It is

Mahashakti, the Mother Goddess, in the shape of the conch shell. I recognized it right away. This

will go to my daughters and they will look after Her and she will look after them. But I will have

to tell them to always be watchful, because they are also caring for Her only temporarily. One

day, someone will come and She will go with them. Daughters are like this, aren’t they?” “What

do you mean?” I asked once again. Subashna laughed and pointed at my wedding ring, the small

gold band I always wore when I traveled. “One day, I will give them out of my family in

marriage to their husbands’ families but first, I think that they will give Mahashakti; maybe to a

husband, maybe to a friend. I feel that she still has many places to go.”

The next morning, in front of the Lo Monthang Guesthouse, we parted ways in the same

place we had first joined up. “Do not forget.” Ranajit squeezed my shoulder. “When you go back

to America, you must not let distraction keep you from your journey with Shaligram. Do not let

modern things keep you from finding the truth. Not money or computers or things like that.

Always listen and see and I know that if you do, soon enough, we will see each other again. This

is our karma. So, don’t be sad to see us go. We walk the same paths now, so we are always

together. Shaligram binds us together.” As the plane hummed to life and then turned to speed

down the runway towards the two-thousand-foot drop-off at its end, I returned to the streets of

Jomsom. A short distance ahead, two women with large doko baskets piled high with wood,

flowers, and Shaligrams sat along the roadside watching as pilgrims wandered back towards their

303
lodgings for the day. Several pilgrims stopped, picked carefully through the pile of Shaligrams

laid out on a cloth and selected a few to take; offering sometimes two-hundred or three-hundred

rupees for a small stone and upwards of ten-thousand or twenty-thousand rupees for a large one.

“I wouldn’t usually buy one.” I overheard one pilgrim say in Hindi. “But I have to leave today

and I didn’t have time to go to Gandaki. I only want one, though. This is ok.”

304
Shaligrams for Sale in Kathmandu

305
 Chapter 8
Ashes and Immortality
Death and the Digital (After) Life
“Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.” ― Haruki Murakami

“If you trace the history of mankind, our evolution has been mediated by technology, and without
technology it's not really obvious where we would be. So I think we have always been cyborgs in this
sense.” -- Evgeny Morozov

The Death of Shaligram

After leaving Mustang for the final time in the spring of 2016, I returned to Kathmandu

along with a family of Shaligram pilgrims to their home in the bustling streets of the city center.

I had done this many times before, but this particular trip carried a note of finality to it I had not

expected. This would be my first experience with the death of a Shaligram brought about by the

death of a friend. Like many of the pilgrims at Muktinath, the Bhandari family had lived with

and cared for Shaligrams for generations; attending to their “births” during pilgrimage to the Kali

Gandaki, caring for them throughout their lives in the household, and now conducting their

funerals at the edge of river. But this was more than just a symbolic funeral for an aged deity, it

was an actual funeral for a beloved father.

Shrouded by thick billows of smoke, I stood on the cremation grounds of Pashupatinath

temple with a mixture of discomfort and solemnity. Parul Bhandari, the elderly father of Tanuj

Bhandari, had passed away two days prior and now lay at the edge of the ghat, wrapped in

saffron blankets and surrounded by his deeply mourning family. I had known both Parul and

Tanuj for over a year. As devout Hindus and as Shaligram sellers living in the Gaushala chowk

306
(neighborhood), they had taken a great interest in my work from the earliest days and had invited

me into their home and into Shaligram rituals on numerous occasions. It was Parul in particular

who had also long lamented the lack of more accessible materials on Shaligram practices and

who had continued to encourage me to draw and photograph as many shilas as I could with a

view towards one-day publishing a book (or putting it online) on Shaligram identification for all

devotees to read. Now, as I watched Parul’s three sons carry out the rituals required to bathe him

in the Bagmati River and then to send their father into the funerary pyre I was overcome with

sadness. Parul had often spoken of his anticipation of just such an event. Diagnosed with cancer

six months before his death, he had taken the time to sit with me, in what would be our last

shared meal on the floor of his home and explain what was then to become of his cherished

Shaligrams.

“First.” He began. “I have set aside Vaikuntha (a Shaligram with two distinctly layered

chakras representing the relative positions of Heaven and Earth). Vaikuntha will go with me. We

will go together and He will carry me past the temptations of rebirth. We will go to God. Once I

am there, I will send Him back. He will be reborn in the river, made new again. Into a new life

and find his way to a new family. I wish Him the best of course, though I will miss Him. This

Vaikuntha was my grandfather’s and then my father’s. He has been with us a long time.”

“He will not go to Tanuj?” I asked.

“No.” He replied. “Look at Him now, so old and broken. Like me. We have seen much

He and I. No, Tanuj will have all the others you see here. They will comfort him and guide him

when I am gone. They are younger, more robust, so they will go with my grandchildren when the

time comes for them to leave home. But now, Vaikuntha and I will go. It is our time.”

307
 Now, just a handful of weeks later, I watched as Tanuj laid his father’s body on the stone

slab at the river’s edge, his feet just touching the murky waters. The Vaikuntha Shaligram was

then unwrapped from a cloth bag and placed in Parul’s folded hands at the completion of the

rituals that marked him as a man of the Chhetri (Brahmin) caste. As the family then carried him

up onto the cremation stand the attendant pujari offered a flame to light his mouth (to burn out

any last bits of bad karma) and the fragrant sticks that would begin the cremation fires in earnest.

Tanuj hesitated. Taking one final look at his father, he touched his own head to his father’s

forehead and then to the Shaligram in his hands.

“Be quick.” He whispered, tightening Parul’s fingers over the small shila. “Take buwa

home. But don’t forget to hurry back. Come and visit us when you can. We miss him so much

already.” 170

As Parul’s wife and daughters-in-law wailed behind us, the fire was set. Later, once the

family had dispersed, the pujari and tender-of-the-dead would gather up the ashes and the

Shaligram and release them into the river. With that, no more would physically remain of Parul

but the memories and memorials of his family, but this would be cause for later celebration.

Parul would not be reborn into the world of suffering ever again. Rather, as a practitioner of

Shaligram veneration and having passed through the material world with Shaligram at his side,

he would now remain forever in the realm of moksha (liberation) and in a state of oneness with

the divine, where all barriers of belonging and identity (of difference) would finally fall away.

Unlike Clifford Geertz, who once described human beings as bestowed “with the natural

equipment to live a thousand kinds of life” but who are doomed from the outset to “end in the

end having only lived one” (1973: 45), Parul and his family would go on to merge the two;

where a kind of life and an actual life might be repeated; ended and begun again. The Shaligram

308
would return, to move on and begin the cycle anew. For those who venerate Shaligram, this is a

cycle which cannot, and should not, be hindered.

Parul would also live on in his Shaligrams. As a beloved ancestor, his photograph and his

Shaligrams would be venerated and given offerings by his family right beside all of the other

household deities. They would be brought out to attend festivals and special events, such as

weddings or other funeral feasts (See Chapter 4). On the first anniversary of his death and

cremation, one of his Shaligrams would be chosen to return to the Kali Gandaki on pilgrimage so

that his family might perform the shraddha ritual on the river banks to honor his life and passing

and to await the birth of new Shaligrams in the ever-continuing cycle of family life. Finally, he

would enter into the narrative of family history and the stories of his pilgrimages to Mustang and

the Shaligrams that appeared to him there would inspire new generations of sons, daughters,

grandchildren, and great-grandchildren to continue the work of extending their familial and

community ties beyond the transient world of human beings and into the world of the dead and

the divine.

309
 Cremation Ghats at Pashupatinath Temple, Kathmandu

Shaligram Online

As the Diaspora moves further and further away from traditional pilgrimage networks

and temples, the online world is fast becoming a new kind of proxy for the sacred rivers and

temples that once organized Shaligram mobility. As one moves out from Mustang pilgrimage,

Shaligram political practice transforms; from a local and regional concern to a global one; where

concerns about the regional politics of isolation are translated into concerns about global politics

of Westernization and commodification. For those unable to physically or financially undertake

Shaligram pilgrimage, there is the option of buying Shaligrams online. In fact, a brief Google

search will turn up any number of Shaligram sellers based in Nepal and in India as well as

current listings for stones on Ebay, Etsy, or Amazon. Occasionally in the hands of rock and

mineral shops, Shaligrams also turn up in stores throughout South Asia, as well as in Australia

and the United States from time to time. For Shaligram devotees, the preponderance of

310
Shaligram sellers in Mustang, in Pokhara, and in Kathmandu often presents something of a

religious conundrum: buy a Shaligram in defiance of religious bans regarding placing monetary

values on sacred stones or potentially go home without any Shaligram at all.

The abundance of Shaligrams for sale online presents an even more contentious issue: is

buying a Shaligram online and having it shipped analogous to pilgrimage (specifically in terms

of mobility) or does it represent a shift from the traditional kinship networks of Shaligram

exchange into the more troublesome commodified networks of object exchange? In other words,

as long as the Shaligram is moving and being exchanged, are the same merits acquired or are

they suspect? Responses to these questions vary greatly. For some practitioners, the necessity of

purchasing Shaligrams online is viewed as an inevitable consequence of the challenges and

restrictions of actually going on pilgrimage to Mustang. For others, it is viewed as a result of

globalization and modernity in the age of Kali Yuga--as spirituality in general is reduced and

corrupted, so to must Shaligram practitioners adapt to changing times. As I sat in the living room

of Priya Krishnamurthi back in Boston, she explained:

My family is from the area around Chennai. We moved to the US about ten years ago.
My husband is a doctor here in Boston and our children now go to school here as well.
Back in Chennai though, we have strong Shaligram traditions. Many temples and many
households have Shaligram, but we didn’t take any with us when we moved. I regret that
very much. My husband went on pilgrimage last year because of this. We needed to
reconnect with our traditions so that our children could learn more about them and not
forget them. A lot of people are afraid of even having Shaligram right now because they
think the pujas are too difficult. This scares me because it means that our traditions won’t
be passed on. They’ll be forgotten. Many times, parents and grandparents don’t even tell
their children the secret mantras or teach them the pujas because of this. My mother said
we would never keep Shaligrams because there was no time to care for them properly, so
best not to have them. But most of the Shaligrams he brought back we have given away
now. Some to the temple here and some to families in the area that we know. It was
important. There was sickness and in one family a baby died, so we gave Shaligram to
the mother for her baby. A beautiful Radha-Krishna for her to look after and to ask for a
new baby. But we can’t afford to go on pilgrimage again and we are Americans now, so
even if we went back home [to India] and started from there, we couldn’t cross the border

311
 like we used to. We are separated. So, I am looking at these websites. They charge so
much for Shaligram but I think of them as a blessing. Shaligram is part of our traditions,
it’s part of who we are as Hindus, so if this is the only way for us to get Shaligram here in
America than that is how He will come. 171

Rising markets for Shaligram stones are often narrated as the result of both national

tensions and economic hardship. These narratives, however, also bolster growing concerns about

the continued availability of Shaligrams overall. “If sellers continue like they have been,”

Remarked Lakshmi Muni, an Indian immigrant living in New York City. “There won’t be any

Shaligrams left in Kali Gandaki. I only got my Shaligram by chance. I was going down the street

to get my groceries when I saw this shop filled with Indian and Nepali items. I thought maybe I

should go in and see if they had any puja things since mine are so old and some of my things are

missing. But you should imagine my surprise when I saw Shaligram in one of the display cases.

The shop owner said that he had found some fossils while he was trekking in Nepal and he

decided to bring them back for his shop. He had no idea what they were! Well, of course I

bought it right away and I keep it with my deities for darshan every day. But I worry a lot now. I

see so many for sale on the internet and I know sellers take them from the river to sell. Now it is

almost like we have to buy them because we won’t be able to get them from Gandaki anymore.”

“Do you think it is mostly people who cannot go on pilgrimage who buy them?” I asked.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I asked this of a seller in India once. He told me that he does

most of his business with the Hare Krishnas, you know, the Vaishnavas from Bengal? Because

so many of them are Westerners and they live here in America or in England and they can’t go

on pilgrimage, so they buy Shaligrams. And they have so much money, you know? I think it is

also because many sacred places will not allow Westerners to come inside. You have to be born

of a Hindu family to go to Pashupatinath, otherwise you have to stay outside. It is complicated.

They have become Hindu but many see them as not Hindu. So, when they go for Shaligram,

312
some people see them as tourists even if they see themselves as pilgrims. Maybe it is better for

them to buy Shaligram if that is what they want.”

Among many Shaligram practitioners, concerns about the disappearance of Shaligrams

from Nepal were often couched in competing arguments of cultural appropriation and Hinduism

as an evangelical, global, religion. Stereotypes about young, white, Western women who visited

Nepal and India looking for yoga instruction or for spiritual tourism and young, white, Western,

men sporting deadlocks and Buddhist prayer beads featured prominently in many narratives

about the blurry lines between serious religious conversion, religious commodification, and

cultural appropriation. For global religions like Hinduism and Tibetan Buddhism, which have

long operated on a logic of evangelical salvation, conversion rhetoric, and the equal access of all

people to the means of liberation, there remains a central tension: how to reconcile universalist

theology with a need to preserve their cultural and ritual practices in the face of persecution,

colonialism, and dilution in the world-wide diaspora. Typically, Western converts to Hinduism

are often treated as beneficiaries of Vedic theology and viewed as elevated from a culturally and

spiritually impoverished homeland (meaning: the modern West) and into a new perspective of

meaning and fulfillment due to the charity of teachers and gurus. Western converts are also

sought out for their material and political privileges so that they may be leveraged as allies in

advocating for specific political subjectivities (i.e., Free Tibet, preservation of Hindu India, etc.),

further complicating the lines between what is appropriation and what is conversion.

For Shaligram devotees, the added concerns about the buying and selling of Shaligrams

on expansive global markets echoed these issues. At what point could Western converts be

considered “Hindu enough” for Shaligram practice? Did new religious movements, such as the

Hare Krishnas, who claim wide networks of Western converts as well as Indian and Bangladeshi

313
devotees, have sufficient ties to more ancient traditional contexts to warrant inclusion in

Shaligram rituals and exchange? If a Shaligram appeared to a non-Hindu was it not the same as

appearing to a practicing Hindu given God’s own agency in Shaligram mobility? What did it

mean for Shaligram veneration when it was now all too easy just to buy a sacred stone than to

chance the dangers of the Kali Gandaki in the high Himalayas of Mustang? Ultimately, concerns

about the buying and selling of Shaligrams outside of South Asia underscore the challenges for

Hindus, converts to Hinduism, and tourists (spiritual or otherwise) in further negotiating the links

between religion and politics and in deciding how nationality and belonging can be mobilized in

response. In the end, what is the responsibility of the tourist to the pilgrim and vice versa, or the

convert to the native? Is it possible to import beliefs and not their accompanying cultural

frameworks and objects? Where does religion or nationality end and culture begin?

Lakshmi’s words cast me back to the beginning of my fieldwork in West Bengal in 2012.

While traveling out from Kolkata for several months, I had visited the Hare Krishna pilgrimage

town of Mayapur and it was in a village just a short distance away that I had actually first

encountered Shaligrams myself. Shaligrams were common throughout Mayapur, both in the

temple of Sri Sri Radha Madhava (Radha-Krishna) and in a number of home altars. My field

notes and photograph folders brimmed, in fact, with pictures of Shaligrams dressed in headwraps

and shoulder scarves, sitting on pillows at the feet of Krishna in the temple, or resting on brass

stands for abisheka (ritual bathing), or artfully arranged on puja trays for daily home darshan. At

the time, my questions as to the origins of the stones were usually simply met with the response

of “Nepal” or “Kali Gandaki.”

I hadn’t thought, in those early days, to probe further into the precise methods by which

each individual had acquired the Shaligrams in their collections rather than simply asking where

314
the stone itself had come from. It would only be much later, and with much more travel of my

own, that I would begin to see the extent of Shaligram mobility and accumulation in worship

throughout the homes and temples of northern India. Accumulation so highly prized, in fact, that

it occasionally resulted in collections of Shaligrams so massive as to be cared for by virtue of

entire carts of flowers, whole gardens of fruit and vegetables, and in one case, daily bathing with

a garden hose. But in another sense, the narrative of my own fieldwork had come full circle: I

had begun my work among the Gaudiya Vaishnavas and Hare Krishnas of West Bengal and was

now ending my formal interviews with references to the very same. I had also spent time with a

number of Shaligram sellers in Pokhara and in Kathmandu, Nepal. More often than not, I was

again staggered by the sheer volume of stones they possessed.

One seller near the Temple of the Sleeping God (Vishnu) in Kathmandu had eight fifty-

pound rice sacks filled with Shaligram stones. Another seller near Pashupatinath had an entire

room dedicated to a collection of hundreds of thousands. And always, they were collecting more.

As merchants, they were interested in the best prices for their wares, but as practitioners

themselves, they also worried about the significant rise of foreign buyers in just the last twenty

years. For many Buddhist sellers, the question of Puranic restrictions was not central to their

concerns about buying and selling sacred stones however. Rather, they viewed the selling of

Shaligrams (to either Hindus or Westerners) as part and parcel of the broader commodification of

religious objects in Buddhism widely. Additionally, given that sacred objects in the home were

generally assumed to benefit the household whether not the people within it “believed” in the

deity, tradition, or ritual, the selling of Shaligram stones was therefore often perceived to be just

as meritorious to the buyer and seller as the exchange of any other object of veneration (such as

prayer wheels or mantra booklets) and would not bring either to harm regardless of whether or

315
not money was also exchanged. Hindu sellers were, on the other hand, more cautious regarding

the Puranic rules and typically kept their collections separated between their own household

deity-stones and those which had not yet been ritually tied and were therefore still “moveable”

through donation requests. It was only a short time later, however, that the more clandestine

aspects of modern Shaligram exchange took a new and even more surprising turn.

Not long before my meeting with Lakshmi and her family, I was introduced to the

Shaligram Dark Net. Like all Dark Web sites, the Shaligram Dark Net is composed of a series of

networked webpages and forums not indexed by internet search engines and several of which

require a formal invitation by a current member to access. I first learned of this network of

websites through a Shaligram devotee I had known since beginning my fieldwork in India.

Vikram Shah, a young man in his early twenties, had come to visit me in Kolkata during a short

trip near the end of my fieldwork in Nepal. While I was asking him about his experience with

buying Shaligrams a few months prior he leaned in and pursed his lips before responding. “You

don’t have to buy them always. There are other ways now you can reach Shaligram that don’t

mean going to a seller or really even to a temple if there isn’t one near you.”

“You mean a way to get Shaligrams without buying one or going on pilgrimage?” I

asked, the skepticism likely apparent in my tone. He nodded. “We have an online community

now.” He pulled his laptop from his backpack. “I will show you. It’s a place where we can post

photos of our Shaligrams so that everyone everywhere in the world can have darshan and we can

also write stories about Shaligram, like how they came to us and also like, how we can identify

them. You can also put your contact information up here and if someone needs Shaligram or

can’t get Shaligram, we have forums you can go to and if someone can offer one that they

already have, then you can get Shaligram by exchange. You know, like how it is supposed to be.

316
Since so many Hindus are in America now or in England and don’t have their village temples or

anything like that, they can come here.” The exchange Vikram was careful to mention here

referred specifically to acquiring a Shaligram without the use of money. In many cases, devotees

would offer other community members an “extra” Shaligram they were willing to part with or, in

other cases where they had inherited more stones than they felt comfortable caring for, several

from their collections. These exchanges were then finalized through private messages, where a

Shaligram might either simply be free (if the recipient was willing to cover shipping costs) or

was traded for other devotional items, deity icons, or ritual implements. But more importantly,

even online, the relationships created via exchange were preserved; where the impersonality and

potential karmic pollution of money was rejected in favor of maintaining the kinship-like

mobility of each Shaligram from family to family and within the community of devotees (a la

Mauss 1954).

As we moved from page to page using the haphazard links and oddly placed images and

flashing icons, I took note of the confusing and rather labyrinthian design of the entire set-up.

“Shaligram Net was started back in 2001, I think.” Vikram tapped thoughtfully at his keyboard.

“It was never anything formal or official or anything like that. You just invited people to your

page and then they could link their pages with your page and it just kind of grew from there.”

“But why make it a dark net?” I asked. “Why not have it easy to find for everyone?” Vikram

shook his head sternly. “No, you can’t do that. We need a space where people aren’t asking

questions all the time. It’s just for us to talk about Shaligram with others who know Shaligram

and to keep our community together. We can’t always go on pilgrimage but we can come here.

Also, we don’t want, you know, Westerners, not like you though, I mean regular Westerners,” I

317
smiled at the back-handed compliment but let him continue. “Coming here by accident and then

wanting Shaligram.”

“Do you mean that you don’t want people who don’t know anything about Shaligram

asking for one?” “Yes, yes!” He nodded. “Like that. If Westerners know about Shaligram, then

they will want one and they will probably go and buy one. If Westerners start buying Shaligram

then there won’t be any more. They will buy them all and Shaligrams will become expensive like

diamonds, you know?” “Expensive because they are rare?” I asked. “No, expensive because

people with lots of money will buy them. Sellers [meaning Shaligram sellers who seek to sell

stones online] will raise the price because they will want Westerners to buy, not Indians like me

with no money.” I mentioned the parallels with similar concerns about trekkers and pilgrims in

Mustang. “It’s the same.” Vikram hung his head sadly. “It’s about money. That’s why we have

Shaligram Net. To hide Shaligram from money. It’s also because we don’t want, like I said,

people who don’t understand. Sometimes people just see things on the internet and then they

think that is what they should do or what they should be. Shaligram requires learning and they

don’t want to learn. They just want to have one.” 172

Vikram’s concerns regarding the buying and selling of Shaligrams echoed a common

refrain among Shaligram practitioners who voiced concerns about the commodification of the

stones. In many ways, their overall worries about markets for Shaligrams reflected their

experiences with a variety of precious and semi-precious minerals, crystals, and other fossils

typically found in the geology sections of “science” stores, in New Age gift shops, and on the

shelves at specialty mall outlets. Since placing monetary values on sacred stones is expressly

forbidden by Purān͎ ic scriptures (and is a widely held stricture in Shaligram practice), this anxiety

about Shaligrams as “resources” (Ferry 2008: 52) remained situated within broader concerns

318
about those who might seek to exploit religion for profit. Furthermore, where Elizabeth Ferry’s

discussion of “resources” is most salient here is in the view that Shaligrams would become

objects whose purpose was to generate profit (through various kinds of use- and exchange-

values) rather than to facilitate kinship and community ties and that Shaligrams would become

further “objectified” in that their value might be measured and transacted rather than maintaining

their status as divine-persons whose value should remain ephemeral and priceless. In other

discussions, there were also concerns about the view of Shaligrams as “scarce.” As Vikram made

note of more than once, if Shaligram pilgrimage became inaccessible then the markets for selling

Shaligram stones were almost undoubtable going to arise for no other reason than buying and

selling would become the only way to acquire one.

Because mobility plays a significant role in the construction of Shaligrams both as

persons and as sacred objects, practitioners concerns over the loss of “free” access to the stones

remained part of their overall fear that the movement of Shaligrams (through both physical and

digital channels) would become further directed by the wealth of high-caste or Diasporic

pilgrims and participants and by the affluence of Western nations generally. With additional

concerns about the ability of practitioners to continue passing down Shaligrams through their

families, temporality and mobility became the main viewpoints which encompassed the notion

that Shaligrams created spatial and temporal “paths” (Giddens 1995) of kinship and community

connection through their mobility across sacred landscapes. If Shaligrams were then to take on

the more abstract market relationships of producer (collector/miner) and consumer, their

relationships with pilgrims and ritual practitioners as familial and community kin would be in

grave danger. For Vikram and for many contributors to the forums on Shaligram Net, the

319
metaphor was that of human trafficking; “if you wouldn’t buy and sell your daughter, then you

should never buy and sell Shaligram” (Forum commenter, 2016).

I returned to the Shaligram Net several times that month, reading and reviewing various

Shaligram altar set-ups and stories of acquiring Shaligrams for the first time. In the end, there

were hundreds of pages available; everything from long sections of text taken from pilgrimage

literatures not widely available in print, repeated references to Rao’s Śālagrāma Kosha and

requests for copies of the book (it is often difficult to find outside of India), discussion boards

dedicated to teasing out the nuances of individual Shaligram identifications, impassioned stories

about acquiring Shaligrams in strange and far-away places (including Russia and New Zealand!),

and arguments over the details of various traditional ritual practices and the proper ways in

which Shaligram should be cared for.

As I continued, several themes continued to emerge: the theological and ontological

contention that Westerners could not understand Shaligrams as persons [echoing Elizabeth

Povinelli’s (2016) ontological schism between Life and Nonlife, or geontology, which she

identifies as the organizing logic of late liberalism], the concern that Shaligrams might be treated

as decorations or souvenirs (opting for something similar to Anna Tsing’s characterization of

“non-human companion species” (2015)), and the sense that Shaligram mobility and exchange

was fundamentally changing in the face of global migration [what Tim Ingold (2011) would refer

to as a “line,” where every being is instantiated in the world as a path of movement through a

particular way of life]. As Shaligrams on the web continue to expand and draw communities of

practitioners together, it is also exceedingly likely that the divine-person ammonites of

Hinduism, Buddhism, and Bon will open up new avenues of inquiry in digital cultural studies.

320
 Digital anthropology, for example, is concerned with the ways in which digital and

virtual technologies change how people live their lives, as well as how technology changes the

methods anthropologists can use to do ethnography (Thompson 2012) —a question I struggled

with a great deal in the course of my own work. The concept of the “cyborg” also feels

potentially relevant here (Haraway 2000). As the study of how humans define humanness in

relationship to machines, as well as the study of science and technology as activities that can

shape and be shaped by culture, Shaligrams online present a fascinating new world of

possibilities in demonstrating how people build networks of information exchange and

community belonging. But rather than strictly through new amalgamations of organic and non-

organic parts (but here stone and not a machine), these new systems might potentially include

Shaligrams who are fossil, deity, and persons themselves—all at once living, dead, and divine.

Ultimately, through the Shaligram Dark Net as well as the global proliferation of Shaligrams

more generally, other human distinctions, like life and death, human and machine, virtual and

real, may continue to disappear and in so doing, redefine what it means to have or not have a

body in its “natural state.” 173 A short time later, I was able to contact one of the more prolific

posters, Dasarath Chand Hari, and truly bring my ethnographic inquiries into the digital age.

“I have two Shaligrams in my home.” He told me. Our interview was conducted over

Skype: me in Nepal and he in West Bengal, India. “I have a Sri Ramkrishna Paramahansa. This

is the latest incarnation of Vishnu. The Bengali guru who lived in the 1800s.174 I also have a

Kurma Shaligram given to me by my guru. I have never been on pilgrimage though. I wish very

much that I could but there is never the money or the time.” He chuckled. “That actually makes

you a higher devotee than me, since you have been to Kali Gandaki!” It was an easy segue from

there to ask him about Shaligram Net and the challenges of pilgrimage. “Oh yes, we have

321
Shaligram Net now. It is good because it shows everyone that there are many different paths,

many different opinions. There is no one path to Shaligram just as there is no one Hindu path.

Hinduism is a colonialist idea anyway.”

Dasarath’s view of Hinduism as a colonial concept was not particularly unusual. Both

scholars of Hinduism and many Hindus themselves have come to view “religion” (here meaning

a category which comprises a set of practices and beliefs supposedly found in every culture) as

an idea distinct to the modern period. Hinduism, in this case, then emerged in the encounter

between modernity’s greatest colonial power, Great Britain, and the subsequent imperial control

of India beginning in the 17th century. Around the turn of the 19th century, officials of the

British colonial state and Christian missionaries then helped to cement the idea that the variety of

regional and sectarian spiritual and ritual traditions in India were sufficiently coherent to be

construed as a single, systematic, religion (Pennington 2005). Shaded by the articulation and

development of the concept of “religion” in the West, this encounter then produced the now

common idea that Hinduism is a singular unified religion. An idea that many of those called

Hindu continue to reject.

I stopped to consider his words for a second. “Is Shaligram Net a way to decolonize

Shaligrams?” He bounced in his chair, “This is how I see it yes. Shaligrams weren’t very

important to the British so there was never a problem of the British trying to steal them, but

when they tried to say what Hindus were and what Hinduism was, Shaligrams became part of

that anyway. On Shaligram Net, it is only us devotees who get to talk and who get to decide.

This is our tradition, inside Hindu, inside Buddhist, inside all other religions we have Shaligram.

It is the essence, I want you to understand. Shaligram physically inside murti, Shaligram inside

religion in the same way. Our purpose is to “see” God [finger air quotes in actual interview], you

322
know? Shaligram is the manifestation of Mahavishnu, Param Purush. He is chosen among all

gods to serve as Shaligram. I have been drawn to Shaligram since I was a small child. I’m a good

student but I wanted to go beyond books. But I needed to be careful of all the businessmen

selling holy shilas. They know how to identify them very well but they will sometimes lie to you

to get you to buy one shila or another. I would rather wait though. A Shaligram comes to you

because of what you have done in your past lives. If you did good deeds in previous births,

Shaligram will come.” In Dasarath’s view then, de-colonizing Shaligrams via internet forums

meant that Shaligram practitioners did not necessarily need to identify as Hindu (or Buddhist, or

Jain, etc.) but only specifically as Shaligram devotees and as a result, outside forces (read

Westerners) would not be able to further define or influence Shaligram practices or community

identity in a time of relative instability.

“So, you don’t think people should ever buy a Shaligram?” I pressed. “Not if you do not

have to,” Dasarath replied. “Shaligram is not a joke. It’s not funny. It should never be part of

consumerism, you know? It hurts us all that someone would buy it and just put it on a shelf or

throw it away! When you just use money, you don’t understand how important something is and

it is easy for you to stop caring.” I thanked Dasarath for his time. “Of course.” He smiled. “Just

remember, Santana Dharma [Hinduism] teaches us that you must journey inwards and outwards

to reach God. Even the Bhagavad-Gita is about God’s journey. Any way you want to reach Him,

He will appear to you in that way so you can. If you must reach him on pilgrimage, He comes on

pilgrimage. If you must reach him through people online because you cannot go to Him, then He

comes to you online. God goes where he needs to. He will always find a way.”

The movement of Shaligram pilgrimage is thus a complex and deeply integrated matter.

As a performative action, the sense of movement surrounding Shaligrams effects (though not

323
always consciously) multiple social and cultural transformations; from the life-cycle of birth and

death, to marriage and migration, to decolonialization. In his own work, Surinder Bharwaj

explored the idea of movement as integral to creating an integrative pan-Hindu sacred space; but

a less functionalist approach (e.g., Sallnow) would still see Shaligram pilgrimage and practice as

involving the mapping and embodiment of certain kinds of spaces and the claiming of specific

places as belonging to one identity or another.

Shaligram pilgrimage also resonates with De Certeau’s notion of walking as constitutive

of social spaces in much the same way as speech acts are said to constitute language. But for

those constrained to view (to take darshan) and purchase Shaligrams online, the movement of

Shaligram from seller to devotee becomes a kind of pilgrimage by proxy. Shaligram pilgrimage

from this vantage point entails physical immobility with movement, cultivated through the

religious imagination, realized through the transportation of sacred objects, and sacralized

through secular networks of economic trade. In other words, just as ammonites are “fossilized”

through various discourses and networks involving geological time, scientific discovery, and the

Anthropocene’s preoccupation with human destruction of nature; Shaligram sellers (as opposed

to devotees on the Shaligram Dark Net and elsewhere) make Shaligrams vendible by using

economic mobility as a stand-in for pilgrimage and the seller’s home collection as a surrogate for

community exchange (Povinelli 2016).

Shaligram devotees, however, tend to view Shaligram pilgrimage (in whatever form it

might take) as an embodied action. For this reason, I am inclined to leverage the

phenomenological approach of Karve and Frey (and to some degree Sallnow’s and DeJarlais’

ethnographic work) to reorient this analysis towards seeing Shaligram pilgrimage as the catalyst

for certain kinds of bodily experiences; namely a kind of recapitulation of birth, bodily exchange,

324
and physical human interaction. In other words, though Shaligram sellers might legitimate their

exchanges using a symbolic doubling of a pilgrim’s physical mobility with virtual or spiritual

mobility, many Shaligram practitioners tend to reject this linkage in favor of reiterating the

agency of Shaligrams themselves as divine-persons who come and go in the lives of people of

their own accord and for their own reasons. Recalling Urry (2002), such corporeal co-presences

like stone and body (and with whatever correspondences between the two are perceived) then

result in shared experience between the living and the divine, between material bodies and

immaterial consciousness. Such an embodied experience then, cannot be manufactured through

commodified exchanges no matter how much the kinds of mobility involved in Shaligram

practices might correspond.

Taking Shaligram pilgrimage as movement within layered fields of meaning then

ultimately helps to further contextualize the meaning of “pilgrimage” within Shaligram

practitioners’ own understandings of mobility (see also Eickelman and Piscatori 1990, Tapper

same volume) where such notions of space, place, and landscape are blurred between actual

physical and geographic spaces, sacred sites (dhams), and mythological locations and ideological

states-of-being. The various methods of Shaligram mobility may then take on especially charged

meanings as markers of difference (pilgrim versus tourist) just as they may become markers of

sameness (Hindu is Buddhist, Nepal is India). And finally, it may yet prove continually

troublesome for devotees as they move into the digital realm, negotiating their place and the

place of Shaligrams in new and untested virtual worlds. Indeed, it is a delicate time for post-

colonial Shaligram revival.

In the end, Shaligram pilgrimage refutes the framework of pilgrimage as a nostalgic

heritage journey, where tourists from a broader diaspora return “home” to get in touch with their

325
historical past. This is because, for the most part, virtually no Shaligram pilgrim comes from a

family, tradition, or historical community originating in Mustang (and local Mustangis view

Shaligrams as part of broader networks of spiritual versus political mobility which is marked as

indigenous to the landscape but not necessarily to the people). However, they do experience the

same intense emotions and strong sense of belonging associated with expulsion and exile (exile

from Shaligram pilgrimage itself or historical and national exile from elsewhere). Therefore,

Shaligram pilgrimage isn’t so much a symbolic homecoming as it is a reconnection with the

subjective reality of myths and an imagined past that provides a degree of ontological security

and community connection within the whirl of contemporary political change.

Shaligram pilgrims are not attempting to reassert ties of blood and territory in the way

that other pilgrimage contexts might (such as “roots-tourism”), but rather seek to celebrate the

freedom of their long-held traditions from fixity. This is why Shaligram pilgrims shift between

contexts just as much as they walk from place to place, where mobility invokes, plays on,

appropriates, and leverages other understandings of journeying; from karmic rebirth to

international migration. This is also why the movement of Shaligram communities into online

worlds might be so initially appealing—where the elusive and fluid nature of digital interactions

can continue to upend authoritative (or colonialist) pronouncements about what constitutes

proper Shaligram practice, proper Hinduism, or a proper devotee. Movement, therefore, cannot

be taken in this case as any sort of essentialized category (see also Rapport and Dawson 1998:

23), but rather as a continuous layering of cultural contexts that attend to change over time.

Lastly, as a kind of movement as metaphor, Shaligram pilgrimage invokes a variety of

other pilgrimage and mobility-based discourses aside from purely physical instantiations – with

Shaligrams as the core link between diaspora and homeland. Just as Morinis referred to concepts

326
of “inner pilgrimage” or “life as a journey” metaphors common to Hinduism and Buddhism, the

Shaligram pilgrimage example demonstrates the ways in which daily life is distilled in

pilgrimage (and pilgrimage distilled in daily life) as a way of socially commenting on the state of

being in transit or continuously becoming as one lives life. Given the oft-mentioned historical

contexts of Indian and Pakistan’s Partition, the Partition of Bangladesh, the invasion of Tibet,

and the closing of Nepal’s borders, these concerns over the sovereignty of mobility, such as they

are expressed in transnational Shaligram pilgrimage, thus perpetuate an ideology of both person,

place, and object as belonging to identities that lie outside of national contexts, as being in

Nepal, but not Nepali.

Paths in Stone

The connecting thread that links Shaligram dimensions of mobility in pilgrimage, in

death, and in the digital world is therefore movement as power; movement as transformation, and

of accepting or rejecting previous structures of belonging. From the perspective of anthropology,

this work then contributes an analysis that links networks of place-making and movement across

landscapes with networks of kinship, identity, and exchange throughout the life-course of

families and communities. This doesn’t mean, however, that Shaligram mobility can be reduced

to a physiological act and a cultural performance. Rather, Shaligrams intersect with multiple

different contexts and processes of meaning, movement, and identity-making, from the macro-

national level in Nepal to the micro-localized level of individual households and into the global

reach of the South Asian Diaspora.

327
 Within the macro-context of Nepal’s political economy of travel and the globalization of

religious cultures, Shaligram pilgrimage dynamically interplays with issues of outward

transnational migration and inward tourism; where the religious practitioner seeks to reconnect

with cultural histories and traditions by returning to sacred sites but views the tourist and the

merchant as potentially threatening to those traditions by replacing sacred travel with

commodified travel. At the micro-localized level, the embodiment of and continuous replaying

of idealized (karmic) life-cycles within the practice of pilgrimage and outward mobility locates it

within broader fields of action where multiple potential lives, both divine and human, are played

out across sacred geographies and architectures that provide the material and symbolic

background for the motion itself. This is why so many Shaligram practitioners express concern

about the growing inaccessibility, militarization, and national homogenization of sacred

landscapes. On the global level, Shaligram mobility speaks to concerns about the loss of

community within the Diaspora and about the rise of neo-liberal capitalism as a way of

converting the West using a watered-down religious practice indicative of cultural decline.

Shaligram life-cycles as ritual and performance then involves a number of unpredictable

encounters between entities, cultural and theological forms, personal experiences, and memory

which are all translated through physical acts of the body (human and stone).

Over the course of this research, I often found the rather static terms of ‘frame’ and

‘landscape’ difficult to manage in an attempt to describe a practice, and to some degree a

community, that is and remains incredibly fluid. This is especially true because Shaligram

practitioners do not form any kind of easily discernable bounded community. Rather, they are

linked through shared practice and shared experience even though they may ascribe to various

religious traditions, nationalities, ethnicities, and backgrounds otherwise incommensurate with

328
one another. My aim, therefore, has not been to force Shaligram mobility into any particular

theoretical framework or category of my own devising, but to demonstrate how the phenomena

of Shaligram veneration is both transient and permanent depending on the contexts within which

the mobility is viewed and how this very mobility is often translated into political practice.

Further examinations of Shaligrams will then likely be productive outside of the

‘movement frame:’ for instance, examining Shaligram mobility and practice in relation to other

types of social theory involving consumption and the commodification of religion, the post-

modern contestation of symbols, modernity and popular culture, economics and exchange, and

the gendering of objects and space. Ideas which, for lack of time and page space, cannot be

extensively examined in the present work. Needless to say, the river metaphor of Shaligram

mobility continues to hold water and there are still many streams for us to trace.

Shaligram practices involve representations of mobility within multiple diverse cultural,

social, and religious contexts. One obvious connecting theoretical theme is the continuous

sacralization and re-sacralization of movement and space. This active sacralization, as opposed

to the label of sacred, emphasizes the often partial, performative, and contested character of

Mustang’s appropriated landscapes and people as distinctly “holy.” In that way, the ‘meta-

movement’ of Shaligram pilgrimage (Simon and Eade 2004) – the combination of mobility and

some degree of reflexivity as to its meaning or function – shows how Shaligram pilgrims often

reflect upon, embody, and sometimes even retroactively reform past journeys and experiences

through the context of Shaligram veneration. The Shaligram stones themselves also provide an

additional set of ambiguities; themselves pilgrims on a geologic and mythological scale.

Constituted as divine persons through their relationships with other persons, places, and

things, Shaligrams are often metonymically associated with the self, the family, and the

329
community at large and help to structure social relationships concerning ‘proper’ or ‘meritorious’

interactions among all involved. This reflects, in many ways, the overall constitution of persons

in South Asia, not as Western-type individuals but as DeLeuzian dividuals--where it is one’s

interactions with and relative ties (maya) to family, birthplaces, objects, and identities that

constitute personhood over any sense of internal emotional and cognitive awareness within the

confines of a physical body (Lamb 2004). As the next chapter will detail, this is also the very

process by which Shaligrams themselves “return home” as kin and become persons; bodies who

happen to be stones. Shaligram pilgrimage is then a journey within many and about many other

journeys, where history is transformed into myth and ritual and back again, and theology is a

matter of experience and practice and not simply textual exegesis. Shaligram is the journey

without end.

330
Krishna Govinda Shaligram, Mayapur, India

331
 Chapter 9
The Social Life of Stones
Shaligrams as Kin
“A man is always a teller of stories, he lives surrounded by his own stories and those of other people, he
sees everything that happens to him in terms of these stories and he tries to live his life as if he were
recounting it.”
~Jean-Paul Sartre, The Words, 1963
The courtyard of Dinesh and Sangeeta Khanal’s three-story concrete Kathmandu home

was decorated for a wedding. Garlands of marigolds and lotus blossoms were strung across the

top of the main gate as well as over every door and threshold. Banners of red cloth were draped

over every surface, with gold trim and bangles jingling quietly in the breeze. The courtyard

between the main door and a smaller, secondary door to the family’s primary living room was

filled with clay pots of rice, yogurt, and curries. Leaf plates piled high with fruit; apples, oranges,

and pomelos, had been carefully arranged on the benches along the garden wall. All of the

home’s deities and photos of deceased parents and grandparents had been brought down from the

third-floor puja room to attend the festivities. The kitchen bustled with activity as everyone took

their turns in cooking massive pots of potatoes and dal bhat (lentils and rice) for the wedding

feast or in arranging trays of sweets and pastries to lay out before the deities as honored guests.

The bride was brought out first and placed in the center of a brightly-colored woven mat at the

far end of the marble yard. The women of the household — Sangeeta, her two sisters, Sangeeta’s

daughter Meena, and Dinesh’s sister — all rushed out to apply welcoming forehead tikkas using

mixtures of red and yellow rice paste. Meena began to wrap a beaded red wedding shawl over

the bride’s head and pile garlands of fragrant local flowers around her neck. Sangeeta offered

water in a small teapot.

332
 “Tulsi is in the mandap?” 175 A voice cried from the kitchen. “Yes!” Another voice

responded. “The bride has come down.” The bride, however, was not just named Tulsi, she was

Tulsi.176 -- a five-foot-tall Tulsi (holy basil) plant growing out of a wide clay pot, the finery of a

new bride draped over her leaves and woven around her stems, with gold bangles and earrings

artfully arranged on either side of her branches. Demurely, she sat on the mat while family

members continued to place small offerings at the base of her pot and to draw sacred symbols,

such as an auspicious swastika177 in jasmine flowers, on the ground all around her. As I watched

the preparations for the upcoming marriage ceremony, I recalled having attended a similar event

in India several years before -- on the outskirts of the village of Mayapur, in West Bengal along

the confluence of the Ganges and Jalangi rivers, where a Gaudiya Hindu family had carried out a

similar festival event. At the time, I had known little about the stories of Tulsi, Jalandhar, Shiva,

and Vishnu, but it was clear even then that the marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram marked a vital

event in the seasons of family life. 178

Tulsi Vivah, or the Marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram, is the ritual wedding of the Tulsi

plant/goddess to the god Vishnu, in the form of Shaligram; an event that both recapitulates the

origin story of Shaligrams (see Chapter 1) and marks the end of monsoon and the beginning of

the Hindu wedding season. Typically performed between Prabodhini Ekadashi (around the

second week of November) 179 and the next full moon (Kartik Purnima) in the Hindu month of

Kartik (beginning with the first new moon of November), Tulsi Vivah venerates Tulsi as the wife

of Vishnu (drawing on the stories of the Padma Purana). It also serves as a major event in the

lives of the home’s and local temple’s deities, who are married (or attend the marriage) for much

the same reasons as people everywhere are married: to continue the family and the community.

333
 The marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram ritually resembles a traditional Hindu wedding180

and is typically conducted in homes. Larger Tulsi Vivah wedding ceremonies are also common at

temples, with many devotees attending both on the same day. A fast is then observed from the

morning of Tulsi Vivah until evening when the marriage ceremony proper is set to begin.

The mandap is built within the home’s main courtyard and the tulsi plant, which has likely been

growing in the house for quite some time and has been used to offer tulsi leaves during daily

Shaligram puja, is placed in the center of the courtyard. For most families, the tulsi is set into a

brick or plaster box-planter called the Tulsi vrindavana, a reference both to Tulsi’s other name,

Brinda/Vrinda and to the dham of Vrindavan, the childhood home of Vishnu’s tenth avatar,

Krishna.181

The bride, Tulsi, is clothed in a sari and draped with flower garlands and other ornaments

(depending on the status and resources of the family). In some cases, a human face made from

paper, wood, or metal may be attached to the crown of the tulsi plant so as to better facilitate

decorating with tikkas, bindi, and earrings. In other cases, small brass statues of the goddess may

be placed in the pot along with the plant so that the weight of numerous decorations and

miniature clothing does not accidentally damage a smaller or more fragile tulsi. The groom is a

Shaligram stone and usually the primary Shaligram in the family’s collection. While it is also not

necessarily unusual to see brass images or pictures of Vishnu (or Krishna) standing in as the

groom, the majority of devotees were adamant that a Shaligram was distinctly necessary to the

process; even if it meant borrowing one of your neighbor’s shilas (stones). The Shaligram is then

clothed in a dhoti or other form of traditional men’s clothing, wrapped in garlands, and brought

out to meet his bride. As is typical in a Hindu wedding, both bride and groom will be

334
subsequently bathed and decorated before the ceremony and then linked with a cotton thread

(mala) to signify their union.

The Marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram

The Tulsi Vivah festival has a number of regional and national variations. In Maharashtra

in India, for example, the highlight of the marriage ceremony is when the white cloth is held

between the bride and the groom and the attending pujari recites the Mangal Ashtaka mantras,

which formally complete the wedding. Rice mixed with vermilion powder is then thrown over

the couple following the recitation of the word "Savadhan" (literally meaning "be careful" but

meant to imply taking care of the new union). The white curtain hiding Tulsi and Shaligram is

then removed and the attendees clap to signify their approval of the wedding. Offerings given to

the two deities also vary widely. In some cases, Shaligram/Vishnu is offered sandalwood paste,

men's clothing, and the sacred thread (yajnopavita, the marker of a rite of passage). Tulsi may

also be offered saris, bangles, nose rings, turmeric, kumkum, or even a wedding necklace

called mangal-sutra, which is worn only by married women.

335
 In two Rama temples in Saurashtra the ceremony is more elaborate and involves a re-

creation of marriage practices that involve the movement of brides from one village community

to another. During this variation of the Tulsi Vivah festival, an invitation card is sent to the

groom's temple by the bride's temple. On Prabodhini Ekadashi, a bridal procession (barat) of

Lalji (the image of Vishnu) sets off to the bride's temple. Lalji is then placed in a palanquin and

carried off in the manner of a new husband while accompanied by songs and dancing as the

procession makes its way down the road from village to village. The barat is welcomed on the

outskirts of Tulsi's village and the ceremonial marriage is carried out at the temple a short time

later. Tulsi is planted in an earthen pot for the ceremony and any couple who desires children can

perform kanyadaan from Tulsi's side of the temple, acting as her parents and performing the

rituals of giving a daughter away in marriage. Devotees then sing religions songs (bhajans)

throughout the wedding night until the morning, when the wedding procession of Lalji returns to

their home village and temple with Tulsi accompanying.182

A great cheer rose up throughout the Khanal household as the senior men of the family

processed from the puja room on the third floor, down several flights of stairs, and out into the

courtyard bearing the large silver tray upon which sat a Vishnu-Narayan Shaligram. Today, he

was resplendent in yellow and blue silks with a face of sandalwood paste freshly painted on his

outward facing side. The women began to shout and sing, following the procession of Shaligram

as the entire assembly began to circumambulate in a clockwise motion around Tulsi and the

marriage booth. Several family members tossed flower petals and red kumkum powder on the

bride and groom as the men carefully laid the Shaligram tray next to the tulsi pot. Each family

member then touched their foreheads to the deities, rang the ghanta puja bells, and began

arranging the food for prasadam (food the deities will ritually consume and then distribute to all

336
attendees). Dinesh sat down next to me on one of the far benches as more food was brought out

and the neighbors sent for. “This is a good thing,” he started. “Meena will marry soon so it is

good for us to give away Tulsi. Today we are her parents and she is our daughter. Then our

daughter will marry.” He motioned towards Meena, who was concentrating on rearranging the

flower mandala nearest to the Shaligram tray. “Today Shaligram becomes my son. Then he will

bring to us another son. This will help Meena to choose well. I should tell Sangeeta to call her

friends to come over with their little son now too. They want to pray for a daughter, so they are

going to all the houses in the neighborhood to ask Tulsi for her blessings.”

This was not the first time I made note of the parallels between family life and the ritual

lives of Shaligrams, but I was later surprised at how many times I had mentioned these parallels

in my notes. Kinship tends to be a staple within anthropological research, but in the midst of my

family diagrams and lists of relations, I often found that I also needed to include the Shaligrams.

This was not as simple as typical divisions between the categories of consanguinal ties (blood

relations) and affinal ties (marriage relations) generally favored by ethnographers however, and

the use of the term ‘fictive kin,’ as usually denotes other forms of chosen or voluntary

relationships, seemed inadequate. This was especially true when the construction of familial ties

between humans and between humans and deities were carried out in precisely the same ways

and in similar social circumstances. Nor did practitioners view these relationships as being

necessarily different from one another-- a marriage between Tulsi and Shaligram was a marriage

between a son and a daughter (with all the rites and fanfare a family wedding required), a

father’s or grandfather’s Shaligram passed down to a son was an ancestor, and the visiting deities

of other households were the same honored guests as relatives or friends visiting from afar.

337
 Viewing Shaligram relationships through the medium of kinship is helpful not only

because Shaligram practitioners themselves refer to them in this way but because they also

demonstrate what Marshall Sahlins calls a “mutuality of being;” where human persons and non-

human persons share family ties apart from genetic relationships, are “intrinsic to one another’s

existence,” and who “belong to one another” (Sahlins 2013). Shaligrams as kin therefore expand

potential fields of symbols and perspectives regarding personhood, the body, and gender as they

inform cultural kinship ideas and practices. This recalls, to some degree, Phillipe Descola’s

(2005) argument for collapsing the analytical binary that strictly separates the cultural world of

human beings from the non-human things of nature. This is because, much like the Amazonian

views of plants, animals, and spirits Descola describes, Hindu practitioners treat Shaligram

stones as persons who are endowed with all manner of cognitive, moral, and social qualities

which are analogous to those of humans – and subsequently incorporates them into categories of

persons that do not cosmologically discriminate between human being-persons and non-human

being-persons (31, 6; cf. Viveiros de Castro, 1998).

But while Descola goes on to further taxonomize ontology and cosmology into other,

deeper, kinds of templates for analyzing human experience, what concerns me here is in

demonstrating how people use a mapping of kinship categories as a principal way to establish

connections between themselves and the nonhuman entities they encounter. To understand how

Shaligrams become kin then, it will be vital to unravel the complicated webs of relations and

interactions that characterize the social life of Shaligrams. The most readily accessible ways in

which to understand the kinship of Shaligram stones is by attending to the actual social

relationships themselves. Ethnographically, this is to attend to the ritual events, rites of passage,

and life milestones celebrated concurrently with both human and divine persons -- Shaligrams

338
participating as involved family members, as well as the ways in which people speak about,

speak to, and speak of divine persons in their everyday lives.

In the course of my research, I found it especially useful to analyze Shaligram kinship

through the lens of linguistic participant frameworks combined with material representation in

ritual spaces. Through various interplays of speech and material exchange, Shaligram

practitioners continuously extend personhood and familial ties across various interlocutors,

objects, and time. This is because Shaligrams do not disrupt the normative processes of kin-

making, rather they extend it, augment it, and shift it out of the strictly material bodies of people

and stones in the present and into perspectives that include dead and divine persons in the past

and future as well. Participant frameworks also then help to explain how Shaligrams themselves

are reified as living. What then further complicates these interactions of related persons is the

issue of “placeness” – where Shaligrams also act as anchors for the dham (Mustang/Śālagrāma)

that continuously accompanies them and which blends the normal spaces of the household into

the sacred spaces of pilgrimage. My choice to analyze kinship-making through language is

somewhat ironic, given that a wide variety of kinship studies since the time of Lewis Henry

Morgan have been deeply influenced by structural linguistics and have often viewed the

symbolic field of social and cognitive organization as especially productive (see Dumont 1983

and Uberoi 1993). As a result, I am especially concerned with how combinations of participant

roles and sacred spaces help to construct families and communities as simultaneously inhabiting

the realms of the living, the dead, the divine, and those who are about to be reborn within the

broader semiotic context of the karmic cycle.

I am also drawing here, though indirectly, on the kinship work of David Schneider who

suggested, in A Critique of the Study of Kinship (1984), that there was no such thing as kinship

339
out there to be discovered or described. Instead, kinship was a continuous process of doing and

not a status of being. Because Schneider’s approach to kinship draws an analytical gaze towards

actual practices and localized patterns of meaning-making, I focus here on actual rituals and

speech events as concrete methods for revealing the place of Shaligrams within complex family

and community structures. But in order to demonstrate the particular continuities between

linguistic, ritual, and material boundaries in Shaligram veneration, it is necessary to begin with a

focus on the complex interplay between the role of the divine person, deity, or Shaligram as an

interlocutor, the material construction of ritual spaces, and their relationship to the kinship

community. The perception and use of deities, as conjured or latent interlocutors, during

religious speech events and during daily ritual practices then demonstrates how the identities of

participants, objects, and persons are constructed through ritual spaces. This interplay was

particularly noticeable during the most common daily and festival ritual events: the darshan; the

ritual unveiling of the deities for worship, puja; offerings at temple and home shrines; and the

continual awareness of living within the dham; the "abode or seat" of the deity which refers back

to the sacred places of pilgrimage and which frames interactions between people and gods.

These familiar Hindu practices comprise the main methods of interacting with and

revering the manifest deities of Shaligram and of murti generally. At first, I was not entirely

convinced that conversational participant frameworks and the material construction of ritual

spaces would form a recognizable pattern in Shaligram practices, or at least not one that would

help to explain the complexities of kinship and embodied practice that I experienced. But as I

continued in my research outside of the direct pilgrimage context; following the stones as they

moved outwards, living among pilgrims and practitioners after they had returned home, repeating

340
the standard puja rituals day in and day out, and celebrating milestone occasions with the

families of Shaligram practitioners in their communities, a kind of pattern began to emerge.

Over the course of ritual inclusion and community participation, the physical movement

of Shaligrams outward was translated into movements inward: where the metaphorical and

symbolic journey of life itself linked animate with inanimate and finally fully transformed what

once was stone into living body through the emergence of kin relationships. This did not mean

the end of physical mobility for Shaligrams, however. Rather, household Shaligrams now

participated in a variety of bodily and substantive kinship exchanges (marriage, birth, death,

etc.), where Shaligrams might give gifts or be gifts depending on the circumstances or where

they might travel along with family members to visit temples, to visit other family members, or

to change households entirely. Their mobility then expanded, incorporating aspects of pilgrimage

and boundary transition into the extension of family and community networks through time and

space that would, recursively, result in the later continuation of pilgrimage. Put another way, as

practitioners and Shaligrams moved outwards (home) they continued to reproduce the cyclical

system of person-making and kinship exchange that would necessitate a return inwards

(pilgrimage) and where the metonym of the karmic life cycle would apply equally to individuals,

Shaligrams, and entire communities.

Hindu ritual spaces are characterized by a complicated form of divine interaction wherein

deities communicate with devotees through a number of familiar relationships: as friends, lovers,

play-mates, siblings, parents, children, and revered teachers. For the most part, Shaligram

veneration works much the same way. Where they differ from man-made deity icons and images

is in the constant state of their divine presence and, in some cases, their portability (a point I will

return to shortly). In many Hindu ritual practices, the divine essence or personality of a deity

341
statue or other image must be invoked before ritual worship can begin or, in the very least, the

deity’s attention must be called into the object so that offerings and darshan can properly take

place. Shaligrams, as self-manifest forms of the divine, are always present and, as many devotees

described, are always aware of and paying attention to the activities of the household regardless

of whether or not someone is interacting with them directly. As divine persons with whom

devotees can then engage in conversation with, speak about, and speak for, Shaligrams inhabit

conversational positions in the manner of latent interlocutors. But deities as latent interlocutors

within everyday and ritual speech events is not limited solely to the boundaries of language or

participant roles.

In the material activities of ritual, the conversational viewpoint of the deity is given

substance, represented in material media and made concrete. By giving Shaligrams material

worlds and ritual boundaries that parallel the linguistic boundaries of their participant roles,

devotees make the deities available to sense experience and therefore subject them to the same

potential for relationships as their human counterparts. Beginning within the darshan, images

and figures have agency, and as the subject (devotee) and object (Shaligram-deity) are collapsed

during the devotional exchange it becomes unclear who is said to be acting on whom. Through

the daily care and maintenance of the puja ritual, the material bodies of the deities achieve the

same status as living bodies and through everyday ritual enactments of mythic events and

pilgrimages within the dham, supernatural and historical time merges with the present day.

Therefore, what at first, I thought of as clear distinctions between mortal bodies, material objects,

and linear time became precarious and fluid, blurring the lines between persons and events in the

present with persons and events in the past and in the future. In the end, Shaligram practitioners

342
open up the possibility for divine persons to achieve living bodies, laying the foundation for the

expansion of personhood and kin across boundaries of time and space.

Forging Ties in the Darshan

The ritual spaces of darshan are spaces of action and interaction between multiple types

of persons. The potential for human and non-human doubling between Shaligram and devotee,

the re-creation of social norms of greeting and communicating, and the rules of etiquette and

conduct also reflect a space that is just as much physical and mundane as it is divine and

transformative. Shaligrams also traverse contexts of the sacred and the everyday outside of ritual,

such as their inclusion in routine conversations and in the daily activities of the household. This

blending of sacred contexts with conventional actions is equally present in material ritual

practice. This is why I have chosen to use examples from both religious rituals and from

everyday interactions to demonstrate how Shaligram devotees manage their spiritual interactions

with divine persons. Historically, as Indological scholars have pointed out, this merging of

imaginative and social realities through the locus of ritual is not unusual in Vedic practices but

we must be careful here in attempting to draw boundaries too sharply between what we call

"imagination" and what we call "empirical experience" (Patton 2005: 1). Within Shaligram

veneration, persons don’t just extend through aspects language and perspective; they also

constitute, and are constituted by, objects and bodies in the physical world.

Throughout South Asia, the binding and bridging of physical matter to spiritual reality

takes a number of intriguing forms-- from the creation of sacred sculptures for the practices of

darshan and puja offering; where god is made directly manifest is his archa-vigraha or material

343
form, to the set-up of stages and dance circles for ras lilas plays (theatrical performances of

Hindu epics and stories), to the proper methods of tending pilgrimage villages and towns. In fact,

this very consideration has led to environmental protection and revitalization programs in the

pilgrimage town of Vrindavan (Nash 2012). Because the town itself is considered a tirtha, or

bridge, between the real and transcendent worlds, devotees and environmentalists alike hope to

begin restoring the historically forested landscape so that the perceived link between the land of

Vrindavan and the holy spiritual realm (dham) of its principal deity Krishna (which is thought to

be a mirror of Vrindavan’s former forest regions) is not permanently broken. Equally so, various

proposed conservation projects for the Kali Gandaki region of Mustang also leverage the links

between the physical presence of Muktinath temple and the dham of Śalāgrāma as a way of

advocating for the preservation of fossil beds and river routes to ensure the continued appearance

of Shaligrams for years to come.183

This stress on the importance of the physical constitution of devotional spaces pervades

almost every kind of Hindu worship and includes wide-spread notions of bodily physicality that

are often expressed in terms of sense experience. For example, sacred bridges between the

physical world and the spiritual world in Vaishnava devotional theater are maintained through

costuming practices – so that the actors playing the divine lovers, Krishna and Radha, are

believed to be physically overtaken by the deities during performances (Walters 2016). In other

traditions, such as Smartism and Shaivism, deity altars are constructed through special standards

and restrictions relating to the creation of sacred sculptures or murti – so that the object itself

becomes the actual, physically incarnate, form of God in the mortal world during the revelations

of darshan. Among the Gaudiya Vaishnavas of West Bengal, the verbal performance of bhakti

344
(devotional) poetry and stylized gestures in traditional, Bharatanatyam, dance is meant to ensure

that the words of God can be lived through sense experience.

While I focus specifically on the ritual veneration of Shaligram stones here, this analysis

is relevant to many other aspects of Hindu deity worship and easily includes deities represented

in other media, including sculpture, painting, architecture, and performance. This is important to

note because, as mentioned previously, the vast majority of Shaligram practitioners do not

venerate Shaligrams alone but rather incorporate Shaligram worship into broader ritual systems

that include a wide variety of ritual types and events, sacred objects, festivals, and deities. In the

same way that Bourdieu's notions of habitus are critical for understanding how structures

influence our outward decisions and responses, similarly, the subjectivity of bodily experience is

vital for understanding how 'bodies', and concomitantly 'persons', are produced and perceived as

well as how they are distanced and transformed from subject into object.

In terms of the extensions of personhood, the production and separation of persons and

bodies is crucial to the larger cultural system of familial roles and community relationships.

Shaligrams, however, are unique within these larger systems for two reasons. One, the

embodiment of Shaligram veneration reflects other kinds of spiritual embodiment involving

landscapes and nature that cross multiple boundaries of and link together Hindu, Buddhist, and

shamanic traditions (such as among Nepal’s Hindu, Buddhist, Bonpo, and dhami-jhankri

traditions for example). And two, that Shaligrams are distinctly mobile and carry their “places”

with them, even into their lives as members of the household and family. In fact, the continued

mobility of Shaligrams through networks of kinship was apparent early on and I first

encountered the distinctive nature of their embodiment and placeness one late summer afternoon

in India just after my research began.

345
 The sun was already beginning to set on the outskirts of the village of Mayapur in West

Bengal, India, when Nirajan Vajracharya started his usual daily Shaligram puja. For the most

part, this involved the careful bathing of each of several large Shaligrams in the waters of the

nearby Ganges river followed by the arrangement of incense and flower offerings on the silver

tray precariously balanced on his knees. Having emigrated from eastern Nepal as a young man,

Nirajan and his wife Hira had been making the lengthy pilgrimage back to Muktinath-Chumig

Gyatsa and the Kali Gandaki River in Mustang every few years to search for new Shaligram

stones since gaining their Indian citizenship in the mid-1990s. Though both identified as

ethnically Newari, a Nepali-speaking Indo-Aryan/Tibeto-Burman ethnolinguistic group from the

Kathmandu Valley, they took a degree of pride in their Indian naturalization noting that they felt

less pressure to conform to certain standards of civic participation in their new home nation, such

as how to dress or what language to speak. But with their grown children now divided between

the United States, India, and Nepal, Nirajan and Hira also thought it particularly important that

they continue their yearly Shaligram pilgrimages so that new and particularly auspicious stones

meant to strengthen marriages and encourage the birth of grandchildren could be found and sent

abroad to their children's families. In fact, the popularity of Shaligrams among Diasporic families

was hard to miss and the combined sense that Shaligrams carried their “places” (i.e., Mustang,

Nepal, South Asia in general, and the family’s own household) and acted as kin was especially

appealing to families who were dealing with the challenge of parents, children, and

grandchildren who might be separated by countries, continents, and oceans.

As Nirajan made his ritual offerings of jasmine and tulsi leaves to a set of eight new

Shaligrams arranged in a circular pattern on the silver plate, he described to me the special

importance of each Shaligram. The second stone in the arrangement was of particular interest to

346
him. As a manifestation of Radha-Krishna (the divine lovers of Vaishnava devotion who also

happened to be the principle deities of the village of Mayapur), he explained how important it

was that this stone was "Indian" so that his eldest son, now living in New Delhi, could receive it

with the specific blessings of the Bengali manifestation of Radha-Krishna at Mayapur. In

response to my initial confusion, Hira quickly clarified that it was because their son had taken an

Indian wife, and a Shaligram that was too strongly tied to Nepal might cause problems in their

marriage. However, she smiled, the last stone in the group, itself a manifestation of the Buddha,

was particularly Nepali as it was closely tied with the wisdom and power of the high Himalayan

mountains. This Shaligram would be going to her daughter in New York, she explained, because,

while her daughter was not Buddhist, it would guard her in her travels in the West and ensure

that both Nepal and her Nepali-Indian family would always be with her.

The theological foundations for the physical importance of deities during worship is

based in a traditional form of Indian theism scholars typically refer to as "theistic intimacy:"

where God is presented through his innermost intimate relationships of love and affection

(Schweig 2004: 14). In these largely Vaishnava traditions, love between God and the soul is

constructed through relationships that closely resemble those in everyday life, such as parents

and children and husbands and wives. However, while Vaishnava bhakti-influenced veneration

of Shaligrams was not uncommon, the role of Shaligram as integral family members was far

more pervasive among the community of practitioners than any one singular association of

Shaligrams with a divine couple (Radha-Krishna, Lakshmi-Narayan, Parvati-Shiva, etc.). For

many devotees, this was often reflected in food-sharing, where women would routinely feed the

household Shaligrams before taking meals themselves or who would supply special treats for the

Shaligrams before offering the same treats to their children. In other cases, men of the household

347
would “wake” the Shaligrams early in the morning, with tulsi, fruit, and bathing, before waking

their own children for school or who would take breakfast with the household Shaligrams and

their families together.

When I met Nitika Devi, Nirajan’s widowed mother, sometime later, she happily invited

me into the kitchen of her small home on the outskirts of Navadwip (the town just across the

river from Mayapur). “Come in and sit!” She called out from the stove. “I am making rice. Do

you want some?” I politely declined but she only nodded and carefully lifted the pot lid to check

on its progress. “I am not hungry either.” She said as she shuffled over to the makeshift table and

sat down. “But it’s time for Ram’s meal.” She motioned towards a niche in the wall which

currently held a single burning oil lamp, a yellow cord, and a large Shaligram set against the

back wall. The Shaligram, identified as the god Ram, was the only Shaligram Nitika kept and

since the death of her husband (who had passed the rest of the family’s Shaligrams to his son

Nirajan) she had made a point that this Shaligram would be her last and would accompany her

into the cremation pyre when the time came. “You should meet my friend, Jana-ji.” She then

remarked, after hearing about my research and my interest in Shaligrams. “She has a Krishna

Deva (a Krishna Shaligram). She just loves him and takes him everywhere she goes. I have even

seen her with a little cart when she goes to the market. Krishna is in there, just like a baby in a

carriage. He is her son now, since all the rest of them have moved away.” 184

Framing the existence of persons at least partially though the make-up of their

relationships and through their desires is a significant aspect of South Asian culture. By

expanding individual personhood outward into various social networks of relationships,

exchanges, and obligations with other persons (including Shaligrams and other deities), devotees

begin the construction of a community that can persist regardless of the realities of death,

348
displacement, diaspora, and abandonment. This is also where the role of Shaligrams as holders of

place and as kin becomes especially vital, perhaps particularly among families whose members

have largely out-migrated for other nations and other opportunities and who feel disconnected

from their families and identities back home. A Shaligram is, after all, neither stone nor fossil,

but a living and active social agent.

Shaligrams at Udupi Mutt, Karnataka, India

349
 Shaligrams in Kaniyur, Tamil Nadu, India

Speaking to God: The Interlocutor Deity

When Goffman (1981) first constructed his participant frameworks he set out to

categorize the interplay of various participant roles as a method for understanding larger social

affairs through the microcosm of the speech event. Through a variety of role combinations,

speech act participants negotiate wider social relations, recreate and perform aspects of the self,

and mediate conflicting perceptions all through their place within the conversation. In recent

years, numerous scholars have taken up Goffman's initial elements of participation and

challenged the various possible realizations of the classical categories of "speaker" and "hearer"

into further categories of Principal, Animator, Author, Figure, Receiver, and Audience (Goffman

1974 and 1981, Hymes 1972: 58-60, Clark and Carlson 1982, and Levinson 1983 and 1988),

until Judith Irvine, in her seminal work “Shadow Conversation,” upended the concept of fixed

categorical repertoires entirely (1996). As William F. Hanks notes, "participant formations in

350
talk are complex and dynamic structures that shift with the flick of an eyebrow and inevitably

involve much more than the familiar labels "speaker" and "addressee" would lead us to suspect"

(1996: 162). In time, the analysis of Shaligram “conversations” may also one day pose greater

challenges to the definitive notions of "speaker", "hearer", or "addressee" but here I focus

specifically on the complex conversational role of the Interlocutor Deity.

While almost no formal definition of Interlocutor Deity currently exists, for my purposes

here I take this conversational role to be a socially-acknowledged participant or persona who is

not otherwise physically animate at the time and place of the speech act. This is not to imply that

Interlocutor Deities are not actual persons or are not "real" in some sense, but that the

conversational role of the Interlocutor Deity is inhabited by an agent that must be continuously

culturally and socially negotiated by the other participants throughout the speech event. The

Interlocutor Deity can represent anything from a fictional character, to a deceased friend or

family member, to divine entities. For Shaligram devotees, the Interlocutor Deity I focus on here

is that of the Shaligram-deities themselves. In so doing, my intent is to reveal something

particular about the relationship between the believer and the position of god(s), a relationship

that occupies such a privileged status in religious contexts. For Shaligrams and their families and

communities, it is the very locus where selves and bodies begin to semiotically separate and

recombine. These performative linguistic spaces then form the foundation for the material

representations of the deities, where the Interlocutor Deity is re-embedded in substances and

made available to sense experience.

The creation of the Interlocutor Deity is ultimately about the creation of a contrasting and

conflicting space between viewpoints. This space then allows practitioners to propose a

particular viewpoint, incorporate or align themselves with a viewpoint, negotiate or discard a

351
viewpoint, to engage with viewpoints that arose with other participants during other situations, or

to construe a kind of "bird's eye view" from which multiple viewpoints can be evaluated. For

example, it was not uncommon for Shaligram practitioners to refer to a number of actions or

objects as something the deity “liked" or something the deity "desired;" typically stated in the

third person and as though the Shaligram him or herself were present to receive the action or

item in question. This is how, through multiple conversations, Shaligrams, as well as all other

Hindu deities more broadly, are situated as desiring subjects. Their wants are occasionally

interactional, such as a desire for conversation or a need to discuss problems, but more often tend

towards the material as Shaligrams are often described as desiring food, clothing of a certain

design or color, a bath, or a certain accoutrement such as jewelry, incense, or flowers (i.e., tulsi).

It then becomes the goal of the conversation to negotiate the specifics of how the assembled

devotees would provide the desired items.

These conversations also open up numerous possibilities for leveraging the Shaligram

deity's perspective in order to address communal needs: important events can be planned and

carried out, migrant community members can be re-included, hungry people can be fed, the dead

can be properly disposed of, artisans and laborers can be given work, water supplies can be

replenished, or travel for buying and trading can be arranged. A Shaligram’s desires were also a

way to attend to social issues. By describing how and why a particular deity would want

something or by discussing what his intentions might be, men and women were often able to

negotiate issues such as proper interactions within the community, resolve conflicts, discuss

familial obligations, and consider domestic living arrangements. As two of my Vaishnava

informants, Seza and Ojasvati, once debated during a discussion on how I, as a female, non-

352
devotee and Westerner, should participate in a Shaligram puja abisheka (bathing ceremony), it

was the deity’s perspective that determined the final decision. 185

Seza: You should not touch Shaligram. It is said that women are forbidden from touching
Shaligram.

Ojasvati: No, no, that is nonsense. That’s not what the Scriptures say at all.

Seza: The Puranas say this. I don’t want to offend, but we should be mindful of the
tradition.

Ojasvati: Not all the Puranas say this. And Shaligram came to her of His own accord.
See? (indicating a small Shaligram I carried with me) She has been to Muktinath. This is
His decision. We must honor what He wants.

Seza: That’s true. (Turning to me) Shaligram appears to worthy souls only when He is
ready to appear. I think that He must expect great things from you.

Another example of this kind of viewpoint negotiation happened while Kamala Suraj and I were

preparing lunch one afternoon. Kamala and I had met in Kolkata, India some months before and

her family kept a small collection of Shaligrams along with images (murti) of a number of other

village and household deities, including statues of Radha-Krishna and Durga. As it was, we

began to discuss what food needed to be purchased from the fruit seller for the next day.

Kamala: I have been thinking we should walk down to see the fruit seller tomorrow. He
comes by bicycle around the neighborhood early in the morning, so we should decide
now.

Me: What do we need?

Kamala: Some oranges I think, and maybe an apple. Oh! We should get coconuts. I will
have Nanda (her brother) cut them and then we will offer the sweet water to Shaligram.
The afternoons have gotten so hot now again, I think that they will miss the river so
much. We don’t want them wandering off now do we (she chuckled). To get water I
mean.

Me: Do they make a habit of that?

353
 Kamala: Oh no, of course not. They are our family now. But I have made the promise in
my heart already, so they will be thinking of the sweet water. It means I have to get the
coconuts now no matter what. I will have to ask them to be patient since we cannot go
until tomorrow. 186

Numerous similar examples appeared often in my interactions with Shaligram devotees

and occurred anywhere from formal ritual events to everyday conversations. It was also a level

of interaction that extended beyond Shaligrams specifically and was equally applied to any

number of other deities in a variety of ways. In other words, this manner of human and divine

interaction was by no means limited to Shaligrams specifically but was positioned within an

extensive network of practices incorporating divine entities into everyday life. By sharing the

same Interlocutor Deity, devotees also continuously built communal and ritual intersubjectivity

through their interactions with each other and with their deities. Ritual material practice, such as

puja, then becomes a kind of viewpoint embedded in substance and made concrete to the senses.

In the parallel spaces of language and materiality, devotees can access multiple perspectives and

thus use those perspectives to stretch family and community bonds through time and place. This

became even more apparent during a discussion I had with three men regarding the care of their

Shaligram and deity home shrines:

Rohit: I bathe Shaligram in water every morning and offer tulsi. My wife also gives rice and
fruit before our meals. They share all our meals and we give the prasadam to my father, who
is very old and sickly. I also recently moved our puja mandir (a small cabinet which houses
the deities) out into the hall between our rooms because of this.

Me: It is so your father can see the deities?

Rohit: I usually keep it in the side room so that the deities can watch over the household, but
now that my father is ill, they are watching over him.

Lakshan: He can see them from there, that is very good. Shaligram is different than other
deities you see? We do not need to invoke Shaligram because He is always present. He will
look over the sick in the family but it is important that He should be placed so that He can see
them.

354
 Me: Do you mean that Shaligram should be able to physically see the person?

Rohit: It’s better knowing that there is someone always watching over him yes. And when
his time comes, they will go with Him. When they return, they will then wait for me. I will
take one of his Shaligrams to give to the river with his ashes, so that someone can accompany
him there too. Someone who is family like that. I am grateful for this, that they care for the
future of our families like this.

Gopinathan: (speaking to the Shaligrams) Yes, we thank you for this. Thank you.

Lakshan: This is why you should always give good offerings. Care for them like sons and
they will care for you as father. It is also how you ensure that children and the whole family
behave properly in the household. You should not be improper where Shaligram is present. I
once told my wife that if we never had a son, it would be alright (laughs). We would still
have Shaligram to look after our final rites. But now we have two sons, so they will look
after us and Shaligram will go with them. 187

As was apparent during this particular conversation, the physical viewpoint of the deity was the

method by which the men discussed the care of their families, including methods for looking

after elderly parents, disciplining children, and caring for the sick. It also demonstrates how a

deity as an interlocutor is both a subject participant in the conversation in the present, when the

Shaligrams are addressed directly by one of the men, and an object of the discussion through

which actions in the future are negotiated, such as plans for having children or in the anticipation

of funeral rites.

It is here that I must further clarify, at least in brief, a few of the ways in which I am

defining the role of the deity as an interlocutor. While these characteristics are by no means

comprehensive, they serve to help describe this particular participant role in the context of Hindu

deity worship. As shown in the previous examples, the Interlocutor Deity is always a potential

role in conversation but one whose particular position is generated at the time of the speech

event.

As its label implies, the Interlocutor Deity is comprised of a persona who takes part in a

conversation or dialogue through social consensus. But more specifically, the Interlocutor Deity

355
is also generated out of the self or selves of at least one of the participants and whose presence is

then shared among some, if not all, of the remaining participants within the context of the speech

event. Because the viewpoints assigned to this agent, who can then be mediated through multiple

speakers, effectively belong to no one they are free to "be taken up and read" or even

reinterpreted and reimagined without the full weight of intentionality or responsibility falling on

any one participant in particular. As Webb Keane, drawing on the work of Hanks, describes it,

"distribution of roles may serve to displace responsibility away from particular individuals or

diffuse it among many. Elaborations of participant roles may help invoke sources of authority

that are not limited to the perceptible here and now, so that, for instance, the speech event makes

plausible the presence of invisible and inaudible spirits (1997: 58).” The Interlocutor Deity

provides something of a repository for these fragmented roles, where diffuse responsibility and

elaborations on Author, Animator, Principal, Addressee, Target, Over-hearer, and much more

combine to presuppose the very same presence as they depict.

Thus, the viewpoint(s) of the Interlocutor Deity is vital in understanding Hindu devotees'

perceptual construal of events in their daily lives. As Eve Sweetser points out, language is the

medium through which a single mind can access multiple different points of view and without

such cognitive flexibility "humans could not cooperate and communicate at the high level

apparently unique to our species" (2012: 1). The Interlocutor Deity’s position in multiple spatio-

temporal contexts: past, present, and future as well as "here with us" and "everywhere" also

provides people with the impression of something that is eternal, impermeable, and impervious

to the inconsistencies and failings of mortal life.

Ambivalent or contradictory beliefs have an outlet in the Interlocutor Deity and can be

employed either in service of social change or for the negotiation of cultural continuity,

356
particularly again among religious traditions that put less emphasis on internal belief than they

do on communal practice. As a final example, I was particularly struck by how these contentious

viewpoints played out among a group of Nepali women following a discussion about one of their

neighbors; a young woman whom several of the women believed to be a victim of domestic

abuse. On this particular morning, as the group of us peeled and cut potatoes for an upcoming

family gathering, the conversation shifted from who they thought might be perpetrating the

violence (the young woman’s husband or her mother-in-law) to why the violence might be taking

place:

Didi: I heard her crying again last night. There was a lot of shouting again too. I think it
is because she hasn’t had a son. I think the mother wants a son.

Me: She’s being beaten for not having a child?

Amma: Yes, I think so. I think her mother-in-law beats her. Keeps her locked away until
she has a son.

Me: That’s awful. Why would she do that?

Didi: Some people are like that. It’s very bad. They do not feel love. They do not listen
for God. The do not think on Lakshmi or Vishnu, or Shiva and Parvati. They do not act
appropriately and people avoid them. The gods do not want this. You know what I should
do? I should bring her Durga (referring to a Shaligram high up in a niche in the wall). I
can hide Her is my sari and bring her some fruits or something. Durga is fierce and would
not stand for this. She would protect her. (Addressing the Durga Shaligram) Would you,
Devi? Would you protect her? Should I let you go to her?

Amma: You should be careful. Durga can cause much trouble, especially in fights
between women. If it is her husband who does these things than yes, Durga is strongest.
But maybe Lakshmi is more harmonious or ask Gopala to bring sons.

Didi: No, Durga wants to go. (Addressing the Shaligram) I feel your anger already
burning in my heart. Lakshmi and Vishnu may bring harmony but there is justice that
must come first. This is Her will. I will do as She asks.

Bahini: Perhaps both should go. You should take both Didi and then you can check in on
them later. Tell her where to keep them and how to look after them, then the bad things
will stop. 188

357
 Here again social conflict is negotiated through the deity’s desires, particularly when Didi

states that Durga wants to be the one to put an end to the young woman’s suffering over that of

Lakshmi or Gopala (who are also Shaligrams in the family’s collection). But Didi also expresses

a level of uncertainty about this choice as well as implies her own principalship in the plan when

she asks the deity, “Should I let you go?” But when Amma voices some doubt as to the efficacy

of such an idea should it involve conflict between two women (meaning here, the daughter and

her mother-in-law), Didi shifts principalship to Durga, who then becomes particularly invested in

the conversation through the burning anger Didi senses from her. It is then Durga’s will, as well

as Didi’s desire to act as the compelled animator of her desires, that decides her actions. In this

case then, the Interlocutor Deity plays multiple roles; as an addressee in the beginning of the

conversation, as the principal or director of the plan, as a desiring subject the speaker refers back

to, an overhearer of the entire exchange, and as a kind of animator to Didi’s desires for action

and justice.

In some ways, the religious self, partially located within the Interlocutor Deity,

transcends the physical bodies of the participants and in another way, sharing, adopting, and

discarding viewpoints among multiple persons through the Interlocutor Deity partially locates

the self within the interactions of the community. What the person desires and believes is both

internal to the self and external in the viewpoints of others and what the self desires and believes

is not only communally negotiable but resultantly inviolate. The intentions and actions of the

individual are the intentions and actions of the community which are the intentions and actions

of the gods themselves. This is what Keane alluded to in his discussion of DuBois when he said

that "because the collective product is outside the volition of any particular storyteller, the

participants take this unity to manifest the presence of a single divine source. This conclusion

358
seems to be predicated on their assumption that any agency that lies beyond the level of the

individual is not likely to be human" (1997: 57).

The role of the Interlocutor Deity can also be filled by the dead; either a deceased family

member, a deceased spiritual master, or a relevant historical figure. In these situations, lost

community ties are maintained through the deceased person's continued social "participation" in

the same way as precarious community ties could be repaired and renegotiated through a deity’s

social "participation." Late one afternoon, on a particularly dry and dusty day in the Thamel

district of Kathmandu, I happened across an out-of-the-way Buddhist monastery attached to a

Thangka painting school. Thangka, a style of cotton or silk applique painting that depicts a

Buddhist deity, mythic scene, or mandala, is popular in the tourist trade of Thamel and many

Nepali and Tibetan painters keep their shops in the area in order to take advantage of foot traffic.

As I ducked into a tiny studio, no larger than perhaps six feet wide by eight feet long, I

observed the owner of the shop as he carefully instructed his 6-year-old daughter in the fine

precision techniques of brushwork she would need to master in order to become a successful

painter. As was also a habit for me at this point, I took note of the three Shaligrams balanced on

the lids of her paint pots. When I expressed surprise at seeing them in a Thangka stall, the owner,

Tenzin Damchoe, explained:

Tenzin: I am surprised you know Shaligram. Most people don’t. Most people don’t see
them but that’s because we keep them at home. I keep them here but that is for Sonam,
my daughter.

Sonam: My mamma is there.

Me: Where?

Sonam: There (pointing at the three Shaligrams)

Tenzin: Her mother is dead. She died from sickness. I was given these before her funeral.

359
 Our family kept them with her body to keep the spirits away until we were finished
(implying that the death rituals had been completed) and now I keep them here so that she
can be with Sonam. They are on her paints so that she becomes a great mandala painter
and becomes famous.

Me: Do you mean that her mother is in the Shaligrams?

Tenzin: No. Well, yes. It’s hard to say. The Shaligrams are good for her spirit. For her to
find us when she needs to and for us to find her. It is easier for me to talk with her when
they are here. When Sonam goes home, I paint and talk to her. Otherwise I wouldn’t
know what to do. 189

For Tenzin and his daughter, the presence of the Shaligrams served two functions: as

divine entities who kept away evil spirits or other malevolent ghosts that might bring further

misfortune into their lives and as vessels for the dead to enter, if temporarily, and communicate

with the living. The Shaligrams were then able to act as physical presences for Sonam’s deceased

mother and as additional addressees or intermediaries when she or Tenzin wished to speak to her.

In the end, while the Shaligrams and Tenzin’s wife were not specifically the same thing, they had

come to inhabit the same bodies and through them, continued to play a role in raising Sonam. It

is then these kinds of interactions that support the perception that the Interlocutor Deity is

somehow beyond the present context and imbues the role with a kind of agency and authority

that allows it to both help clarify and define the religious self and to play a role in the workings

of human society. This is also how devotees bridge the gap between the spaces of subjective

experience, where they are able to generate the Interlocutor Deity, and the spaces of

performativity, where they can share or leverage the Interlocutor Deity towards a social end.

Through the Shaligram, the Interlocutor Deity develops physical relationships with those around

it. When this bridge is then recreated in material practice, the possibilities of interaction, relation,

and embodiment take on entirely new dimensions.

360
The Material Construction of Ritual Space

The main method of public worship throughout Hindu practices is the darshan. Recall

then from earlier chapters that the darshan and the dham are intimately linked. The dham,

broadly speaking, makes up the entirety of the sacred geography of both pilgrimage places and

within homes that actively veneration Shaligrams (and with deity murti generally). It is then both

superimposed and integrated with the surrounding physical world. The dham provides the

immediate social context for participation in the darshan and also acts as a link between aspects

of the darshan and with pujas that connect people to events located simultaneously in the past,

present, future, and epic/supernatural space and time. There are strict rules of conduct within a

dham, though these restrictions vary widely between various Hindu religious traditions they may

include such things as explicit bans on violent action, thinking or speaking of the space of the

dham as 'mundane,' and engaging in 'sinful' activities like the use of intoxicants (alcohol, drugs,

or sometimes caffeine), meat-eating (especially in the direct presence of a Shaligram), sex

outside of marriage, and any handling of holy items while menstruating. The dham is, after all,

where the gods conduct their daily lives and their devotees, as kin and consorts, must act

accordingly deferential if they wish to join in such esoteric activities. The dham thus 'sets the

stage', as it were, for the daily lives and activities of the devotees and deities which then

converge in the practice of darshan.

Within the arrangement of the darshan altar (Shaligrams, deities, deity accessories,

miniature animals or people, other sacred stones, etc.), each piece of the diorama is connected to

sacred texts, local events, and historical narratives that relate to the particular dham considered to

be present. For example, while working in India I encountered a man who related one particular

religious tale involving Krishna, the playful and loving god ubiquitous throughout South Asia.

361
The story he related was one of Krishna’s pastimes during his days as a young cow-herder. After

all of the high-caste men had eaten lunch, he explained, his village temple darshan altar would

be closed so that the deities could rest. During these midday hours, people would then often say

that Krishna had left the temple at this time and was out engaging in “past-times” within the

Vrindavan dham; because his village temple was “no different than” the one in Krishna’s

hometown several hundred miles away. Namely, he went on to say, Krishna would venture out to

visit the sacred cows that often wandered the field roads or might even visit household kitchens

to steal sweets. Other times, he explained, Krishna would go down to the river to bathe and that

you could hear him splashing in the waters near the banks.

On the village altar, any one of these activities could be indexed by the deities' clothing

that day or by the placement of candies and cow figurines near his icon in the temple; so that

these things might also remain with him when he returned. In other cases, a particular event

taking place among livestock herds or in animal sheds would be the evidence of Krishna’s

presence and influence, such as the easy birth of a calf or a sick animal that had become well

without treatment. For the man, walking to his brother’s house a few villages away, Krishna’s

mobility in this regard was a point of particular joy and he subsequently produced a Krishna-

Govinda Shaligram from a small bag hung around his neck. “Whenever I see a cow on my walk,

I touch the bag to their foreheads because I know that He is the one calling them. Sometimes we

even walk together for a while.” In the pilgrimage temples of Mayapur, a similar darshan takes

places, but on a much larger scale.

As the early morning gathering of devotees in Mayapur approaches 7 am, the predictable

anticipation begins. The din of chatter is occasionally punctuated by the chanting of the

mahamantra and the sizable gathering, now numbering a few hundred, begins to arrange itself

362
near the front of the temple room that houses Sri Sri Radha Madhava, the murti of Radha and

Krishna who are in the 'mood' (bhava) 190 of the Goddess of Fortune and her husband. These two

deities are then accompanied by eight gopi (cowherder) women. The names of Radha-Krishna

deities, and many other deities in fact, often take collective forms such as Radha Madhava,

Radha Shyamsundar,191 or Radha Giridhari.192 This construction always lists Radha's name first

and then ascribes Krishna a mythic name linking him to a particular narrative figure, place, or

event. This type of "name and form" construction is common in Hinduism and is often used to

describe the protean and multifaceted worlds of the gods.

The darshan consists of multiple parts. Not only are there ten nearly eight-foot-tall

marble murti 193 of Sri Sri Radha Madhava; Radha and Krishna as well as the eight gopi girls,

there are also numerous smaller pieces arranged across the altar stage. On a typical day, the

darshan consists of a tulasi tree on Krishna's far right, a large Shaligram next to the tulasi tree, a

small Shaligram at Krishna's feet, a set of miniature versions of Radha and Krishna to the left, a

small murti of Gauranga (Chaitanya) further to the left, and seven images of former spiritual

masters lined up across the base of the stage--the central image being a small deity of the founder

of the temple’s Hare Krishna tradition, Srila Prabhupada. With the exception of the spiritual

masters, it is important to remember that all of these images are, in one way or another, images

of Krishna himself. The tulasi tree is an incarnation of the goddess Tulsi who unites with

Vishnu/Krishna as his sacred bride (another manifestation of Radha-Krishna in Gaudiya

Vaishnava traditions), the Shaligrams are both direct manifestations of Krishna, and the

miniature murtis are typically referred to as utsav murti 194 or sometimes simply as "extensions"-

- smaller objects that exist in the same experiential and linguistic plane as ("are no different

than") the larger murti.

363
 The purpose of utsav murti usually has to do with their portability--they can be moved

around the temple during small-scale re-enactments of sacred pilgrimages or they can journey

throughout Mayapur and the surrounding villages during festivals. The Shaligrams perform a

similar function but rather than acting as extensions of the principal temple deities they are

instead described as the “direct living essences” of the deities which have traveled from their

original sacred abode (Śālagrāma) to take up residence in the village and secure the presence of

the primary murti within the dham. This is how it is possible for Radha and Krishna to physically

move through the actual village just as they are simultaneously spiritually moving through the

dham. The mobility of utsav murti (indirect manifestations) and Shaligrams (direct

manifestations) then allows devotees to further their intimate interactions with divine persons in

the same ways as they would interact with a human person. In fact, during the Mayapur darshan,

several of the smaller murti as well as the smaller of the two Shaligrams routinely makes such a

pilgrimage as they are placed on a carrying seat and accompany the rest of the devotees through

each of the three darshana (to all three temple murti) that take place each morning.

Within the ritual space of the darshan, the images both constitute lived experience and

symbolically represent it. A physical pilgrimage through the temple is also a spiritual pilgrimage

through the dham, a pilgrimage through the dham is also a pilgrimage to other sacred sites in

India and Nepal. In each case, a pilgrimage that takes place with the deity is a pilgrimage that

takes place today, took place yesterday, and takes place in the future. This is not only because the

pilgrimage will be physically repeated, it is also because pilgrimages take place to sites and

events that exist within a sacred landscape and which anticipate the ultimate spiritual pilgrimage

to the deity’s realm at the moment of death in the future. This is how the mobility of Shaligrams

is preserved as a site of transformation but also as a method for continually reproducing

364
communal ties. These interactions also include the previous dead because deceased relatives and

community members remain associated with the dham until possible rebirth or final

incorporation into God's personal spiritual circles. This merging of immaterial and material

spaces is integral to the movement and “portability” of Shaligrams but it is also how Shaligrams

become kin themselves.

A young man attending Tulsi Vivah at the Temple of the Sleeping God (Vishnu) on the

outskirts of Kathmandu sat down near the cage holding the temple’s tulasi plants and began to

arrange a set of Shaligrams on a cloth in front of him. As he did so, he also produced small

plastic icons of the specific deities represented by the Shaligrams, placing each icon next to the

stone it was associated with (i.e., a small plastic Ganesh next to the Ganesh Shaligram, and so

on). “These are the five gods of my village,” the young man, named Min, explained. “Back

home, they live in the mandir just outside the center in a large tree that was the first tree to grow

there [meaning that icons of these specific deities are enshrined there]. These are my father’s

Shaligrams which he gave to me when he died, so, because I am the eldest son it is my

responsibility to care for the family now. Then I started to come every year to wed Tulsi and

Shaligram. He [his father] comes out with me and we come on pilgrimage together. We take the

gods to the festival and give rice and yogurt and fire lamps. We also burn lakh batti” (Nepali. lit.

100,000 lights. Large clay pots filled with wicks and oil burned in anticipation of good fortune).

It is good that we do this to stay in contact with our ancestors and our traditions but also to honor

Shaligram, who has journeyed with us. This is how they want to be remembered. I will leave

these small murti here at the temple next to the Sleeping God so that my village will be watched

over. Then we [he and the Shaligrams] will go home.”

365
Maintaining the Shaligram Bond

Early one morning, I awoke before dawn with a devout Hindu family in Kolkata to help

begin their morning deity darshan. As was typical in Gaudiya Vaishnava practice, this particular

ritual routine followed Mangala-arati (the morning lamp-lighting ritual). In temples, Mangala-

arati is the earliest devotional gathering of the day and typically begins sometime between 4:00

and 4:30 a.m. During Mangala-arati, the pujari announces the event by blowing a conch shell,

which signals the awakening of the deities, before opening the deities' curtains so that devotees

may begin offering obeisance, take up kirtana songs or bhajans, or chant and ring the ghanta

hand-bell. But revealing the deities in the darshan is just the beginning. Once the deities are

present, they can not only 'see' and 'be seen,' but be 'seen to' as well.

Puja is, at its core, the ritual daily care of the deities as persons and as members of the

family. It involves waking them in the morning and following their bedtime routine at night, it

includes bathing, dressing, and meal times, and also incorporates elements of the deities' agency;

taking note of when they are present, absent, or having just returned. Prior to opening the curtain,

a member of the pujari has formally awakened the deities with soft chanting, clapping, or

singing and has also offered water and milk sweets or other preparations suitable for the early

morning. Following the blowing of the conch, the pujari then begins the day's first puja for the

deities, who appear still dressed in their pajamas without garlands or jewelry.

In the home of Talish Chatterjee and his family, awakening the Shaligrams and their

attendant utsav murti followed similar strictures. While there are several different types of puja,

Talish’s morning puja involved the offering of incense, a ghee lamp (5-wick Paanch), a camphor

lamp (Kapur), a small bathing conch, a pot of water, flowers, and a folded white handkerchief.

The clear intent of this version of the puja was the representation of a family's morning routine,

366
where the deities, with the assistance of elder family members, were awakened, given a light

breakfast, bathed, and then prepared for their day.

Talish carefully arranged his silver puja tray: ghanta bell and incense holder at the top of

the tray, acamaniya-patra (a cup and spoon of water for sipping) and ghee lamp to his right,

pushpa-patra (a small plate for offering flowers) and snana-patra (a cup of water for bathing) to

his left. Washing his hands three times in succession, using the water of the acamaniya-patra,

Talish then made his final preparations by washing the ghanta with several drops of water before

picking it up in his left hand and ringing it in steady rhythm to awaken the Shaligrams. On the

altar at his feet lay four shilas arranged two by two on a set of miniature beds complete with

pillows and hand-sewn bed linens. As he continued to ring the bell, Talish then pulled back the

coverlets set over each Shaligram and “awoke” them for the day.

The ritual that followed was the same morning ritual he had performed every day at this

time for nearly fifteen years, ever since acquiring his Shaligrams on pilgrimage in his mid-

thirties. He, with his wife and two sons in attendance, lit the incense and ghee lamps, offering

each in turn using the characteristic rolling circular wrist gesture typical of Hindu offerings.

Once sufficiently awakened, the Shaligrams were then removed from their beds and placed on

their typical chair-stands near the top of the altar. They were then bathed, given fruit and cereal

grains (for breakfast), dressed in embroidered crowns and warm, scarf-wraps, and finally each

given a small sprig of tulsi leaves. With the ritual complete, Talish then thanked each of the

Shaligrams in turn with mantras and prayers and then removed the food, now prasadam, and

gave it to his wife and sons to eat. “Now,” He smiled, offering me several pieces of fruit as well,

“we are all ready to begin a new day. All together.” 195

367
 As was demonstrated both in many standard temple pujas and in Talish’s home puja, the

links between deity and devotee are not only maintained through continued human witness to

and participation in the social life of the deities but are also recreated and reinforced during

certain ritual points when temple pujari or senior householders also turn from the deities and

offer the same ritual objects to the assembled devotees or their own family members. This

exchange includes alternately passing the lamp around the assembled group, touching them with

perfume, sprinkling them with water, or waving the handkerchief over their heads after it has

been used to bathe and dry the deities. Ritual leaders are also in charge of distributing prasadam,

which allows the gathered group to actively participate in the 'substance' of the ritual events by

sharing their meals with deities in the same way as meals are shared among family members.

In more official temple contexts, what follows Mangala-arati is a closed session wherein

the pujari and brahmacharya dress the deities in the chosen clothing for the day, paint them in

sandalwood paste (for decoration or to cool them if the day is particularly hot), and arrange their

flowers, garlands, and jewelry in preparation for the main darshan in late morning or early

afternoon. At another pilgrimage temple in northern India near Kolkata, the moment of darshan

marked the beginning of the most popularly attended phase of the temple’s puja. As the gathered

devotees began their songs, several caretaker priests began ringing ghanta bells, which, like the

conch shell, serves to call the deities' attention. This was quickly followed by a pujari carrying a

large mirror that is held up to the eyes of the deities as the attendant priest slowly makes his way

from one end of the darshan altar to the other. At the time, several devotees commented that this

was meant to allow the deities to 'see' themselves and to appreciate the fine clothes and offerings

adorning their bodies. As another devotee later explained however, "This is what you would do

368
for someone you love. You want them to see how wonderful they look. You want to see them

smile.” 196

Puja creates and mediates day to day relationships; ones that mirror traditional family

and community relationships with the deities through material means. This is how represented

bodies in the darshan are given the status of living bodies. Through puja, devotees are then able

to actively include the deities within the boundaries of everyday family life and networks of

kinship. Through the concurrent layering of the dham, of the immaterial spiritual world onto the

material physical world, both practices then actively join the immaterial divine persons of the

darshan with the material bodies of the deities and the living bodies of the devotees. It is then

through the cooperative endeavors of Shaligram and person, of the darshan and the puja, that no

one is constrained by their physical body, where the separation of self and substance hinted at in

“Shaligram is not stone, but body” is finally realized for people, and concurrently, for the gods as

well. This is the ultimate cycle of Shaligram mobility: birth out of the fossil beds (and out of the

category of fossil itself) and out of a sacred river, into pilgrimage, across national and regional

borders, into family and community life, exchanged through kinship and inheritance, passed into

retirement and death, and returned to the river in time to begin the course again in the life of

someone new.

369
 Shaligram Home Shrine – South India

Shaligram Home Shrine – West Bengal, India

370
 Shaligram Temple Abisheka Puja – West Bengal, India

Shaligram Home Abisheka – UK (South Indian Diaspora)

371
 Shaligram Temple Puja – UK (South Indian Diaspora)

Shaligram Puja – Kathmandu, Nepal

372
Shaligram in a River Cave

373
 Appendix 1
Identifying and Interpreting Shaligrams

The most definitive, and most widely distributed, work on Shaligram lore is, without a

doubt, S. K. Ramachandra Rao’s Śālagrāma-Kosha. This work, published in two volumes in

1996, is also the most often referenced work for devotees, pilgrims, and ritual specialists alike

and forms the basis for the majority of current pilgrimage literatures and internet websites

discussing Shaligram stones. While the books do a remarkable job of consolidating significant

portions of religious stories and scriptural references to Shaligrams (including a number of

historical manuscripts never seen in print), it does not discuss actual Shaligram practices nor

does it detail the methods for Shaligram identification outside of what is already laid out in the

Puranas and what was compiled in Maharaj Krishnaraj Wodeyar III (1780-1865) of Mysore’s

Sri-tattva-nidhi. Unfortunately, as many devotees point out, the book is also mired in esoteric

theology and is, therefore, difficult for the lay reader to understand and make use of in their own

practices. Through my years of fieldwork is also became clear to me that, prior to the publication

of the Śālagrāma-Kosha, Shaligram interpretive mythography was almost entirely unavailable to

anyone outside of temple libraries and religious specialists and was therefore largely unknown

by most lay practitioners beyond a few overarching themes. In the end, the publication of

Shaligram lore in this manner must also be viewed as not just consolidating the lore and making

it available, but also instantiating it as authoritative among non-specialists. This is particularly

important because, just as the Vedic and Puranic texts don’t always agree on the mythic origins

of Shaligrams, they also don’t agree on the specifics of their identification.

374
 According to the Skanda Purana (Nagarekhanda, 244: 3-9), in ancient times, Shaligrams

were divided into twenty-four different types, each given the name of a specific manifestation of

Vishnu: (1) Keshava, (2) Madhusudana, (3) Shankarshan, (4) Daamodara, (5) Vaasudeva, (6)

Pradyumna, (7) Vishnu, (8) Maadhava, (9) Ananta, (10) Purushottama, (11) Adhokshaja, (12)

Janaardan, (13) Govinda, (14) Trivikrama, (15) Shridhar, (16) Hrishikesha, (17) Nrisimha, (18)

Vishvayoni, (19) Vaamana, (20) Naaraayana, (21) Pundarikaaksha, (22) Upendra, (23) Hari, and

(24) Krishna. The Brahma Vaivartta Purana (Prakrtikhanda, chapter 21), however, categorizes

Shaligrams into nineteen different varieties with the following descriptions: 197

1). Lakshmi-Narayana: In color, he resembles a new cloud and has a single opening marked with
four circular prints. A linear mark resembling a vanamala (a particular kind of garland held by
Lord Vishnu, or series of forests) is also printed on his body.
2). Lakshmi-Janardan: The above type without the mark of vanamala.
3). Raghunatha: He has two openings with four circular marks. His body also is marked with the
footprint of a cow, but not with any mark of vanamala.
4). Dadhivamana: Very small in size with two circular marks and having the color of a new
cloud.
5). Shridhar: The above type with an additional mark of vanamala.
6). Daamodara: Big in size with a round shape and two circular marks, but not having the mark of
vanamala.
7). Ranarama: round and middle in shape with prints of arrows all over His body. He must have
two circular marks and prints of a quiver with arrows on His body.
8). Rajarajeshwara: Middle in size, having seven circular marks and also the marks of an
umbrella and grass (or quiver) on His body.
9). Ananta: Big in size with the color of a new cloud and having 14 circular marks on His body.
10). Madhusudana: Round in shape, middle in size, and charming to look at. He has two circular
marks and a footprint of a cow on His body.
11). Sudarshan: With single circular mark.
12). Gadadhara: With a hidden circular mark.
13). Hayagriva: With two circular marks and having the shape of the face of a horse.
14). Narasimha: Having a large opening with two circular marks and glittering to look at.
15). Lakshmi-Narasimha: Having a big opening with two circular marks, and also marked with a
vanamala.
16). Vaasudeva: Evenly shaped and charming to look at, having two circular marks at the front of
his opening.
17). Pradyumna: With the color of a new cloud and having a small circular mark and several
small holes on His body.
18). Shankarshan: He has two circular marks joined with each other on the top side of His body.
19). Aniriddha: Round in shape, glaced and charming to look at, and having the yellowish color.

375
The Shaligram categories provided in the Garuda Purana (Panchanan Tarkaratna, part I, chapter

45), while clearly similar, continue to deviate further:

1). Vaasudeva: White in color having two circular marks joined with each other at the opening
2). Shankarshan: Reddish in color, having two circular marks joined with each other, and also the
mark of a lotus on the far side of His body.
3). Pradyumna: Yellow in color and long in shape with a small opening.
4). Aniruddha: Blue in color and round in shape with a hole at the top side of His body.
5). Narayana: Black in color with three linear marks at the opening.
6/. Nrisimha: He holds the mark of a mace at the center of His body, and a circular mark at the
lower middle portion, His upper middle portion being comparatively bigger.
7). Kapila: He holds three dot-like marks on His body or at His opening.
8). Varahashaktilinga: He holds two circular marks of unequal size.
9). Kumaramurthi: Big in size, blue in color and printed with three linear marks and one or more
dots.
10). Krishna: Round in shape with a flat upper side.
11). Shridhar: Printed with five linear marks and a mace.
12). Vaamana: Round in shape with a comparatively smaller height and printed with one or more
beautiful circular marks.
13). Ananta: Variegated in color with many circular marks.
14). Damodara: Big in size, blue in color with a deep circular mark at the center.
15). Brahman: Red in color with a small opening.
16). Prthu: Printed with a long linear mark, a circular mark and a lotus, and having one or more
holes.
17). Hayagriva: With a big hole, a big circular mark, five linear marks and the marks of a
Kaustubha gem, an Ankusha (spear head) several dots and a dark spot.
18). Vaikuntha: Blue in color, printed with a lotus and a circular mark, and glittering like a gem.
19). Matsya: Long in shape and printed with a lotus and two linear marks.
20). Trivikrama: Green in color, with a circular mark on His left side and a linear mark on His
right side.
21). Lakshminarayana: Round in shape with a single opening. He has four circular marks at the
opening and is decorated with a vanamala, one footprint of a cow and a golden linear mark.

In addition to the categories listed above, and additional thirteen more varieties of Shaligram are

recorded in the Garuda Purana based on their number of circular marks (chakras). Amongst

these additional varieties, each type, with the exception of the last two, bear the same name as

given in the previous list. The difference between the last two categories is that, according to this

particular text, a Shaligram with twelve circular marks is called Dwadashatman and one with

thirteen or more marks is called Ananta (dvaadashaatma dvaadashabhirta oorddhvamanantakah

- Garuda Purana, part I: 45:30). The categories of Shaligrams that are detailed in the Garuda

376
Purana list are the same categories that are also listed in the Agni Purana 198 as well. The

difference is that the name-types of Kumaramurthi (9), Brahman (15), and Prthu (16) are not

included in the Agni Purana. Conversely, the Agni Purana includes the name-types of

Parameshtin, Kurma Sudarshan, Acyuta, Janardan and a few more name-types based on the

number of chakras a Shaligram might have. An additional point of divergence is that the

Vaasudeva type Shaligram in the Garuda Purana is white but, in the Agni Purana, (and other

sources) it is black in color.

Shaligram interpretation using the Garuda Purana, however, can be somewhat confusing.

For example, the list of Shaligram names by number of chakras is as follows:

1. Sudarshan
2. Lakshmi – Narayan
3. Acyuta
4. Janardan, Caturbhuja
5. Vaasudeva
6. Pradyumna
7. Sankarshan
8. Purushottam
9. Navavyuha
10. Dasavatara
11. Anirudda
12. Ananta
13. Paramatma (13+)

Because several name-types based on number also overlap with Shaligram name-types elsewhere

(which are not identified using number of chakras), there is no hard standard in the texts which

can be used to describe exactly how any given Shaligram should be ideally identified. For

example, the Garuda Purana identifies a Pradyumna Shaligram as potentially any Shaligram with

six chakras, but the Brahma Vaivarta Purana identifies Pradyumna Shaligrams as the color of

new clouds (light blue or grey) with a small circular mark and several additional small holes. The

same is true of the distinctive Anirudda Shaligram, which according to the list of names by

number of chakras would be a Shaligram with eleven circular markings. In practice, the
377
Anirudda Shaligram is a tear-drop shaped bivalve marked with a wide variety and number of

concentric ridges (see Chapter 5). Additionally, some stricter Vaishnava traditions use an

alternative interpretation of the Garuda Purana, and other associated texts, to identify Shaligrams

using a sequence of four, and only four characteristics, said to represent marks of a shankha

(conch shell), chakra (disc), gada (mace) and padma (lotus flower) arranged in a particular order.

With any perceived change in the order of the four symbols, the name of the Shaligram is then

interpreted differently for a total of twenty-four possible permutations, each associated with a

particular name of Vishnu. The identification of Shaligrams in this sense is then always relative

to the order of the four symbols (Debroy, Bibek and Dipavali Debroy. The Garuda

Purana. Shalagrama. p. 42.):

1. Shanka, chakra, gada and padma - Keshava

2. Padma, gada, chakra, shanka - Narayana
3. Chakra, shanka, padma and gada - Madhava
4. Gada, padma, shanka and chakra - Govinda
5. Padma, shanka, chakra and gada – Vishnu
6. Shanka, padma, gada, chakra – Madusudhana
7. Gada, chakra, shanka and padma – Trivikrama
8. Chakra, gada, padma, shanka - Vamana
9. Chakra, padma, shanka, gada - Shridhara
10. Padma, gada, shanka, charka - Hrishikesh
11. Padma, chakra,gada, shanka - Padmanabha
12. Shanka, chakra, gada, padma - Damodara
13. Chakra, shanka, gada, padma - Sankarshana
14. Shanka, chakra, padma, gada - Pradyumna
15. Gada, shanka, padma, charka - Aniruddha
16. Padma, shanka, gada, chakra - Purushottama
17. Gadha, shanka, chakra, padma - Adokshaja
18. Padma, gada, shanka, chakra - Narasimha
19. Padma, chakra, shanka, gada – Acyuta
20. Shanka, chakra, padma, gada - Janardana
21. Gada, padma, shanka, chakra - Upendra
22. Chakra, padma, gada and shanka – Hari
23. Gada, padma, chakra and shanka - Krishna
24. Shanka, chakra, padma, gada – Vasudeva

378
 In another account, the Prapanchasara (which is also quoted in the Prana-toshini tantra on

page 373), Vishnu is described as having fifty different forms, any of which may appear in the

form of Shaligram: (1) Keshava, (2) Narayana, (3) Maahava, (4) Govinda, (5) Madhusudana, (6)

Trivikrama, (7) Vaamana, (8) Shridhar, (9) Hrishikesha, (10) Padmanabha, (11) Damodara, (12)

Vaasudeva, (13) Sankarshana, (14) Pradyumna, (15) Aniruddha, (16) Chakrin, (17) Gadin, (18)

Sharngin, (19) Khadgin, (20) Shankin, (21) Halin, (22) Musalin, (23) Soolin, (24) Paashin, (25)

Ankushin, (26) Mukunda, (27) Nandaja, (28) Nandin, (29) Nara, (30) Narakajit, (31) Hari, (32)

Krishna, (33) Satya, (34) Saatvata, (35) Shauri, (36) Shuri, (37) Janardana, (38) Bhudhaarin, (39)

Vishvamurtti, (40) Vaikuntha, (41) Purushottama, (42) Balin, (43) Balaanuja, (44) Bala, (45)

Vrishaghna, (46) Vrisha, (47) Hamsa, (48) Varaha, (49) Vimala, and (50) Nrisimha.

Additionally, the Saradatantra states that all the above fifty forms of Vishnu, when worshipped in

an image, should be rendered using green colors (shyama) and holding a discus (chakra) and a

conch in two of the hands. In the Fetkarini tantra, the color of the deities should be that of “a new

cloud” (a light blue or grey) and they are to be clad in yellow clothes with their shakti consorts

depicted on their laps. In general, however, what matters most in the identification of Shaligrams

through scriptural texts is shapes and surface characteristics: different shapes thus indicating

different divine manifestations which then subsequently bring about different results in their

worship (chatraakaare bhavedraajyam varttule cha mahaashriyah duhkhancha shakatakaare

shoolaagre maranam dhruram vikritaasya cha daadridryam oingale haanireva cha. lagnachakre

bhaved vyaadhirvidiirne maranam dhruvam – Brahma Vaivarta Purana, Prakritikhanda, 21:78-

79).

Shaped like and umbrella: A devotee will gain a kingdom

Round: Brings immense wealth
Shaped like a cart: Brings sorrow

379
 Shaped like the top portion of a spear: Brings death
Deformed or having an ugly mouth: Brings poverty
Shaped with joint circular marks - chakras: Brings disease
Cracked: Brings death
Reddish-brown of any shape: Brings loss of wealth
(Brahma Vaivarta Purana, Prakritikhanda, 21:78-79)

The Prana-toshini tantra (PTT., pages 351-356) records an extensive listing of sixty-two

types of Shaligrams along with a detailed description of the sub-types that may correspond with

the primary category (i.e., the principal deity followed by whatever specific form or mood

(bhava) that deity might be appearing in for that specific Shaligram). As a compilation of quotes

and descriptions from a number of different ancient texts, this listing forms the basis for nearly

all Shaligram identifications in practice. This does not mean, however, that Shaligram specialists

and devotees necessarily consult this list directly when “reading” a Shaligram (if fact, they

almost never do), but that the concept of multiple sub-types and variations on the main categories

forms the foundation for interpreting Shaligrams today. In this way, any given Shaligram may

not necessarily conform exactly to the ideals set out in scriptural texts and may carry a name or

demonstrate an incarnation not specifically mentioned, though it will always fall somewhere

along the spectrum of categories contained in the authoritative texts of Hindu theology. In other

words, though Krishna Govinda may not be specifically mentioned in the scriptures as a type of

Shaligram, Krishna Shaligrams are widely referenced. Therefore, a Shaligram read as Krishna

Govinda would fall under the auspices of, and be considered a version of, the Krishna-type

Shaligram recorded in the sacred texts: 199

1). Keshava: (i) Marked with a small circular print, a garland and several golden dot prints. (ii)
Marked with a conch and a circle on the lower middle portion.
2). Hayagriva: (i) Blue in color, shaped like a spearhead (Ankusha), and marked with a linear, a
circular and several dot prints. (ii) With five linear marks, other characteristics being the same as
above. (iii) Marked with a circle and a flag-print, other things being the same as above. (iv) Green
in color, shaped like the head of a horse, and marked with a circle.
3). Paremeshthin: (i) With a hole at the top and having the marks of a lotus, a circle and several

380
dots. (ii) White in color, having a decent hole and a picture at the top and marked with a discus
and a lotus. (iii) Reddish in color with a circular and linear mark, and a hole at the top. (iv) Round
in shape, yellow in color with a hole at the top. (v) Reddish or yellowish in color with the marks
of a lotus and a circle on His body, its top portion being divided by a circular hole.
4). Hiranyagarbha: (i) With the color like that of honey and having a long shape. It has moon-like
marks and several golden linear marks on His body. (ii) Black in color and round in shape with a
circular glaced opening. A sweet sound is always formed inside His body. It is marked with a
charming Shrivatsa (a circle formed of hair) at its top.
5). Chaturbhuja: He holds the color of a new cloud. It has a round shape with four circular marks
on the body.
6). Gadadhara: Green in color with its lower middle portion raised upwards. It has a big hole at its
top and is marked with long lines.
7). Narayana: (i) He holds at His front side a good-looking opening marked with a necklace, a
golden bracelet (keyura) and other ornaments. (ii) It is marked with two circular prints on its
either side with a clear circular mark at its opening.
8). Lakshmi-Narayana: (i) It has a single opening with four circular marks (or with a vanamala)
(ii) Round in shape big in size, having a glaced opening marked with a flag, a cross and a spear-
head. (iii) Round in shape with a circular opening marked with four circles, and also printed with
a flag, a cross, a spear head, and a yellow spot. (iv) Green in color, round in shape, and marked
with one or four circular prints. (v) Big in size with a comparatively high top, and marked with a
flag, a cross, a spear-head, a garland and a few dot prints. (vi) With a small opening, having four
circular prints and also marked with a garland. (vii) Marked with three circular prints. (viii) With
the color of a new cloud and having a single opening marked with four circular prints, and also
having the mark of a garland on His body.
9). Naranarayana: Green in color with a charming shape, having reddish circular marks at the
opening and golden spots on His body.
10). Rupinarayana: Marked with a pestle, a garland, a conch, a discuss and mace on his front side.
It may also have the mark of a bow at His front.
11). Madhava: With a color like that of honey and marked with a mace and a conch.
12). Govinda: (i) Black in color and very charming to look at. He holds the marks of a mace and a
discus on His right side and that of a mountain on the left. (ii) Black in color and middle in size,
having His central portion raised upwards. He has a big opening beautifully marked with circles,
and His body is also decorated with five different circles.
13). Vishnu: (i) Big in size and black in color with linear markings at the center of the opening.
(ii) With the mark of the mace at the center of the opening things being the same as above.
14). Madhusudana: With a single circular mark at the opening and the marks of a conch and a
lotus on His body.
15). Trivikrama: (i) Green in color, triangular in shape, and glittering to look at. He holds a single
circular mark on His left side and a linear mark on His right side. (ii) With two circular marks,
other things apparently being the same as above.
16). Shridhar: (i) Round in shape and decorated with five linear marks and a good-looking
garland mark. (ii) With linear marks standing upwards on His both sides, other things are the
same as above. (iii) Green in color, round in shape with a flat upper side and having a lotus mark
at the opening. (iv) Very small in size and marked with two circles and a garland. (v) Glittering
like a gem and having the marks of a flag and a circle. (vi) He has a glaced body with the mark of
vanamala on it, and there are also linear marks on the upper side on his body.
17). Hrishikesh: (i) Shaped like a half moon. (ii) With a single circular mark and also with marks
resembling the hair of a boar.
18). Padmanabha: (i) Reddish in color with a mark of a lotus on His body. (ii) With a full and half
circular mark, and also with the mark of a petal (of a lotus) but there is no hair mark on the body.
19). Damodara: (i) Big in size with a small circular mark. (ii) Green in color and big in size with a

381
very small opening. He has a big circular mark and one or more yellow spots on His body. (iii)
He has a single opening not very deep, and two circular marks one above the other. There is also
a long linear mark at His center.
20). Sudarshan: (i) Green in color and glittering to look at. He holds the marks of a mace and a
discus on His left side and two linear marks on His right side. A lotus printed with linear marks is
also found on his body. (ii) A circular mark at the top and a big opening is deeply dark.
21). Vaasudeva: White in color and glittering to look at. He has two circular marks closely
printed but not joined, at His opening.
22). Pradyumna: (i) Yellow in color with a small opening and having several linear marks both at
the top as well as on the sides. (ii) Blue in color with many holes at His small mouth and having a
comparatively long shape.
23). Aniruddha: (i) Blue in color and round in shape and glaced and printed with a lotus and three
linear marks. (ii) Black in color with a beautifully shaped opening and having the mark of a
discus at the center, another on a side and a small circle at the top. (iii) Yellow in color, round in
shape and very charming to look at.
24). Purushottama: (i) golden in color with a circular mark at the middle portion of His body and
a bigger circular mark at the top. (ii) Yellow in color and marked with dot-prints on all sides. (iii)
With openings on all sides numbering about ten.
25). Adhokshaja: Deep dark in color with red linear marks. He is round in shape with a single
circular mark and a few reddish spots on His body. He may be either big or small in size.
26). Acyuta: With four circular marks on the right and left sides and two red circles at the
opening. He is also marked with conch, discus, stick, bow, arrow, mace, pestle, flag, a white
umbrella and a red spearhead.
27). Upendra: Green in color and glittering like a gem. He has a glaced body with one or more
circular marks on His sides.
28). Janardana: (i) With two openings marked with four circles. (ii) With two circular marks on
the sides and two others at the top. (iii) With one opening at the front side, and another at the back
side, each marked with two circles.
29). Lakshmijanardana: With one opening printed with four circles.
30). Hari: Green in color, round in shape with one opening at the top. The lower portion of His
body is marked with dot-prints.
31). Ananta: (i) Marked with the hood of a snake and many circles. (ii) With many holes on His
body and marked with several circles. (iii) Variegated in color and marked with the hood of a
snake and also with circular prints not less than 14 and not more than 20 in number. (iv) big in
size, cloudy in color and marked with 14 chakra prints.
32). Yogeshwara: The type found at the top of the Shaligram mountain.
33). Pundarikaaksham: Printed with two eye-like marks either on a side or at the top.
34). Chaturmukha: With four linear marks rising from the sides, and also printed with two
circular marks on the middle portion of His body.
35). Yajnamurthi: Reddish yellow in color, with a small opening and two circular marks, one at
the bottom and one the other side on the right side.
36). Dattatreya: (i) With white, red and black spots all over His body and a mark of a rosary on
the very topside (ii) Red and yellow in color, other things being the same as above.
37). Shishmaarga: Long in shape, with a deep triangular opening and having one or two circular
marks on the front side and another on the back side.
38). Hamsa: Shaped like a bow with a mixed color of blue and white and having the marks of a
discus and lotus on His body.
39). Parahamsa: Shaped like the throat of a peacock, with a glaced body and round opening.
Inside the opening there are two circular marks with a sun-like print on the right side of them.
There are also two linear marks forming the shape of a boar on His body.
40). Lakshmipati: Either the front or any one of his rear sides is shaped like the throat of a

382
 peacock. He is dark in color with a big opening and a small circular mark.
41). Garudadhvaja: Round in shape with the marks of golden horns and hoofs on the body. He is
also printed with a circular mark with dark linear marks inside it.
42). Vatapatrashaayin: Round in shape with a mixed color of white, red and blue. He has also one
circular mark with a conch on His left and a lotus on His right side. There are also four circular
marks and three dot-prints inside His opening.
43). Vishvambhara: He has 23 circular marks on His body
44). Vishvarupa: With one opening and many circular marks.
45). Ananta: Bigger than Vishvarupa in size with five openings and many circular marks. He is
also held as a variety of Vishvarupa.
46). Pitambara: Round in shape having some similarity with the buttock of a cow and printed
with one circular mark.
47). Chakrapani: Round and glaced in shape, with a small circular mark and many other prints.
48). Saptavirashrava: Round in shape with a small circular mark and several golden dot-prints all
over the body.
49). Jagadyoni: Red in color with a circular mark at the front of his opening.
50). Bahurupin: With many openings having the marks of a conch and discus in one of them.
51). Harihara: (i) With two circular marks and a print like a Shiva linga on His front side. (ii)
With three circular marks on the sides, other things being the same as above. (iii) With four
circular marks, other things being the same as above.
52). Shivanarayan: (i) a Harihara type with four different circular marks, and two openings. (ii)
Without any opening, other things being the same as above. Both these varieties of Shivanarayan
are forbidden to be worshipped; because they cause loss of wealth and land, and even they
extinguish the family of their worshippers.
53). Swayambhu: Blue in color with a long and big opening, and having His body encircled by
linear marks.
54). Shankaranarayana: Marked with the print resembling a Shiva linga either side on the right or
the left side.
55). Pitaamaha: He has four different openings with a circular mark in each of them.
56). Naramurtti: Yellow in color with the marks of a Shiva linga on one side and a sacred thread
on the other.
57). Shesha: Printed with linear marks forming the coiled body of a snake.
58). Pralambaghna: Red in color with the marks of a coiled body and a hood of a snake. this type
is forbidden to be worshipped.
59). Suryamurtti: With twelve different circular marks either on the body or inside His opening.
60). Haihaya: (i) With one opening and different marks of hoods. Amongst these marks two take
place on the right-side outside the opening. (ii) Shaped like a lotus leaf with a golden mark
resembling an arc.
61). Vishnupanjara: Printed with several linear marks created by the insect called Vajrakita.
62). Garuda: (i) Shaped like a lotus with three linear marks one above the other, the central line
being longer. (ii) Printed with long linear marks and having two, three or four golden spots on His
body. In color he may be green, blue or white.

The Dasavatara Shaligram, the ten incarnations of Vishnu, receive similar treatment with each

Shaligram incarnation including a number of sub-types. This list of Dasavataras types is also

included in the Prana-toshini tantra (pages 348-351) and is compiled from multiple Shaligram

383
texts spanning several centuries.200 Again, this list is considered spiritually authoritative but is

not necessarily directly referenced during Shaligram identifications:

1). Matsya or the Fish type:

(i) Long in shape, golden in color, and marked with three dot-prints.
(ii) Like bell metal in color, other characteristics being the same as above.
(iii) With the color of sphatika (crystal) other things being the same as above.
(iv) Green in color and marked with a fish, and two circles.
(v) Long in shape with three openings, having a circular mark inside the opening and another at
the tail. He has the mark of a cart on His right side and a linear fish on His left side.
(vi) With a long shape having opening at the right side, and marked with three dot prints, one
discus, one lotus and one conch.
(vii) Shaped like a fish with a long mark on His head.

2). Kurma or the Tortoise type:

(i) Shaped like a tortoise with the eastern side elevated.
(ii) Green in color, round in shape resembling a tortoise, His upper side being comparatively
higher and printed with circular markings.
(iii) Shaped like a tortoise and printed with five different marks each resembling the sun.
(iv) Marked with foot-prints of a cow on His sides.
(v) Marked with a conch, a flag, and three golden dot-prints.
(vi) Long in shape with openings on the left and right sides and printed with five sun-marks.
(vii) Shaped like a snuhi (emphorbia antiquorum) flower with circular marks on both the sides.
(viii) Round and long in shape, having a circle and a tortoise printed on His sides. He has a mixed
color of blue and red.

3). Varaha or the Boar type:

(i) Blue in color, big in size, and printed with circular marks in odd number, as well as three
linear marks.
(ii) Printed with even number of circular marks, of which at least one takes place on His right
side, and also with a vanamala. This last variety is also called Lakshmi-Varaha.

4). Narasimha or the Man-lion type:

(i) With a big opening and two circular marks.
(ii) With a long opening and linear marks resembling the mane of a lion, and also with two
circular marks.
(iii) Marked with three dot-prints other things being the same as above.
(iv) Uneven in shape with a mixed reddish color, having two big circular marks above it, and a
crack at the front.
(v) Reddish in color and printed with several teeth like marks, three or five dot-marks and a big
circular mark.
(vi) With a big opening, a vanamala and two circular marks. This type is popularly known as
Lakshminrisimha.
(vii) Black in color with dot marks all over his body and two circular marks on His left side. This
also is a variety of the Lakshminrisimha sub-type.
(viii) Printed with a lotus mark on His left side. This also is a sub-type of Lakshminrisimha.
(ix) When any of the above types of Narasimha is marked with five dot prints He is popularly
called Kapilanrisimha.

384
(x) Printed with seven circular marks and golden dots and also having openings on all sides. This
type is called Sarvotmukhanrisimha.
(xi) Variegated in color, having many openings including a large one and marked with many
circular prints. This type is popularly called Paataalanrisimha.
(xii) With two circular marks inside the main opening and eight others on His sides. This also is a
variety of Paataalanrisimha.
(xiii) Aakaashanrisimha: With a comparatively high top and a big opening and also printed with
circular marks.
(xiv) Jihvaanrisimha: Big in size, with two openings and two circular marks. He being the giver
of poverty, His worship is forbidden.
(xv) Raakshasanrisimha: With a fierce opening and holes, and also marked with golden spots. His
worship also is forbidden.
(xvi) Adhomukhanrisimha: With three circular marks one at the top and two on the sides, having
His opening at the bottom.
(xvii) Jvaalaanrisimha: Marked with two circular prints and a vanamala, and having a small
opening.
(xviii) Mahaanrisimha: Printed with two big circular marks and a few other linear marks one
above the other.

5). Vaman or the Dwarf type:

(i) Round in shape, small in size and marked with five linear prints.
(ii) Small in size and glittering to look at. He has a circular mark on each of His above and below
sides with the print of a Garuda bird near the circular marks.
(iii) Not very small in size. Marked with a circular print at the centre and glaced to look at.
(iv) Yellow in color with a bit high top and having an indistinct circular mark.
(v) Cloudy in color, round in shape, marked with a vanamala and having a small opening.
(vi) Very small in size with the color of a cloud and marked with two circles. He is popularly
called Dadhivaamana.
(vii) Yellowish in color, marked with several dot-prints with one or more at the opening. He also
is a variety of the Dadhivaamana sub-type.
N.B.: Regarding the shape of these Dadhivaamana varieties, the Matsyasukta(Matsyasukta quoted
in Praanateshanitantra, page 350.) tells us that they may resemble either a vilva (woodapple) or
vadara (berry) or even like the seed of any of these fruits.

6). The Parasuram type:

(i) Yellow in color and marked with a print resembling an axe.
(ii) With two prints resembling teeth, either at the top or on any two sides, other things being the
same as above.

7). The Ramachandra type:

(i) Yellow in color and printed with the mark of the bow.
(ii) Green in color and glaced, having a stick like mark on the back side and two linear marks on
the rear sides.
(iii) Ranaraama: Middle in size, round in shape and marked with two circles, and arrow, a quiver
and several dot-prints.
(iv) Raajaraajeshvara: Round in shape, middle in size and printed with two circular marks at the
opening. His body is marked with the prints of an umbrella, an arrow, a quiver, and several dots
resembling the wounds caused by arrows.
(v) Sitaaraam: (a) Cloudy in color, with one opening, and printed with marks resembling teeth,
bow, arrow, spear, umbrella, flag, chowry and garland.

385
 (b) With two openings each furnished with two circular marks and also with a circular print on
His left side.
(vi) Dashakanthakulaantaka Raama:
(a) Like an egg of a hen in size, green in color, and having two openings with two linear marks at
each of them, and also with the mark of a bow. His top side is comparatively higher.
(b) Printed with a linear mark resembling a bow on each side, other things being the same as
above.
(vii) Viiraraama: Printed with an arrow, a quiver, a bow, an ear-ring, a garland, and a small
circular mark decorated with petals.
(viii) Vijayaraama: Printed with an arrow, a bow, a quiver, and a big opening marked with red
dots. A circular mark decorated with petals also is printed on His body or at the opening.
(ix) Raamamurtti: or Kavitavada Raama: Black in color and glaced, having one opening with a
circular mark.
(x) Dushthararaama: Cloudy in color with the mark resembling one's knee, and also with a bow
and arrow on the top side and footprints of a cow on the rear sides.

8). The Sankarshan type:

(i) With two circular marks joined with each other on the top side.
(ii) Reddish in color with the glaced and spotless eastern side and marked with two circles joined
with each other.
(iii) Balabhadra: Marked with seven circular prints.
(iv) Balarama: With five linear marks on the top side and a bow and an arrow on the rear sides.

9). The Buddha type:

With a very small opening and without any circular markings.
This type is popularly called Niviita Buddha.

10). The Kalki type:

(i) With the color of a bee and printed with six circular marks, having a linear sword above the
opening.
(ii) Shaped like a horse and marked with three circular prints.
A group of the Vaishnavas having been inclined to hold Krishna Vaasudev as the eighth
prominent incarnation of Lord Vishnu, instead of Sankarshan, used to worship a new type of
Saligram holding it a sacred symbol of the Lord, and giving the name Krishna type to it. With the
passing of time this new type also was divided into different varieties in the following way:

11). The Krishna type:

(i) Marked with a vanamala and a discus on His right side.
(ii) Black in color with two equal circular marks at the opening.
(iii) Small in size with a yellow spot and several dot-prints on His sides.
(iv) With the upper side like that of a tortoise, and the entire lower middle portion resembling its
mouth.
(v) Taarksya: (a) Black in color and long in shape resembling a pillar.
(b) Shaped like a spear-head, and marked with two circles, one lotus, one ring, and one gem.
(vi) Baalakrsna: With a long opening having dot-prints on His lower side.
(vii) Gopala: Deep black in color, big in size with a good-looking opening. He has two circular
marks, and the marks of vanamala and shrivatsa on His upper side, and also teeth like marks on a
rear side.
(viii) Madanagopal: A Gopala type holding a lotus mark on His upper or lower side.
(ix) Santaanagopal: Long in shape, black in color with an opening of the half-moon shape.

386
 (x) Govardhanagopala: With a comparatively less height and round upper portion. Marked with a
stick, a garland, a whistle and long lines and also having silver dots all over His body.
(xi) Lakshmigopal: Shaped like the egg of a hen and marked with a vanamala, a plough, a
whistle, and a ring on different sides.
(xii) Kaliyamardana: Marked with a golden line and three dot-prints.
(xiii) Syamantahaarin: Big in size, with the color of a sword, and having the marks of a vanamala
and shrivatsa on His upper side.
(xiv) Chanooramardan: Green in color with two red spots and a linear mark on each of the right
and left sides.
(xv) Kamsamardana: Blue in color, having a different color either at the front or on a rear side.

In later years, these lists of Shaligrams and their corresponding identifications have been

repeatedly revised and modified by multiple religious traditions. In Sri Vaishnava Vedanta

Chatur-vyuha theology (see also Rao 1996), for example, the four Chatur-vyuha forms of Vishnu

comprise four of the six causes of creation. All six causes refer to God Himself as the final cause

of creation and his five aspects – Narayana ('thinking'), Vasudeva ('feeling'), Samkarshana

('willing'), Pradyumna ('knowing') and Aniruddha ('acting') respectively. Each divinity then

controls its specific creative energy, the six gunas: jnana (omniscience), aishvarya (lordship),

shakti (potency), bala (force), virya (virtue) and tejas (self-sufficiency). Either acting in pairs or

in totality, these manifestations and abilities form the materials of creation. In this theological

tradition, vyuhas are also the first beings who were ever created and they represent the effective

parts of a coherent whole where vyuha means the projection of the svarupa (the pure and

formless divine) which is then bahurupa (manifest variously). Basing identification practices off

of the story of the sage Shalankayana in the Varaha Purana (who becomes Shaligram himself

after performing austerities, such as praying beneath a sal tree on the banks of the Kali Gandaki

River),201 this particular interpretive tradition, which is most common in South India, Tamil

Nadu, and in Indonesia, combines a wide variety of Shaligram references in various texts in

terms of shape, color, and size and bases the name-type categories entirely on Dasvatara

typology which is said to branch out from the initial four Vyuhas. As will readily become

387
apparent, this list also contains a series of repetitions (where specific Shaligrams are mentioned

more than once but with different descriptions), conflicting criteria for identification, and textual

ambiguities. However, due to the fact that this list of instructions for deity identification was

compiled by a single ritual specialist, it is particularly useful here because the overlapping and

combined categories demonstrates many of the common practical conundrums and

contradictions in Shaligram identification (the original list taken from archived correspondence

has been alphabetized and compiled in the following table. Repeated categories and descriptions

are included together in the same section even though they appear separately in the original

format).

A The Achyuta-murti- The Ananta-murti- The Ananta-murti- The Aniruddha-murti-

salagrama is bluish in salagrama is always cold salagrama is distinguished salagrama has the same
hue and large in size; it to touch but shines like a by the marking of the characteristics as the above
is smooth and has blaze of fire; it has an serpent hood. The banner- (viz. Pradyumna murti) but
minute chakras; it has even number of minute like marking is seen in the is recognized be an aperture
marks of vanamala on chakras, with marks of the middle, accompanied by a with a minute chakra, and by
its body. classical five weapons of line. The stone is a large marks of golden and silver
Vishnu (conch, discus, one, shaped like a serpent; lines.
The Achyuta-murti- mace, bow and sword), and has seven chakras.
salagrama is extremely and also of Sri-vatsa-mark Another variety of Ananta-
cold to touch and has a on the chest. murti has eight or ten
small aperture; it has a chakras, which indicate its
chakra on the surface superior merit. It may also
and two chakras within have thirteen or fourteen
the aperture. chakras, which enhance its
value. The stone is
yellowish, bluish or
variegated in colour. It has
markings of discus, conch,
mace, lotus and vanamala.
The worship of this stone is
calculated to secure all
prosperity.
B The Balabhadra-murti- The Balarama-murti- The Bhu-varaha-salagrama The Brahma-murti-
salagrama, which is salagrama has marks of has a raised body with a salagrama (Parameshthi) is
worshipped for the plough-share, and of head shaped like an whitish in hue, and perfectly
obtaining celebrity and the pestle-like weapon on elephant goad; there is a round; it may also be
cattle wealth is blue- it; it is whitish in colour chakra at the bottom, and yellowish. It has a single
black in colour and its and has line-scratches of near it can be seen a chakra and mark of a lotus;
shape is that of a vanamala; there are also structure like the single and at the rear portion is an
parasol; it is smooth dots like honey drops. tusk. It is an auspicious aperture
(greasy). It is This is the abode of stone. (See also Varaha
characterized by Samkarshana. Salagrama)
animating opening, by
a spot and by red lines.
Its fore-part is bulky,

388
 and its body is soft and
shining.

B The Buddha-murti- The Buddha-murti-

salagrama has two salagrama is muddy
apertures, and two coloured and has spots on
chakras in the interior. it; the chakra is there in
The chakras are the aperture, but unseen;
upward-inclined at the the chakra also is dark
head, or they are at the gray in colour.
sides. The stone may
be multi-coloured.
C- The Dadhi-Gopala- The Dadhi-Vamana-murti- The Dadhi-Vamana-murti- The Damodara-murti-
D Vamana-murti- salagrama has a salagrama is a small one salagrama is longish in
salagrama has a chakra downward chakra at the and perfectly round; it is shape, and brilliant in
on top, with spots like top which are spots like black in colour and has appearance; there are marks
honey-drops at its honey drops, the stone has spots on top. There is a on its body of conch, discus,
upper end. a bluish tinge as well as chakra in close proximity to mace and vanamala.
reddish hue. the aperture. This is hard to
get, but when worshipped it
secures all desires.

E- The Gopala-murti- The Sri-Gopala-murti- The Santana-Gopala-murti- The Govinda-murti-

F- salagrama has the salagrama has the salagrama has marks of salagrama is dark blue like
G shape of a jambu-fruit markings of the five holy cudgel and horn (which the blade of a fresh durva
(rose apple) and is weapons (mentioned cowherds carry) on its grass; it has ten apertures
black in colour; there above); it has no sides, and at the head and twenty chakras; and
are also spots. At the apertures; it is either round position can be seen the there are scratches on its
rear, there is an in shape or elongated; a mark of a flute. The body which look like vana-
aperture, and a mark of vanamala mark is seen on worship of this stone mala. The worship of this
ear-rings (makara- it. This salagrama can ensures progeny. This stone stone secures the fulfillment
kundalas); on the have identification marks is blue in colour and of all desires.
forehead of the stone, of a single deity or of a elongated in shape; it has
slanting to the left are combination. It may be an aperture which
the mark of the arrow longish in shape and is resembles the elephant-
and bow, with spots. characterized by a big goad, a chakra.
This sacred stone is belly (viz. Middle portion
capable of eliminating being big); it has scratches
enemies and fulfilling resembling flute-openings.
all desires when
worshipped. One who The Gopala-murti-
has no progeny will salagrama, which is a very
procure progeny; and rare one, is worshipped for
the stone is all obtaining progeny,
auspicious. increase of cattle-wealth
and emancipation.

389
H The Sri-Hari-murti- The Hayagriva-murti- The Hiranya-garbha- The Hiranya-garbha-
salagrama is a large salagrama has the form of salagrama is moon-like in salagrama brings all good
one and its colour is a ripe jambu-fruit (rose appearance, slippery to fortune to the worshipper; it
that of copper (or red). apple, Eugenia touch, and large in size, is like worshipping a
Jambolana), with a face in raised on top. There is a thousand Shiva-nabha
the shape of an elephant chakra at the entrance of the salagramas. It assures
god; it has also longish aperture. worldly prosperity
spots on its body

H The Hiranya-garbha- The Hrshikesa-murti-

murti-salagrama is salagrama is dark blue (or
blue-black in colour black) in colour, soft to
and cold to touch; it touch; it has five apertures
has no apertures, but it and ten chakras.
contains gold within
(viz. It has spots in
golden colour in the
middle portion of the
stone.

I- The Janardana-murti- The Janardana-murti-

J salagrama is salagrama shines like blue
characterized by its water-lily (utpala,
blue colour and marks Nymphala caerulea); it is
of conch, discus, and recognized by the
lotus; it is cold like ice; vanamala mark which
and has a shape like a goes around the stone. It is
spear. elsewhere described as
having six apertures and
The Janardana-murti- twelve chakras, slippery to
salagrama is touch, and marked by
distinguished by four vanamala.
chakras.
K The Kalki-murti- The Kapila-narasimha- The Keshava-murti- The Sri-Krishna-murti-
salagrama is salagrama has a large salagrama is blue black in salagrama has markings of
recognized by the line- chakra at the place where colour with minute chakras; the five weapons (conch
markings resembling a the tusk would be located; it has golden and silver called Panchajanya, discus
horse, and the weapon the colour of the stone is spots, and a mark called Sudarsana, mace
called Kunta (lance). It tawny, and there can be resembling vanamala. called Kaumodaki, bow
is white in colour, and seen on the stone the mark called Sarnga, and sword
has a long mouth. of vanamala. This must be called Nandaka), vanamala
worshipped only by and lotus; is has a minute
celibates for worldly chakra.
prosperity or for salvation.

K The Krishna-murti- The Kurma-murti- The Kurma-murti- The Kurma-Varaha-murti-

salagrama is salagrama is thick and salagrama is raised on the salagrama has a chakra with
recognized by a long compact in structure, blue- rear side and is adorned by two dots or the mark of
line in the middle, black in colour, variegated white hood-like structure conch; and there is another
which resembles the hue, tawny or black; it has and marked by a hoof (foot minute chakra nearby. This
mace. The worship of chakras. mark of horse). It has black is difficult to procure and its
this stone helps one to spots but otherwise clear. worship will secure the
acquire worldly The stone is suitable to be fulfillment of all desires
prosperity and also worshipped on all
obtain emancipation. auspicious occasions.

390
L The Lakshmi-Gopala- The Lakshmi-Narasimha- The Lakshmi-Narayana- The Lakshmi-Narayana-
murti-salagrama is also salagrama has a chakra on murti-salagrama is hard to murti is of yellowish hue,
shaped like a hen’s egg its left side, is black in obtain, and its worship and its left side is rounded;
but has markings and colour and has spots. Its quickly fulfills one’s there are four chakras
ear-rings. This stone is worship makes for desires. At the entrance to surrounded by a long time.
an extremely rare one; worldly prosperity as well the aperture are lines which There are markings of pestle,
and its worship assures as emancipation. resemble the flying bird sword, bow, vanamala,
progeny, prosperity Garuda (the vehicle of conch, discus and mace on
and salvation. The Lakshmi-Narasimha- Vishnu). the face and at the navel. The
murti-salagrama is tawny stone is suitable for all
The Lakshmi-Gopala- in hue, and inside its The Lakshmi-Narayana- prescribed rituals; it will
murti-salagrama is aperture is a large chakra murti-salagrama has a low cause prosperity, and
shaped like parasol, within which is another or depressed look, and is accomplishment of one’s
and is extremely chakra, minute in size. perfectly round, and cold to desires.
unctuous: it has no touch; it has a chakra on its
apertures, but spotted. The Lakshmi-Narasimha- head; there are two
It is large, heavily and murti-salagrama is black apertures and there are four
brilliant. coloured and spotted; on chakras either to the left or
its left side are two to the right.
chakras. The worship of
this stone secures The Lakshmi-Narayana-
prosperity here and murti-salagrama has two
liberation hereafter. chakras on top and two
chakras at the bottom
M The Madana-Gopala- The Maha-Kurma-murti- The Maha-Jvala- The Maha-Vishnu-murti-
salagrama is partly salagrama is round, Narasimha-murti-salagrama salagrama is pleasant in
black in colour and shaped like a tortoise, and is thick in shape, blue-black appearance, and the spiral
partly reddish; it has a has marks of vanamala, or tawny in colour, and has mark in lines is seen on its
long aperture on its left lotus and discus; its colour a gaping mouth (aperture). surface. It shines brilliantly
side; and there are is green and it has golden This is fit for worship only and is black in colour. It is
marks of conch, discus, spots. by mendicants. an auspicious stone and will
bow and moon. remove all fear of death.

M The Matsya-murti- The Matsya-murti-

salagrama has the form salagrama has the shape of
like the head of the a fish and is spotted; there
fish; a chakra is seen is the mark of shakti-linga
on the face; there are (viz. Triangle) at the head
also marks of sri-vatsa, which is unevenly situated
dots and scratches or at the place where the
resembling vanamala mouth would be located.
(garland of wild-
flowers).

N The Narasimha- The Narayana-murti- The Narayana-murti-

salagrama has an salagrama is recognized salagrama is blue-black in
elongated mouth, by the shape of the colour, and has a chakra at
tawny-hued, a longish serpent’s hood that seems the navel, which is also
chakra and a big belly to surround it. Its worship raised. There is long line-
(viz. Middle portion). secures the fulfillment of marking on its surface and
This stone is suitable whatever one seeks for. the mark of vanamala in
for worship by ascetics. gold.

The Sriman-Narayana-
salagrama has two chakras
on each of its sides.

391
O The Padmanabha- The Parasurama-murti- The Pradyumna-murti- The Pradyumna-murti-
-P murti-salagrama has a salagrama is distinguished salagrama is of the colour salagrama is of bright yellow
lotus-like chakra at its by the line-scratches of a hibiscus flower (viz. colour; there is a minute
navel and is of the resembling an axe; it is Red) and is marked by lines chakra, and there are
colour of a rose apple dark blue-green like the and scratches resembling numerous apertures in the
(Eugenia Jambolana). blade of the durva-grass; it vanamala, bow, arrow and elongated body of the stone.
is high in stature and is lotus. Its worship bestows
adorned with a chakra at whatever one longs for.
its navel.
Q- The Sri-Rama-murti- The Sri-Rama-murti- The Rama-murti-salagrama
R salagrama is large, salagrama is like hen’s resembles in its colour the
elongated and has spots egg in shape and is blue- kadamba flower (Naulea
on its body; there are black in colour; the rear Cadamba, viz. Orange) and
also line-markings portion is raised; at the is spotted; there are marks
resembling bow and back are scratches on it of bow, arrow and
arrow; there is a chakra resembling a bow, the lotus. It is pleasant in
at the navel, and dark wish-fulfilling tree and appearance, but difficult to
stone has many royal parasol; and criss- obtain. Its worship is
fissures. cross lines suggesting a capable of fulfilling all
quiver. This is a rare desires.
salagrama.
S The Samkarshana- The Sita-Rama-murti- The Sridhari-murti- The Srighana-murti-
murti-salagrama is salagrama has a shape that salagrama shines like fresh salagrama is white in colour
characterized by two resembles a hen’s egg, and green grass, has uneven and exceedingly smooth to
chakras situated in the has an opening at the chakras and there are marks touch. It has a thousand (viz.
same spot, and by the bottom, with marks like on it resembling vanamala. Many) spots on the surface,
front portion being ear-rings. At the entrance and also a chakra.
large. The colour of the are evenly situated The Sridhara-murti-
stone is reddish, and it chakras; and the mark of salagrama is recognized by
is beautiful to look at. the wish-fulfilling tree is the prominent marking of
also there. There are vanamala; the stone’s
chakras at the front and on colour is very much like the
the left side and line Kadamba flower (Nauclea
scratches. Cadamba, viz. Orange). Its
worship secures all
attainments.
S The Siva-Nabha-murti- The Siva-Nabha-murti- The Sveta-Varaha-murti- The Sudarsana-murti-
salagrama is roundish salagrama has a linga-like salagrama has a long snout, salagrama is round in shape
like an elephant’s form on top where there is and one tusk; it is whitish in or sometimes oval; there is a
body; and in the central also an aperture; it is colour and exceedingly single chakra seen at the
portion thick lines are perfectly round in shape clear; there is but a single aperture; and there are spots
seen. It is hard to and cold to touch. It is mark on its body which on the body of the stone.
obtain, but its worship auspicious and secures all resembles vanamala. Elsewhere, this is described
secures all desires. prosperity. as equipped with two
chakras at the top, and as
exceedingly ferocious in
aspect, and as such worthy of
worship only by ascetics.

392
T- The Tri-murti- The Trivikrama-murti- The Trivikrama-salagrama The Upendra-murti-
U salagrama is salagrama is longish in is shaped like a hen’s egg; salagrama is also shining
characterized by the shape, and brilliant in it has a chakra on the top- blue in colour, with marks of
marks resembling appearance; there are position; there are two other conch, discus and mace on
conch and discus marks on its body of chakras and on one side of its body. Its worship will
(emblems of Vishnu), conch, discus, mace and the stone is larger on the cause happiness and good
snake and battle axe vanamala. other. There are markings fortune.
(emblems of Siva) and of flag, conch and
lotus and water-pot ploughshare; there are also
(emblems of Brahma), spots. Its worship helps
and marks of three avoid untimely death.
garlands.
V The Vaikuntha-murti- The Vanamala-murti- The Vamana-murti- The Varaha-murti-salagrama
salagrama is blue-black salagrama is of tawny hue salagrama is shining blue in is long-mouthed, is blue-
in colour and soft to and has an aperture at the hue; it is small in size and black in colour, has an
touch; there are line sides of which are fang- perfectly round in shape; it encircling mark of earth, and
marks of eight like structures and inside has marks of vanamala and is distinguished by a shining
weapons of Vishnu, which are two chakras; the lotus. chakra at the opening.
and also a mark of aperture is crooked, and
vanamala; there is an by its side is the vanamala The Vamana-murti- The Varaha-murti-salagrama
aperture like the lotus mark. salagrama is of the colour is dark-blue in colour thick
stalk. of flax-flower (Linum and marked with three lines.
usitatissumum) and is Its worship promises the
endowed with spots on the fulfillment of all desires.
top; there are scratches
resembling ear-rings; and The Varaha-murti-salagrama
also, a spot on the head. is dark in colour (blue-
The stone is small and black), has the rear part
round. raised, and is adorned by a
golden spot at the back.
There are two chakras evenly
located; and at the bottom is
a minute chakra.
V The Vasudeva-murti- The Vasudeva-murti- The Vishnu-murti- The Vishtara-Sravo-murti-
salagrama has the salagrama is small and salagrama has the dark salagrama is a large one,
appearance of round, very much like an colour of the Vishnu-kranta elongated in shape and has
tranquillity, and shines areca nut; there are two flower (Clitoria Ternatea or apertures on both of its sides;
like moon-light; it chakras evenly located at Evolvulus Alsinoides), the there is a chakra, and also
bears the marks of the the entrance of the marks of the five weapons the mark of vanamala going
five weapons of aperture. However, there of Vishnu (mentioned around.
Vishnu (conch, discus, are no chakras in the above), and also of
mace, bow and sword), interior. It is rather whitish vanamala and lotus. The Visvarupa-murti-
and has a chakra at its in colour and brilliant in salagrama is known by its
navel. appearance. When The Vishnu-murti- twelve apertures and twenty-
worshipped, it can help salagrama is bluish in four chakras. Its worship will
avoid untimely death; and colour, round in shape and bring about worldly
it will secure all desires. has a chakra which is large prosperity as well as final
in size. It may otherwise be beatitude.
blue-black in colour. It is a
beautiful salagrama.

The Sudarsana-murti-salagrama has but a single There is another variety of this salagrama which is small
chakra, while the Lakshmi-narayana murti has two and has two spots; it is dark in colour and extremely greasy
chakras, the Achyuta-murti three and the Janardana- (or smooth); there is on it the mark of vanamala. It is an
murti four. Vasudeva-murti has five chakras, while auspicious stone, facilitating worldly prosperity as well as
Samkarshana has six, Varaha-murti seven, salvation.
Purushottama-murti eight, Narasimha-murti nine,
Vamana-murti ten, Pradyumna-murti eleven, and
Ananta-murti twelve. The supreme spirit abides in
other multi-chakra-stones also.

393
Balasubramanian, Venkatesh. 2003. Sri Ranga Sri “The Story of Shaligram.” Ibiblio Archives.
http://www.ibiblio.org/sripedia/srirangasri/archives/dec03/msg00007.html. Accessed 2 Dec 2016).

Lastly, there remains a wide variety of variations, revisions, and combinations of these

lists referenced and reproduced in any number of pilgrimage pamphlets and local guru literatures

available throughout South Asia. One such example, for instance, is Ashoke Roy’s “Bhagaban

Vishnu and Saligram Shila,” a Bengali Shaligram identification guide with limited distribution in

West Bengal, India and in Bangladesh. Roy’s identification guide is interesting however in that,

though it provides photographs of many Shaligram variations, does not appear to follow any

particular Puranic list. Rather, Roy groups the Shaligrams in his guide by the specific

characteristics of their principal central spirals and includes ammonite fossils (which would not

otherwise be considered Shaligram) from elsewhere in India in his interpretive frameworks. As

such, Roy’s Shaligram guide leverages more modern regional interpretations of Shaligrams

which bars any stone with an uneven shape or a spiked appearance from worship and includes

such categories as Paramesthi, Padmanava, Baikuntha, Buddha, Ksheerabdishayan, Guru, and

Shib Navi, along with many previously recognizable categories like Lakshmi-Narayan,

Sudarshan, Damodar, and Sri Ram.

Reading a Shaligram may begin with scriptural texts, but it ends with the final divination

of the deity by way of each Shaligram’s unique characteristics such as they are interpreted within

the contexts of a given practitioner’s life circumstances or experiences. For ritual specialists,

interpreting a Shaligram typically follows three general steps: determining the name-type of the

Shaligram (from the scriptures as noted above), determining the specific deity manifested, and

then determining the particular mood or stance (bhava) the deity happens to be in. “You first

look at the shape.” Sriram Bhavyesh placed a Shaligram in the palm of his right hand. “It’s

smooth, black, and almost perfectly round, but it has this one chakra on the bottom here which

394
forms a ridge all along the edge. It makes the bottom flat, the top rounded, and there is this little

protrusion here on the end, sort of pointed. This is a Mahavishnu Shaligram. Others call it

Dasavatara. It is Sri Kurma, the turtle incarnation of Vishnu as you see that it is shaped like a

turtle. But you see this indentation here in the center of the shell?” He turned the Shaligram to

show me the small, rounded, impression with a small amount of iron pyrites glittering in the

center. “It is golden in color. This is the mark of Mount Mandara where it rested upon Kurma’s

back. From here the gods churned the ocean of milk and so this is Sri Kurma Mandar Parvat, the

turtle who carries the mountain. This we find in Bhagavata Purana, in Vishnu Purana, and in

Mahabharata.” “Would everyone agree?” I asked. “If I were to take this to another temple, would

they say the same?” Sriram laughed. “I am Sri Vaishnava, so I know it in this way. A Shaiva

might say the same. So would a Smarta. They would know that it is Mahavishnu because this is

what the scriptures tell us. They would also know that it is Kurma; that can be read no other way.

But maybe they would see some other manifestation in the small things. Each tradition is

different and different teachers can see different things. It depends on who you are when the

Shaligram speaks to you.” In this way, both text and local tradition combine to read and

understand each Shaligram in turn, where interpretation of text and the interpretation of stone

become one and the same thing, and the gods themselves speak to devotees in through the

physical and symbolic processes of nature and narrative. As such, various ritual specialists often

rely on their own categorical lists of Shaligram types drawn from local traditions or from various

ritual genealogies.

In most cases, practitioner lists of Shaligram categories typically demonstrated strong

overlap with the various Puranic lists (with the inclusion or exclusion of specific deities as per

their preferences) but in a few other cases the type-lists were drawn almost entirely from regional

395
mythologies and traditions. Among one small group of Shaligram specialists in Kathmandu,

Nepal, for example, their type-list of thirty Shaligrams was based on a blending of Nepali

Vaishnava theology (most notably including the Dasavatara) and other regional and shamanic

ritual practice systems (most notably including the Buddha, the Damodar Kunda, a sacred

mountain lake, and the Jwala, or sacred mother flame): 1) Sudarshan, 2) Vishnu, 3) Shiva, 4)

Lakshmi-Narayan, 5) Lakshmi-Narasimha, 6) Kurma, 7) Matsya, 8) Varaha, 9) Ram, 10)

Vaman, 11) Parshuram, 12) Krishna, 13) Narasimha, 14) Buddha, 15) Kalki, 16) Balaram, 17)

Santhan Gopala, 18) Laddu Gopala, 19) Hayagriva, 20) Damodar, 21) Hiranyagarbha, 22)

Ratnagarbha, 23) Govinda, 24) Madhusudan, 25) Gopal, 26) Damodar Kunda, 27) Ugra or

Jwala, 28) Balaji (Venkatesh), 29) Sita Ram, and 30) Panchayan – a combination of stones (or a

single stone) that represents Ganesh, Durga, Surya, Shiva, and Vishnu. This list was often then

compared to another type-list of twenty-three categories being used by a group of Indian

Shaligram specialists from the Shakti Hindu tradition on the other side of the city: 1) Aditya, 2)

Anirudda, 3) Damodar, 4) Govinda, 5) Hayagriva, 6) Hiranyagarbha, 7) Hrishikesh, 8) Janardan,

9) Kalki, 10) Keshav, 11) Krishna, 12) Kurma, 13) Lakshmi-Narayan, 14) Lakshmi-Narasimha,

15) Lakshmi, 16) Maha Shakti/Maha Devi, 17) Matsya, 18) Santan Gopala, 19) Shankha, 20)

Shivling, 21) Shridhar, 22) Sudarshan, and 23) Surya. What is most notable then, within these

lists, is the various inclusions and exclusions of deities and deity manifestations in accordance

with the most commonly venerated gods and goddesses within each relative tradition. In other

words, just as the Puranic texts relate to one other through a variety of compositions, authors,

and time periods so too do Shaligram type-list owe their composition to persons, traditions, and

practices within certain historical, political, and geographical contexts.

396
 Various textual restrictions on Shaligram worship are also a topic of concern among a

large number of Vaishnava Shaligram practitioners. The injunctions found in different sacred

books tend to fall into two categories: the restriction of certain types of Shaligrams by caste and

the general restriction of certain kinds of Shaligram from worship entirely (forbidden

Shaligrams). According once again to the Prana-toshini tantra, each of the four varnas (the

principal caste divisions of early Hinduism) are entitled to worship a particular type of Shaligram

for securing the material and karmic merits suited to their specific caste dharmas. In this

tradition, the Vaasudeva-type Shaligrams are preferred by brahmanas; the Sakarshan-types by

kshatriyas; Pradyumna-types by vaishyas and Aniruddha-types by shudras (see Hemadri quoted

in Prana-toshini tantra, 357.) Brahmanas, however, are always authorized to offer worship on

behalf of others, which not only explains why all Shaligram types are typically “permitted”

among brahmanas but may also play a part in explaining why Shaligram worship is particularly

visible among high-caste devotees. In fact, Eleanor Zelliot mentions one such episode involving

a disagreement about Shaligram worship between a Brahmin and shoemaker (an untouchable

leather-worker) in her discussion of the hagiography of the 15th century bhakti poet-saint Ravidas

(himself low caste and in his own words a “Chamar” whose trade is low and whose labor is

degrading). In this account, a Marathi version of Ravidas’ life appearing in an 18th century

hagiography of Mahipati, a Brahmin comes to visit the house of Ravidas [Rohidas] and

complains of his use of leather while worshipping Shaligram. Though lengthy, it bears repeating

in full.

“22. Now it happened on a certain day that this bhakta of Vishnu was sitting performing his
worship of God. He had withdrawn to be alone with materials of worship, and he held his fickle
mind in restraint. 23. He brought a bottle of leather and placed it there filled with water. His mat
and his sacred bag and casket were also made of leather. 24. Rohidas was sitting down with all
his vessels made of leather and just then a Brahman came to his house to explain to him the
[astrological] Calendar. 25. The Brahman sat down by the holy and beautiful tulsi altar. Rohidas

397
 at once arose and with reverence made him a namaskar. 26. The Brahman said to Rohidas, ‘You
are worshipping God while sitting upon a leather seat. What do you expect from that?’ 27. We
Brahmans worship Shaligram, the idol of Vishnu. How is it that you have placed Him in a leather
bag? 28. How is it you have placed in a leather bag Him who dwells in Vaikunth [heaven], the
Life of the world whom Yogis contemplate? How is it you have placed Him in a leather bag? 29.
He who dwells upon the sea of milk, the Recliner upon Shesha, and who cannot be described
adequately by the Shastras though you might search there for Him, you have made a leather bag
and placed Him in it […]

31. Hearing what the Brahman said, Rohidas replied, ‘What object have you ever seen which has
not leather connected with it? 32. Musical instruments and drums are used in the praise-service of
Hari […] 33. The black cow has a leather skin and yet her milk is holy […] 34. Animate things
that are born, those hatched from eggs, and those produced from seed, all three are covered with
skin and Atmaran (God) is in them alike. 35. Shudras, Vaishyas, Kshatriyas, and Brahmans are
covered with skin […] 37. […] And from a leather shrine (the human body) Atmaran (God)
speaks with His gentle voice. 38. […] If the Pervader of the universe, the Life of the world, is in a
leather bag, how can you regard Him as defiled by the leather?” […] 43. The Brahman now
replied, ‘The emblem of Vishnu (Shaligram) is a holy pebble and so if a shoemaker worships
Him, He is defiled thereby […] 45. We alone should worship the Lord of Vaikunth (heaven).
Among the four races we Brahmans are the highest. 46. Shri Hari is chief among the gods. The
Brahmans are the highest among the four races. They alone have the authority to invest
themselves with the sacred thread and they alone can worship Vishnu.’

47. Hearing this remark, Rohidas replied, ‘Oh Swami, I will show you my sacred thread.’ 48.
Then with his sharp tool he ripped open his stomach, and showed the sacred thread within it. 49.
The Brahman then exclaimed, ‘You are indeed a bhakta of Vishnu, I was thoughtless and
persecuted you […] 50. […] In persecuting you I have but advanced your glory […] 55. You are
a supreme bhakta of Vishnu. Worship the Shaligram at your pleasure.’ Thus speaking, the good
Brahman went back to his home.” (2010: 89-91).

This does not mean that only high-caste devotees venerate Shaligrams (far from it) but

that the brahmana traditions of Shaligram worship tend to be the most often referenced, the most

published about, and the most discussed in terms of “ideal” Shaligram worship. The texts also go

on to mention that kshatriyas are entitled to offer worship to three different Shaligram types

other than their primary one. Similarly, a vaishya may lawfully offer worship to the Pradyumna

and Aniruddha-types while a shudra, unsurprisingly, to the Aniruddha-type only. In practice,

however, very few if any of the caste restrictions are followed nor, as I noted several times in my

field notes, even taken into serious consideration. The relatively anti-caste and anti-elite

approaches of the majority of modern Vaishnava bhakti have long since rejected these kinds of

398
ritual-caste divisions and none more so than the Vaishnavas of the global Diaspora who

undertake pilgrimage for Shaligrams.

Different scriptural authorities also denote a few types of Shaligrams which should not be

worshipped by householders and a number of other types which should be avoided by sadhus

and ascetics. In the texts, the reason for this, as you may recall from earlier, is that certain types

of Shaligrams are said to bring undesirable results to householders and their families, such as

loss of wealth, the deaths of wives and children, and a danger of creating worldly attachments to

material goods. Some of the noted forbidden varieties of Shaligrams are those that offer no result

at all from veneration:

(1) triangular in shape

(2) uneven in shape
(3) without any opening or with deformed or incorrect kinds of openings
(4) broken ones
(5) shaped like a half of the moon 202

And those that bring sorrow, disease, and death:

(1) with an ugly mouth

(2) broken
(3) uneven in shape
(4) with different circular marks joined together
(5) A Nrisimha type with uneven lower portion
(6) a Kapila type with uneven circular or linear marks203

Again, in Sri Vaishnava Chatur-vyuha theology, the suitability of Shaligrams for worship is a

combination of color, shape, and wear patterns divided up caste-varna.

“The details to be examined are the shape and the colour of the stone, the number and location of
chakra-marks, the type of filaments that are present in the crevices and fissures and the deity-
identity.

Of the large number of deity-specific salagrama-stones, three are held especially sacred: Vishnu-
salagrama (identified by the chakra in the shape of a garland, and by the marks of conch, mace
and lotus), Lakshmi-narasimha-salagrama (having two chakras on the left side of the opening or
vadana, and dots and specks all over the body), Matsya-murti-salagrama (fish shaped flat stone
with a single opening and two chakras, one of them inside the opening and the other outside;
having dots and specks on the body resembling a foot-print). A salagrama with no openings but
having two chakras on the surface is usually considered ferocious (ugra) and is either avoided or

399
worshipped especially elaborately. The Matsya-murti-salagrama is particularly recommended
when it has a chakra on the tail portion (viz. Rear).

Authorities like Vrddha-gautama indicate that brahmanas may worship five Salagramas,
kshatriyas eight, vaishyas seven and shudras seven; for ascetics four Salagramas are suggested.

For brahmanas: i) Lakshmi-narayana; ii) Ananta, iii) Hiranya garbha; iv)

Purushottama; and v) Chaturbhuja.
For kshatriyas: i) Lakshmi-narayana; ii) Ananta; iii) Krishna; iv)
Aniruddha; v) Garuda-dhvaja; vi) Gopala; vii) Rama; and viii) Sridhara.
For vaishyas: i) Lakshmi-narayana; ii) Vasudeva; iii) Pradhyumna; iv)
Damodara; v) Pitambara; vi) Hari; and vii) Gadadhara.
For shudras: i) Lakshmi-narayana; ii) Madhava; iii) Krishna; iv) Achyuta; v)
Aniruddha; vi) Kesava; vii) Pitambara.
For ascetics: i) Narsimha; ii) Hayagriva; iii) Mukunda; and iv) Maha-nila.

However, Puja-prakasa suggests that the Vasudeva-murti-salagrama is suitable for the brahmanas,
Samkarshana-salagrama for the kshatriyas, the Pradyumna-salagrama for the vaishyas and the
Aniruddha-salagrama for the Sudras. Vishnu-dharmottara has the same prescription and adds that
the brahmanas may worship four salagrama-stones, the kshatriyas three, the vaishyas two, and the
shudras one.

Which stones to be avoided? According to Brahmanda Purana, the stones which have chakra-
markings across (tiryak-chakra), which have “bound” chakras (baddha-chakras, meaning thereby
the chakra markings showing constraint), which are deformed (kurupa), which have rough
openings (nishthurasya), which have a terrific aspect (karala), which look ferocious (vikarala),
which are tawny-coloured (kapila), which have uneven spirals (vishamavarta), which have
openings too wide (vyalasya), which are hollow inside (kotara), which do not stand steadily
(asana chalana), which are broken (bhanga), which are very large (maha-sthula), which have a
crevice in the bottom joined with a single chakra (asane sushiram yasyas chakrenaikena samyuta),
which are cracked (dardara), which have a large number of chakras (bahu-chakra); which has
chakras that are broken (bhagna-chakra), which has an opening below (adhomukhi), which has a
hole or fissure (sa-chhidra), which is very red in colour (su-rakta), which has a wide, spreading
chakra (brhacchakra), which is criss-crossed by numerous lines (bahu-rekha-samyukta), which is
an elongated chakra (dirgha-chakra), which has chakras in a row (pankti-chakra), which has been
put in a fire (pradagdhika), which has no mark whatsoever (achihna), which has fang-like
projections (krura-damshtra-samayukta) or which has swellings like water-bubbles (sphota-
budbuda-samyuta) to be avoided.

The triangular, uneven shaped and crescent-shaped stones must not be worshipped. The
salagrama-stones which have irregular angles, which are burst, burnt, stained, or warm to touch
must be avoided, as also those without chakras, or those which have been embrocated (rubbed
and frayed), or which have crooked apertures. Likewise, the stones with numerous chakras,
crooked chakras and chakras at the bottom, must be avoided. The stones with many arrow-like
lines, or with chakras which cannot be deciphered at all; the stones which are shaped like unripe
bread-fruit (Artocarpus integrifolia) or like the deep-brown vegetable (Caculus melanoleucus).
The stones which are fettered (clasped or joined) or obstructed, the stones which have a cruel,
terrible and awesome aspect, and the stones which have crooked snouts must be avoided. The
stones which are broken or burst open, the stones which are burnt, and the stones which are
triangular in shape must be avoided, as also those which have internally split, and damaged; and
the stones which have many scratches and fissures must also be avoided.” 204

400
 Modern day Shaligram practice, however, is still largely passed down generationally and

through oral traditions and so many of these scriptural restrictions are almost never referenced

and even more infrequently practiced when it comes to Shaligrams already established within

community and kinship networks. Though texts comprise an important aspect of Shaligram

veneration and are still referred to as authoritative in terms of spiritual ideals, actual ritual

practice, the incorporation of Shaligrams into daily life, the respectful care for and interaction

with the manifest deity, and the intentions of the devotee weigh far more heavily on the minds of

practitioners than strict adherence to multiple, and often conflicting, scriptural authorities. As

one Nepali pilgrim explained, “I have read the texts and I understand them, but they can only tell

you so much. They are good guides, but they cannot tell you everything you need to know. You

must “see” (darshan) Shaligram, you must hear it and touch it and experience it. Shaligram must

speak to you, and when it does, you must listen. Without this, there is nothing.” This focus on

praxis, and on individual ties with specific Shaligrams, rather than on authoritative doctrine is

one of the hallmarks of Shaligram veneration worldwide. With great care given to the

preservation of traditions, shilas are routinely passed down from parents to children as re-

instantiations of family relationships. With an eye towards maintaining community and familial

identity, thousands of pilgrims make their way to the Kali Gandaki River valley each year to find

new Shaligrams for homes and temples, and with a desire to maintain these connections across

great distances of time and space, devotees send their Shaligrams far and wide, to children, to

grandchildren, and across the Diaspora to remind themselves and one another that wherever the

Shaligram goes, their history and their culture, their vital connection to the intangibility of life

itself, goes with them. What makes a Shaligram a Shaligram then is not only its narratives and

iconography as written in historical and religious texts or its place in the paleontological

401
exploration of earth’s ancient past alone, but its movements through geological and mythological

time as they are carried contiguously forward into its movements through lived spaces and

human experiences. With these profound “ties of maya” the Shaligram is then ready to begin its

karmic life anew; to be born, to live, and to die with the people as one of the people.

A Shaligram is thus a living fossil in a very different sense of the term. As ammonites,

they hold clues to the existence of an ancient world filled with living creatures who once swam

the waters of a primordial ocean back in an era when the earth was young. As deities, they live

on, born out of the geological processes that once transformed animal into mineral, they

transform once more from stone to person through a journey across a vast mythic landscape.

Shaligrams challenge the notion of life’s progress; a series of linear assumptions from birth to

death that embody a belief in the continued march of history. Rather, they lived once in another

form, in another kind of history, and then passed on, only to be reborn as stone and then as deity

through four thousand years of human movement, heritage, practice, and spiritual imagination.

They live as gods and family members in temples and homes. They are born from the river, are

given names, travel the world, share in home-cooked meals and daily bathing. They become

persons, participate in relationships, and eventually even die; returning to the river with the

cremated remains of their loved ones or retired to temples, too old and worn to carry on. And

then they are reborn again, reappearing in the river to a new devotee or passing down into the

hands of a new generation, continuing along in the karmic life cycle of the Hindu world. This is

also a world where landscapes themselves are bodies, constructed from the bits and pieces of the

gods and men who traverse them. In this land as body, the endless cycle of erosion and

reconstruction recapitulates the karmic life cycle of all living things; where geological space has

become mythological time. Given enough time, both the works of Nature and the works of Man

402
are then reduced to the same dust. Rocks are eroded to sediment, sediment is hardened into

rocks, rocks are elevated above sea level through the movement of tectonic plates and

transformed into mountains. Mountains weather away and become sediment once again. So too

do homes and temples and bodies live and die and live again. This is the great wheel of Earth and

the Shaligram has endured them all.

Various Puranic texts describe Shaligrams as being black, red, yellow, white/whitish,

sky-colored/blue, or brown. The Prana-toshini tantra, a 565-page encyclopedic compilation of

earlier scriptural texts composed in Bengal in the 19th century regarding mantras, yantras,

meditations, deity worship, and the six acts of magic is another one of the most commonly

referenced scriptural authorities on Shaligram identification. It quotes an additional writing

called the Yogaparijata that describes any Shaligram with a white color (or displaying “white

teeth marks”) as particularly inclined to bring good fortune to the devotee. Any given Shaligram

might also contain a combination of colors, such as white quartz bands, reddish or golden iron

pyrites, or green calcite. The Skanda Purana (also in Prana-toshini tantra, page 347) references

twenty categorical divisions of Shaligrams based on color and texture: (1) Glaced (meaning

polished), (2) Black, (3) Brown, (4) Yellow, (5) Blue, (6) Red, (7) Rough, (8) Curved, (9) Big,

(10) Unmarked, (11) Reddish brown, (12) Variegated, (13) Broken, (14) With many circular

marks (chakras), (15) with a single circular mark, (16) with a long opening, (17) with a big

circular mark, (18) having two or more circular marks joined with each other, (19) having a

broken circular mark, and (20) having opening at the base.205 The Skanda Purana then goes on to

explain the likely results of worshipping each of the color-type varieties:

1). Glaced: By worshipping it daily in the proper way, a devotee secures his salvation very
easily.
2). Black: Brings fame to its worshippers.
3). Brown: Removes sin.

403
 4). Yellow: Brings children into the family.
5). Blue: Grants good fortune to the devotee.
6). Red: Daily worship will surely invite diseases. This Shaligram should not be worshipped in
homes.
7). Rough: Daily worship invites great anxieties. This Shaligram should not be worshipped in
homes.
8). Curved: Daily worship brings poverty. This Shaligram should not be worshipped in homes.
9). Big: Brings untimely death to a devotee. Individual worship should be carefully avoided.
10). Unmarked: This Shaligram is unable to offer any result, good or bad. Its worship is useless.
11-12). Reddish-Brown and the remaining nine types can only offer mental pain to their
worshippers, and each as such, no devotee should offer worship to any of these types. 206

A color-type and size list compiled by a Sri Vaishnava ritual specialist, however, includes

another wide variety of possible combinations:

“The sacred stones may be white, yellow, red, black, green, tawny or ash-coloured; they may
contain stains, and they may be multi-coloured. The colours might be excessive or faded; the
colours may otherwise be difficult to determine. The stones occur thus in many colours and
forms.

The salagrama-stone is described as the “field” for the presence of Godhead. The differentiation
in this regard are dependent on the colours. The Vasudeva-salagrama is white in hue; the
Sridhara-salagrama is yellow; Vishnu-salagrama is black stone; Narayana-salagrama is greenish
(blue-black) in colourNarasimha-salagrama is red; Damodara is represented by the blue-coloured
stone and Vamana-salagrama is like the atasi flower in colour. Multi-coloured stones indicate
Ananta and stones which are bright-white in colour Adhoksaja. The stones which are reddish
brown like honey represent Brahma and tawny coloured stone represents Narasimha.

The colours have their own effects and influences. The ash-coloured salagrama stone is especially
suitable for worship by ascetics. The stones which are stained bring decay and destruction, the
multi-coloured stones are also unfit for worship, unless it be Ananta-salagrama. Highly coloured
stones cause misery; the faded colours destroy the lineage; the colours which are indistinct and
uncertain make for death. The tawny-coloured stone is consort-killer; the bluish-stone brings
wealth; the black-stones cause nourishment and prosperity; and the red-stone brings in
sovereignty. Excessively red-stone, however, deals death; the fair-coloured stone (viz. White)
bestows wealth; multi-coloured stone makes for prosperity, while the faded colours are not useful
when worshipped. White coloured stones facilitate the obtainment of emancipation, and the stone
with indistinct and uncertain colours destroy everything.

The salagrama stones also differ with regard to their circumference (parimana), which is
measured in terms of the size of the aperture. The wise one will tie round the middle of the
salagrama-stone a thread; and if the aperture is located at the spot which marks one-eighth of the
thread’s length, then the stone is of superior variety; it may also be of the middling variety.
However, the stone having an opening in the one-third part is to be rejected. (However,
Brahmanda Purana has a different prescription: There are different effects in terms of locations of
operators. If the aperture is downward, it is terrible; the aperture on top will be useful only in
magical rites of driving away the enemy; The apertures being even are especially meritorious,

404
 while the aperture on the sides will take away fortune. If the aperture is crooked, it causes
disease; if long-mouthed it devours everything (viz. Makes one impoverished). One should
carefully examine the stone before ascertaining the deity-specification.

A large salagrama is by definition eight finger-breadths (of the worshipper) in width; larger than
that is recognized as “very large” and is regarded as unsuitable for a householder to worship.” 207

According to the Yogaparijata, the veneration of broken, unusually large, or rough Shaligrams

also causes loss of wealth, of intellect, and of lifetime longevity respectively. Additionally, the

Prana-toshini tantra,208 describes various results of worship based on the number of circular

marks (chakras) along the surface of a Shaligram. The Prayogaparaijata section, however,

describes the results of worshipping different colors of Shaligrams that contain only a single

circular mark, all of which relate to the expected behavior of the Shaligram once it returns home

with a devotee (Prayogaparaijata quoted in Prana-toshini tantra. page 361):

One chakra: Sudarshan - Brings enjoyment and salvation (bhukti-mukti)

Two chakras: Lakshminarayana – Brings the kingdom of heaven to earth
Three chakras: Acyuta; Trivikrama - Brings wealth
Four chakras: Janardan; Caturbhuja – Brings the destruction of one’s enemies
Five chakras: Vaasudeva - Brings freedom from the cycle of birth and death
Six chakras: Pradyumna - Brings fame and prosperity
Seven chakras: Sankarshan; Balabhadra – Brings sons and grandsons into the family
Eight chakras: Purushottama – Brings the fulfilment of desires
Nine chakras: Navavyuha - Brings high social or political positions
Ten chakras: Dasavatara – Brings/strengthens kingship
Eleven chakras: Aniruddha - Brings immense wealth
Twelve chakras: Ananta – Brings the fulfilment of desires
Thirteen or more chakras: Paramatma - Brings bliss and liberation

White: Pundarika - Brings liberation from the karmic cycle

Red: Pralambaghna – Bring disease and death
Reddish Brown: Rama - Brings quarrels and strife in relationships
Mixed of Two Colors: Vaikuntha - Brings poverty
Mixed of Many Colors: Vishveshvara – Brings dependence on others

The scriptures therefore advise that only the first five color-types of Shaligram recorded in the

Skanda Purana should ever be worshipped by devotees. The rest should either be turned over for

temple care or simply avoided entirely. In general, the Puranic texts remain primarily concerned

with the quality of Shaligrams as far as they might be considered ritually viable. For example,

405
most of the scriptures also contain injunctions against worshipping Shaligrams that have been

cracked (by long-term worship or by intention), Shaligrams that are broken into pieces, have

holes that continue all the way through the shila, Shaligrams that have been burnt by fire,

Shaligrams that have been stolen by an insane person or an enemy, or those that have lost their

circular marks because of long-term handling. The reasons given for this is that the deity is likely

to abandon a worn or defective body in the same way that a person discards old clothes or, in

some cases, the way the elderly give up their worn and used up bodies in death (dehe jirune

yathaa dehi tyktvaanyamupagacchati lingaadini tu jirnaani tathaa munchati devataa - quoted in

Prana-toshiṇii tantra, page 361.)

In practice, red Shaligrams were typically of the greatest concern and were described,

more than once, as the most inauspicious form a Shaligram could take and that these were not

worshipped due to the trouble they tended to bring. On the rare occasion that a red Shaligram

was found, most devotees either immediately returned it to the river or packed it securely in cloth

for transport to a temple where, as several explained, it would be looked after by a temple priest

(pujari or brahmacharya) so that its unusual potency would not inadvertently cause problems for

devotees elsewhere. In other cases, devotees pointed out that such Shaligrams were mostly

associated with disease and death and therefore, should only be worshipped by especially

knowledgeable and skilled practitioners. When I asked if this was why the red-orange

“mountain” Shaligrams were also similarly shunned, many devotees responded affirmatively.

Their formations were pure, but their colors were a warning. This concern, however, was not

extended to a particular formation of Shaligrams called Ratnagarbha, a small, translucent,

pebble-like shila that, when held up to a bright light source, turned bright red, yellow, or

occasionally blue (See Chapter 5). In other cases, different colors of Shaligrams were associated

406
with different effects. The standard black Shaligrams were sometimes said to bestow fame or

general good fortune while brown Shaligrams were thought to remove sins committed in

previous lives. Yellow Shaligrams were also occasionally described as particularly beneficial to

children and blue (or “sky-colored”) Shaligrams as bringers of wealth and prosperity. These

color categories, however, though mentioned in the Puranic texts almost never translated to

actual practice. In the end, as far as practitioners were concerned, black was the only color of a

true Shaligram.

407
 Appendix 2
Shaligram Puja

Generally speaking, Brahmin and other high-caste Shaligram practices are more well

known, but as a permanent, material, form of God that any may carry, Shaligrams are considered

by most to be accessible to all. The Śālagrāma-Kosha provides a translation of the Tattva-Nidhi

text which concerns the selection of appropriate Shaligrams for worship. “The wise one will tie

round the middle of the Salagrama-stone a thread; and if the aperture is located at the spot which

marks one-eighth of the thread’s length, then the stone is of superior variety; it may also be of

the middling variety. However, the stone having an opening in the one-third part is to be

rejected.” The Brahmanda Purana, however, contains a different prescription on deciding

Shaligram suitability: “There are different effects in terms of locations of operators. If the

aperture is downward, it is terrible; the aperture on top will be useful only in magical rites of

driving away the enemy; the apertures being even are especially meritorious, while the aperture

on the sides will take away fortune. If the aperture is crooked, it causes disease; if long-mouthed

it devours everything (meaning: makes one impoverished). One should carefully examine the

stone before ascertaining the deity-specification.” (See Appendix 1)

Shaligrams are typically worshipped without any prathisthana (installation ritual; as is

done while installing man-made deity icons), since Vishnu is already present in the Shaligram of

his free will as a revelation to the devotees. The Śālagrāma-Kosha enumerates in this by

explaining that: “In the worship of Salagrama, no initiation is required; there is no special

408
hymnology or specific procedure of worship, nor any need for a qualified priest or master of

ceremonies. Worshipped anyhow, it will bestow the benefits; and there is no error of any kind.”

Note: In South India, it is more common for Shaligrams to be put away in a box or puja mandir

while not actively engaged in ritual, while in North India and Nepal, Shaligrams tend to remain

in the open.

Simple Puja

The most common and most basic form of Shaligram puja is the daily simple puja, which only

requires that the devotee offer water, tulsi leaves (or flowers/fruit if none available), and a short

prayer to the Shaligrams each day. In many cases, the simple puja is also favored among

practitioners who travel or who are actively on pilgrimage since it is possible to bring one or two

important Shaligrams along and to perform the puja as a kind of morning or evening prayer even

under the most difficult circumstances. In many households today, simple puja is the standard,

with more elaborate pujas performed on special occasions or at certain times of year.

As a corrective to modern concerns about the potential spiritual dangers of keeping Shaligrams,

many gurus also now recommend the simple puja, elaborating that it is more important to give

what an individual is capable of giving in order to keep Shaligrams in the home (and the tradition

alive) than the alternative of never interacting with Shaligrams at all. In other words, as one

teacher explained, “Shaligrams are not monsters. They are here for us, to help us. If simple puja

is what you can offer. Offer that. The rest will come in time, when it is time.”

Sri Vaishnava Tradition

409
If a Shaligram is to be formally worshipped in a temple context, all the details of worship must

be carefully observed. Additionally, Shaligrams are also often strung together in the form of a

garland using metallic casings made of silver and placed on the moolavar - the Dhruva bera

(main temple deity) deity in Vaishnava temples. (108 in number representing the nine planets

comprising the 27 stars and its four navamsa divisions – 27x4 = 108). Large Shaligrams

(typically the larger than a man’s hand) are also routinely made into iconographic murti (Lord

Krishna, Rama, Vishnu, etc.) and worshipped in temples and Vaishnava mutts. Such icons are

further believed to have extraordinary powers owing to their materials and origins.

Depending on the religious tradition in question, the ritual protocols for Shaligram worship vary

considerably. However, the most commonly referenced method of Shaligram puja comes from

the Sri Vaishnava tradition, where there is a more standardized procedure for the every-day

worship of Shaligrams for temples, mutts, and home shrines. Generally, Shaligrams are almost

always worshipped using Tulsi leaves (holy basil) – See also Introduction and Chapter 1. The

Yagna (Yaga) Samskaram also prescribes procedures for the Bhagavad Aradhana (Aradhana is a

method of worship, a Sanskrit word meaning an act of glorifying God or a person) of Sriman

Narayana -Vishnu or His manifest form of Shaligrams.

There are two forms of Aradhana: Bahya (External) and Manasika (Internal). Shaligram puja in a

temple context usually begins when the attendant pujari or brahmacharya initiates the

Samskaram through Sanskrit verses. The following protocol is translated into English by Anand

K. Karalapakkam:

410
"After Achamanam (sipping and swallowing water two or three times during which the twenty-

four names of Vishnu are repeated), wearing Oordhvapundram, prostrating to the Lord (Sriman

Narayana), sit in a seat. After pranayamam (yogic control of the vital breath), perform japam

(repetition of Lord’s name) with Dhyana slokas (divine hymns-Ashtakshara, etc). Later, worship

the Lord Sriman Narayana residing in one's heart (Manasika Aradhana). Then with water from

the vessel placed left of Sriman Narayana (Shaligram), sprinkle water on flowers and other

materials for worship and vessels for arghyam (offering of rice, etc.), padyam (offering of water

for washing the feet), etc. From water in an arghya vessel, sprinkle water on flowers etc. (for

worship) and also on yourself."

"After welcoming the Lord, offer arghyam, padyam; Achamaniam and give Abisheka (ritualistic

bath). Then offer cloth, Yajno Pavitha (sacred thread), sandal paste, flower, incense, and light, in

that order. Offer Achamana, honey and again Achamana. Later offer food comprising of

pudding, rice, vegetables, water, pan-betel etc. After prostration, restoring status quo is the

procedure of worship of Vishnu."

Thus, the sishya (disciple) learn to perform Bhagavad Aradhana (prayer of the divine) to Sriman

Narayana's archa-avatara as a Shaligram. Additionally, since the food a Sri Vaishnava eats

should only consist of the remnants of food offered to Sriman Narayan, Saligrama Aradhana is

considered to be especially important. Additionally, among Sri Vaishnavas, the Saligrama

Aradhana is typically performed only by the male members of the upper three varnas

(Brahaman, Kshatriya and Vaishya). In this tradition, women are prohibited from touching or

performing Aradhana of a Shaligram, though this prohibition is not universally shared. However,

411
even in these cases, women have an important role of assisting the performance of the ritual by

making the necessary preparations for the worship including cooking the food for offerings to the

deity. Women may also be responsible for arrangements in terms of preparing food, gathering

and making flower garlands, or gathering and directing the participants as the ritual progresses.

In general, however, most practitioners consider the participation of the entire family in

Shaligram puja to be vital to the health and prosperity of the household.

Shaiva Traditions

Protocols for puja as set out by ritual specialists at Pashupatinath Mandir (from principally

Shaiva and Smarta traditions) in Kathmandu, Nepal incorporate a slightly different sequence

however: In Puja Vidhi, Shaligram is worshipped in the same way as one worships Lord Vishnu.

Normally tulsi is used and also a conch shell (Shankh) is kept near the Shaligram. Daily worship

with purity of heart and body is required to get full benefits from Shaligram. (Ref.: Shrimaddevi

Bhagwat and Pashupatinath Mandir). 1

To perform puja of the Shaligram which you have selected to install in your altar of worship, you

will need the following ‘samagri’ or ingredients: Ganga Jal (water from the Ganges River),

Panchgavya (a mixture of 5 auspicious articles that include: cow dung, cow’s urine, milk, ghee

and curd), fresh tulsi leaves, kusha grass, pipal leaves, incense sticks, camphor, sandal paste, a

lamp burner, and a conch shell. You may substitute any item that is not available with uncooked

rice. Offerings made to the Shaligram can also be of milk, fruits, flowers, sweet dishes or a

coconut.

1
http://pashupatinathmandir.com/?page_id=880 Accessed 12-11-2016

412
Puja:
1. Sit in a position in which you can face the East or North-East direction.
2. Wash the Shaligram with Ganga Jal poured from the conch shell. Then wash it again with
Panchgavya, and then wash it once more with Ganga Jal.
3. Place some kusha grass in a stainless-steel glass filled with water to sprinkle over the
Shaligram.
4. Now, put the Shaligram on some pipal leaves placed on a plate. Light the camphor,
incense sticks, and the lamp filled with ghee.
5. Apply some sandal paste on the Shaligram and place some fresh tulsi leaves in front of
the Shaligram.
6. Light the lamp and move it in a circular, clockwise movement of the hand in front of the
Shaligram.
7. Chant the Shaligram mantra nine times. Other mantras may be substituted according to
tradition.
8. Offer milk, fruits or sweets to the Shaligram. Offer some money and then give that
money to a poor person.

If you are worshiping more than one Shaligram, make sure they are in even numbers. This means

you should have either two, four or six Shaligrams. Place a tulsi mala (garland) around them or

offer fresh tulsi leaves everywhere. It is important to remember that even the water that has

touched the Shaligram becomes ‘amrit’ (holy water), while you are bathing it, it takes on the

properties of the Shaligram. If you drink this water, it can help bring relief from various physical

ailments and poor health.

Because each specific Shaligram is read and interpreted in different ways, most Shaligram

practitioners consider it essential that a Shaligram be properly examined and identified before

they are taken for worship (See Chapter 1). Characteristics of particular focus are the shape and

color of the Shaligram, the number and location of chakra marks, the type of lines or grooves

that are present in the crevices and fissures, or any other distinctive feature which may indicate

the deity’s ultimate identity.

413
Testing Shaligrams for suitability of worship may also involve any number of other rituals before

the Shaligram is determined to be acceptable. In one such ritual, for example, the Shaligram is

placed on the ground to see if it is steadily poised or unsteady; the former being preferred

because worship will then result in prosperity, while the worship of the latter, more unsteady,

Shaligram may lead to familial instability or in the loss of a devotee’s home. If the Shaligram

rests on its sides, the worship of this shila is said to generate anxiety and if the shila is uneven

and wobbles, its worship will cause sorrow.

The genuineness of Shaligram for worship is also tested by immersing it in a bowl of milk or rice

of equal weight overnight and observing the milk or rice the following morning to determine if

they show signs of increase or decrease. If the milk or rice has increased, the authenticity of the

Shaligram is confirmed.

Smarta Traditions and Panchayatana Puja

In Smarta Traditions, the practice of Panchayatana Puja consists of the worship of five deities set

in a five-point cross pattern. As a rule, these five deities are Shiva, Vishnu, Devi or Durga,

Surya, and an Ishta Devata (a term meaning one’s favorite or tutelary deity) such

as Ganesha, Skanda, or another god specific to the devotee’s practice. On rare occasions, an

Ishta Devata may also be included as a sixth deity in the puja.

In Shaligram Panchayatana Puja, Shiva is often represented as a Linga stone from the Narmada

river in India, the Devi/Shakti using a Srichakra (a Mandala-shaped quartz crystal or coin), and

414
Ganesh, Vishnu, and Surya as Shaligrams. As per the tradition, any one

of the represented deities can be placed in the center as the main or

presiding deity. This deity is then the one who generally occupies a

central role in the worship of the household and for whom the rest of the

deities will be arranged around them (as is also mirrored in temple

architecture from Odisha to Karnataka to Kashmir; and the temples

containing fusion deities such as Harihara (half Shiva, half Vishnu).

Theologically, the Smarta tradition emphasizes that all murti are icons

of saguna Brahman, a means to realizing the abstract Ultimate Reality

called nirguna Brahman. The five or six icons are then viewed

by Smartas as multiple representations of the one saguna

Brahman (meaning a personal God with material form), rather than as

distinct beings in and of themselves. The ultimate goal in this practice is

to transition past the use of icons, then follow a philosophical and meditative path to

understanding the oneness of Atman (soul, self) and Brahman as infinite and immaterial.

Gaudiya Vaishnava and Hare Krishna Traditions

Finally, Sri Padmanabha Goswami’s “Śālagrāma-śila” (1993) also details another puja sequence

more common in the Gaudiya Vaishnava and Hare Krishna traditions. He begins by explaining

that the worship of Shaligram is not different than the worship of any other installed deity and in

any case where reverence or respect to a deity would be performed, so must it be performed for

Shaligram, with individual attention paid to each shila present. He then goes on to say that the

worship of Shaligrams should be “conducted in accordance with Purus͎ a-sukta.” (1993: 32). If a

415
devotee wishes to adorn a Shaligram with ornaments, this is acceptable but that an offering of

rice should never be made (in contrast with the Sri Vaishnava tradition mentioned previously).

Women are allowed to worship Shaligrams, but should refrain from doing so during their

menstruation and finally, that the specific mantras one should recite vary depending on the

Scriptural texts used and should therefore be whatever mantras are most well-known to the

initiated Vaishnava. The sequence for puja and the offering of five items; gandha, pus͎ pa, dhūpa,

dipa, and naivedya (tulsi is always required) or sixteen items then commences as so (additional

descriptions for each piece of the sequence given in the text, pgs. 33-39):

1. Wake the Lord

2. After the Lord has risen, chant idam pus͎ panjali samarpayami and offer flowers.
3. Asana (a seated posture) – while offering asana, chant idam asanam samarpayami
4. Svagata (welcome) – while offering svagata, chant susvagatam, susvagatam
5. Padya (poem, verse) – while offering padya, chant idam padyam samarpayami
6. Arghya (libation) – while offering arghya, chant idam arghyam samarpayami
7. Acamana (sipping water) – while offering acamana, chant idam acamaniyam
samarpayami
8. Madhuparka (honey and milk) – while offering madhuparka, chant idam madhuparka
samarpayami
9. Punaracamana (sipping water again) – while offering punaracamana, chant idam
punaracamaniyam samarpayami
10. Snana (bathing) – while offering snana, chant idam snaniyam samarpayami
11. Vastra (clothing, or a cloth) – while offering vastra, chant idam vastram samarpayami
12. Upavita (sacred thread) – while offering upavita, chant idam upavitam samarpayami
13. Abhushana (ornaments, embellishments) – while offering abhushana, chant idam
abhushanam samarpayami
14. Gandha (fragrance) – while offering gandha, chant idam gandham samarpayami
15. Tulasi (tulsi leaves) – while offering tulasi, chant idam tulasim samarpayami
16. Pus͎ pa (flowers) – while offering pus͎ pa, chant idam pus͎ pam samarpayami
17. Dhupa (incense) – while offering dhupa, chant idam dhupam samarpayami
18. Dipa (lamp) – while offering dipa, chant idam dipam samarpayami
19. Naivedya (an offering to God; i.e., a promise, a willingness, etc.) – while offering
naivedya, chant idam naivedyam samarpayami

416
Incidentally, he also mentions that the mantra: om yajneshvaraya yajnasabhavaya yajnapataye

govindaya namo namah from Hari-bhakti-vilasa (15/530) also suffices for all steps from padya

to dipa.

417
 Appendix 3
Popular Shaligram References in the Shastras and Puranas
Salagrama Sila Rupi Yatra Tisthati Kesavah |
Tatra Devasurayaksa Bhuvanani Catur Dasa ||

“With Keshava in the form of Salagrama shila reside all the devatas, asuaras, yaksas and the fourteen
worlds.”- Padma Purana

“All those holy rivers awarding moksha, such as the Ganga, Godavari and others, reside in the
caranamrita of shalagrama.”- Padma Purana

Lord Shiva states, "My devotees who offer obeisances to the shalagrama even negligently become
fearless. Those who adore me while making a distinction between myself and Lord Hari will become free
from this offence by offering obeisances to shalagrama. Those who think themselves as my devotees, but
who are proud and do not offer obeisances to my Lord Vasudeva, are actually sinful and not my devotees.
O my son, I always reside in the shalagrama. Being pleased with my devotion the Lord has given me a
residence in His personal abode. Giving a shalagrama, is the best form of charity, being equal to the result
of donating the entire earth together with its forests, mountains, and all.”

Ato'dhisthana Vargesu Suryadisviva Murtisu |

Salagrama Silaiva Syad Adhisthanottamam Hareh ||

“The Lord resides in many places in which he may be worshipped, but of all the places Salagrama is the
best.” - Garuda Purana

Drstva Pranamita Yena Snapita Pujita Tatha |

Yajna Koti Samam Punyam Gavam Koti Phalam Bhavet ||

Lord Siva speaking to Skanda, “Any person who has seen Salagram shila, paid obeisances to Him, bathed
and worshipped Him, has achieved the results of performing ten million sacrifices and giving ten million
cows in charity.” - Skanda Purana (Haribhakti vilas)

Pujito'ham Na Tair Martyair Namito'ham Na Tair Narah |

Nakrtam Martya Loke Yaih Salagram Silarcanam ||

Lord Siva speaking to Skanda states, “In this mortal world, if anyone does not worship Salagram shila, I
do not at all accept any of their worship and obeisances.”

“Shalagramas do not require installation ceremony. When one begins the worship of shalagrama, however
he should start with elaborate puja using all articles. The worship of shalagrama is the best form of
worship, better than the worship of the sun.”- Skanda Purana

Lord Shiva tells Parvati, “He who takes the charanamrita of shalagrama destroys all sinful reactions at
their roots, even the killing of a brahmana.”- Skanda Purana

418
“By taking the remnants of foodstuffs offered to shalagrama, one will get the result of performing many
sacrifices.”- Skanda Purana

Lord Shiva also states, “Even if a shila is cracked, split, or broken it will have no harmful effect if it is
worshiped with attention and love by a devotee. It further states there that the Supreme Lord Hari, along
with His divine consort, Lakshmi, live in the shalagrama that has either only the mark of a cakra, a cakra
along with the mark of a footprint, or only a mark resembling a flower garland.”- Skanda Purana

Lord Vishnu states that, “Any shila from the place of shalagramas can never be inauspicious though
cracked, chipped, split in two though still in one piece, or even broken asunder.”- Brahma Purana

Sri Narada Muni states, “It is impossible to fully explain the importance of Tulasi leaves (Holy Basil) in
the worship of shalagrama, as Tulasi is the most beloved consort of Hari in the form of shalagrama.”-
Brihan-naradiya Purana

“Merely by touching a shalagrama one becomes freed from the sins of millions of births, so what to
speak of worshiping Him! By shalagrama puja one gains the association of Lord Hari.”- Gautamiya
Tantra

“Bhaktas should take the charanamrita mixed with Tulasi leaves from the shalagrama in their hand and
sip it, sprinkling the balance on their heads.” - Gautamiya Tantra

“Shalagrama should not be placed on the earth or ground and worshiped.” - Sammohana Tantra

“In puja of shalagrama it is unnecessary to call the Lord for worship or request Him to return His abode
upon completion.”- Shrimad Bhagavatam

Sri Shaligram Shila Stotram (Prayer)

Given by Krishna to Yudhishthira, Bhagavad-Gita

Yudhistiro Uvacha

King Yudhistira asked

“Shree Dev Dev devesa Devarchanamutamam

Tat sarbam srotaumichhami Bruhime Purushotamam / 1/

My dear Supreme Lordship Purushotam, I request you know the significance of the Shaligram shila.

Shree Bhagavan Uvacha - The Lord Replied

“Gandakyam Chotare Tire Girirajshchya Dakshine

Das Yojan Vistirnam Mahachhetra Vasundhara //2//
“Saligramo Vabet Devo Devi Dwara Bati Vabet
Uvayo Sangamo Yatra Mutistratrana Sansaya //3//
“Saligramo Sila Yatra Yatra dwara Bati Sila
Uvayo Sangamo Yatra Mutistratrana Sansaya //4//

419
The mountains known as the Himalaya are situated on the bank of river Gandaki. In the south of this
Himalaya is the land where Shaligram shila appear. This is the place where Devi Dwarabati begins. This
place is called by those who know, Sri Muktikshetra.

“Ajanma Krita Papanam Prayaschitam Ya Ichati

Saligram Silawari Paphari Namastute //5//
“ Akal Mritu Haranam Sarvabyadhi Binasanam
Vishu Padodakam Pitwa Shirasha Dharyamyaham //6//
“Sankha Madhya Sthitam Toyyam Vramitam Keshavopari
Angalagnam Manukshanam Bramha Hatya Dikam Dayat //7//

Shaligram shilas found here are very precious and significant. These shilas are considered to be directly
Lord Vishnu Himself and the person who worships or even keeps in the house or bathes the Shaligram
and drinks water or pour those waters on their head, that man becomes free from all sin and it prevents
from untimely death. That person becomes free from all sin and all material disease. The most feared sin
of Bramahatya (killing of a Brahmin) is also washed away simply by worshiping the Shaligram.

“Snano Dakam Piben Nityam Chakrankita Sirot Vabam

Partkshallya Sudham Tatoyam Bramha Hatya Byapohati //8//
“Agnistomasahasnani Vajapaya Satanicha
Samyak Phalama Bapnoti Visnornai Vedya Vakshina //9//

That person who does snan (bathing) of Shaligram with chakra everyday get gets rid of all sin like
Bramahatya, and if he drinks such water daily gets the equal boon of a thousand havan (fire sacrifices) of
Lord Vishnu.

“Naivadyayuktam Tulsim cha Misritam Vishesta Pada Jalen Vishnu

Yoshnati Nityam Purato Murari Prapnoti Yazya Uta Koti Pundyam //10//

The person, who worships Shaligram with Tulsi leaf daily, gets the boon of a million Yajna also.

Khandita Sphutita Viina Vandi Dakdhya Tathi Va Cha

Saligram Sialyatra Tatra Dosho Na Vidyate//11//

Even if a Shaligram is damaged or broken, all shila are good to worship

Namantra Pujanam Naiva Natirtham Na cha Bhabanaa

Na stutir Na uppachars cha Saligram Silar cha ne //12//
Bramha Hatya Dikam Papam Manobak Karya Sambhamam
Shirgram Nachyati Tatsarvam Saligram Silrchana//13//

Without worship, without offering any sweets or without any pilgrims - only chanting this Shaligram
mantra is enough to wash away all sins and is the fulfillment of all desire.

“Nanabarna Mayam Chiva Nana Bhogena Vestitam

Tathavarprasadena Laxmi Kantam Balamhayam //14//
“Narayanorbhabo Dev Chakramadya Cha Karmana
Tathavarprasadena Laxmi Kantam Balamhayam//15//

There are various kinds of size and shape of Shaligram in which Lord Vishnu is situated representing all
the different incarnations.

420
“Krishane Sila Taneyatra Susmam Cakram Cha Drisyate
Saovagyam Santatim Dhatye Sarva Sakshaym Dadhaticha//16//

Good Luck increases and one gets satisfaction from children, and in every way in every aspect, all good
enters one's life by worshipping Shaligram black in color with little chakras.

Vashu Devschya Chinhani Distwa Papai Pramuchyate

Sridhar Sukare Bame Harivbarnatu Disyate//17//
“Varaha Rupenam Devam Kurmangai Rapi Chinhitam
Gopadam Tatra Dissheta Varaham Vamanam Tatha //18//

A person who gets the chance to see the Vasudev shila, that person he became free from sins. Shreedhar,
Sukar, Vamanadev, Harivarna,Varaha, Kurma and lots of other type of Shaligram are available also.
Some Shaligram has marking of cow's foot marks and some that of Narshimha Avatara (half lion half
man).

“Pitavarnam Tu Devanam Rakta Varnam Vayabhaham

Narashinho Vawet Devo Mokshadam Cha Prakrititam//19//
Sankha Chakra Gada Kurma Sankho Yatra Pradisyate
Sankha Varnaschya Devanaman Vame Devaschya Lakshanam//20//
“Damodarm Tatha Sthulam Madhya Chakram Pratisthitam
Purna Dwarena Sankrina Pita Rekha Cha Drischyate //21//
“Chhatrakare Vabet Rajam Vartule Cha Mahasreeya
Chipite Cha MahaDukham Sulagretu Ranam Dhrubam//22//

A yellowish Shaligram is as auspicious as the Lord Himself (Pitambara) but a reddish Shaligram is
considered to bring fearful situations and is dangerous to worship. The sacred symbols of Shankha
(conch), Chakra (disc), Gada (club), and Kurma (tortoise) are printed on the Shaligram stones. Shaligram
with a Shankha (conch) sign is considered to be Vamanrup (Vamandev) of Lord Vishnu, whereas chakra
in the middle is considered as Damodar Shaligram. Shaligrams of different shapes; round, umbrella shape
which has white lines are also available; worshipping this kind of Shaligram gives wealth and reputation
in society. Flat shaped Shaligram creates sorrow in a family and Shaligram with sharp front side creates
war, fighting, and tension in family.

“Lalate Shesha Vogastu Siropari Sukanchanam

Chakrakanchanavarnanam VamaDevaschya Lakshnam//23//
Vamaparbe Cha Bai Cakre Krishna Varnas tu Pingalam
Laxinarshimhadevanam Prithak Varnastu Drisyate//24//

Shaligrams which have a chakra around the head or in the forehead but the rest of its parts are clean and
smooth is considered very auspicious and this type is to be considered as Vamandev shila. Yellowish or
black in left side with a chakra is considered as Lakshmi-Narshimha shila.

Lamboste Cha Dalidram Syat Pingale Hani Revacha

Lagna Cakre Vabet Baydhir Bidare Maranamdrubam//25//

Worshipping a long shaped shila creates poverty, and Shaligram having lagna (rising) chakra create long
term chronic diseases, even death.

Padom Dakamcha Nirmalyam Mastake Dharayet Shada

421
Visnor Dristam Vakshitabyam Tulsi Jal Misritam//26//
Kalpa Koti Sahasrani Vaikunthe Basate Sada
Saligram Sila Vinur Hatya Koti Vinasanam//27//
Any person who offers a Tulasi leaf while worshipping the Shaligram gets salvation and can stay at
Vaikuntha (Heaven) for a million years.

Tasmat Sampujayet Dhyatwa Pujitam Chapi Sarvada

Saligram Silas Trotram Yah Pathecha Dijotam//28//
Sa Gakshet Parmam Sthanam Yatra Lokeshworo Hari
Sarva Pap Binir Muktwa Vishnu Lokam Sa Gashati//29//

Therefore always worship Shaligram, and chant Shaligram Stotra which is very beneficial for mankind.
We can get one a higher position on Vishnu Lok (Vaikuntha) simply by doing so. All sins will also be
destroyed and it is guaranteed that one gets to Vishnulok simply from this process of worshiping the
Shaligram.

Dusovataro Devanam Prithak Varnastu Disyate

Ipsitam Labate Rajyam Vishnu Pooja Manukramat//30//
Kotyohi Vramhahatyanamgamyagamya Kotaya
Ta Sarva Nasamayamti Vishu Nai Vidya Vakshanat//31//
Vishno Pador Dakam Pitwa Koti Janmaghanasanam
Tasma Dasta Gunam Papam Ghumou Vindupatnat//32//

There are various types of descriptions available for Lord Vishnu’s ten primary incarnations (Dasavatara)
and also the Lord’s incarnation in Sri Shaligram’s worship, the Prayer to the Shaligram and drinking the
Lord's bathing water wash away sins of million lives and one gets great prosperity, wealth and reputation
through this, so everyone everywhere the Shaligram should be worshiped.

Iti Shree Vishotara Purane Shree Saligram Sila-stotram Sumpurnam!!..

422
 Primary Sources
Chand, Devi.
1997 (2002). Atharvaveda, Sanskrit Text with English Translation. Munshiram.

Prana-toshini tantra.
1983. Ramatosana Bhaṭṭa and Ramadatta Shukla, trans. Prayaga: Shakta Sadhana Piṭha Publishers.

Puranas, Translated into English.

2007. By A Board of Scholars. Motilal Banarsidas Publishers Pvt. Ltd. 74 Volumes.

Rao, S. K. Ramachandra.
1996. Shaligram Kosh [Śālagrāma – Kosha]. Sri Satguru Publications. Indian Books Center. Delhi,
India.
Sharma, Ram Charan.
2000. Shaligram Purana. S.R.C. Museum of Indology & Universal Institute of Orientology Trust,
199. Digitized 2009. University of Michigan.

Singh, Chandra Shekar et. al.

2017. The Puranas. Amazon Digital Services.

Bibliography
Abu-Lughod, Lila.
1986. Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in a Bedouin Society. University of California Press,
Berkeley.
—
2008. Writing Women's Worlds: Bedouin Stories. University of California Press.

Agamben, Giorgio.
1998. Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life. Translated by Daniel Heller-Roazen. Stanford
University Press.

Ahearn, Laura.
2006. Invitations to Love: Literacy, Love Letters, & Social Change in Nepal. Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press.

Allen, Michael. ed.

1994. Anthropology of Nepal; Peoples, Problems and Processes. Mandala Book Point, Kathmandu.

Anderson, Benedict.
1991. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London:
Verso.

423
Appadurai, Arjun.
1986. The Social Life of Things, Commodities in Cultural Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.

Arkell, W.J.; Kummel, B.; Wright, C.W.

1957. “Mesozoic Ammonoidea. Treatise on Invertebrate Paleontology, Part L, Mollusca 4.”
Lawrence, Kansas: Geological Society of America and University of Kansas Press.

Aryal, M.
1999. “Motar pugyo Mustanma. Himal” [Nepali language version] - (Reaching Mustang by
Motor).1-15 Mansir 2056 (Nov 17 – Dec 1, 1999).

Asad, Talal.
2002. "The Construction of Religion as an Anthropological Category." In A Reader in the
Anthropology of Religion. Michael Lambek ed. Blackwell Publishing Ltd.

Baan, Stephen.
1995. “Shrines, Curiosities, and the Rhetoric of Display.” In Visual Display: Culture Beyond
Appearances. Lynne Cooke and Peter Wollen eds. Bay Press Seattle.

Badone, Ellen and Sharon R. Roseman.

2004. Intersecting Journeys: The Anthropology of Pilgrimage and Tourism. University of Illinois
Press.

Ball, Christopher, and Nicholas Harkness, ed.

2015. “Kinship Chronotopes: A special issue of Anthropological Quarterly 88(2)”. 88 (2)

Basset, M. G.
1982. “Formed stones, folklore and fossils.” National Museum of Wales. Geological Series No. 1.
32 pp.

Basso, Keith H.
1979. Portraits of "The Whiteman": Linguistic Play and Cultural Symbols Among the Western
Apache. Cambridge University Press.
—
1996. "Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language Among the Western Apache". (Chapter 4
of Wisdom Sites in Places: Landscape and Language among the Western Apache). University of
New Mexico Press, Albuquerque. pp. 105-149.

Bastide, Roger.
2007. "Chapter 12: The Problem of Religious Syncretism." In The African Religions of Brazil:
Toward a Sociology of the Interpenetration of Civilizations (Johns Hopkins Studies in Atlantic
History and Culture). Johns Hopkins University Press.

Bennett, Lynn.
1983. Dangerous Wives and Sacred Sisters: Social and Symbolic Roles of High Caste Women in
Nepal. Columbia University Press: New York.

Bhardwaj, Surinder Mohan.

1973. Hindu Places of Pilgrimage in India: A Study in Cultural Geography. University of California
Press.

424
Bhargava, Rajeev.
2001. "Are There Alternative Modernities." In Culture, Democracy, and Development in South
Asia. N. N. Vohra ed. Shipra Publications: India International Center.

Bishara, Amahl.
2015. “Driving while Palestinian in Israel and the West Bank: The politics of disorientation and the
routes of a subaltern knowledge.” American Ethnologist, 42: 33–54.

Blanes, Ruy and Diana Espírito Santo, eds.

2014. The Social Life of Spirits. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Bloch, Maurice and Parry, Jonathan.

1982. “Introduction: Death and the Regeneration of Life.” and “Death, Women and Power.”
From Death and the Regeneration of Life. Cambridge University Press. 1982.

Bourdieu, Pierre.
1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Brooks, Charles R.
1990. “Hare Krishna, Radhe Shyam: The Cross-Cultural Dynamics of Mystical Emotions in
Brindaban”. in Divine Passions: The Social Construction of Emotion in India. Owen M. Lynch ed.
University of California Press. Berkeley, Los Angeles, Oxford.

Bryant, Edwin F.
2007. Krishna: A Sourcebook. Oxford University Press. Oxford and New York.

Bubandt, Nils and Martijn van Beek,

2012. Varieties of Secularism in Asia: Anthropological Explorations of Religion, Politics and the
Spiritual. New York: Routledge.

Burghart, Richard.
1984. “The Formation of the Concept of Nation-State in Nepal.” Journal of Asian Studies 44, no. 1:
101-26.

Candea, Matei.
2010. “Debate: Ontology Is Just Another Word for Culture.” Critique of Anthropology 30 (2): 172-
179

Carsten, Janet.
2000. Cultures of Relatedness: New Approaches to the Study of Kinship. New York: Cambridge
University Press.

Cassaniti, Julia and Luhrmann, Tanya.

2011. “Encountering the Supernatural: A Phenomenological Account of Mind.” Religion and
Society: Advances in Research 2 (2011) 37-53.

Castells, Manuel, ed.

2004. Network Society: A Cross Cultural Perspective. Cheltenham, Northhampton: Edward

Chakrabarty, Dipesh.

425
 1992. “Postcoloniality and the Artifice of History: Who Speaks for ‘Indian’ Pasts,” Representations
37:1-26 (1992).

Chetri, M, Maskey LK, Chapagain NR, Sharma BD, editors.

2004. Mustang – The Land of Fascination. King Mahendra Trust for Nature Conservation, Nepal.

Clark, H. H.
1996. Using Language. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Clark H. and Carlson T.

1982. "Hearers and Speech Acts" in Language 58: 332-73.

Coleman, S.
2002. “Do you believe in pilgrimage? Communitas, contestation, and beyond,” Anthropological
Theory, 2 (3): 355-68

Coleman, Simon, and Peter Collins, eds.

2006. Locating the field: Space, place and context in anthropology. Oxford: Berg.

Coleman, Simon and John Eade, eds.

2004. Reframing Pilgrimage: Cultures in Motion. European Association of Social Anthropologists.
Routledge.

Comaroff, Jean and John L. Comaroff.

1993. “Introduction.” In Modernity and its Malcontents: Ritual and Power in Post-Colonial Africa.
John L. Comaroff and Jean Comaroff (eds). University of Chicago Press.

Craig, Sienna.
2001. "A Tale of Two Temples: Culture, Capital, and Community in Mustang, Nepal." Paper
Presented at the New York Conference on Asian Studies. Ithaca, NY.
—
2008. Horses Like Lightening: A Story of Passage Through the Himalayas. Wisdom Publications.

Csordas, Thomas J.
1999. "Embodiment and Cultural Phenomenology". In Gail Weiss and Honi Fern Haber, eds,
Perspectives on Embodiment: The Intersections of Nature and Culture. New York and London.
Routledge.

Da Col, Giovanni and David Graeber.

2011. “Foreword: The return of ethnographic theory.” HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 1 (1):
vi–xxxv.

Dahal, Sharada Prasad.

1988. Muktikshetra: A Historical, Religious and Cultural Explorations (Original text in Nepali);
'Muktikshetra' Publication Committee. Translated under the direct supervision of Dr. Ramesh K.
Dhungel by Rana, Binaya SJB: Post Graduate Diploma in Buddhist Studies, Buddhist Studies
Department, Tribhuvan University, Kathmandu, Nepal. Translation sponsored by André Kalden,
President of Muktinath Foundation International, 2002 CE

Dana, Jessamine.

426
 2011. “Chapter 9 – The Politics of Encounter: Hindu Belonging in a Multi-Faith Pilgrimage Site
in Nepal.” In The Politics of Belonging in the Himalayas: Local Attachments and Boundary
Dynamics (Governance, Conflict and Civic Action). Joanna Pfaff-Czarnecka and Gerard Toffin,
Eds. SAGE Publications Pvt. Ltd; 1 edition.

Dancygier, Barbara and Sweetser, Eve.

2012. Viewpoint in Language: A Multimodal Perspective. Cambridge University Press.

Daniel, E. Valentine.
1984. Fluid signs: Being a person the Tamil way. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Dejarlais, Robert R.
1992a. Body and Emotion: The Aesthetics of Illness and Healing in the Nepal Himalayas.
University of Pennsylvania Press.
—
1992b."Yolmo Aesthetics of Body, Health and “Soul Loss".” Social Science and Medicine 34(10):
1105–1117.

de Bruijn, Mirjam and Rijk van Dijk

2012. “Connecting and Change in African Societies: Examples of "Ethnographies of Linking" in
Anthropology.” Anthropologica, Vol. 54, No. 1 (2012), pp. 45-59.

De la Cadena, Marisol.
2010. “Indigenous Cosmopolitics In the Andes: Conceptual Reflections beyond “Politics”.”
Cultural Anthropology, 25: 334–370.

De León, Lourdes.
2012. “Language Socialization and Multiparty Participation Frameworks”. In The Handbook of
Language Socialization. Alessandro Duranti, Elinor Ochs and Bambi B. Schieffelin, eds. Wiley-
Blackwell, Blackwell Publishing Limited.

Deleuze, Gilles
1992. “Postscript on the societies of Control.” Article available at libcom.org.
—
1994. Difference and Repetition. London: Athlone.

Descola, Philippe.
2005. Par-delà nature et culture. Paris: Gallimard.

Dey, Nundo Lal.

1971. Geographical Dictionary of Ancient and Mediaeval India. Calcutta: W. Newman & Co.

Dhital, Megh Raj.

2015. Geology of the Nepal Himalaya: Regional Perspective of the Classic Collided Orogen
(Regional Geology Reviews). Springer.

Dhungel, Ramesh K.
2002. The Kingdom of Lo (Mustang): A Historical Study. Kathmandu : Tashi Gephel Foundation.

Dhruba, Kumar.

427
 2013. Social Inclusion: Human Development and Nation Building in Nepal. Imprint Unknown. 1st
Edition.

Dilger, Hansjörg (ed), and Abdoulaye Kane and Stacey A. Langwick

2012. Medicine, Mobility, and Power in Global Africa: Transnational Health and Healing. Indiana
University Press.

Droysen, J. G.
1952-53 [1836-78]. Geschichte des Hellenismus, (The History of Hellenism). bd. 1, 2, 3, Edited by
E. Bayer. München: Deutscher Tashenbuch.

Dumont, Louis.
1980. Homo hierarchicus: The caste system and its implications. Rev. ed. Translated by Mark
Sainsbury, Louis Dumont, and Basia Gulati. Chicago: Chicago University Press.
—
1983. Affinity as a Value: Marriage Alliances in South India, with Comparative Essays on
Australia. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Durkheim, Emile.
(1912) 2001. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Oxford University Press.

Eade, John and Michael J. Sallnow.

[1991] 2000. Contesting the Sacred: The Anthropology of Christian Pilgrimage. University of
Illinois Press.

Eck, Diana.
1986. Darshan of the Image. India International Centre Quarterly, Vol. 13, No. 1, IMAGES
(March), pp. 43-53
—

1998. Darśan: Seeing the Divine Image in India. Columbia University Press. New York. 1998.
—
2012. India: A Sacred Geography. Three Rivers Press: New York.

Eickelman, D. and Piscatori, J. (eds).

1990. Muslim Travellers: Pilgrimage, Migration, and the Religious Imagination. Berkeley and Los
Angeles: University of California Press.

Eidsiedel, Sebastian von, David M. Malone, and Suman Pradhan.

2012. Nepal in Transition: From People's War to Fragile Peace. Cambridge University Press.

Eliade, M., & Trask, W. R.

1959. The sacred and the profane: The nature of religion. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World.
Chicago

Enay, Raymond and Elie Cariou.

1997. “Ammonite faunas and palaeobiogeography of the Himalayan belt during the Jurassic:
Initiation of a Late Jurassic austral ammonite fauna.” Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology,
Palaeoecology 134 (1997) 1-38.
—

428
 1999. “Jurassic ammonite faunas from Nepal and their bearing on the palaeobiogeography of the
Himalayan belt.” Journal of Asian Earth Sciences 17 (1999) 829-848.

Engelke, Matthew.
2007. A Problem of Presence: Beyond Scripture in an African Church (The Anthropology of
Christianity). University of California Press.

Ehrhard, F. K.
1999 (1993). ‘Tibetan Sources on Muktinath: Individual Reports and Normative Guides,’ in
Archaeological, Historical, and Geographical Reports on Research Activities in the Nepal-Tibetan
border area of Mustang during the years 1992 – 1998, Part IV, H.14, Dieter Schuh (ed.), pp. 23-29,
Bonn: Archiv für Zentralasiatische Geschichtsforschung (Archive for Central Asian History).

Evans-Pritchard, E.
1940. The Nuer. Oxford: Clarendon

Fabian, Johannes.
1983. Time and the other: how anthropology makes its object. New York: Columbia University
Press.

Ferry, Elizabeth and Mandana E. Limbert.

2008. Timely Assets: The Politics of Resources and Their Temporalities. School for Advanced
Research Press

Fisher, William F.
1987. The Re-Creation of Tradition: Ethnicity, Migration, and Social Change Among the Thakali
of Central Nepal. PhD diss, Columbia University.
—
2001. Fluid Boundaries: Forming and Transforming Identity in Nepal. Columbia University
Press: New York.

Flood, Gavin.
1998. An Introduction to Hinduism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Fowler, C.
2010. “From Identity and Material Culture to Personhood and Materiality.” In The Oxford
Handbook of Material Culture Studies. Edited by H.D. and M.C. Beaudry. Oxford: Oxford
University Press. 352-85.

Franklin, Sarah and Susan McKinnon.

2001. Relative Values: Reconfiguring Kinship Studies. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Freedberg, David
1989. The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response. The University of
Chicago Press, Chicago and London.

Frey, N.
1998. Pilgrim Stories: On and Off the Road to Santiago. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Fuller, C. J.

429
 2004. The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Society in India, Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, pp. 67.

Fürer-Haimendorf, Christoph von.

1957. “The Interrelations of Caste and Ethnic Groups in Nepal.” Bulletin of the School of
Oriental and African Studies. 20: 243-60.
—
1966. “Caste Concepts and Status Distinctions in Buddhist Communities of Western Nepal.” In
Caste and Kin in Nepal, India, and Ceylon: Anthropological Studies in Hindu-Buddhist Context.
editor Chrisoph von Fürer-Haimendorf, 140-60. London: Asia.
—
1975. Himalayan Traders. New York: St. Martin’s.
—
1978. “Trans-Himalayan Traders in Transition.” In Himalayan Anthropology, ed. James Fisher,
339-57. The Hague: Mouton.
—
1981. “Social Change in a Himalayan Region.” In The Himalaya, ed. J. S. Lall, 175-203. Delhi:
Oxford University Press.

Garzanti, E. and Pagni, Frette M.

1991. “Stratigraphic succession of the Thakkhola region (Central Nepal). Comparison with the
north-western Tethys Himalaya.” Rivista Italiana Paleontologia Stratigrafa 97 (1), 3-26.

Geertz, Clifford.
1973. “The Interpretation of Cultures.” Basic Books: Basic Books Classics
—
1973 [1966]. “Person, time and conduct in Bali.” In The Interpretation of Cultures, pp. 360-411.
New York: Basic Books. Pg. 58.
—
1975a. “Common Sense as a Cultural System.” The Antioch Review 33 (1), pp. 5-26. Geertz, H.
and Geertz, C.
—
1975b. Kinship in Bali. Chicago: Univ. Chicago Press

Geismar, Haidy.
2011. “Material Culture Studies and other Ways to Theorize Objects: A Primer to a Regional
Debate.” Comparative Studies in Society and History 53(1): 210–218.

Gell, Alfred.
1992. The Anthropology of Time. London: Berg.
—
1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford and New York: Oxford University
Press.

Gellner, David N.
1994. "Priests, Healers, Mediums and Witches: The Context of Possession in the Kathmandu
Valley, Nepal." Man 29(1): 27–48.

Gentry, James Duncan.

2016. Power Objects in Tibetan Buddhism (Brill’s Tibetan Studies Library). Brill Publishers.

430
Geological Survey of India.
1904. Geological Survey of India, Vol. XXI, Part 1. Government of India. London and Calcutta.

George, David E. R.
1987. “Ritual Drama: Between Mysticism and Magic”. Asian Theater Journal. Vol. 4, No. 2.
(Autumn, 1987) pp. 127-165.

Ghassem-Fachandi, Parvis.
2011. "Religious Synthesis at a Muslim Shrine". in A Companion to the Anthropology of India. I.
Clark-Decès, ed. Oxford, UK: Wiley-Blackwell.

Gibling, M.R., Gradstein, F.M., Kristiansen, I.L., Nagy, J., Sarti, M., and Wiedmann, J.
1994. “Early cretaceous strata of the Nepal Himalayas: conjugate margins and rift volcanism during
Gondwanan breakup.” Journal of the Geological Society, London. 151: 269-290.

Giddens, Anthony.
1995. Politics, Sociology and Social Theory: Encounters with Classical and Contemporary Social
Thought. Stanford University Press.
Ginzburg, Carlo and Davin, Anna.
1980. "Morelli, Freud, and Sherlock Holmes: Clues and Scientific Method." In History Workshop
No. 9. (Spring, 1980). Oxford University Press. pp. 5-36.

Goffman, Erving.
1974. "Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience." New York: Harper and Row.
—
1976. “Performances.” Ritual Play, and Performance. (ed. R. Schechner), pp. 89-96.
—
1981. Forms of Talk. University of Pennsylvania Press. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Goodwin, C.
1986. “Audience Diversity, Participation and Interpretation”. Text, 6 (3), 283-316. Web.
http://www.sscnet.ucla.edu/clic/cgoodwin/86aud_diver.pdf. Accessed 21 November 2012.

Gosden, Christopher.
1994. Social Being and Time. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.

Goswami, Vaisnavacharya Chandan

2017. The Sacred Shilas. Anupam Goswami.

Graburn, N.
[1977] 1989. “Tourism: The Sacred Journey.” In V. Smith (ed) Hosts and Guests: The
Anthropology of Tourism. Philadelphia: University of Philadelphia Press.

Gramsci, Antonio.
1971. Selections from the Prison Notebooks. New York: International.

Griffith-Jones, Susan M.
2009. Muktinath, Secret Treasure of Annapurna...The Rainbow Bridge. Vibgyor Publishing House
Pvt. Ltd.

Guneratne, Arjun.

431
 2002. Many Tongues, One People: The Making of Tharu Identity in Nepal. Cornell University
Press.

Gunkel, Herman.
1903. "The Religio-Historical Interpretation of the New Testament." Translated by W. H. Carruth.
The Monist, 398-455.

Gupta, Akhil and James Ferguson.

1992. "Beyond 'Culture': Space, Identity, and the Politics of Difference," Cultural Anthropology
(1992) 7(1):6-23; reprinted in Gupta and Ferguson, eds., Culture, Power, Place (1997:33-51) and in
Inda and Rosaldo, eds. Anthropology of Globalization (2002:65-80).
—
1997. “Discipline and Practice: “The Field” as Site, Method, and Location in Anthropology.” In A.
Gupta and J. Ferguson (eds) Anthropological Locations: Boundaries and Grounds of a Field
Science. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Gutschow, Kim.
2004. Being a Buddhist Nun: The Struggle for Enlightenment in the Himalayas. Harvard University
Press.

Haraway, Donna.
2000. "A Cyborg Manifesto." In Bell, David; Kennedy, Barbara. The Cybercultures Reader.
Routledge. pp. 291–324. – via Georgetown University Online.

Haenn, Nora, and Richard Wilk, eds.

2016. The environment in anthropology: A reader in ecology, culture and sustainable living. 2d ed.
New York: New York Univ. Press.

Hagn, H.
1977. “Shaligram - Cobbles of Malm Limestones with Ammonites as Cult Objects of India.”
Communications of the Bavarian State Collection of Paleontology and Historical Geology. 17: 71 –
102. (“Saligrame – Gerölle von Malm-Kalken mit Ammoniten als Kultgegenstände Indiens.”
Mitteilungen der Bayerischen Staatssammlung für Paläontologie und Historische Geologie, 17: 71-
102).
—
1988. “On Saligrams – The Holy Stones of India.” Contributions to Himalayan Geology. 4: 53-62.

Hanks, William F.
1996. "Exorcism and the Description of Participant Roles" in Natural Histories of Discourse. Eds.
Michael Silverstein and Greg Urban. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. pp. 160-202.

Hanks, W.
1990. Referential Practice: Language and Lived Space Among the Maya. Chicago: Univ. Chicago
Press

Hausner, Sondra L.
2007. Wandering with Sadhus: Ascetics in the Hindu Himalayas. Indiana University Press.

Hawley, John Stratton.

1992. At Play with Krishna: Pilgrimage Dramas from Brindavan. Motilal Banarsidass Publishers
Private Limited. Delhi.

432
—
2000. "Who Speaks for Hinduism: And Who Against?" Journal of the American Academy of
Religion, Vol. 68, No. 4 (Dec., 2000), pp. 711-720.

Hayden, Corinne P.
1995. “Gender, Genetics, and Generation: Reformulating Biology in Lesbian Kinship.” Cultural
Anthropology 10 (1): 41-63

Heimsath, Kabir.
2011. Urban Space of Lhasa. D.Phil. thesis, University of Oxford.

Helmreich. Stefan.
2009. Alien Ocean: Anthropological Voyages in Microbial Seas. Berkeley/Los Angeles: University
of California Press.

Henare, Amiria; Martin Holbraad; and Sari Wastell (eds)

2006. Thinking Through Things: Theorising Artefacts Ethnographically. Routledge.

Herskovits, Melville.
1958 [1941]. The Myth of the Negro Past. 2nd ed. Boston: Beacon Press.

Heywood, Paolo.
2012. “Anthropology and What There Is: Reflections on “Ontology.” Cambridge Anthropology 30
(1): 143-151.

Hirsch, Eric and Michael O'Hanlon.

1995. Anthropology of Landscape: Perspectives on Place and Space. Clarendon, Oxford

Hodder, Ian
2003. “The “social” in Archaeological Theory: An Historical and Contemporary Perspective,” in A
Companion to Social Archaeology. Lynn Meskell and Robert Pruecel. Malden MA: Blackwell, 23-
42.

Hodges, Matt.
2008. “Rethinking Time’s Arrow: Bergson, Deleuze and the Anthropology of Time.”
Anthropological Theory, 8(4): 399-429

Höfer, Andras.
1979. The Caste Hierarchy and State in Nepal: A Study of the Muluki Ain of 1854. Innsbruck:
Universitätsverlag Wagner.

Holbraad, Martin.
2012. Truth in Motion. The Recursive Anthropology of Cuban Divination. Chicago: Chicago
University Press.

Holbraad, Martin and Morten Axel Pedersen.

2009. “Planet M: The intense abstraction of Marilyn Strathern.” Anthropological Theory 9 (4): 371-
394.

Hooker, J. D.

433
 1854, Himalayan Journals. London (J. Murray), 2 vols. Johnson, M. R. W., and Rogers, G., 1997,
Rb-Sr ages of micas from the Kathmandu complex, Central Nepalese Himalaya. implications for
the evolution of the Main Central Thrust: Jour. Geol. Soc. London, v. 154, pp 863–869.

Horst, Heather Α., and Daniel Miller

2005. “From Kinship to Link-up. Cell Phones and Social Networking in Jamaica.” Current
Anthropology 46(5):755-778.

Hoskins, Janet.
2006. “Agency, biography. And objects” in Handbook of Material Culture. C. Tiller et al. (eds.).
London: Sage Pub., 74-84.

Huizinga, Johan.
1955. Homo Ludens; A Study of the Play-Element in Culture. Boston: Beacon Press.

Hymes, Dell.
1972. "Models of the Interaction of Language and Social Life" in Directions in Socio-linguistics:
The Ethnography of Speaking, J. Gumperz and D. Hymes (eds.), 35-71. New York: Holt,
Rinehart, & Winston.

Iijima, Shigeru.
1960. “The Thakali: A Central Himalayan Tribe.” Japanese Journal of Ethnology 24. no. 3: 1-22
(Japanese text, English summary).
—
1963. “The Hinduization of a Himalayan Tribe in Nepal.” Krober Anthropological Society
Papers 29: 43-52

Inden, Ronald B. and Ralph Nicholas.

1977. Kinship in Bengali culture. Chicago: Chicago University Press.

Ingold, Tim.
1994. What is an animal. Routledge.
—
2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays in Livelihood, Dwelling, and Skill. London:
Routledge.
—
2011. Redrawing Anthropology: Materials, movements, lines. Ashgate, Aldershot.

Irvine, Judith.
1996. "Shadow Conversations: The Indeterminacy of Participant Roles." In Natural Histories of
Discourse. Eds. Michael Silverstein and Greg Urban. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. pp.
131-159.

Irvine, Leslie.
2004. If You Tame Me: Understanding Our Connection with Animals (Animals Culture And
Society). Temple University Press

Jackson, David.
1976. “The Early History of Lo (Mustang) and Ngari.” Contributions to Nepalese Studies 4: 39-56
—

434
 1978. “Notes on the History of Se-Rib and Nearby Places in the Upper Kali Gandaki Valley.”
Kailash 6, no. 3: 195-227
—
1980. “A Genealogy of the Kings of Lo (Mustang).” In Tibetan Studies in Honour of Hugh
Richardson: Proceedings of the International Seminar on Tibetan Studies, Oxford 1979. eds.
Michael Aris and Aung San Suu Kyi, 133-37. New Delhi: Vikas.
—
1984. The Mollas of Mustang: Historical, Religious, and Oratorial Traditions of the Nepalese-
Tibetan Borderland. Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives.

James, William.
1982 [1902]. The Varieties of Religious Experiences: A Study in Human Nature. New York:
Penguin Classics.

Karve, I.
1962. “On the Road: A Maharashtrian Pilgrimage.” The Journal of Asian Studies, XXII (1): 13 –
31.

Kawakita, Jiro.
1955. “Some Ethnographic Observations in the Nepal Himalaya.” The Japanese Journal of
Ethnology 19, no. 1:1-57
—
1957. “Ethno-geographical Observations on the Nepal Himalaya.” In Peoples of the Nepal
Himalaya, ed. H. Kihara, 3:1-362. Kyoto: Flora and Fauna Society.

Keane, Webb.
2009. On Multiple Ontologies and the Temporality of Things. Material World blog, 7 July 2009.
URL: http://www.materialworldblog.com/2009/07/on-multiple-ontologies-and-the-temporality-of-
things/. Accessed 26 Oct 2017.
—
2014. "On Spirit Writing: Materialities of Language and the Religious Work of Transduction".
Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute vol. 19, no. 1, pp. 1-17, 2013

Kirksey, S. Eben, and Stefan Helmreich.

2010. “The Emergence of Multispecies Ethnography.” Cultural Anthropology 25.4: 545-576.

Klassen, Pamela E.
2011. Spirits of Protestantism: Medicine, Healing, and Liberal Christianity. Berkeley: University of
California Press.

Knapp, Stephen.
2011. Krishna Deities and Their Miracles: How the Images of Lord Krishna Interact with Their
Devotees. The World Relief Network. Detroit, Michigan. 2011.

Knappett, Carl
2005. “Animacy, Agency, and Personhood,” in Thinking through material culture: an
interdisciplinary perspective. Philadelphia: The University of Pennsylvania Press, 11-34.

Kohl-Bonn, Joseph.

435
 1936. “To the Indian Stone Cult.” Journal of the German Oriental Society. Vol. 90 (n.F. 15), No. 2
(1936), pp. 432 – 440. (“Zum indischen Steinkult.” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen
Gesellschaft, Vol. 90 (n.F. 15), No. 2(1936), pp. 432-440).

Kohn, Eduardo
2007. “How Dogs Dream: Amazonian Natures and the Politics of Transspecies
Engagement.” American Ethnologist 34(1):3–24.
—
2013. How Forests Think: Toward an Anthropology Beyond the Human. University of California
Press.
—
2014. "What an Ontological Anthropology Might Mean." Theorizing the Contemporary,Cultural
Anthropology website, January 13, 2014. https://culanth.org/fieldsights/463-what-an-ontological-
anthropology-might-mean

Korom, Frank.
2001. “Introduction: Fieldwork, Ethnography, and the History of Religions.” Method &
Theory in the Study of Religion, Vol. 13, No. 1, pp. 3-11
—
2006. South Asian Folklore: A Handbook. Greenwood Press: Westport, Connecticut.

Kraemer, Hendrik.
1962. “Syncretism.” In Religion in History and the Present. Hand-dictionary for Theology and
Religious Studies. Third Edition, Volume 6, 563-68. Tübingen.
("Synkretismus." In Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Handwörterbuch für Theologie
und Religionwissenschaft. Dritte Auflage, Band 6, 563-68. Tübingen.)

Laidlaw, James.
2012. “Ontologically Challenged.” Anthropology of This Century, vol. 4, London, May 2012.
URL: http://aotcpress.com/articles/ontologically-challenged/.

Lamb, Sarah
1997. “The Making and Unmaking of Persons: Notes on Aging and Gender in North India,” Ethos
25(3): 279-302. 1997.
—
2000. White Saris and Sweet Mangoes: Aging, Gender, and Body in North India. University of
California Press.
—
2004. "Making and Unmaking of Persons: Gender and Body in Northeast India." Gender in Cross-
Cultural Perspective. 4th ed. Ed. Brettell, Caroline and Carolyn Sargent. Upper Saddle River, NJ:
Prentice Hall. 230-240.

Lambek, Michael
2008. “Provincializing God? Provocations from an Anthropology of Religion.” In Religion: Beyond
a Concept. Hent de Vries, ed. New York: Fordham University Press. Pp. 120-138.

Latour, Bruno.
1988. The Pasteurization of France. Alan Sheridan and John Law, trans.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
—

436
 1993. We have never been modern. Cambridge, MA: Harvard. University Press.
—
1999. “On Recalling ANT,” in Law and Hassard, eds., Actor Network Theory and After. Oxford:
Blackwell Publishers, pp. 15-26.

Lavecchia, G., and Scalera, G., (Eds.).

2003, “Frontiers in Earth Sciences: New ideas and new interpretations.” Annals Geophysics, v.
49/1, Suppl, Rome, pg. 514.

Le Fort, P.
1975. “Himalayas: The collided range. Present knowledge of the continental arc.” Journal of
American Science, v. 275-A, pp.1–44. (Le Fort, P., 1981, Manaslu leucogranite: a collision
signature of the Himalaya, a model for its genesis and emplacement. Jour. geophys. Res., v. 86/B-
11, pp. 10545–10568.)

Leeuw, Gerardus van der.

1938 [1933]. Religion in Essence and Manifestation: A Study in Phenomenology. London: G. Allen
& Unwin.

Leopold, Anita Marie and Jeppe Sinding Jensen.

2005. Syncretism in Religion: A Reader. Routledge: New York.

Levi-Strauss, Claude.
1955. “The Structural Study of Myth.” From Structural Anthropology. The Journal of American
Folklore. Vol. 68, No. 270, Myth: A Symposium (Oct. - Dec., 1955), pp. 428-444. Published by:
American Folklore Society (pages 206-131).
—
1969. “The Elementary Structures of Kinship.” Translated by James Harle Bell and John Richard
von Sturmer. Boston: Beacon.

Levine, Nancy.
1987. “Caste, State, and Ethnic Boundaries in Nepal.” Journal of Asian Studies 46: 71-88.

Levinson, Stephen C.
1983. Pragmatics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1983.
—
1988. “Putting Linguistics on a Proper Footing: Explorations in Goffman's Participation
Framework”. In P. Drew, & A. Wootton (Eds.), Goffman: Exploring the interaction order (pp. 161-
227). Oxford: Polity Press.

Low, Setha, ed.

1999. Theorizing the city: The new urban anthropology reader. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers Univ.
Press.

Madhu Sudhan Ramanujadas

2003. Muktichhetra Mahatmyamam. Dhaulagiri Osset Press. Nepal.

Mahmood, Saba.
2004. Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject. Princeton University Press.

Marcus, George E.

437
 1995. “Ethnography in/of the World System: The Emergence of Multi-Sited Ethnography.” Annual
Review of Anthropology. Vol. 24:95-117 (October 1995)

Marriot, McKim.
1976. “Hindu transactions: Diversity without dualism.” In India through Hindu categories. Edited
by Bruce Kapferer, 109 – 42. New Delhi: Sage Publications.

Marriot, McKim and Ronald Inden.

1977. “Toward an ethnosociology of South Asian caste systems.” In The new wind: Changing
identities in South Asia, edited by Kenneth David, 227-38. The Hague: Moulton Publishers.

Maskarinec, Gregory G.
1992. "A Shamanic Etiology of Affliction from Western Nepal." Social Science and Medicine
35(5): 723–734.

Mason, David.
2005. Theatre and Religion on Krishna's Stage: Performing in Vrindavan. Palgrave Macmillan
Publishers. New York and England.

Masquelier, Adeline.
2005. Dirt, Undress, and Difference: Critical Perspectives on the Body's Surface. Indiana
University Press. Bloomington and Indianapolis.

Mauss, Marcel.
1954. [1925] The Gift; forms and functions of exchange in archaic societies. Hau Books,
distributed by the University of Chicago Press

Mayor, A.
2005. Fossil legends of the first Americans. Princeton University Press. 446 pp.

McIntosh, Janet.
2005. “Liminal Meanings: Sexually Charged Giriama Funerary Ritual and Unsettled Participant
Frameworks.” Language and Communication 25: 39-60. 2005.
—
2009. The Edge of Islam: Power, Personhood, and Ethnoreligious Boundaries on the Kenya Coast.
Duke University Press.

McManners, John.
1992. "Enlightenment: Secular and Christian (1600-1800)." In The Oxford Illustrated History of
Christianity. Edited by John McManners. Pgs. 267-300. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Menon, Ramesh.
2000. Blue God: A Life of Krishna. Writers Club Press.

Merleau-Ponty, M.
1981. The Phenomenology of Perception. Evanston and Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

Messerschmidt, Donald A.
1984. “The Thakali of Nepal: Historical Continuity and Socio-Cultural Change.” Ethnohistory 29:
265-80.
—

438
 1989. "The Hindu Pilgrimage to Muktinath, Nepal. Part 1 and Part 2: Natural and Supernatural
Attributes of the Sacred Field." Mountain Research and Development, Vol. 9, No. 2 (May, 1989),
pp. 89-104.

Messerschmidt, Donald A. and Nareshwar Jang Gurung.

1974. “Parallel Trade and Innovation in Central Nepal: The Cases of the Gurung and Thakali
Subbas Compared.” Contributions to the Anthropology of Nepal. Ed. C. von Fürer-Haimendorf.
197-221. Warminster, England: Aris and Phillips.

Mieu, George, Paul.

2015. ‘Beach-Boy Elders’ and ‘Young Big-Men’: Subverting the Temporalities of Ageing in
Kenya’s Ethno-Erotic Economies. Ethnos, vol. 80:4, 2015 (pp. 472–496). Taylor and Francis.

Mir, Farina.
2006. "Genre and Devotion in Punjabi Popular Narratives: Rethinking Cultural and Religious
Syncretism." Comparative Studies in Society and History / Volume 48 / Issue 03 / July 2006, pp
727-758. Cambridge University Press

Mittal, J. P.
2006. History of Ancient India: From 4250 BC to 637 AD. Atlantic Publishers. New Delhi.

Mol, Annemarie.
2002. The Body Multiple: Ontology in Medical Practice. Duke University Press.

Mongomerie, Thomas George.

1875. “Extracts from an Explorer’s Narrative of His Journey from Pitgarh in Kumaon via Jumla to
Tadum and Back Along the Kali Gandaki to British Territory.” Journal of the Royal Geographic
Society of London 45: 350-63

Morgan, David.
1999. Visual Piety: A History and Theory of Popular Religious Images. University of California
Press.

Morgan, David. (ed)

2010. Religion and Material Culture: The Matter of Belief. London: Routledge

Morinis, Alan.
1992. Sacred Journeys: The Anthropology of Pilgrimage (Contributions to the Study of
Anthropology). Praeger.
Muktinath Foundation International (MFI)
2015. Website. http://www.muktinath.org/. Accessed 5 Jan 2015

Munn, Nancy D.
1970. “The Transformation of Subjects into Objects in Walbin and Pitjantjatjara Myth.” In
Ronald M. Berndt (ed.), Australian Aboriginal Anthropology: Modern Studies in the Social
Anthropology of the Australian Aborigines. Nedlands, W.A.: University of Western Australia
Press.
—
1992. “The Cultural Anthropology of Time: A Critical Essay.” Annual Review of Anthropology,
21:93–123.

439
Nandy, Ashish.
1990. "The Politics of Secularism and the Recovery of Religious Tolerance." In Mirrors of
Violence: Communities, Riots and Survivors in South Asia. ed. Veena Das. New Delhi: Oxford
University Press. pg. 79.

Nash, Joshua.
2012. “Re-examining Ecological Aspects of Vrindavan Pilgrimage.” Flows of Faith: Religious
Reach and Community in Asia and the Pacific. Lenore Manderson, Wendy Smith, and Matt
Tomlinson eds. Springer Dordrecht Heidelberg London New York.

Nelson, C. M.
1968. “Ammonites: Ammon’s Horns into Cephalopods.” Journal of the Society for the
Bibliography of Natural History. 5:1-18.

Olwig, Karen Fog, and Kirsten Hastrup, eds.

1997. Siting culture: The shifting anthropological object. New York: Routledge.

Oppert, G.
1901. “On Shaligrams: Sacred Stones of Indian Aborigines Become Emblems of the God Vishnu.”
Review of the History of Religions. Vol. 43 (1901), pp. 325-332.
(Sur Les Sālagrāmas: Pierres Sacrées Des Aborigènes De L'inde Devenuesemblèmes Du Dieu
Vishnou. Revue de l'histoire des religions, Vol. 43 (1901), pp. 325-332).

Oppitz, Michael.
1968. History and Social Order of the Sherpa. Innsbruck.
(Geschichte und Sozialordnung der Sherpa. Innsbruck: Universitasverlag Wagner.)

Ortner, Sherry B.
1989. High Religion. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Östör, Ákos,
1980. The Play of the Gods: Locality, Ideology, Structure, and Time in the Festivals of a Bengali
Town. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London.

Otto, Rudolf
1958. The Idea of the Holy. Oxford University Press.

Page, Kevin N.
2008. “The Evolution and Geography of Jurassic Ammonoids.” Proceedings of the Geologists'
Association. Volume 119, Issue 1, 2008, Pages 35-57.

Palmié, Stephan.
2013. “Mixed Blessings and Sorrowful Mysteries: Second Thoughts about “Hybridity.” Current
Anthropology, Vol. 54, No. 4 (August 2013), pp. 463-482

Parmentier, Richard.
1987. The Sacred Remains: Myth, History and Polity in Belau. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.

Patton, Laurie L.

440
 2005. Bringing the Gods to Mind: Mantra and Ritual in Early Indian Sacrifice. University of
California Press.

Patton, Laurie L. and Doniger, Wendy eds.

1996. Myth and Method. University Press of Virginia, Charlottesville and London. 1996.

Paxson, Heather.
2008. "Post-Pasteurian Cultures: The Microbiopolitics of Raw-Milk Cheese in the United
States." Cultural Anthropology 23, no. 1 (2008): 15–47.

Pedersen, Morten Axel.

2011. Not Quite Shamans. Spirit Worlds and Political Lives in Northern Mongolia. Cornell
University Press.

Pedersen, Morten Axel.

2012. “The Task of Anthropology is to Invent Relations: For the Motion.” Critique of
Anthropology 32 (1): 59-65.

Pennington, Brian K.
2005. Was Hinduism Invented?: Britons, Indians, and the Colonial Construction of Religion.
Oxford University Press.

Pigg, Stacy Leigh.

1996. "The Credible and the Credulous: The Questions of "Villagers' Beliefs" in Nepal". Cultural
Anthropology 11(2):160-201.

Povinelli, Elizabeth.
2006. The Empire of Love: Towards a Theory of Intimacy, Genealogy, and Carnality. Durham, NC:
Duke University Press.
—
2016. Geontologies: A Requiem to Late Liberalism. Duke University Press.

Pye, Michael.
1991. "Reflections on the Treatment of Tradition in Comparative Perspective, with Special
Reference to Ernst Troeltsch and Gerardus Van Der Leeuw." In Kippenberg and Luchesi, eds. 101-
11.

Raffles, Hugh.
2010. Insectopedia. First edition. Pantheon Books
Rai, Ratan Kumar.
1994. The Thakalis, Bon DKar, and Lamaist Monasteries Along the Kali Gaṇḍaki, the Ancient Salt
Route in Western Nepal. Book Faith India.

Ramberg, Lucinda.
2014. Given to the Goddess: South Indian Devadasis and the Sexuality of Religion. Duke
University Press.

Ramble, Charles.
1983. “The Founding of a Tibetan Village: The Popular Transformation of History.” Kailash 10,
no. 1: 267-290.
—

441
 1990. “How Buddhist are Buddhist Communities? The Construction of Tradition in Two Lamaist
Villages.” Journal of the Anthropological Society of Oxford. 21. No. 2: 185-97.
—
1992. The Archive of Baragaon. http://www.tibetanhistory.net/documents-from-
mustang/baragaou/. Accessed 10-10-2016.
—
2002. "Temporal disjunction and collectivity in Mustang, Nepal". Current Anthropology 43,
supplement, August–October.
—
2008a. Tibetan Sources for a Social History of Mustang, Nepal. Volume 1: The Archive of Te.
Halle: International Institute for Tibetan and Buddhist Studies.
—
2008b. The Navel of the Demoness: Tibetan Buddhism and Civil Religion in the Highlands of
Nepal. Oxford University Press.
—
2014. “The Complexity of Tibetan Pilgrimage.” In Searching for the Dharma, Finding Salvation –
Buddhist Pilgrimage in Time and Space -- Proceedings of the Workshop “Buddhist Pilgrimage in
History and Present Times at the Lumbini International Research Institute (LIRI), Lumbini, 11 - 13
January 2010. Edited by Christoph Cueppers & Max Deeg. Lumbini International Research
Institute 2014

Ramble, Charles and C. Seeber.

1995. “Dead and Living Settlements in the Shoyul of Mustang.” Ancient Nepal, no. 138: 107-130.

Ramble, Charles and Michael Vinding.

1987. “The Bem-chag Village Record and the Early History of Mustang District.” Kailash 13,
nos. 1-2: 5-47.

Rapport, N. and Dawson, A.

1998. “Coming Home to a Dream: A Study of the Immigrant Discourse of “Anglo-Saxons” in
Israel.” In N. Rapport and A. Dawson (eds) Migrants of Identity: Perceptions of Home in a World
of Movement. Oxford: Berg.

Regmi, Mahesh.
1976. Landownership in Nepal. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Regmi, M. C.
ed. 1970. Mustang Rajya. Regmi Research Series 2(4), 99.
—
1978. Thatched Huts and Stucco Palaces: Peasants and Landlords in 19th-Century
Nepal. New Delhi: Vikas.

Romano, Marco.
2014. “From petrified snakes, through giant ‘foraminifers’, to extinct cephalopods: the early history
of ammonite studies in the Italian peninsula,” Historical Biology.
http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08912963.2013.879866

Rubin, Gayle.
1975. “The Traffic in Women: Notes on the ‘Political Economy’ of Sex.” In Toward an
Anthropology of Women. Edited by Rayna R. Reiter, 157-210. New York: Monthly Review.

442
Sahlins, Marshall.
2013. What Kinship Is – And Is Not. University of Chicago Press.

Sakai, Harutaka.
1989. “Rifting of the Gondwanaland and Uplifting of the Himalayas Recorded in Mesozoic and
Tertiary Fluvial Sediments in the Nepal Himalayas.” In Sedimentary Facies in the Active Plate
Margin. Edited by A. Taira and F. Masuda. Pgs. 723-732. Terra Scientific Publishing Company.
Tokyo.

Salazar, Noel Β.
2010. “Towards an Anthropology of Cultural Mobilities.” Crossings: Journal of Migration and
Culture 1(1): 53-68.

Sanders, Clint.
1999. Understanding dogs. Temple University Press

Schattschneider, Ellen.
2003. Immortal Wishes: Labor and Transcendence on a Japanese Sacred Mountain. Duke
University Press Books

Schaik, Sam van.

2011. Tibet: A History. Yale University Press.

Schieffelin, Edward.
1985. “Performance and the Cultural Construction of Reality.” American Ethnologist 12:4: pgs.
707-724.

Schneider, David Murray.

1984. A Critique of the Study of Kinship. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Schuh, Dieter.
1994. “Investigations in the History of the Muktinath Valley and Adjacent Areas, Part I.” Ancient
Nepal. 137: 9-91
—
1995. “Investigations in the History of the Muktinath Valley and Adjacent Areas, Part II.” Ancient
Nepal. 138: 5-54

Schweig, Graham M.
2007. Dance of Divine Love: India’s Classical Sacred Love Story, The Rasa Lilas of Krishna.
Motilal Banarsidass Publishers. Delhi.
—
2004. "Krishna, the Intimate Deity". The Hare Krishna Movement: The Postcharismatic Fate of a
Religious Transplant. Edward F. Bryant and Maria L. Ekstrand eds. Columbia University Press. pg
13.

Sharma, Prayag Raj.

1977. “Caste, Social Mobility, and Sanskritization: A Study of Nepal’s Old Legal Code.” Kailash 5,
no. 4: 277-99.

Shaw, Rosalind and Charles Stewart, eds.

443
 1994. Syncretism/Anti-Syncretism: The Politics of Religious Synthesis (European Association of
Social Anthropologists). Routledge.

Shedden, Rikardo.
2008. "Of Kalinga Rice Rituals and the Conflation of Traditions." In Culture and development in
Southeast Asia. D. Wangsgard, ed. 109-23. Bangkok: White Lotus Press.

Shukla, Deeptima.
2006. "India-Nepal Relations: Problems and Prospects." The Indian Journal of Political Science,
Vol. 67, No. 2 (APR.- JUNE, 2006), pp. 355-374.

Siddhantashastree, Rabindra Kumar.

1985. Vaishnvaism Through the Ages. Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, Pvt. Ltd.

Singh, Vikash.
2017. Uprising of the Fools: Pilgrimage as Moral Protest in Contemporary India. Stanford
University Press.

Snellgrove, David.
1958. Buddhist Himalaya. Oxford: Bruno Cassirer.
—
1961. Himalayan Pilgrimage: A Study of Tibetan Religion by a Traveller Through Western Nepal.
Oxford. Cassirer.
—
1965. “Review of the Sherpas of Nepal by C. Furer-Haimendorf.” Asian Review of Art and Letters.
New Series 2.1.

Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty.

1988. "Can the Subaltern Speak?" In Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture. Edited by Cary
Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg. Urbana: U of Illinois Press.

Stallybrass, Peter and Allon White.

2002. "The Politics and Poetics of Transgression." In A Reader in the Anthropology of Religion.
Michael Lambeck ed. Blackwell Publishing Ltd.

Stewart, Charles.
2005. "Relocating Syncretism in Social Science Discourse." In Religious Syncretism: A Reader.
Edited by Anita Marie Leopold and Jeppe Sinding Jensen. Routledge: New York.

Stewart, Pamela J. and Andrew Strathern

2015. Landscape, Memory and History: Anthropological Perspectives (Anthropology, Culture and
Society). Pluto Press.

Stewart, Susan.
1993. On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection. Duke
University Press, Durham and London.

Stiller, L. F.
1973. The Rise of the House of Gorkha: A Study in the Unification of Nepal, 1768-1816. Ratna
Pustak Bhandar: Kathmandu.

444
Stöcklin Jovan.
2008. “Developments in the geological exploration of Nepal.” Journal of Nepal Geological Society,
Vol. 38, pp. 49–54.

Stone, Linda.
1976. "Concepts of Illness and Curing in a Central Nepal Village." Contributions to Nepalese
Studies 3 (Special Issue, 1976), 55-80.

Strathern, Marilyn.
2005. Kinship, Law, and the Unexpected: Relatives Are Always a Surprise. New York: Cambridge
University Press.

Sweetser, Eve.
2012. "Viewpoint and Perspective in Language and Gesture, from the Ground Down." In Viewpoint
in Language: A Multimodal Perspective. Cambridge University Press. pp. 1-24.

Taves, Ann
2009. Religious Experience Reconsidered: A Building-Block Approach to the Study of Religion
and Other Special Things. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Taylor, Paul D.
2012. “Shaligrams and Vishnu: ammonites in Hinduism.” Batalleria 17: 39-44.

Thapa, Netra B.
1990. A Short History of Nepal. Ratna Pustak Bhandar. Kathmandu.

Thompson, Matt
2012. "Digital Anthropology Group Is Happening Now." Savage Minds. Retrieved 2017-01-31.

Tilley, Christopher.
2001. “Ethnography and Material Culture.” In Handbook of Ethnography. P. Atkinson et Al. (eds.).
London: Sage Pub., 258-272.

Tilman, H. W.
1952. Nepal Himalaya. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, England.

Trawick, Margaret.
1990. Notes on Love in a Tamil Family. University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles.

Tremlett, P.
2003. “The problem of belief: a response to Matthew Engelke.” Anthropology Today. 19 (4): 24

Tsing, Anna Lowenhaupt.

1993. In the Realm of the Diamond Queen. Princeton University Press. Princeton, New Jersey.
—
2005. Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University
Press
—
2016. The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins.
Princeton University Press. Princeton, New Jersey.

445
Tucci, Giuseppe.
[1953] 1982. Journey to Mustang. translated by Diana Fussell. Kathmandu: Ratna Pustak Bhandar.

Turner, Victor and Edith.

1969. “Planes of Classification in an Ndembu Ritual of Life and Death.” From The Ritual Process:
Structure and Anti-Structure. Aldine de Gruyter, New York.
—
1978. Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture, New York: Columbia University Press.

Uberoi, Patricia.
1993. Family, Kinship, and Marriage in India. Delhi: Oxford University Press.

Urry, John.
2000. Sociology Beyond Societies: Mobilities for the Twenty-First Century. Psychology Press.
—
2002. “Mobility and Proximity.” Sociology, 36 (2): 255-73.

Van der Geer AAE, Dermitzakis MD, and De Vos J.

2008. “Fossil Folklore from India: The Siwalik Hills and the Mahabharata.” Folkore 119: 71-92.
London: The Folklore Society

Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo.

2009. Métaphysiques cannibales: Lignes d'anthropologie post-structurale. (Cannibalistic
Metaphysics: Lines of Post-structural Anthropology). Paris: Presses universitaires de France.
—
1998. “Cosmological deixis and Amerindian perspectivism.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological
Institute 4 (3): 469-88.

Vroom, Hendrik M.
2005. "Syncretism and Dialogue: A Philosophical Analysis." In Religious Syncretism: A Reader.
Edited by Anita Marie Leopold and Jeppe Sinding Jensen. Routledge: New York.

Vygotsky, Lev Semyonovich.

(1933) 1976. “Play and its Role in the Mental Development of the Child.” Play – Its Role in
Development and Evolution. C. Mulholland Trans. In J. Brunner, Jolly A., Sylvia K. (eds), pp.
537-554. New York: Basic Books.

Walter, Damian.
2003. "Among Spirits and Deities: Diverse Shamanisms in the Nepal Himalayas." CSQ 27.2
(Summer 2003) Shamanisms and Survival. Available online at:
http://www.culturalsurvival.org/publications/cultural-survival-quarterly/nepal/among-spirits-and-
dietiesdiverse-shamanisms-nepal-him

Walters, Holly.
2016. “Playing God: Participant Frameworks in the Ras Lilas of Krishna.” Journal of Religion
and Popular Culture, Volume 28, Issue 2-3. Fall 2016. University of Toronto Press.

Weiner, Annette.
1992. Inalienable Possessions: The Paradox of Keeping-While Giving. Berkeley: University of
California Press.

446
Weston, Kath.
1997. Families We Choose: Lesbians, Gays, Kinship. Rev. ed. New York: Columbia University
Press.

Whitehead, Amy.
2013. Religious Statues and Personhood: Testing the Role of Materiality. Bloomsbury Academic
Publishers.
Williams, Raymond.
1977. Marxism and Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Winnicott, D. W.
1971. Playing and Reality. London: Routledge.

Wulff, Donna M.
1984. Drama as a Mode of Religious Realization: The Vidagdhamadhava of Rupa Gosvami. Chico,
Cal.: Scholars Press.
—
1982. The Divine Consort: Radha and the Goddesses of India, Berkeley: University of California
Press.

Wulff, Donna M. and Hawley, John Stratton.

1996. Devi: Goddesses of India. University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles,
California.

Yamba, C. B.
1995. Permanent Pilgrims: the idea of pilgrimage in the lives of West African Muslims. London:
Edinburgh University Press.

Zelliot, Eleanor.
2010. “The Early Voices of Untouchables.” In From Stigma to Assertion: Untouchability, Identity
and Politics in Early and Modern India. Aktor, Michael and Robert Deliège. eds. Museum
Tusculanum Press.

1
“Shaligram” has a variety of different spellings and pronunciations in different areas of South Asia. For
example, sāligrāma (dental) is the typical pronunciation of the term among devotees throughout South
India and to some degree in North India and Nepal, while other sources insist on the pronunciation as
śālagrāma (palatal) as more correct and referential to the original Sanskrit pronunciation.
2
Prana pratistha refers to the ritual by which a murti (image of a god) is consecrated in a Hindu temple.
Hymns and mantras are recited to invite the deity to be a resident guest and the murti's eyes are opened
for the first time. Practiced in the temples of Hinduism and Jainism, the ritual is considered to infuse life
into the image and bring to it the numinous presence of divinity and spirituality.
According to Gavin Flood, "A ritual of consecration in which the consciousness or power of the deity is
brought into the image awakens the icon in a temple.” The ceremony, states Heather Elgood, marks the
recognition of the image of god to represent "a particle of the divine whole, the divine perceived not in
man's image as a separate entity but as a formless, indescribable omnipresent whole," with the divine
presence a reminder of its transcendence and to be beheld in one's inner thoughts during darshana in the
temple.

447
Flood (2003), p. 7.
3
Unfortunately, there are no current studies which indicate approximately what percentage of Hindus or
Buddhists are also Shaligram practitioners. Regardless, such a study would find defining Shaligram
practice in this way difficult given that there are no specific standards of practice related to the worship of
sacred stones in South Asia. In other words, some Hindus may use Shaligrams along with a wide variety
of other deity icons in their worship while others might worship only Shaligrams alone. Some may also
only worship occasionally (such as at a temple which houses a Shaligram) while others practice
Shaligram rituals daily. Some may keep Shaligrams in their homes, others may not. In any case, the wide
variety and extension of Shaligram traditions in South Asia imply that Shaligram worship is relatively
common on the subcontinent and likely has been for some time.
4
Grusky, David B. & Erin Cumberworth (February 2010). "A National Protocol for Measuring
Intergenerational Mobility" (PDF). Workshop on Advancing Social Science Theory: The Importance of
Common Metrics. Washington, D.C.: National Academy of Science. Retrieved 15 July 2014.

Lopreato, Joseph & Hazelrigg, Lawrence E. (December 1970). "Intragenerational versus Intergenerational
Mobility in Relation to Sociopolitical Attitudes". Social Forces. University of North Carolina
Press. 49 (2): 200–210. JSTOR 2576520. doi:10.2307/2576520.

Weber, Max (1946). "Class, Status, Party". In H. H. Girth and C. Wright Mills. From Max Weber: Essays
in Sociology. New York: Oxford University. pp. 180–95.

Collins, Patricia Hill (1998). "Toward a new vision: race, class and gender as categories of analysis and
connection". Social Class and Stratification: Classic Statements and Theoretical Debates. Boston:
Rowman & Littlefield. pp. 231–247

Wilkinson, Richard & Kate Pickett (2009). The Spirit Level: Why Greater Equality Makes Societies
Stronger. Bloomsbury Press
5
Ramesh, S. S.; Ganju, D. D.; Mahapatra, B. B.; Mishra, R. M.; Saggurti, N. N. (2012). "Relationship
between mobility, violence and HIV/STI among female sex workers in Andhra Pradesh, India". BMC
Public Health. 12 (1): 764.

Nancy, L.; Kaivan, M. "Women as agents of change: Female income and mobility in India". Journal of
Development Economics. 94 (1): 941–17.

Kim, Y. Y. (2010). "Female individualization?: Transnational mobility and media consumption of Asian
women". Media, Culture And Society. 32 (1): 25–43.

Schoenbaum, N (2012). "Mobility Measures". Brigham Young University Law Review. 2012 (4): 1169.

Blossfeld, Hans-Peter (2009). Life Course Inequalities in the Globalisation Process. Burlington, VT:
Ashgate. p. 59
6
Hausner, Sondra L. 2007. Wandering with Sadhus: Ascetics in the Hindu Himalayas. Indiana University
Press.

Salazar, Noel B. Salazar and Kiran Jayaram (eds). 2017. Keywords of Mobility: Critical Engagements.
Berghahn Books.
7
Conversation in English and Nepali. Transcribed from recorded conversation.

448
8
Throughout this ethnography, I will often refer to Avalokiteshvara as a Buddha rather than a
Bodhisattva, which is more common in Tibetan religious texts and among religious scholars and
specialists. This is because the people of Mustang, as well as elsewhere in Nepal, specifically used
“buddha” when referring to Avalokiteshvara/Chenrezig and did not typically use the word “bodhisattva,”
if at all.
9
Shiva linga, the ostensibly phallic representation of Shiva (which is more often interpreted as “the pillar
of fire” rather than as a castrated phallus by Shaiva devotees), can come in either natural formations (like
the white quartz bān͎ a-liṅgas found in the river Narmada) which are referred to as “svayambhū liṅgas” or
as man-made, called “mānus͎ a liṅgas.” There is also a reasonably common practice of making temporary
lingas out of clay, cow-dung, flowers, or grain which are typically consumed or destroyed following the
ritual worship.
10
As a bridge between concepts of Nature and Culture then, Shaligram ritual practices serve to highlight a
methodological split between critical theorists in the humanities and social scientists more focused on the
natural sciences (often as played out in multi-species ethnography and Science and Technology Studies.
To index some of the current states of contention, one might take note of the recent debate in the
journal Africa over whether ‘witchcraft’ and the ‘occult’ should be part of an anthropological and
historical vocabulary and contrasted with ‘religion,’ or subsumed within a universal and bounded
category of religion, defined as “a belief in the existence of an invisible world, distinct but not separate
from the visible one, that is home to spiritual being with effective powers over the material world” (ter
Haar and Ellis 2009: 400; cf. Meyer 2009 and Ranger 2007
11
A type of coral stone obtained from the Gomati river (Gomti River) in Dvaraka. Often worshipped as
manifestations of Vishnu along with Shaligrams.
12
The Death of a Hungry God: The electrocution of a wild elephant in a village in northeast India
illustrates how these formidable beings are experienced as both animal and deity -
https://www.sapiens.org/culture/elephants-india-
religion/?utm_source=SAPIENS.org+Subscribers&utm_campaign=117193ae4e-
Email+Blast+12.22.2017&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_18b7e41cd8-117193ae4e-216302925
13
Stevenson, Ian. 1997. Reincarnation and Biology: A Contribution to the Etiology of Birthmark and
Birth Defects. Praeger. Reactions to Stevenson’s work are highly mixed given his belief that birth marks
and “maternal impressions” were, in fact, evidence of previous lives and specifically, indicated the
manner in which the previous personality had died. In his New York Times obituary, Margalit Fox wrote
that while Stevenson’s supporters saw him as a misunderstood genius, but mainstream peer review simple
ignored his research as earnest but gullible.
14
The Shaligram Kosh makes the claim that early Greek geographers referred to the river where
Shaligrams were found as “Kondochetts.” This is, however, highly unlikely given the history of the
region and the extent of Greek influences up to and including the time of Alexander the Great. While it is
possible that Kondochetts may have referred to a particular river, it does not appear to be a reference to
the Kali Gandaki and the claim is not otherwise verifiable.
15
Lovett, Edward (September 1905). "The Whitby Snake-Ammonite Myth." Folk-Lore. 16 (3): 333–4.
16
Skeat, W.W., 1912. ““Snakestones” and stone thunderbolts as subjects for systematic investigation.”
Folk-lore, 23: 45-80. Additionally, during the 19th century, it was not uncommon for people to carve
images of snake’s heads around the bottom aperture of the ammonite shell so as to better the appearance
of a snake in coiled repose.
449
17
See also: Rainbow Ammonites and Bison Stones available at
https://albertashistoricplaces.wordpress.com/2018/01/10/rainbow-fossils-and-bison-calling/

Further Reading:
Etter, W. 2015. Early Ideas about Fossil Cephalopods. Swiss Journal of Palaeontology 134:177-186.
Monks, N. and P. Palmer. 2002. Ammonites. Natural History Museum, London, London, England.

Mychaluk, K. A., A. A. Levinson, and R. L. Hall. 2001. Ammolite: Iridescent Fossilized Ammonite from
Southern Alberta, Canada. Gems & Gemology 37: 4-25.

Peck, T. R. 2002. Archaeological Recovered Ammonites: Evidence for Long-Term Continuity in

Nitsitapii Ritual. Plains Anthropologist 47:147-164.

Reeves, B. O. K. 1993. Iniskim: A Sacred Nisitapii Religious Tradition. In Kunaitupii: Coming Together
on Native Sacred Sites, Their Sacredness, Conservation, and Interpretation, edited by B. O. K. Reeves
and M. A. Kennedy, pp. 194-259.
18
While the use of Shaligrams in worship can be traced back before the time of the poet-saint Adi
Shankara, Shankara's commentary of verse 1.6.1 of the Taittiriya Upanishad and his commentary of verse
1.3.14 of the Brahma Sutras demonstrate that the use of Saligram stones was a well-established Hindu
practice by the time of his composition.
19
The people of Mustang are primarily agro-pastoralists, depending on various combinations of
agriculture, animal husbandry, trade, and the trekking and pilgrimage service industries to survive the
harsh conditions of the southern Himalayas. As I wandered out of the airport to find the guesthouse where
I would be spending my first few days before the trek out to the river, I passed a group of women already
setting up their mats to sell fruits and vegetables outside the administrative offices down the street. Men
riding on short, sturdy horses cantered back and forth in search of various goods and fuel to restock their
homes in remote upper villages, shouting out greetings and jokes to their friends sitting outside the jeep-
driver stand awaiting tourist buses filled with trekkers and pilgrims coming up from Ghasa and Beni.
Young girls slowly began to emerge from their homes to gather around the communal water taps and start
the day’s laundry and a few adolescent boys talked excitedly about their favorite motorcycles while
directing small herds of goats and sheep down the main dirt road. Outside of the protection of the valley
gorge however, Mustang is rough and ragged country. Dry arid tundras comprise the majority of the land
where most of Mustang’s villages and temples lie, somewhere between 1,900 meters and 2,700 meters
above sea level.
20
Just north of Kagbeni (but south of Lode Tshodun) lies the region of Shod Yul (Shodyul), which begins
at the village of Tiri. The Shod Yul includes a group of five villages: Tsele, Gyaga, Tshug, Taye and Te,
which are home to people who, despite close cultural affinities with both the people of both Lo and the
Baragaon, speak their own regional dialects.
21
See also, “Mustang: The Land of Fascination.” 2004. King Mahendra Trust for Nature Conservation.
Page 15.
22
For more information, see The Nepal-German Project on High Mountain Archaeology. The project,
which extended from 1992 to 1997, was funded by the German Research Council (Deutsche
Forschungsgemeinschaft) and directed by Prof. Dr Dieter Schuh.
23
In other variations of this story, Tulasi is an exceedingly pious woman who longs to obtain Vishnu as
her husband. When this is made known to Lakshmi, Vishnu’s divine consort, Lakshmi promptly descends
450
into a jealous rage and curses the woman to become a lowly plant. Vishnu however, remains
compassionate towards her and reassures Tulasi that he will indeed join with her by becoming a stone in
the form of Shaligram. In most cases, this is followed, at some point, with the transformation of Tulasi
and Vishnu into the source of the Kali Gandaki River or it is explained that Tulasi has become the river
itself and Vishnu has agreed to be continuously reborn from her waters. In practice these legends
demonstrate the necessity of ritually associating tulsi (holy basil) and water-bathing (abisheka puja) with
Shaligrams during worship. In some Vaishnava traditions, these stories are also interpreted to mean that
women should not worship, or even touch, Shaligrams.
24
In Sanskritized literatures, sinmo are often referred to as a type of rakshasa, a kind of earth-demon
common in South Asia mythologies.
25
Four of the temples are referred to as "Tadul" (mtha 'dul - The Border Taming Temples) while the
remaining eight are referred to as the "Yangdul" (yang 'dul ; Further-Taming Temples). The monastery
of Thradug stands on the sinmo’s left shoulder, Uru Katshal on her right shoulder, Jokhang on her heart,
on her left breast Samye, on her right breast the rock monastery Yerpa, Taktshang on her left leg, and
Ganden on her mouth.
26
The significance of the 108 number is open to interpretation. But 108 has long been considered a sacred
number in Hinduism and Buddhism. Traditionally, malas, or garlands of prayer beads, come as a string of
108 beads (plus one for the "guru bead," around which the other 108 beads turn like the planets around
the sun). A mala is used for counting as you repeat a mantra—much like the Catholic rosary.
Renowned mathematicians of Vedic culture viewed 108 as a number of the wholeness of existence. This
number also connects the Sun, Moon, and Earth: The average distance of the Sun and the Moon to Earth
is 108 times their respective diameters. Such phenomena have given rise to many examples of ritual
significance.
27
Another version of this story, which also recounts the nature of sacred landscapes in Mustang, is
detailed in Sienna Craig’s book “Horses Like Lightening.” (pgs. 217-220)
28
This conversation was carried out primarily in Nepali and Lower Mustangi Tibetan. Transcribed, with
help from a local translator, from a combination of recorded dialoge and fieldnotes written immediately
after the conversation.
29
Mani stones are stone plates, rocks and/or pebbles, inscribed with the six-
syllable mantra of Avalokiteshvara Om mani padme hum, (hence the name "Mani stone"), as a form
of prayer in Tibetan Buddhism. The term Mani stone may also be used in a loose sense to refer to stones
on which any mantra or devotional designs (such as ashtamangala) are inscribed. Mani stones are
intentionally placed along the roadsides and rivers or placed together to form mounds or cairns or
sometimes long walls, as an offering to spirits of place called genius loci.

Rizvi, Janet. 1998. Ladakh, Crossroads of High Asia. Oxford University Press. 1st edition 1963. 2nd
revised edition 1996. Oxford India Paperbacks 1998. 3rd impression 2001. pg. 205.
30
Though the kingdom of Lo has been a part of the nation-state of Nepal since the Gorkhali conquests,
the region was allowed to maintain a certain degree of local political autonomy due to the then king of
Lo’s cooperation with Gorkhali forces in the 18th century. Also due in part to the implementation of the
Dependent Principalities Act of 1961 by the government of Nepal, many of the rājā’s traditional rights,
allowances, and honorary positions continue to be respected (Dhungel 2002: 4-5). However, until their
formal incorporation into the Nepali administrative district of Mustang, the regions south of Lo were

451
organized as clusters of semi-independent principalities that, while recognizing the authority and territory
of the king of Lo, continued to maintain their own social and political boundaries.
31
The villages on the south side of the valley are, in ascending order, Khyenga, Dzar, Purang and
Chongkhor. On the northern side are two others: Putra and Dzong. The communities of the Muktinath
Valley are sometimes referred to collectively as Dzardzong Yuldrug (“the six villages [including] Dzar
and Dzong”, or, more colloquially, just as Dzardzong).
32
Similar to what Janet McIntosh calls polyontologism but with far less rigid ontological boundaries
between supposed religious traditions. (2009:189-202)
33
In the earliest first-hand account of the valley by Western explorers, which was included in a report
issued by then lieutenant-colonel Thomas George Montgomerie in 1875, recounts the journey of an agent
who arrived in Thak Khola while attempting to reach Tibet. In it, he recounts that the Thakali are “a class
of traders of mixed origins, who have the privilege of going to Lhasa, and they even go to Calcutta for the
purchase of goods” (Montgomerie 1875: 358). Today, they continue to move between religious
orientations, massive cultural and social shifts brought on by government instability and globalization,
outward migrations for labor and educational opportunities, and the effects of material and political
isolation. They are also the primary collectors and merchant-sellers of Shaligram stones outside of
Mustang.
34
Given this history and the role of mobility in the maintenance of regional sovereignty, it is therefore
perhaps not surprising to note that, after 1959, the Tibetan Resistance (Tibetan: chu bzhi gangs drug) also
chose Mustang as their base of operations. From there, they continued to wage a guerilla war against the
People’s Liberation Army forces from 1960 to 1974. Typically referred to in both Mustang and greater
Nepal as the “Khampa,” these resistance forces were eventually restrained and controlled by the Royal
Nepal Army. However, the ongoing legacy of the Khampa presence is still felt in Mustang and concerns
over the region’s perilously close position to China have continued to be used as justifications by the
Nepali government for keeping Mustang forbidden to foreign access until 1992, when the first travelers
were finally allowed to cross the border (Craig 2001, Dhungel 2002, Fisher 2001).
35
The pilgrim here was referring to the story of Kurma, Vishnu’s second incarnation, who bore Mount
Mandara on his back while the gods and asuras (demons) churned the Ocean of Milk to gain the elixir of
immortality. As is common in Shaligram practice, interpreting the religious story attached to the stone
often reveals some relationship to the devotee’s current circumstances, in this case, the difficulties of
trying to find sacred stones in a river swelled by glacial melt and heavy rains. See Chapter 5.
36
Conversation in Hindi. Transcribed from fieldnotes taken shortly after the encounter.
37
Kali Yuga (“age of Kali", or "age of vice") is the last of the four stages (or ages or yugas) the world
goes through as part of a 'cycle of yugas' (i.e. Mahayuga) described in the Sanskrit scriptures. The other
ages are called Satya Yuga, Treta Yuga, and Dvapara Yuga.
Kali Yuga is associated with the demon Kali (not to be confused with the goddess Kālī). The "Kali" of
Kali Yuga means "strife", "discord", "quarrel" or "contention".
38
As Gajendra was being attacked by the crocodile he began to pray and call out to Vishnu for salvation.
Upon hearing his devotee's call and prayer, Vishnu rushes to the scene and finds Gajendra near death. As
Gajendra sees Vishnu coming, he lifts a lotus with his trunk as an offering. Seeing this, Vishnu is pleased
by Gajendra’s devotion and decapitates the crocodile with his principal and iconic weapon, the
Sudharshana Chakra.

452
39
See also the Shakti Pithas/Peethas pilgrimage circuit which links all the body parts of Sati, the first
incarnation of Shiva’s wife Parvati, when she was dismembered by Vishnu following her sacrificial death.
When Sati sacrificed herself at a yagna ritual being performed by her father, the King Daksha; a very
distraught Shiva started dancing with her body. The world was terrorized from this Tandava Nritya and to
stop the devastating penance, Vishnu used his Sudarshan Chakra to cut Sati's body up into several pieces.
Wherever her body parts fell, a temple was erected to commemorate different manifestations of Shiva and
Parvati and therefore became sites of Hindu pilgrimage. These sites are called Pitha/Peetha or Shakti
Pithas and are scattered from present day Pakistan to India to Sri Lanka to Bangladesh.
40
A common word for the iconic images used in Hindu worship is vigraha, a word which literally means
"body." As a noun, vigraha comes from the verbal root construction vi+grah, meaning "to grasp, to catch
hold of." The vigraha is that form which enables the mind to grasp the nature of God. (See Eck 1986)
41
This and the following conversation were conducted in a combination of English and Hindi. Dialogue
was transcribed from fieldnotes recorded during and after the conversation.
42
When referring to the land of Shaligram or the dham of Shaligram, I have intentionally used the
diacritic transliteration throughout this work. This is both to differentiate the spiritual landscape from the
stones themselves and because practitioners quite often pronounce the two words slightly differently, such
as opting for the short “a” in the second syllable rather than the long “i.”

43
Koselleck, Reinhardt. 1985. Futures past: on the semantics of historical time. Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press.
44
Hindi. Transcribed and translated from fieldnotes recorded shortly after.
45
Nathan Aviezer. Fossils and Faith: Understanding Torah and Science. 2001. KTAV Publishing House,
Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey.
46
Shanavas, T.O. Evolution and /Or Creation: An Islamic Perspective. 2005. Xlibris Publishers.
47
Aslan, Reza. No god but God: The Origins, Evolution, and Future of Islam. 2005. Random House;
Later Print Edition.
48
Mark Isaak, "Problems with a Global Flood," at: http://members.shaw.ca/ and John Woodmorappe,
"The Karoo vertebrate non-problem: 800 billion fossils or not," Answers in Genesis, CEN Technical
Journal, 14(2), 2000. Online at: http://www.answersingenesis.org/
49
The Origin of Life – An Islamic Perspective. Accessed Sept. 19, 2016.
https://www.missionislam.com/knowledge/orignlife.html

The Fossil Record Refutes Evolution. 2006. Accessed Sept. 19, 2016.
http://www.islamweb.net/en/article/111486/the-fossil-record-refutes-evolution

Islam and Evolution: A Letter to Suleman Ali. Nuh Ha Mim Keller. 1996. Accessed Sept. 19, 2016.
http://www.masud.co.uk/ISLAM/nuh/evolve.htm
50
Jurassic Judaism, from Ohr Somayach's "Torah and Nature." Accessed Sept. 19, 2016.
http://ohr.edu/ask_db/ask_main.php/238/Q1/

453
Slifkin, Nathan. The Challenge of Creation: Judaism's Encounter with Science, Cosmology, and
Evolution. ZooTorah/Lambda Press, Brooklyn, 2010, section two, "Cosmology," pp. 157-190 for a
discussion of these beliefs.

"Creation, Evolution, and Intelligent Design." Rabbinical Council of America. 2005. Accessed Sept. 19,
2016. http://www.rabbis.org/news/article.cfm?id=100635
51
Ammonites are not the only fossils with both a scientific and religious history. One of the more famous
examples of which are the ammonite contemporaries and a perennial favorite of fossil collectors, the
trilobite (a branch of extinct marine arthropod so named for its “three lobed” appearance). In fact, one
such trilobite fossil, which resided in the grotte du Trilobite (whose name aptly comes from a trilobite
fossil found in it by Dr. Ficatier from Auxerre)51 within the Caves of Arcy-sur-Cure in Burgundy, France,
may have acted as a religious icon for Paleolithic European cave dwellers some 28,000 years ago. In the
1960s, anthropologist Kenneth Oakley retrieved a perforated specimen from the cave (possibly once a
pendant) along with a carving of a beetle. Recalling the common association of fossil remains with
various types of living animals (such as ammonites with snakes and worms), in 1965 Oakley remarked on
his finds noting that “it does seem reasonable to infer that the trilobite would have appeared to the
untutored yet observant and thoughtful Magdalenian as a kind of insect in stone” (quoted in Fortey 2000).
In the stories of Shaligram, these associations with life and the once living will also come to have great
meaning and be fraught with great concern.
52
Medillicot, H. B., 1875, Note on the geology of Nepal. Rec. Geol. Surv. India, 8/4, 93-101.

Auden, J. B., 1935, Traverses in the Himalaya. Rec. Geol. Survey India, v. 69, pp. 123–167.

Bordet, P., 1961. Recherches géologiques dans l’Himalaya du Nepal, region du Makalu. Paris (CNRS).

Bordet, P., Colchen, M., Krummenacher, D., Le Fort, P., Mouterde, R., and REMY, J. M., 1968, Esquisse
géologique de la Thakkhola (Nepal central). Paris (C.N.R.S.).

Hagen, T., 1968, Report on the geological survey of Nepal. Geology of the Thakkhola. Denkschr.

Frank, W., and Fuchs, G. R., 1970, Geological investigations in West Nepal and their significance for the
geology of the Himalayas. Geol. Rdsch., v. 59, pp. 552–580.

Colchen, M., Le Fort, P., and Pêcher, A., 1986, Recherches géologiques dans l’Himalaya du Nepal:
Annapurna – Manaslu– Ganesh Himal. Paris (C.N.R.S.)
53
Heim, A. and Gansser, A., 1939, Central Himalaya. Geological observations of the Swiss expedition
1936. Mém. Soc. Helv. Sci. Nat., v. 73/1, 245 p.
54
Gustav Oppert also argued that while Saligram represents the feminine aspect in contrast to the Shiva
lingam, which is symbiotic of masculine energy. Swami Vivekananda rebutted this explanation and traced
the reference to the Atharva Veda: "The worship of the Siva Lingam originated from the famous hymn in
the "Atharva Veda Samhita," sung in praise of the Yupastambha, the sacrificial post which gave place in
time to the Siva Lingam and was deified to the high Devahood of Sri Sankara."
55
The Treatise on Invertebrate Paleontology (or TIP) published by the Geological Society of America and
the University of Kansas Press, is a definitive multi-authored work of some 50 volumes, written by more
than 300 paleontologists, and covering every phylum, class, order, family,
and genus of fossil and extant (still living) invertebrate animals. The prehistoric invertebrates are
454
described as to their taxonomy, morphology, paleoecology, stratigraphic and paleogeographic range.
However, genera with no fossil record whatsoever have just a very brief listing.
56
In the geological timescale the Tithonian is the latest age of the Late Jurassic epoch or the
uppermost stage of the Upper Jurassic series. It spans the time between 152.1 ± 4 Ma and 145.0 ± 4 Ma
(million years ago). It is preceded by the Kimmeridgian and followed by the Berriasian stage (part of
the Cretaceous).
57
Previous works on Jurassic rock stratigraphy in Nepal include Bordet et al. (1964, 1967, 1971),
Gradstein et al. (1989, 1991, 1992), Gradstein and von Rad (1991), Gibling et al. (1994) which tried to set
out a faunal succession. Other works by Ryf (1962), Helmstaedt (1969), Kamada et al. (1982),
Matsumoto and Sakai (1983) are paleontological studies including descriptions of new species, but with
either inaccurate or absent stratigraphic support. Bassoullet et al. (1986), Krishna (1983a, b), Krishna and
Pathak (1995) and Westermann and Wang (1988) also contribute indirectly by comparing Nepal with the
other areas of the Indian subcontinent.
58
Krishna, J., 1983a. Callovian-Albian ammonoid stratigraphy and palaeobiogeography in the Indian sub-
continent with special reference to the Tethys Himalaya. Himalayan Geology 11, 43±72.

Krishna, J., 1983b. Reappraisal of the marine and/or ``mixed'' Lower Cretaceous sedimentary sequences
of India, palaeogeography and time boundaries. In: Cretaceous of India. Indian Association
Palynostratigraphy, Lucknow, pp. 94±119.

Krishna, J., Pathak, D.B., 1993. Late Lower Kimmeridgian-Lower Tithonian Virgatosphinctins of India,
evolutionary succession and biogeographical implications. Geobios M.S. 15, 227±238.

Krishna, J., Pathak, D.B., 1995. Stratigraphic, biogeographic and environmental signatures in the
ammonoid bearing Jurassic-
Cretaceous of Himalaya on the south margin of the Tethys. Himalayan Geology, Wadia Institute
Himalayan Geology, Dehra
Dun 16, 189±205.

Pathak, D.B., 1993. The First record of the Ammonite genus Hybonoticeras from the Himalaya and its
biostratigraphic significance. Newsletters Stratigraphy, Berlin±Stuttgart 28 (2/3), 121±
129.
59
A thin (roughly 3 meter), black shale, marker bed which contains microscopic iron (ferruginous)
particles which set it apart from the nearby Spiti Shales.
60
In the geologic timescale, the Kimmeridgian is a stage in the Late or Upper Jurassic epoch. It spans the
time between 157.3 ± 1.0 Ma and 152.1 ± 0.9 Ma (million years ago). The Kimmeridgian follows
the Oxfordian and precedes the Tithonian.
61
Similar looking ammonites which occasionally appear in Shaligram discussions (but are not considered
Shaligram) are Dactylioceras semicelatum from Whitby, North Yorks England; Toxaceratiode sp. From
the Walsh River, Queensland, Australia; Crucilobiceras densinodulum from Charmouth, Dorset UK;
Dactylioceras athleticum from Schlaifhausen, Forscheim, near Nuremburg, Germany; and Acanthoceras
sp from Agadir, Morocco.
62
H. Helmstaedt. 1969. Eine Ammoniten-Fauna aus den Spiti-Schiefern von Muktinath in
Nepal. Zitteliana 1:63-88 [W. Kiessling/M. Krause]
455
63
Sepkoski, Jack (2002). "Sepkoski's Online Genus Database." Retrieved 2016-09-14 and Phil Eyden
(2003). “Ammonites: A General Overview.” Retrieved 2016-09-14.
64
See Fisher 2001 for a detailed analysis on the role of written histories among the Thakali peoples of
Lower Mustang: “Collectively, the rhabs narrate migration of the clan ancestors and deities from different
places of origin to a common place of meeting where they settled down to become one society.”
However, as Fisher notes, even many scholars and a few Thakalis tend to downplay the rhabs as actual
historical documents.
65
For historical and archaeological work on the peoples and cultures of the upper Kali Gandaki River
valley, including Lo, Baragaon, and Panchgaon, see Jackson (1976, 1978, 1980, 1984), Mishra (1994),
Pohl and Tripathee (1995), Ramble (1997 and 2008a), Ramble and Seeber (1995), Schuh (1990, 1994,
1995) and Seeber (1994, 1996). Local sources include oral tradition and village chronicles (bemchag)
from Panchgaon.
66
For example, Vinding speculates that Serib may be Panchgaon (1998) or a combination of Panchgaon
and Baragaon (1998). For an account of the Kingdom of Serib, see Jackson (1976, 1978) and Vinding
(1988).
67
As the Tibetan chronicles relate (and many histories of the region continue to cite), after the political
disintegration of Tibet in the early 10th century, the Lo/Mustang region became one of the most
southernmost frontier districts of Ngari (mNga’-ris), a major political region of the early western Tibetan
empire. Then, from time to time, the major powers of Ngari were able to claim and maintain political
control over the Lo/Mustang region. These dominating powers of Ngari included the rulers of Gu-ge,
Gung-thang, and Ya-tshe. Furthermore, among these three, the Ya-tshe emerged in the 12th century as the
Khasha/Ya-tshe kingdom in the northwest corner of present-day Nepal. Until the fall of the Khasha/Ya-
tshe rulers and the rulers of Gung-thang in the 14th and early 15th centuries, this political situation
persisted throughout the southern frontier regions of western Tibet and the high Himalayan regions of
western and central Nepal.
68
This is indicated in several tama patra (Nepali: Copper-plate edicts) still in existence.
69
In 1719 the ruler of Lo asked Kithi Bam Malla, the ruler of Parbat, to help him fight Jumla.69 An
alliance of Parbat and Doti thus ended Jumla’s influence in the region of the Thak Khola in Lower
Mustang. The raja of Parbat then went on to confirm regional rules of conduct for the monks and nuns of
the Meki Lha Khang temple at Kobang in 1774 (Fürer-Haimendorf 1975: 141), a set of rules that is still
occasionally referenced by Buddhists in Mustang today.
70
This included a series of major kingdoms with their own powerful ruling dynasties such as the
Khasha/Ya-tshe of the Karn͎ ali region (under whose influences Nepali, the lingua franca of present-day
Nepal, developed), the Karn͎ at͎ a kingdom of Tirahut and Simraungarh, and the Sena kingdoms of Palpa
and Makawanpur. After the eventual disintegration of the Khasha/Ya-tshe and Sena kingdoms, and the
complete fall of the Karn͎ at͎ as, the principalities known as the Baisi and Chaubisi in western Nepal and a
number of other principalities in central and eastern Nepal emerged in their wake (Dhungel 2002: 12).
71
Depending on the context of the discussion, the term Bhot or Bhotia is considered by many Mustangi’s
to be derogatory.

456
72
See Fisher 2001 for an in-depth discussion on the effects of Mustang’s historical and political situation
on the Thakali peoples of Lower Mustang, particularly as it pertains to the Thakali salt trade monopoly
beginning in 1862 and the establishment of tax-collection hierarchies.
73
While there are apparently two versions of the sectoral groupings of Baragaon’s villages, the most
commonly referenced one of them is as follows:
1. Purang and Dzar
2. Dzong and Chongkhor
3. Kag and Khyenga
4. Tangbe (two-thirds) and Gyaga (one-third)
5. Tshug
6. Te
7. Tsele, Putrak, Tiri, Samar
8. Lubra, Phelag, Dangkardzong, Pagling
74
When speaking Nepali or English, I often noted that Buddhist monks referred to themselves as lamas.
Though in Tibetan, lama means priest and not monk.
75
See Ramble, Charles and C. Seeber. 1995. “Dead and Living Settlements in the Shoyul of Mustang.”
Ancient Nepal, no. 138: 107-130.
76
Dzar and Dzong are, like Kagbeni, the sites of now-derelict castles. Noble families from the north, led
by the Kyekya Gangba (sKye skya sgang pa; among other spellings) clan, who came to Baragaon in the
16th century on behalf of the then reigning king of Lo, established themselves in these two settlements
and in Kagbeni, as well as in Dangardzong (Schuh 1995: 52–53). The origins of the Kyekya Gangba
lineage are principally detailed in the autobiography of one its most famous members, Tenzin Repa, who
lived from around 1640 to 1723. According to Repa’s account, the lineage descended from Jampa
Thobgyal, who was a minister of the semi-mythical founder of the Tibetan dynasty, Nyatri Tsenpo.
Conversely, according to a more authoritative record, the first member of the family to come to Lo—
again at the instigation of the king—was Trowobum (Tibetan: Khro bo ’bum), who settled in a place
called Kyekyagang a short distance to the east of Monthang. It was then Trowobum’s son, Trowo Kyabpa
(Tibetan: Khro bo skyabs pa), who was sent to the Muktinath Valley to rule the region of “southern Lo.”
Following their secession from Lo, the Kyekya Gangba retained their power in the vicinity of the
Muktinath Valley, but were thenceforth under the direct authority of Jumla, whose representative, the O-
ompa, would reside in the area for several months each year (Schuh 1995: 23). Unfortunately, Jumla
appears not to have generated much of a sense of political loyalty among its vassals and outlying villages.
When the Gorkha forces passed through Lo on their way to make war with Jumla in 1789, they
encountered no resistance from any local forces. In recognition of this cooperative attitude, the Gorkhas
permitted the rulers of Upper and Lower Lo to retain their customary power, and the tribute previously
levied by Jumla was now simply paid to a new sovereign power (Ramble 2008b: 27, Regmi 1970: 99).
Dzar, Dzong, Kagbeni and Dangardzong thus remain four of what are still occasionally referred to as the
five ‘capitals’ (Tibetan: rgyal sa) of the Baragaon. The fifth capital, Samar, is now only a small village at
the northern end of Baragaon.
77
The Muluki Ain also detailed Nepal’s new laws on diverse social, religious, economic, and
administrative matters in over 163 categories that were meant to ensure a uniform code of punishment to
all subjects who violated the law according to their offenses measured against their status (Sharma 1977,
Regmi 1976). It also included legislation on commensality and physical contact and provided different
caste and ethnic groups with different forms of land-tenure and trading rights. As such, the Muluki Ain
imbued certain group labels with a kind of political significance they didn’t previously have. Being able
to claim membership in a named category was a matter of economic and political consequence that
457
engendered a process whereby groups began to redefine themselves with respect to their relationships
with the legal hierarchies of the new Nepali State. But even though this new national discourse asserted a
new kind of hegemony for those wanting access to political power, as Raymond Williams, Foucault, and
Gramsci have long argued, hegemonies are never quite complete. In the case of Mustang, there were any
number of opportunities to resist, contest, and evade the practices set forth in the Muluki Ain.
78
Up to and including the family of Jang Bahadur Rana, the ruler responsible for the Muluki Ain. After
he came to power in 1846, his Chhetri family of Kunwars adopted the name Rana and had a new family
geneaology written up to connect the new Rana lineage with the rajputs of Chitor (see Gimlette 1927. A
Postscript to the Records of the Indian Mutiny. London: H. F. & G. Witherby).
79
Conversation in a combination of English and Nepali. Transcribed from fieldnotes.
80
Nepal’s Largest Stone Buddha at 12,600 Feet: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kishor-panthi/nepals-
largest-stone-budd_b_10928876.html (August 1, 2016). And US Based Nepali Donates Rs 10 Mln To
Install Buddha’s Statue In Muktinath: http://www.himalayanglacier.com/blog/tag/buddhas-statue-in-
muktinath (October 13, 2016)
81
A Divya Desam is one of the 108 Vishnu temples mentioned in the works of the Tamil Azhvars
(saints). Divya means “premium” and Desam indicates “place” (comparable to dham or temple).
Conducting pilgrimages to all 108 sites during one’s lifetime is considered a great achievement for many
Hindu traditions, especially those in South India.
82
According to some schools of thought within the Shakti Hindu traditions, there are four Adi Shaki
Peethas and 51 centers of Shakti worship throughout South Asia, many of which represent various body
parts of the Devi Sati goddess. They can be found in India, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Bangladesh, Tibet, and
Pakistan, though the precise list of pilgrimage sites tends to vary by specific tradition.
83
The Dakini (or daka) also appear in the medieval legends of India (such as the Bhagavata Purana,
Brahma Purana, Markandeya Purana, and Kathasaritsagara) as demons under the tutelage of Kali, who
feeds on human flesh. They are comparable to many other malevolent or vengeful female spirits and
deities in later times.
84
The other seven being: Srirangam, Srimushnam, Tirupati, Naimisharanya, Thotadri, Pushkar, and
Badrinath.
85
The number 108 has a variety of significant meanings in Hinduism and in Buddhism. In Hindu
astrology, for example, there are 12 Rashi (zodiacs) and 9 Graha (planets) for a total of 108 combinations.
There are also 27 Nakshatras (lunar abodes) which are divided into 4 Padas (quarters) also for a total of
108 combinations of Padas.
86
In some historical narratives, the Gandaki Mahatmya is quoted as giving the etymology of ‘Nepal’ by
way of a king called 'Nepa,’ after whom the country was supposedly named. This is, however, one of a
long list of possible etymologies of ‘Nepal.”
87
Pema Kathang (Wyl. pad+ma bka' thang), the Chronicle of Padma — a biography of Guru Rinpoche,
also known as the Sheldrakma (shel brag ma), revealed by Orgyen Lingpa from the Crystal Cave
(Wyl. shel brag). It has 108 chapters.
88
The four Thakali endogamous clan distinctions are Gauchan, Tulachan, Sherchan and Bhattachan, each
of which is considered generally equal in social as well as ritual status. Each clan group has a clan god
represented by an animal totem, such as a dragon for Gauchan, an elephant for Tulachan, a snow leopard
458
for Sherchan and a yak for Bhattachan. See Fisher 2001 for a more extensive discussion of the local
Thakali animal gods and their veneration.
89
In Bon the five elemental processes of earth, water, fire, air and space are the essential materials of all
existent phenomena or aggregates. The elemental processes form the basis of
the calendar, astrology, medicine, psychology and are the foundation of
the spiritual traditions of shamanism, tantra and Dzogchen.

Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche states that “physical properties are assigned to the elements: earth is solidity;
water is cohesion; fire is temperature; air is motion; and space is the spatial dimension that accommodates
the other four active elements. In addition, the elements are correlated to different emotions,
temperaments, directions, colors, tastes, body types, illnesses, thinking styles, and character. From the
five elements arise the five senses and the five fields of sensory experience; the five negative emotions
and the five wisdoms; and the five extensions of the body. They are the five primary pranas or vital
energies. They are the constituents of every physical, sensual, mental, and spiritual phenomenon.”
The names of the elements are analogous to categorized experiential sensations of the natural world.

From: Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche (2002). Healing with Form, Energy, and Light. Ithaca, New York:
Snow Lion Publications. p. 1
90
Mustang Digdarshan (Mustang: a Perspective) by Narayan Prasad Chhetri. Published by Kathmandu,
1987
91
A research paper in the possession of MFI (Muktinath Foundation International) and at Tribhuvan
University.
92
1988: “Muktinath (a Hindu Temple in North-western Nepal): Some Historical Facts” Ancient Nepal
No. 102
93
1988: “Context of Religious Tolerance in Mukti-Chhetra” (text in Nepali), Saiva Bhumi Vol. 3, No.3
(Journal of Pashupati Socio-religious Service Association, Kathmandu, Nepal)
94
Yogvashishta’s Vairagyaprakarana states that Lord Ram himself once came on pilgrimage to a place
called Muktikshetra (Shalgram Kshetra). According to this account, Lord Ram was 15 years old when he
began his pilgrimage and he arrived at a place known as Shalgram Kshetra (Muktikshetra) which was
surrounded by the Gandaki river.
95
See also Jackson’s work on the locations that may or may not be associated with Muktinath. For
example, he identifies present day Mu-Khun as the actual Muktinath. Ramble and Vinding (1987: 21)
concur with this identification.
96
It is not clear precisely when Hindu pilgrims to Muktinath started regarding referring to the Jwalaji as
Jwala Mai. Some historical accounts, dating back only around 70 or 80 years ago, denote the location as
one which was regarded as the representation of Vishnu and Shiva (water and flame) and which was still
known as Jwalaji. However, there seems to have been a relationship between the current site and a type of
localized mother-goddess worship (Mai = Mother, hence Jwala Mai). Regarding natural flames and water
as goddesses is also not uncommon in Hinduism in general, so the Jwala Mai distinction is not out of
character for many of the Shakti-Devi traditions who frequent Muktinath either. In any case, there is, so
far, no solid historical or religious evidence that has been found explaining the Jwala Mai namesake.
97
drag or drag po (trakpo), ‘powerful, terrible.’
459
98
Conversation in English. Transcribed from fieldnotes.
99
Conversation in Hindi. Transcribed from a combination of recorded dialogue and fieldnotes taken
during the conversation.
100
Another name for sandalwood powder.
101
Seeds of the sacred rudraksha (“Shiva’s teardrops”) tree. These seeds are often used as prayer beads in
Hinduism. They are produced throughout South Asia by several species of large, evergreen, broad-leafed,
trees of the genus Elaeocarpus, with Elaeocarpus ganitrus being the principal species used in making
jewelry (mala).
102
Conversation in Hindi and English. Transcribed from recorded dialogue and fieldnotes.
103
See Paul Courtright, in Gods of Flesh/Gods of Stone. Joanne Punzo Waghorne, Norman Cutler, and
Vasudha Narayanan, eds. Columbia University Press, see Chapter 2.
104
Sanskrit Dictionary, Germany (2009).
105
Lindsay Jones, ed. (2005). Gale Encyclopedia of Religion. 11. Thompson UGale. pp. 7493–7495.
106
Though some festivals and special events certainly have their own dedicated puja rites, such as the
Durga Puja and the Lakshmi puja, that are always performed in the same ways at the same times. See
Flood, Gavin D. (2002). The Blackwell Companion to Hinduism. Wiley-Blackwell.
107
He is here associating his home village with the town of Vrindavan in the Mathura district of Uttar
Pradesh, India. It is here that, according to Vaishnava tradition, Krishna spent his childhood.
108
Fragment 91, “Cratylus”

“Each time I remember Fragment 91 of Heraclitus: ‘You will not go down twice to the same river,’ I
admire his dialectic still, because the facility with which we accept the first meaning (‘The river is
different’) clandestinely imposes the second one (‘I am different’) and gives us the illusion of having
invented it.” – Jorge Luis Borges, “New Refutation of Time,” Other Inquisitions.
109
The chanting of the mahamantra, for example, requires the repeated chanting of Krishna’s names and
constitutes another instance in which one "sense aspect" of God is "no different" than another. Put another
way, "seeing" God in the form of the deity is no different than "hearing" his name spoken or as Stephen
Knapp explains: "The name Krishna is an avatara or incarnation of Krishna in the form of sound" (2011:
30).
110
In Nepal and India, a death anniversary is known as shraadh. The first death anniversary is called
a barsy, from the word baras, meaning year in the Nepali and Hindi languages.

Shraadh means to give with devotion or to offer one's respect. Shraadh is a ritual for expressing one's
respectful feelings for the ancestors. According to Nepali and Indian texts, a soul has to wander about in
the various worlds after death and has to suffer a lot due to past karmas. Shraadh is a means of alleviating
this suffering.

460
Shraddhyaa Kriyate Yaa Saa: Shraadh is the ritual accomplished to satiate one's ancestors. Shraadh is a
private ceremony performed by the family members of the departed soul. Though not mandated
spiritually, it is typically performed by the eldest son and other siblings join in offering prayers together.
111
Conversation in Hindi with some English. Transcribed from fieldnotes recorded shortly after the
conversation.
112
Conversation in Nepali with some Hindi for clarification. Transcribed from fieldnotes recorded during
and after the conversations.
113
Shaligram personhood does not, however, deny the role of discursive understandings. The narratives of
Shaligram, of fossil and deity, enmesh each stone in a network of symbolic valences where their
meanings and interpretations are not just a superficial veneer layered over a material foundation. Rather,
Shaligram origin stories (both scientific and religious) infuse the material objects with the presence of
persons with whom they have already been incorporated and which then organizes the ritual inclusion of
Shaligrams into kinship, divine, and community networks of belonging through pilgrimage and later
household involvement.

In many ways, this view of Shaligrams as divine persons, which are seen and can also see in return, can
move and be moved, echoes Eduardo Kohn’s arguments regarding semiosis, the life of signs (2013). For
Kohn, life itself is a product of symbolic processes that make us, and others, what we are. What
differentiates life from the inanimate physical world of objects is that living beings embody their world in
some way or another, and these embodiments and representations are intrinsic to their existence. But
unlike dogs and forests, Shaligrams are not living in the biological sense and therefore do not produce
viewpoints in the same way, but they are a kind of “self,” especially given their mobility and kinship
relations to others. They raise the question of “what there is” and they do demand a kind of political
recognition within the discourses of environmental and cultural perseveration of the high Himalayas (a lá
De la Cadena 2010). Shaligrams as object-persons therefore take us, not post-human, but beyond human.

Shaligrams, however, do not represent any attempt on my part to intervene with animism or naturalism as
two inverse ontologies in the mode of Descola (2005), nor do they fit neatly into the paradoxes of
perspectivism (Viveiros 1998) or the purely decentered approach to objects as a multitude of practices
and enactments (Mol 2002). Instead, I consider Shaligrams as living beings, as selves, whose connections
and bodily ties to human families and communities position them in respect to past and future
relationships, and who carry on social lives such that their bodies of stone are simply incidental to the
progression of their life courses in much the same ways as devotees view their own physical bodies as
temporary and whose form is relatively unimportant to the work of the soul (that is, that bodies of flesh
and bodies of stone are just two forms of beings out of an infinite variety of embodiment possibilities).
114
My conversations with Sriram Bhavyesh were typically carried out in a combination of English and
Hindi. Many of my recorded conversations are, however, largely in English since he was always
especially keen on communicating his understandings of Shaligrams to a Western audience (represented
by me). The conversation analyzed here was transcribed from a combination of audio recordings and
fieldnotes taken during our talk.
115
Kali Yuga (literally "age of Kali", or "age of vice") is the last of the four stages (or ages or yugas) the
world goes through as part of a 'cycle of yugas' (i.e. Mahayuga) described in the Sanskrit scriptures. The
other ages are called Satya Yuga, Treta Yuga, and Dvapara Yuga.
Kali Yuga is associated with the demon Kali (not to be confused with the goddess Kali). The "Kali" of
Kali Yuga means "strife," "discord," "quarrel," or "contention".

461
116
Conversation recorded in Hindi, with occasional English words.
117
The shila part of Shaligram Shila simply translates to “stone” and is one of the preferred terms by
which Shaligrams are most often referred; as opposed to using the English word “stone” given that the
etymology of shila carries connotations of “precious stone” rather than simply “rock.” It is also
interesting to note that, particularly in Buddhist teachings (translated from Pali), Shila is a word meaning
discipline, morality, or innate goodness. Wholeheartedly following the Good Path (kushalamarga)
without allowing any faults (pramada) is called shila and it is described using three kinds: hinashila – the
“lower morality” by which one is reborn among humans (manuṣya); madhyaśīla – the “middling
morality” by which one is reborn among the six classes of gods in the realm of desire (kamadhatudeva);
and praṇitashila – the “superior morality” by which one is reborn among the pure gods
(shuddhavasadeva) in the realm of pure forms (rupadhatu) and in the formless realm (arupyadhatu).
While it is unlikely that the use of the word shila in relation to Shaligrams carried these Buddhist
conceptualizations of morality originally, it was not uncommon for Buddhists in Nepal and in India to
refer to Shaligram ritual use in this way now; equating the positioning of particular Shaligrams
throughout spaces in homes or in workshops with practices warranting good karma. In one especially
notable example I encountered in the summer of 2016, a Buddhist mandala painter, who kept a workshop
with his two daughters near a stupa in Kathmandu, once pointed out three Shaligrams he kept near his
paint pots at all times. “I keep them always with the unmixed paints.” He stated. “It keeps the bad spirits
away so that my mandalas always go the right way.”
118
Tiruchhalagramam is the place-name given in Tamil scriptures.
119
Buswell, Robert Jr; Lopez, Donald S. Jr., eds. (2013). Princeton Dictionary of Buddhism. Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press. p. 724.

“Then the Blessed One with a large community of monks went to the far shore of the Hiraññavati River
and headed for Upavattana, the Mallans' sal-grove near Kusinara. On arrival, he said to Ven. Ananda,
"Ananda, please prepare a bed for me between the twin sal-trees, with its head to the north. I am tired, and
will lie down." -- "Maha-parinibbana Sutta: The Great Discourse on the Total Unbinding" (DN 16),
translated from the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu.

The sal tree is also said to have been the tree under which Koṇḍañña and Vessabhū, respectively the fifth
and twenty fourth buddhas preceding Gautama Buddha, attained enlightenment.
120
The Mahabharata (Vol. 2). Translated and Edited by J.A.B. van Buitenen. Published by: The
University of Chicago Press Chicago, USA; London, UK – 1975
121
The Geographical Dictionary of Ancient and Medieval India. Nundo Lal Dey, M.A., B.L. Published
by: Oriental Books Corporation Delhi, India - 1971 (reprint 1927)
122
Likely referring to Namdrol village/Namdrol Gompa, a roughly 3 to 4-hour walk outside of the city of
Lo Monthang in Upper Mustang.
123
Garzione, Carmala N.; et al. (2000), "Predicting paleoelevation of Tibet and the Himalaya from δ18O
vs. altitude gradients in meteoric water across the Nepal Himalaya", Earth and Planetary Science
Letters, 183 (1-2): 215-229.
124
Negi, Sharad Singh. Himalayan Rivers, Lakes and Glaciers. p. 89. Google Books. Retrieved 2016-09-
19.

462
125
Philological and linguistic evidence indicate that the Rigveda was likely composed in the north-
western region of the Indian subcontinent sometime between c. 1500 and 1200 BC, though a wider
approximation of c. 1700–1100 BC has also been given. (See also: Anthony, David W. (2007). The
Horse, The Wheel, and Language. How Bronze-Age Riders From the Eurasian Steppes Shaped The
Modern World, Princeton University Press.

Flood, Gavin D. (1996). An Introduction to Hinduism, Cambridge University Press.

Witzel, Michael (ed.) (1997). Inside the Texts, Beyond the Texts. New Approaches to the Study of the
Vedas, Harvard Oriental Series, Opera Minora vol. 2, Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

126
Vibhuti (Sanskrit: !वभ%ू त; vibhūti), also called Bhasma (ash), Thiruneeru and Vibhooti, is a word that
has several meanings in Hinduism. In its most common modern-day usage, it denotes the
sacred ash which is made of burnt dried wood in Agamic rituals. Hindu devotees apply vibhuti
traditionally as three horizontal lines across the forehead and other parts of the body as markings in
reference to the god Shiva. Vibhuti smeared across the forehead to the end of both eyebrows is
called tripundra.
127
Tiwari, Bri. Maya. 2002. The Path of Practice: A Woman's Book of Ayurvedic Healing. Motilal
Banarsidass Press and McDaniel, June. 2004. Offering Flowers, Feeding Skulls: Popular Goddess
Worship in West Bengal. New York: Oxford University Press

128
Bhakti (Sanskrit: भि(त) literally means "attachment, participation, devotion to, fondness for, homage,
faith or love, worship, piety to (as a religious principle or means of salvation).” Bhakti in Hinduism refers
to devotion and the love of a personal god or a representational god by a devotee. In ancient texts such as
the Shvetashvatara Upanishad, the term simply means participation in, devotion to, and a love for any
endeavor. It may also refer to one of the possible paths of spirituality and moksha as in the bhakti marga
mentioned in the Bhagavad Gita. In this case, the term is referring specifically to a movement that arose
between the 7th century and 10th century CE in India, focused on the gods Vishnu and Shiva, possibly in
response to the arrival of Islam in India.
129
Vedantasutra-bhas͎ ya, 93.2, 23 – ekam apibrahma vibhūti-bhedair anekadha upasyata iti sthitih. See
also, 2, 4, 10; 3, 3, 23; 1, 4, 4 and 3, 3, 43.
130
Shell collectors refer to the reversed Shank as “left-handed” or "sinistral turbinella pyrum," Hindus call
the right-handed version “valampuri” because they orient it with the apical spire downwards and the
aperture or siphon (mouth) uppermost and, consequently, on the right side of the shell. Such shells are
common is both Hindu and Buddhist rituals of veneration.

There are many species in the Conch family, but in South Asia, "shank" always refers to normal smooth
white conch shells. However, only a right opening shell is considered to be a real Lakshmi Shank. But in
this case, as is likely in other cases throughout India and Nepal, the shell presented here was almost
certainly a species of Lightning Whelk (Sinistrofulgur perversum) rather than the more favored
Turbinella pyrum, a species of edible sea snail. As such, it is highly unlikely that the conch shell I was
shown was, in fact, a right-turning Lakshmi Conch (Valampuri Turbinella Pyrum) given that only a very
rare few of these shells are even known.
131
Conversation in Nepali and Trekker’s English. Transcribed from fieldnotes.
132
In some traditions, the vajra kita is replaced by the god Vishwakarma, who presides over art and
architecture.
463
133
T. Phillip. 1847. The Missionary's Vade Mecum, Or, A Condensed Account of the Religious
Literature, Sects, Schools, and Customs of the Hindus in the North West of India: With Notices of
Missionary Controversial Works, Lines of Argumentation, Etc. Calcutta. Printed by J. Thomas at the
Baptist Mission Press.
134
Malik, Jamal (2000). Perspectives of mutual encounters in South Asian history, 1760–1860
Gilroy, Amanda (2000). Romantic geographies: discourses of travel, 1775–1844

"Shelley's Orientalia: Indian Elements in his Poetry"(PDF). atlantisjournal.org. p. 13.

135
English translation of the Skanda Purana was published by Motilal Banarsidass, also in Rao’s
Śālagrāma-Kosha, pg. 31.
136
Recounted in Rao’s Śālagrāma-Kosha, pg. 42.
137
In this particular version of Shaligram creation in Chapter 145, the Brahmin brothers Jay and Vijay go
to perform a fire offering (yagya) for King Marut. Pleased, King Marut gave them a great amount of
wealth and money but when the brothers could not decide how to divide it up properly, they began to
fight. The fight went on for so long that they eventually cursed one another to become a crocodile and an
elephant respectively. Once they had killed each other and the curses came true they then met again as the
animals and continued their fight for a thousand years. This necessitated the then King Bharat to summon
Krishna to end the fight because it was disturbing his meditations. Krishna, of course, does so, but as his
weapon, the Sudarshan Chakra strikes the stones of the river in the course of battling the brothers, the
markings of the Shaligram are formed.
138
Many practitioners claim that the earliest Vedic reference to Shaligrams is in the Atharva Veda, which
states that Shaligrams are supposed to be owned only by Brahmins and treated as heirlooms. It goes on to
state that a Brahmin's house without a Salagrama sila is as impure as a cremation ground. The water in
which a Salagrama sila is washed is considered to be a cleanser of sins. It is also believed that imbibing
just one drop of Salagrama water gives the same merit as can be achieved from performing every sacrifice
and bathing in every tirtha.

The term “Shaligram” (including all other alternate spellings) does not, however, appear in the Vedas.
Rather, it is likely that passages discussing Brahmin inheritance have been interpreted to mean
Shaligrams at a later date.
139
In records of land grants of the fifth century BCE verses are quoted which occur only in
the Padma, Bhavishya, and Brahma Puranas, and on this basis Pargiter in 1912 assigned these particular
Puranas to an even earlier period. Maurice Winternitz considers it more probable that these verses, both in
the inscriptions and in the Puranas, were taken as quotations from earlier dharmashastras, and thus argues
that chronological deductions cannot be made on that basis.

According to Maurice Winternitz, the text which has come down to us in manuscript under this title is
certainly not the ancient work which is quoted in the Apastambiya Dharmasutra. A quotation appearing
in the Apastambiya Dharmasutra attributed to the Bhaviṣyat Purana cannot be found in the extant text of
the Purana.
For the fifth century BCE land grant references, citation to Pargiter (1912), and debunking of the theory,
see: Winternitz, volume 1, p. 526, note 2. For statement that the extant text is not the ancient work, see:
Winternitz, volume 1, p. 567. For the quotation in Apastambiya Dharmasūtraattributed to the Bhaviṣyat
Purana not extant today, see: Winternitz, volume 1, p. 519.

464
Winternitz, Maurice (1922). History of Indian Literature Vol 1 (Original in German, translated into
English by VS Sarma, 1981). New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass (Reprint 2010).
140
See: Ransome, Hilda M. 2012. The Sacred Bee in Ancient Times and Folklore. Courier Corporation.
Pg. 45

141
Conversation in English with some Bangle. Transcribed from audio recordings and fieldnotes.
142
The century in which Varaha Purana was composed is unknown. Wilson suggested 12th-century,
during the period of Ramanuja influence. Most scholars concur that this is a relatively late Purana. and a
few suggest that the first version of this text was complete by the 10th century. The text is named after
the Varaha (boar) avatar of Vishnu, wherein he rescues goddess Earth.
The text is mentioned and summarized in the manuscripts of the Matsya Purana, Skanda Purana and
the Agni Purana, but the description of this text in those documents suggests that surviving manuscripts
of Varaha Purana are entirely different than what it once was. The text exists in many versions, with
significant variations.
The Padma Purana categorizes Varaha Purana as a Sattva Purana. Scholars however consider the Sattva-
Rajas-Tamas classification as "entirely fanciful" and there is nothing in this text that actually justifies this
classification.
See: Hazra, Rajendra Chandra (1940). Studies in the Puranic Records on Hindu Rites and Customs.
Motilal Banarsidass (1987 Reprint)
Wilson, H. H. (1864). The Vishnu Purana: A System of Hindu Mythology and Tradition (Volume 1:
Introduction, Book I). Read Country Books (reprinted in 2006).
Winternitz, Maurice (1922). History of Indian Literature Vol 1 (Original in German, translated into
English by VS Sarma, 1981). New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass (Reprint 2010).
143
Kriya-yoga-sara section
144
Prakr͎ tikhan͎ d͎ a chapter 15 ff.
145
Yet another version of this story is also recounted in the Sthala Purana wherein the king in question is
named Kusadwaja and his queen, Madhavi. The girl who born to them is Tulasi, who is married to
Jalandhar.
146
In yet another version of this story from the Devi Bhagavata Purana, it was the goddess Saraswati who
initially cursed the goddess Lakshmi. In this version, Vishnu had three wives: Sarasvati, Lakshmi and
Ganga. Once Lakshmi and Sarasvati quarreled and cursed each other. Saraswati's curse changed Lakshmi
into a tulsi plant and forced her to live on earth forever. Vishnu, however, intervened and modified the
curse, saying that Lakshmi would remain on earth as tulsi until the river Gandaki flowed from her body.
In the meantime, he would wait by the riverside in the form of a stone to take her back to his abode. This
stone is, of course, Shaligram, which thus remained on earth as a representative of Lord Vishnu.
465
Shaligram deities and the tulsi plant are thus always worshipped together as Vishnu and Lakshmi and also
therefore, offering Tulsi to Shaligram is a necessity of Shaligram puja.
147
The final portion of this dialogue also goes on to say, “The vajra-kitas will carve out inside these
stones my discus – emblem (chakra). I will also dwell in the pot in which tulasi plants are grown.” This
section is referenced in many commentaries regarding the discussion of Shaligrams in texts but is rarely
recounted by devotees when re-telling the story. In other variations of the tale, the vajra-kitas are simply
omitted entirely.
148
Drstva Pranamita Yena Snapita Pujita Tatha |
Yajna Koti Samam Punyam Gavam Koti Phalam Bhavet ||

Lord Siva speaking to Skanda, “Any person who has seen Salagram Sila, paid obeisances to Him, bathed
and worshipped Him, has achieved the results of performing ten million sacrifices and giving ten million
cows in charity. --- Skanda Purana - Haribhakti vilas

Pujito'ham Na Tair Martyair Namito'ham Na Tair Narah |

Nakrtam Martya Loke Yaih Salagram Silarcanam ||

Lord Siva speaking to Skanda states, “In this mortal world, if anyone does not worship Salagram Sila, I
do not at all accept any of their worship and obeisances.”

Lord Shiva also states, “Even if a shila is cracked, split, or broken it will have no harmful effect if it is
worshiped with attention and love by a devotee. It further states there that the Supreme Lord Hari, along
with His divine consort, Lakshmi, live in the shalagrama that has either only the mark of a cakra, a cakra
along with the mark of a footprint, or only a mark resembling a flower garland.”- Skanda Purana
149
My Mother was a Rock-Ogress-Yeti-Monster: True Tales of Dharma, Demons, and Darwin by Ben
Joffe --
https://savageminds.org/2015/10/15/my-mother-was-a-rock-ogress-yeti-monster-true-tales-of-dharma-
demons-and-darwin/
150
More specifically it is supposed to represent Purusha (the supreme being), and Prakriti (mother nature,
or causal matter). Often this is represented as Shiva / Shakti.
151
Conversation in English, with some Hindi. Transcribed from audio recording.
152
Conversation in Hindi and English. Transcribed from audio recording.
153
See also: “Shaligram Fast Disappearing from Kali Gandaki” Glocal Khabar, November 13, 2016:
https://glocalkhabar.com/news/national/shaligram-fast-disappearing-kaligandaki/
154
Concerns over the erosion of the world’s largest Shaligram in the Kali Gandaki River near Setibeni:
http://english.onlinekhabar.com/2016/07/04/380840 -- July 4th, 2016.
155
See for example Edith’s commentary on ‘kinetic ritual’
156
Many early academic conceptualizations of pilgrimage are drawn from Christian traditions where the
often voluntary, and occasionally subversive (or at least, largely ‘liminoid’), performance of pilgrimage as
a rite of passage is viewed as initiatory. The Turners, however, argue that pilgrimage is also as much
about ‘potentiality’ as it is about ‘transition’ (1978: 3), providing a testing ground for new ideas and
moreover becoming something that is deeply “inveterately populist, anarchical, even anticlerical”
466
(1978:32). But they then go on to say that the pilgrim seeks to escape from the everyday, to “cut across
the boundaries of provinces, realms, and even empires” (1978: 6). Furthermore, they state that ‘it is true
that the pilgrim returns to his former mundane existence, but it is commonly believed that he has made a
spiritual step forward” (1978:15). While it is certainly true that Shaligram pilgrims often traverse multiple
boundaries of nations and communities, they do so in view of multiple contexts of action; the everyday
being a significant one of them. The Turners, and many of their intellectual descendants, remain
reasonably focused on the distinctions between a pilgrim’s freedom from the structures of everyday life
during the journey itself and the experience of returning to those structures once the transient phenomena
of pilgrimage has ended--a complex interweaving of journeys of exit and return. Their arguments of
structure and anti-structure then tend to follow, overall, a thematic focus for largely place-centered
approaches to sacred travel.

Unfortunately, pilgrimage as an adaptation of van Gennep’s depiction of life as a series of transitions

tends to conceal the semiotic and somatic layering of pilgrimage within everyday activities, with
enactments of pilgrimage as re-enactments of lived experiences through the lens of divine mythologies,
and with views of the temporal progression of life itself. These co-presences, to borrow a term from John
Urry (2000), of physical, corporeal, virtual, and mythological social worlds are then periodically
reconstituted and realized within geographically dispersed locations and among ethnically, nationally, and
religiously diverse peoples. Shaligram pilgrimage then demonstrates how mobility acts as a principal
organizer to ritual and spiritual experience rather than places or static images do.
157
See Yamba 1995: 9 and Coleman 2002
158
The phenomenological approach popular in studies of Nepali folk religion, which takes a notable
amount of its support from the work of Tim Ingold (1990), Robert DeJarlais (1992) and Charles Ramble
(2014), has gained significant ground in the studies of Hindu and Buddhist pilgrimage and ritual practices
for several decades now and proposes that an individual’s knowledge of a place derives from their
physical interactions with it, and not from theoretical constructs independent of direct experience. For
Shaligram pilgrims, this approach is useful in understanding not just the pilgrims’ interaction with places
of pilgrimage, but their focus on experiencing place-oriented objects as well and in translating their
relationships to those objects into political or national resistance. This is not to say that place-based
phenomenological approaches are the only analytical perspectives relevant here.

Pilgrims, by definition, do not live in the places that they visit, and arguments – notably on the part of
Gosden (1994) – against the phenomenological approach are occasionally leveraged to claim that a
pilgrim’s experience of a place cannot be taken as indicative of deeper structures of cultural meaning
located in the place of pilgrimage but must instead only count as indicative of the pilgrim’s own place of
origin. This view, however, doesn’t take into account the view of Shaligrams themselves as continuously
moving (both through a place and carrying it) as well as the interrelationships between pilgrims and local
Mustangi experiences and understandings of Shaligram use. Nor does is address how pilgrims come to
view their own belonging to places as mediated through the conceptualization of the dham. But because
perspective, experience, and movement are the core of my argument regarding Shaligram pilgrimage as
transient in a physical sense, but intransient in a semiotic and lived sense, phenomenology will play a role
in my overall theoretical approach.
159
(Tib. ཡི་དམ་, Wyl. yi dam; Skt. iṣṭadevata) — one of the three roots, the tutelary or chosen meditation
deity, which is the root of spiritual accomplishment. Yidams are often classified according to whether
they appear in peaceful and wrathful form.

467
160
Huber, Toni. 2006. “The Skor lam and the Long March: Notes on the Transformation of Tibetan Ritual
Territory in Southern Amdo in the Context of Chinese Developments”. Journal of the International
Association of Tibetan Studies, no. 2 (August 2006): 1-42, http://www.thlib.org?tid=T2718 (accessed
October 1, 2016).
161
Buffetrille, Katia. 2012. “Low Tricks and High Places Surrounding a Holy Place in Eastern Nepal: The
Halesi-Maratika Caves.” In Buffetrille, Katia (ed.). The Transformation of Rituals in Contemporary Tibet.
Brill: Leiden: 163-208.
162
The account detailed here is actually a combination of two separate groups undertaking two different
Shaligram pilgrimages within the same month and year. While I accompanied both groups on their
journey, I have chosen to consolidate them in this account, and change their names, for narrative and
analytical brevity. Conversations analyzes within were also transcribed using a combination of audio
recordings and fieldnotes taken during and after events. Most of the spoken dialogue was in Hindi, with
some English and Nepali.
163
Stylistically, the Satkona yantra is virtually identical to the Jewish Star of David and the
Japanese Kagome crest.
164
In the Srimad Bhagavatam, Pradyumna is the son of Krishna and his wife Rukmini. He is also
considered to be one of Vishnu’s four vyūha avatars (an avatar that bears one of his primary
characteristics but is not a complete incarnation) who embodies one of the four-fold (Chaturvyūha)
manifestations of the divine: destruction/dissolution of the universe, along with Vishnu’s capacity of
“knowing.” Along with Pradyumna is Vasudeva (as the creator and “feeling”), Samkarshana (as the
sustainer and “willing”), and Anirudda (as the purveyor of spiritual knowledge and “acting”).
165
Naga (IAST: nāgá; Devanāgarī: ) is the Sanskrit and Pali word for a deity or class of celestial
beings who typically take the form of a giant snake or of a half-human/half-snake creature. Naga are
found in mainly in Vedic religions such as Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism. A female naga is a nagi
or nagiṇi. (Elgood, Heather (2000). Hinduism and the Religious Arts. London: Cassell. p. 234.)
166
These various sets of correspondences are detailed in Vesna Wallace’s study of the text, the Inner
Kalacakratantra. The Kalacakra tradition rejects the inherent sacredness of one place or one human being
over another. It suggests that all regions of the world and all human bodies are equally sacred. This view
of the human body as containing within itself all the pilgrimage sites is not unique to the Kalacakra
tradition. It is also found in other anuttara-yoga-tantras and in the literature of the Sahajayana. For
example, the well-known Sahajīya poet, Sarahapada, affirms in his Dohakoṣa. (Wallace, Vesna A. 2001.
The Inner Kalacakratantra: A Buddhist Tantric View of the Individual. New York: Oxford University
Press. See especially pp.78–86, tables 5.7–5.11.)
167
In the Buddhist tradition, a popular way to memorialize and benefit those who have passed away is to
enshrine a share of the person’s ashes in a small reliquary, known as a tsa-tsa. These reliquaries are
created in the form of Shakyamuni Buddha, traditional stupas, and various Buddhist deities.
168
Chandrahasa was the king of Kuntala kingdom (roughly corresponding to parts of the north of present-
day Karnataka and south of Maharashtra, India, including Gokarna region). The story of Chandrahasa is
mentioned in Ashvamedhika Parva in the Mahabharata. He was the son of the king Sudharmika of Kerala.
He married Vishaye and Champakamalini who was the princess of Kuntala. They had two sons
Makaraksha and Padmaksha. More famously, Chandrahasa befriends Arjuna who was accompanied
by Krishna guarding the Ashvamedha horse of Yudhishthira.

468
The story of Chandrahasa is also depicted in the Kannada epic Jaimini Bharatha of poet Lakshmeesha.
The popular story of the prince Chandrahasa is played in popular movies and in Yakshagana.
169
In Vaishnava traditions, a yagyashala refers to a place where the fire ceremony is done.
170
Conversations were primarily in Hindi and Nepali, with some English phrases. Transcribed from
fieldnotes.
171
Conversation in English. Transcribed from audio recording.
172
Conversation in English. Transcribed from fieldnotes.

173
Downey, Gary Lee; Dumit, Joseph; Williams, Sarah (1995). "Cyborg Anthropology". Cultural
Anthropology. 10: 264–269 – via Wiley Online Library.

Dumit, Joseph. Davis-Floyd, Robbie. (2001). Cyborg Anthropology. Routledge International

Encyclopedia of Women.
Society, National Geographic. "Amber Case, Cyborg Anthropologist Information, Facts, News, Photos --
National Geographic."

Case, Amber (2014). An Illustrated Dictionary of Cyborg Anthropology. p. 9.

"Robots, Robots, Everywhere – A Field Guide to Cyborg Anthropology | The World is not a
desktop." caseorganic.com. Retrieved 2017-01-31.

"Cyborgs and Space," in Astronautics (September 1960), by Manfred E. Clynes and Nathan S. Kline.
174
Ramakrishna, 1836-1886
175
A Hindu wedding booth
176
Ocimum tenuiflorum or Holy Basil
177
The swastika is an ancient and important Hindu symbol. The word is derived from three Sanskrit roots
"su" (good), "asti" (exists, there is, to be) and "ka" (make) and is generally taken to mean "the making of
goodness" or "the marker of goodness". The use of a swastika is most often intended to remind
individuals of something "conducive to well-being", something that "makes good", or is otherwise used to
connote general prosperity and dharmic auspiciousness. The swastika symbol is commonly used before
entrances or on doorways of homes or temples, to mark the starting page of financial st atements or
official reports, and in mandala constructed for rituals such as weddings or welcoming a newborn.
178
Transcribed from fieldnotes taken during and after the festival.
179
Prabodhini Ekadashi also known as Devotthan Ekadashi, is the 11th lunar day (ekadashi) in the bright
fortnight (Shukla Paksha) of the Hindu month of Kartik. It marks the end of the four-month period
of Chaturmas, when god Vishnu is believed to sleep. It is believed that Vishnu sleeps on Shayani
Ekadashi and wakes on Prabodhini Ekadashi, thus giving this day the name "Prabodhini Ekadashi"
("awakening eleventh"), Vishnu-prabodhini ("awakening of Vishnu") and Dev-Prabodhini
Ekadashi, Deothan, Dev uthav ekadashi or Dev Oothi ekadashi ("god's awakening").

469
180
R. Manohar Lall (1933). Among the Hindus: A Study of Hindu Festivals. Asian Educational Services.
pp. 184 and Emma Tarlo (1996). Clothing Matters: Dress and Identity in India. University of Chicago
Press. pp. 184–5.
181
Among Gaudiya Vaishnavas, for example, the Marriage of Tulsi and Shaligram is carried out between
Tulsi and Krishna specifically. Among other Vaishnava sects, Krishna is also occasionally substituted for
Vishnu in the ritual presentation of the festival.
182
M.M. Underhill (1991). The Hindu Religious Year. Asian Educational Services. pp. 129–131. And R.
Manohar Lall (1933). Among the Hindus: A Study of Hindu Festivals. Asian Educational Services. And
Manish Verma (2005). Fasts & Festivals Of India. Diamond Pocket Books. pp. 58.
183
World’s Largest Shaligram Faces Existential Crisis: https://thehimalayantimes.com/nepal/worlds-
largest-shaligram-faces-existential-crisis/ Accessed 14 November 2017.

In 2018, there were also a series of stories pointing out the problems of illegal sand and pebble mining,
for construction materials, and the ways in which these activities deformed the river and threatened its
historical sacrality: http://kathmandupost.ekantipur.com/news/2018-01-18/illegal-extraction-of-riverbed-
materials-goes-unchecked.html Accessed 18 January 2018.
184
Conversation in English with some Bangla phrases. Transcribed from fieldnotes.
185
English and Hindi. Transcribed from audio recordings and fieldnotes taken during and shortly after the
conversation.

186
Conversation in Hindi. Transcribed from fieldnotes.

187
Conversation in Hindi and English. Transcribed from fieldnotes.

188
Conversation in Nepali and English. Transcribed from fieldnotes.

189
Conversation in English and Nepali. Transcribed from fieldnotes.

190
"Mood" here refers to the particular version or form of the deities in this instance. While any number
of Radha and Krishna deities may be created and installed in a temple, each is endowed with a specific
link to a favorite story or narrative figure that indexes that specific deity's particular characteristics and
behaviors.
191
The Radhe-Krishna deities in Vrindavan
192
The Radhe-Krishna deities in Mumbai
193
A word typically translated as "image" and relating to any number of different types of sacred icons
and images.
194
Utsav murti are the primary deities used in festivals and in home shrines due to their mobility. An
utsav murti is, however, considered to be no different than the larger murti it is attached to and "acts" in a
capacity similar to that of the main deity.
195
Conversation in Hindi and English. Transcribed from fieldnotes.

470

196
Throughout the day, Hindus will often perform many other kinds of puja that include various rituals
for feeding the deities at mealtimes or at the end of the work day, ensuring their privacy and comfort
during times of rest, and for generally interacting with them as one might a living friend or relative. For
example, there are puja rituals for offering the deity a seat (Asana), washing the deity's feet (Padya),
offering water for the deity to wash its mouth (Arghya), offering water for sipping (Acamanıya), symbolic
bathing (Abhisekha), clothing and adorning (Vastra), applying perfumes and ointments (Anulepana or
Gandha), offering flowers or garlands (Pushpa), offering a lamp (Dipa or Aarti), offering certain foods
such as rice, fruit, butter, or sugar (Naivedya), offering an umbrella (Chatram), and offering fans or fly-
whisks (Chamaram) (Fuller 2004).
197
Quoted in Rabindra Kumar Siddhantashastree. 1985. Vaishnavism Through the Ages. Munshiram
Manoharlal Publishers Pvt. Ltd. pages 27-49
198
Agnipurana, Bengavasi ed., Panchanan Tarkaratna, Saka 1812, chapter 46.
199
This list was originally compiled by Rabindra Kumar Siddhantashastree. 1985. Vaishnavism Through
the Ages. pages 27-49 and is available in summarized for online at
http://www.salagram.net/shaligrams1.htm.
200
This list was originally compiled by Rabindra Kumar Siddhantashastree. 1985. Vaishnavism Through
the Ages. pages 27-49 and is available in summarized for online at
http://www.salagram.net/shaligrams1.htm.
201
“Once there was a sage by the name Shalankayana, who was performing austerities and devotional
meditation in many holy places with the view to gain a great devotee of Lord Vishnu as his son. He
visited the sacred tirtha (holy place) of Muktinatha in present day Northern Nepal, high in the Himalayas,
and took his bath in the icy waters of the Kali Gantaki at the back of Annapurna mountain. Extremely
tired from his climb in the high altitude, he finally took rest under a sala tree.

Fast asleep on the eastern side of the tree, he didn't notice that the Lord Krishna had come and stood
before him. Then by the Lord's mercy the sage awoke and saw his Lord standing there and immediately
propitiated him with melodious Vedic mantras. The Lord then fulfilled the desire of the sage and gave
him a son on the spot, and being pleased with his devotional attitude, gave another boon.

Krishna informed that from that day (the dwadasi in the sukla paksa of the month of Vaisaka) He would
eternally stay on the area of that mountain in the form of the Salagrama stone. Actually, there was no sala
tree there at that time - it was a special self-manifesting mercy incarnation of the Lord appearing for His
devotee. So, in the same way, the Lord continued to tell the sage that in the self-manifesting form of the
Salagrama Shila He will reside there, and the devotees can take Him in this form and worship Him, and
He will reciprocate their love in that way. This is confirmed in the Mahabharata (Vana Parva Ch 84, 123-
125), where it is said the name Salagram is given to Lord Vishnu who resides in the Salagrama at the
Salagram Tirtha.” (Balasubramanian, Venkatesh. Sri Ranga Sri “The Story of Shaligram” -
http://www.ibiblio.org/sripedia/srirangasri/archives/dec03/msg00007.html. Accessed Dec 2 2016)
202
trikonaa vishama chaiva chidraa bhagnaa tathaiva cha arddhachandraakritirvaa tu pujaarhaa na
bhavet priye phalam notpadyate tatra pujitaayaam kadaachana (Matsyasukta quoted in
Praanatoshanitantra, page 347)
203
A.P. quoted in PTT., page 549.

471
204
Balasubramanian, Venkatesh. 2003. Sri Ranga Sri “The Story of Shaligram.” Ibiblio Archives.
http://www.ibiblio.org/sripedia/srirangasri/archives/dec03/msg00007.html. Accessed 2 Dec 2016).
205
See also Rabindra Kumar Siddhantashastree. 1985. Vaishnavism Through the Ages. pages 27-49
206
Interestingly, this text also describes the characteristics of reading Dwarka shilas, which are also
divided into a number of different varieties according to their colors and outward appearances (Padma
Purana, quoted in Prana-toshini tantra, page 360.)

(1) The blue type: It is the giver of untimely death

(2) The reddish brown: It brings in serious dangers.
(3) Variegated: It gives insanity
(4) Yellow: It causes destruction of wealth.
(5) Smoky Color: It causes untimely death of children.
(6) The broken type: It causes death of wife.
(7) The white type with dot prints: It fulfils all desires.
(8) The type with unbroken circular marks: It removes poverty and sorrow.
(9) The type having glaced circular shape: It gives the same results as above.
(10) The type with quadrangular shape: It gives the same result as above.
(11) The type with even number of circular marks: It gives bliss and worldly pleasure.
(12) The type with odd number of circular marks: It causes sorrow and worldly pain.

The same authority adds that one should not offer worship to any of the following types because of their
habit of giving undesirable results

(1) The type with one or more holes on its body.

(2) The broken one.
(3) That which is neither round, nor has angles on its sides.
(4) That which has odd number of circles marked on its body.
(5) That which is shaped like the half part of the moon.
207
Balasubramanian, Venkatesh. 2003. Sri Ranga Sri “The Story of Shaligram.” Ibiblio Archives.
http://www.ibiblio.org/sripedia/srirangasri/archives/dec03/msg00007.html. Accessed 2 Dec 2016).
208
The Prana-toshini tantra is one of the two largest and most comprehensive scriptural compendia of
tantric practices from northeast India, along with the 16th century Br͎ hat Tantrasara. See: Hugh B. Urban.
2009. The Power of Tantra: Religion, Sexuality and the Politics of South Asian Studies. I. B. Tauris
Publishers.

Prana-toshini tantra. . 1983. Ramatoṣaṇa Bhaṭṭa and Ramadatta Shukla, trans.

Prayaga: Shakta Sadhana Piṭha Publishers.

472