NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY

Malleable Mara: Buddhism‟s “Evil One” in Conversation and Contestation with Vedic Religion,

Brahmanism, and Hinduism

A DISSERTATION

SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL

IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS

for the degree

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Field of Religious Studies

by

Michael David Nichols

EVANSTON, ILLINOIS

June 2010
 UMI Number: 3402231

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© Copyright by Michael David Nichols 2010

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 3

ABSTRACT

Malleable Māra: Buddhism‟s “Evil One” in Conversation and Contestation with Vedic religion,

Brahmanism, and Hinduism

Michael David Nichols

This dissertation deals with the Buddhist mythic figure “Māra,” who represents the realm of

rebirth and death that Buddhists aspire to overcome. Previous scholarship on Māra has focused

on the philosophical and psychological valences of the figure. While concentrating on important

aspects of the symbol, these past approaches also neglected the literary context of the figure and

did not pursue its potential connection to other religious traditions in India. In this project I read

the Buddhist myths of Māra from a literary perspective, investigating the degree to which the

figure and its symbolism were connected to other Indian mythic traditions, particularly those of

Hindu Brahmins. In so doing, I reveal the extent to which Buddhist myths of Māra appropriated

preceding and contemporary Hindu mythic figures and tropes, demonstrating that the symbol is a

prime example of Buddhist connection to the Indian Brahmanical milieu. In addition, this work

shows that even as Buddhist authors appropriated Brahmanical myths through Māra, they often

used the symbol to invert, satirize, and critique Brahmin ritual and social values. This

demonstrates a previously unexplored social dimension to the Buddhist mythology of Māra.

 4

Acknowledgments

Without the help of a number of people, this dissertation would have been impossible to

complete. I want to express my thanks to Liz Wilson and Julie Gifford at Miami University, who

guided my master‟s thesis on Māra. Blake Wentworth, my exceptional Sanskrit instructor,

inculcated not only an understanding of that language but also a love of its literature. Thank you

to Brian Black, Laurie Patton, Nirmala Salgado, Sarah Jacoby, and Stuart Sarbacker, who read

parts of the dissertation in progress and offered helpful criticisms and encouragements. Sarah

McFarland-Taylor and Mary Weismantel offered extremely helpful critiques of this work from

the perspectives of Religious Studies and Anthropology, respectively. Above all in this regard, I

appreciate the insights and critiques of my dissertation committee of Robert Launay, Brook

Ziporyn, Wendy Doniger, and my adviser and dissertation committee chair, George Bond. Thank

you to my mother and father, who have always supported and encouraged me in every way

imaginable. Finally, I owe my eternal gratitude and appreciation to my wife, Jeanette, whose

hard work and unflagging support enabled me to achieve this goal. Thank you also to our boys,

Alexander and Luka, who always helped me keep everything in perspective and reminded me

why the hard work was worth it.

 5

List of Abbreviations

AN Anguttara Nikāya
AV Atharva Veda
BC Buddhacarita
DhP Dhammapada
DN Dīgha Nikāya
LV Lalitavistara
MB Mahābhārata
MV Mahāvastu
MN Majjhima Nikāya
NK Nidānakathā
RV Rig Veda
ŚB Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa
SN Saṃyutta Nikāya
 6

Dedication

For my wife and children, who make it all worthwhile.

 7

Table of Contents

Chapter:

1. Introduction………………………………………………………...………….…….8

2. Mistaking Māra: The Buddhist “Evil One” and the Study of Evil and

Narrative in the History of Religions….………………………………...…….26

3. The Two Faces of Deva: the Māra/Brahmā Tandem………………….……..….….62

4. Deva Buddha, Demonic Māra; Demonic Buddha, Deva Māra………….…..…….103

5. Māra, Dealer of Death through Desire: the Buddhist Mortification of Kāma.…....153

6. Dialogues with Death: Māra, Yama, and Coming to Terms with Mortality…..…..215

7. Conclusion………………………………………………………………….…..….265

Bibliography……………………………………………………………………..…...275
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Chapter 1:

Introduction
 9

I. Who is “Māra?”

According to Buddhist mythology, not all beings were overjoyed when Siddhattha

Gotama neared the status of Buddhahood. In fact, as Gotama sat at the foot of the Bodhi tree, one

being supposedly intervened. Named “Māra,” this god of death and desire marshaled all the

extraordinary powers at his disposal to halt the ascetic‟s progress. He called upon his daughters

and his quiver of desire-inducing arrows to instill lust in the meditating sage, but these

stratagems accomplished nothing. The angry god churned the oceans and sky, then summoned an

army of fearsome, misshapen goblins and monsters, each brandishing gruesome weaponry. Yet,

despite the frightfulness and terror of this display, it too met with failure. As a last resort, Māra

challenged Gotama‟s worthiness to sit under the Bodhi tree and attain awakening: how could the

ascetic, a mere human being, possibly possess the merit to resist the challenge of a god? But, in a

motion immortalized in iconography throughout all Buddhist traditions, Gotama reached one

hand down to the earth (executing the bhūmisparśamudra, or “earth-touching gesture”), which

bore witness to his superior merit over Māra. Defeated, Māra retired, but in other Buddhist

narratives set after Gotama‟s awakening, the god continues to stalk the Buddha as well as his

disciples.

For sheer tension, drama, and spectacle, the events of the Māravijaya (literally, “conquest

of Māra”) narratives, summarized in the preceding from several sources, are difficult to match in

Buddhist literature. Chronicled in several texts, particularly tales of the Buddha‟s life such as

Buddhacarita, Lalitavistara, and Nidānakathā, the story crosses sectarian lines, appearing in the

canons of almost all Indian schools, from Hīnayāna to early Mahāyāna works.1 The story has

1
I use the term “Hīnayāna” only as an umbrella term for the non-Mahāyāna schools in Indian Buddhism. I do not
intend the term in its pejorative sense whatsoever.
 10

inspired large amounts of material culture and artwork, from murals in modern Śrī Lankan and

Thai monasteries to ancient reliefs on famous stūpas, such as Sāñcī and Bhārhut in India. Indeed,

given its appearance in literature across Buddhist sectarian lines and material culture from the

north, central, and southern areas of India, one could easily argue that Māra is a “pan-Indian”

Buddhist deity. At the least, due to its widespread appearance in ancient texts and art, as well as

persistence into modern times, it is obvious that the confrontation of the Buddha and Māra at

Bodh-Gayā has long occupied a prominent position in the imagination of Buddhist traditions.

Yet, as central as the narrative of the Māravijaya is and has been, the mythology of Māra

extends even further into Buddhist textual and practical traditions, appearing throughout the

Theravāda Pāli Canon and numerous Mahāyāna sūtras. To give just a few select examples, the

entire Mārasaṃyutta and Bhikkhunīsaṃyutta of the Saṃyutta Nikāya are devoted to Māra, he

figures prominently in story of the Buddha‟s last days in the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta, and the

early Mahāyāna text Aṣṭasahāsrikāprajñāpāramitā contains numerous mentions.

Ethnographically, John Strong, Donald Swearer, and Stanley Tambiah have all recorded

references to Māra in Southeast Asian rituals and texts. 2 It is thus fair to say that while the

Māravijaya narrative is perhaps the most famous mythic cycle involving Māra, the symbol has

textual and ritual breadth and depth beyond those narratives. In fact, in the narrative chronology

of the tradition, the Bodh-Gayā confrontation spells the beginning rather than the end of Māra‟s

contest with the Buddha and his followers.

Given the prominence of this figure and its extensive occurrence, it is only natural for

scholars to wonder as to the nature of the symbol of Māra and what might account for its

2
For example, see Strong‟s The Legend and Cult of Upagupta, Swearer‟s The Buddhist World of Southeast Asia,
and Tambiah‟s Buddhism and the Spirit Cults in Northeast Thailand.
 11

importance. We can begin in a very basic way to answer those questions by summarizing the

cosmological, philosophical, and psychological roles the figure plays in the tradition. Buddhist

texts ascribe an expansive quality to Māra and his domain, both on a macro and microcosmic

level. Though Pāli and Sanskrit texts provide many epithets for the figure, 3 the primary name

“Māra” comes from the root mṛ, “die,” which being in a causative sense, can be glossed as

“causer of death,” or more bluntly, “killer.” At the same time, he is also, as Aśvaghoṣa‟s

Buddhacarita describes him, “Kāmadeva,” (“god of desire”) and “kāmapracārādhipati,”

(“supreme lord of the movements of desire”).4 As god of both death and desire, Māra is lord of

an entire realm called, variously, Kāmaloka, Kāmadhātu, or Kāmavācara. All who are subject to

birth and death are thus subject to Māra‟s influence and control. A passage from the

Bhikkhunīsaṃyutta of the Saṃyutta Nikāya describes Māra‟s station in that very way: “the thirty-

three [gods of the old Vedic pantheon], the underworld, the tusitā gods, the gods who foster

creation, and those who are Vasavattin gods, are all bound by the bonds of desire and they go

again under the control of Māra.”5 Conceived in this way, Māra is a devātideva, a god reigning

above other gods, let alone more minor beings, such as humans and animals. This

characterization, in view of the tripartite division of Buddhist cosmology, places Māra in the

higher heavenly worlds of the Kāmaloka, which lies below the Rūpaloka and Arūpaloka,

3
Buddhaghoṣa, in Sāratthappakāsinī, his commentary on Saṃyutta Nikāya, provides a useful summary of these
epithets. Among the most frequent are “Antaka” (“Endmaker”), “Kaṇha” (“Dark One”), “Adhipati” (“Overlord”),
“Namuci” (literally “Non-releaser,” but also the name of a Vedic demon), and “Pamattabandhu” (“Relative of the
Careless”) (169). In the course of the dissertation I shall have occasion to interrogate several of these epithets, which
are helpful in revealing the literary and cultural context of the Māra symbol.
4
BC 13.2. Johnston renders “kāmapracārādhipati” as “lord of the activities of the passions” (188), but I believe
either “wandering” or “movement” is a better interpretation of pracāra, as it further connotes the ever-changing,
even fleeting, nature Buddhist texts ascribe to desire and passion. Unless otherwise specified, all translations from
Sanskrit, Pāli, Prakrit, and German in this dissertation are my own.
5
SN I 133: tāvatiṃsā ca yāmāca tusitā cāpi devatā |
nimmānaratino devā ye devā vasavattino |
kāmabandhanabaddhā te enti māravasaṃ puna ||
 12

respectively. Given the reference in the Bhikkhunīsaṃyutta, however, and the broader description

of Māra as lord both of desire (kāma) and death (mṛtyu), even the devas of those higher realms

exist under Māra‟s control, as they are all still subject to death and rebirth. The symbol of Māra

is thus coextensive, on a macrocosmic level, with the Buddhist conception of saṃsāra, the ever-

turning process of death and rebirth, and the god‟s sphere of influence and control extends from

one end of existence to the other.

Though an eminently cosmic figure holding dominion over all beings, Māra‟s presence

also penetrates to the most inner reaches of existence, claiming control over the processes of the

senses and cognition. In another confrontation with Gotama (after he has become the Buddha),

Māra claims possession of the five senses and the mind, along with their processes and objects.6

In the Majjhima Nikāya‟s Āneñjasappāya Sutta, the Buddhist author seemingly grants this claim,

describing both senses and perceptions as under the “sway of Māra” (māradheyyam),7 the

“province of Māra” (mārass‟ esa visayo), “Māra‟s bait” (mārass‟ esa nivāpo), and “Māra‟s

pasture” (mārass‟ esa gocaro).8 Another Majjhima Nikāya text (the Cūlagopālaka Sutta)

associates Māra‟s realm with all that is shot through by the three poisons: passion, hate, and

delusion (rāgadosamohānaṃ).9 Additionally, when bhikkhus ask the Buddha to explain the exact

nature of Māra, he frequently explains that wherever there are formal, sensual, or mental

formations, there is Māra.10

6
SN I 115-116.
7
In Sāratthappakāsinī Buddhaghoṣa glosses “māradheyya” as “tebhūmaka-vaṭṭaṃ” – the abodes or levels of rebirth
and transmigration. See pgs. 178 and 186.
8
MN I 262.
9
MN I 226.
10
For example, see SN III 73-76, 189, and IV 38-39.
 13

Taking this into account with the cosmic status of the deity, Buddhist traditions bestow a

sphere of power and control onto Māra along a continuum ranging from the macro- to

microcosmic. Indeed, as summarized by the first century non-canonical text Netti Pakaraṇa, all

that obscures cognition, burdens the mind with wrong views, or makes one “hemmed in by

saṃsāra” is Māra.11 Conversely, and as the Buddha usually points out when he explains the

nature of Māra to the bhikkhus, where there are no formal, sensual, or mental formations, and

when the three poisons are rooted out, there is no Māra. This is also frequently expressed in the

texts by way of allegory, as in the aforementioned Cūlagopālaka Sutta, which casts Māra‟s realm

as the shore of a river, Māra‟s forces as the stream with its current, and the Buddha‟s teaching as

the ford to the far shore.12 Māra‟s control, in some cases, is correspondingly described as binding

or holding beings to the realm and processes of birth and death, like a net or a snare, and those

who follow the Buddha‟s teaching will escape from Māra‟s control.13

The point of contention, therefore, between Māra, the Buddha (or Gotama in the case of

the Māravijaya narratives), and Buddhist disciples is that the dharma (Pāli, dhamma),14 or

Buddhist teaching, constitutes a way to escape saṃsāra and Māra‟s control, expansive and total

though it may seem. Nirvāṇa (Pāli, nibbāna) represents a state outside of the Kāma-, Rūpa, and

Arūpalokas and extends beyond sensory and cognitive perceptions. As supreme lord of desire

and death, as the appellation Kāmādhipati literally connotes, Māra is thus attempting to prevent

Gotama from escaping his control when he assails the ascetic‟s meditation at Bodh-Gayā.

11
Netti Pakaraṇa, 85: so hi nivuto saṃsārābhimukho hoti.
12
MN I 225-227.
13
For just a few of many possible examples, see DhP 4.14, 13.8-9 for Māra‟s “net” (jāla) and 20.2,4 and 24.17 for
how successful practitioners “cut Māra‟s bonds” (cchecchati mārabhandanaṃ).
14
In this dissertation I will primarily cite terms in Sanskrit, such “dharma” and “nirvāna” since they have become
more well known in those forms than in the Pāli equivalents. For such recognizable terms I shall also eschew
italicization for greater readability.
 14

Indeed, further drawing on the sense of Māra as a lord or ruling being, we could even consider

his intentions to halt the spread of the dharma as an attempt to quell a rebellion in his realm.

Given the preceding discussion, we can delineate two basic applications or forms of the

Māra symbol in Buddhist scriptures. First, Māra is used in a metaphorical sense to describe

aspects of saṃsāra, both physically and psychologically, often as a means of advancing aspects

of the Buddha‟s teaching and ideals of practice. In the Pāli Nikāyas, for example, it is said that

the successful bhikkhu achieves mindfulness outside the access of Māra (i.e., sensual and mental

faculties), using the symbol as a means to demarcate the dharma from saṃsāra and measure a

bhikkhu‟s progress.15 Later Buddhist scholasticism in both Hīnayāna and Mahāyāna traditions

develop the formula of “Four Māras,” namely skandhamāra (Māra representing the aggregates

that form our bodies, minds, and sense of “self”), kleśamāra (Māra of “defilements”),

devaputramāra (Māra as a celestial being and god), and mṛtyumāra (Māra as the process of

death).16 This division of the figure is thoroughly in keeping with the tendency of scholastics and

commentators to divide figures and concepts into finer and finer elements in order to elaborate

their meaning. In his analysis, James Boyd describes the Four Māras formula as “an effort to

make explicit the inherent versatility and also ambivalence of the meaning of the Māra

15
For some examples, see SN IV 185-186; V 147-149; and MN I 155-160.
16
As Alex Wayman has shown, the Mahāyāna commentator Asaṅga‟s work in the Śrāvakabhūmi is one of the most
prominent and influential espousals of this formula. See “Studies in Yama and Māra,” Indo-Iranian Journal, pgs.
112-119. Theravādin commentator Buddhaghoṣa is another key promoter of the concept in his Visuddhimagga, yet
he adds a fifth, the abhisankhāramāra (“Māra of karma formations”), VII 211. Earlier commentaries already begin
to show elements of the formula. For example, in the commentary to the DhP, Māra‟s power and realm of control
are often explained as coextensive with the kleśas (Pāli, kilesa). For instance, see The Dhammapada: A New English
Translation with the Pali Text, pgs. 123 and 170. The reference to Four Māras is also found in Mahāvastu, though in
a slightly different sense, as the Buddha declares, in succession, that he defeated Māra as kleśamāra,
devaputramāra, mṛtyumāra, and skandhamāra (III 281). Given the composite nature of the MV and its long
chronological development (formed over several centuries), it is difficult to determine whether this literary instance
of the Four Māras is a cause or an effect of the commentarial tradition.
 15

symbol…”17 The skandha and kleśa divisions of the formula effectively locate Māra in the

individual‟s internal psychological constituencies while the mṛtyu class deals with the figure as a

metaphor for the impersonal process of degeneration and decay of all organisms onto death.

These three components of the formula thus tend to abstract or even diffuse the symbol.

The fourth class (devaputramāra), however, is of a different sort altogether and speaks to

a distinct set of encounters with Māra described in the Buddhist scriptures. In these cases, Māra

is undeniably a powerful external force rather than an internal process. These instances often

show the other components of the Four Māras formula as the attributes or weapons at the

command of the god Māra. For instance, the Saṃyutta Nikāya describes Māra as a hunter,

waiting and lurking to gain power over a bhikkhu through his sense faculties or the inculcation of

pride, honor, and achievement.18 Additionally, Buddhaghoṣa, in his commentary on the Saṃyutta

Nikāya, glosses “Māra” as “Māra-visūkāni,” literally “Māra the distorter,” in the sense that he

attempts to twist and pervert correct views about the nature of life, death, and the factors of

existence.19 In these cases, Māra is clearly seen as an external entity who exploits aspects of

saṃsāric existence and the internal faculties of beings to his own ends.

To this we can add the Mārasaṃyutta, Bhikkhunīsaṃyutta, Brahmanimantanika Sutta,

Māratajjanīya Sutta, and the entire Māravijaya mythic cycle as obvious examples of Māra as an

external, antagonistic being bent on obstructing and subverting the Buddha‟s teaching. In those

texts, as well as others, Māra engages in dialogue and debate (as well as combat – at least on his

17
Satan and Māra: Christian and Buddhist Symbols of Evil, pg. 133. I should point out that Boyd and I disagree on
the origin of the Four Māras formula. While he does not see it as the result of the commentarial tradition, with the
exception of the MV passage mentioned in the foregoing note, the formula is only found in commentarial texts or
later Mahāyāna writers synthesizing earlier traditions. This suggests to me a certain retroactive quality to the
construction.
18
SN II 226-227; IV 178.
19
Sāratthappakāsinī, pg. 186.
 16

part) with the Buddha or his followers, suggesting that in those texts at least, the figure was

understood as one among an assortment of beings one could encounter. Indeed, in a recurring

formula in Buddhist texts, Māra is included in lists of important cosmological figures, often to

make a point about the power of the Buddha. For example, in an encounter with a yakkha who

threatens to seize him, the Buddha replies that he does not see anyone “in the world with its

devas, Māra, Brahmā, ascetics, and Brahmins” who could accomplish that feat.20 The Pāli text

Milindapañha, which contains the supposed dialogue between the King Milinda and the bhikkhu

Nāgasena on points of Buddhist doctrine, contains an alternate version of this cosmic formula. In

response to the king‟s query about the number of Buddhas at a time, the monk explains to the

king that there is only one Buddha per world system, just as there is only one “mighty and

unique” Sakka (Buddhist name for Indra), Great Brahmā, and Māra.21 The frequency with which

one encounters these cosmological lists and their variants in Buddhist texts quickly establishes

Māra as a fixture in Buddhist cosmology, alongside Vedic and Hindu gods such as Indra and

Brahmā and also contributes to the sense that the primary understanding of the figure, at least in

early texts, was as a celestial figure who prowls saṃsāra.

A final, and tremendously ironic, aspect of the Buddhist portrayal of Māra must be noted

before an introduction to the figure is complete. Though the celestial Māra is considered unitary

and singular, though diverse in representing all the forces of saṃsāra, he22 is plural over time.

Despite his power over the realm of rebirth and death, like all other beings, Māra himself is

20
See SN I 207: sadevake loke samārake sabrahmake sassamaṇa-brāhmaṇiyā. This is just one example of the
almost ubiquitous formula. Though some translators render Māra and Brahmā in the plural in these phrases, possibly
to correlate with “devas,” there is no grammatical reason to do so. In fact, Rhys-Davids, in his Pāli-English
Dictionary, only provides the singular “with Māra” for samārake (pg. 686).
21
The Milindapañha, pg. 239: sakko mahanto so eko yeva; māro mahanto so eka yeva; mahābrahmā mahanto so
eko yeva.
22
Several Buddhist texts, particularly in the Pāli sources, emphasize that Māra is always male. I will discuss the
significance of this fact in more depth in chapter five.
 17

subject to these same forces (though Buddhist texts frequently portray him as woefully ignorant

of this fact23) and will die and be reborn into another state while another being will assume the

role of Māra.

II. The Goal and Outline of the Dissertation

Based on the foregoing descriptions, we can see that the celestial Māra, who embodies

the forces of saṃsāra and guards its boundaries against escape, is the most prevalent

representation of the figure in early Indian Buddhism. In this dissertation I am concerned with

precisely this aspect of the symbol, when the god appears as a character interacting with the

Buddha and other figures in Indian Buddhist literature. The existence of such a character in

Buddhist scripture is an opportunity not only for studying the literary qualities of Buddhist texts,

but also how those writings conceived of the social dimensions and interactions of the tradition

with its Indian religious contemporaries and competitors. I thus propose the alignment of two

theses that, to this point in Buddhist Studies, have not been considered in tandem. First, as I will

discuss further in laying out my methodology in chapter two, scholars have long argued that

Indian Buddhist traditions originated and existed in an atmosphere of sectarian appropriation and

tension. Though numerous movements could be considered in this regard – and I will deal with

some (especially Jainas) in the course of the dissertation – Brahmanical traditions, from Vedic to

later Hindu expressions, were the paramount adversaries and conversation partners for Indian

Buddhists. The second thesis, which figures more broadly in Religious Studies, deals with the

role of symbols of evil in the social imagination of religious communities. In Religion and Its

Monsters, a work surveying notions of the “monstrous” in Biblical texts and American popular

23
The Māratajjanīya Sutta of the MN is an excellent example of these facts. I discuss that text in detail in chapter
three.
 18

culture and cinema, Timothy Beal observes that “we can learn something about a religious

tradition by getting to know its monsters…” 24 On the same theme, but focused specifically on

Medieval European thought, David Williams argues that “as the monster deforms to „show forth‟

the reality of Form, so too it disorders to reveal the full nature of Order itself.” 25 In other words,

by investigating the ways in which a tradition represents the “monstrous” or “evil,” the inverted

and perverted aspects of the cosmos and society, we gain an understanding of what a tradition

holds most dear and sacred. Even more specifically, in a study of the origins of the famous

Christian symbol of evil, Satan, Elaine Pagels notes that reading the narratives of such beings

helps us gain an understanding of how a tradition casts the nature of their opponents and ensuing

conflicts with those rivals.26

My own thesis in this dissertation lies at the conjunction of the two ideas laid out above.

As a symbol of what is considered obstructionist or even “evil” from the Buddhist point of view

– which is a topic I shall deal with in detail in chapter two – the figure of Māra provides a unique

opportunity for investigating how Buddhists might have conceptualized their human opponents,

among whom Brahmins loomed largest. Though significant differences obviously exist, in time

and place, between the Buddhist conception of Māra and American popular cinema, Medieval

European thought, and the Christian figure of Satan, I believe the general principle that symbols

of evil play a role in religious social imagination holds true for Buddhist literature. Therefore, in

this dissertation I will explore the manner in which Indian Buddhist narratives of the god Māra

constitute a comment on other Indian traditions, particularly the Vedic, Brahmanical, and Hindu

traditions. To an extent, just in this introduction, we have already seen a key example: the

24
Pg. 4.
25
Deformed Discourse: the Function of the Monster in Medieval Thought and Literature, pg. 81.
26
The Origin of Satan, pg. xviii.
 19

recurrent Buddhist cosmological formula listing Māra alongside the Hindu gods Brahmā and

(somewhat less often) Indra. The sheer fact that the author(s) of these texts saw fit repeatedly to

place Māra in the company of these Hindu figures implies some sort of relationship, which has

up to this point been unexamined by scholars. This dissertation delves into those largely

unexplored relationships.

To carry out this project, my primary sources from the Buddhist tradition will be the Pāli

Canon as well as certain Sanskrit Buddhist texts, such as the various narratives of the Buddha‟s

life. I will compare the appearances and narratives of Māra in that literature to a wide swath of

Brahmanical and Hindu writings, including (but not limited to) the Rig and Atharva Vedas,

Brāhmaṇas27 such as the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa, the epic Mahābhārata, works of ornate poetry

such as Kumārasaṃbhava, and Purāṇic literature, such as the Śiva Purāṇa. In this way, I look at

clearly pre-Buddhist sources, works that are contemporaneous to the composition of Buddhist

texts, and those that are potentially influenced by Buddhist thought.

By surveying and comparing such a scope of literature from both traditions, I will

highlight the conversation that occurred between these communities through the narrative

figures, shedding light on the ways in which Buddhist authors borrowed from other Indian

literatures and, by recasting and recreating the forms they borrowed, contributed to the creation

of a distinct Buddhist identity and ideology. By reading Buddhist texts as literature, I partly

follow Ralph Flores, who has argued that this kind of hermeneutic helps illuminate “how

27
Since this term can refer to either the priestly varṇa (Pāli, “vaṇṇa”) or the group of texts, in order to allay
confusion I have chosen to retain the diacritical marks when discussing the latter. Hopefully this will provide
enough distinction to benefit the reader.
 20

Buddhist ideology and rhetoric are at work in shaping responses in listeners and readers.” 28 The

literary figure of Māra, we will see, is an integral part of that process.

Some scholars, I should note, might object that an emphasis on the potential connection

between the literary nature of Māra and early Buddhist social dynamics misreads the original

intention of the narratives. One of the elders of Buddhist studies, T. W. Rhys-Davids, interpreted

Māra as an allegorical expression of the psychological impediments Gotama, as well as other

Buddhists, faced on the path to insight.29 More recently Rupert Gethin has contended that Māra,

and all Buddhist cosmology along with the evil god, represents a “mythic counterpart to the more

abstract formulation” of Buddhist philosophical concepts such as dependent origination. 30 This

leads to the conclusion, as Gethin champions, that even when Buddhist texts seem to treat Māra

as an indisputably external being, he is in fact (echoing Rhys-Davids) only an allegory for

internal mental processes.31 While a great deal of Buddhist discourse bears on psychology and

philosophy, there has been a tendency to dwell entirely on those aspects of Buddhist texts,

which, intentionally or not, forecloses on their literary relationships to other, related textual

discourses, such as we find in Hindu traditions.32 An overemphasis on the psychological and

philosophical import of these texts also seems to internalize and atomize them to a certain extent,

extracting them from the social world and debates of which they were undoubtedly a part. One of

the goals of this dissertation is to re-focuse scholarly attention on the literary nature of the figure

28
Buddhist Scriptures as Literature, pg. 3.
29
For example, see his Buddhism: Its History and Literature, pgs. 104-105.
30
“Cosmology and Meditation: From the Aggañña Sutta to the Mahāyāna,” pg. 188.
31
Ibid., pg. 190.
32
There are some signs that a literary approach to Buddhist texts is beginning to gain momentum. For instance,
Gregory Schopen, whose work has primarily focused on Buddhist material culture and archaeology, has argued that
certain Buddhist Vinaya passages shows standard Indian literary tropes, demonstrating contact between Buddhist
texts and larger Indian literary society, a fact which has not been “commonly recognized or brought to the fore”
(203). See “The Learned Monk as Comic Figure: On Reading a Buddhist Vinaya as Indian Literature,” Journal of
Indian Philosophy.
 21

of Māra, which will serve to reconnect Indian Buddhism to the broader contexts of Indian

literature, religion, and society.

Due to this emphasis on philosophy and psychology, as well as other reasons I will

discuss in chapter two, previous scholarship on the symbol of Māra has not adequately explored

the questions of Māra‟s origin or its role in the Buddhist social imagination.33 This has not

necessarily been for lack of attention on the issue of Māra‟s origin, as previous analysts of the

figure have spent some time investigating Māra‟s connections to other Indian figures. Kāma and

Yama, in particular, have received the most consideration, sometimes to the point that Māra has

been entirely identified with one figure or the other. Bimala Law, for instance, sees Māra and

Kāma as “in many respects the same” and Catherine Benton similarly casts Māra as simply a

Buddhist reiteration of Kāma.34 N.N. Bhattacaryya, on the other hand, emphasizing Māra‟s

linkage to death, sees the god as an adaptation of Yama.35 Ernst Windisch, in his very early

investigation of the mythology, cites an even earlier figure, Mṛtyu, as a forerunner of Māra: “I

would like to stress with still more emphasis the fact that the Buddhistic Māra Pāpimā (evil

Māra) had an unmistakable predecessor in the Pāpmā Mṛtyu (Evil Death) of the Brāhmaṇas.”36

At the same time some scholars have cast Māra as almost entirely derivative, as the

“Buddhist Kāma” or “Buddhist Yama,” others just as emphatically emphasize the figure as
33
Here I need to make some distinctions on the issue of origins. First, I use the term in an explanatory and not a
genetic or reductive sense. Second, I am not concerned with whether the more psychological-metaphorical uses of
Māra predate the literary or vice versa. Not only would such a question be nearly impossible to answer with any
definitiveness due to the perennial problem of textual dating, it has been layered in the past with problematic issues
of what constitutes “real Buddhism” – the literary or the philosophical. As these representations are by no means
mutually exclusive (they coexist, in fact, throughout the Nikāyas), they are also probably coterminous. At any rate,
in this study I am primarily concerned with the nature of the literary representations and their antecedents and
contemporaries in Indian literature.
34
Law, “The Buddhist Conception of Māra” in Buddhistic Studies. Ed. Bimala Law, pg. 258; Catherine Benton, God
of Desire: Kāmadeva in Sanskrit Story Literature, pg. 161.
35
Indian Demonology, pg. 67.
36
Māra und Buddha, pg. 195: “Ich möchte nur mit noch mehr nach druck die Thatsach hervorheben, dass der
Buddhistische Māra Pāpimā in dem Pāpmā Mṛtyuḥ der Brāhmaṇa einen unverkennbaren vorganger hat.”
 22

wholly unique to Buddhist traditions. Indeed, this tension in the scholarship sometimes even

appears within the work of a single scholar, such as the aforementioned Windisch. Though he

cites Pāpmā Mṛtyu as a predecessor, Windisch painstakingly seeks to maintain Māra as an

exceptional figure, first as a proper name and then as a “peculiarly Buddhist” way of

personifying “illness and death and all saṃsāra.”37 Trevor Ling states the case in an even

stronger tone, arguing that “no conception equivalent to Māra is to be found elsewhere in Indian

mythology.”38 In almost identical language, James Boyd agrees that, “in Indian mythology there

is no equivalent conception of Māra.”39

In the face of these diametrically opposite scholarly currents, I argue that both sides are

essentially correct. The fact that Māra has parallels with Kāma and Yama is indisputable, as is

the fact that the figure coordinates the principles of desire and death in a manner unseen in other

Indian mythologies and traditions. This is not a situation in which either side has a better answer

to the question, “Did Māra originate as an innovation or appropriation?” Rather, this is a case in

which the question is ill-put and needs to be rephrased and, therefore, investigated from a

different angle.

This study undertakes just such a new angle on the role Māra plays in Buddhist

mythologies and traditions. I will argue in this dissertation that the two questions the previous

scholarship has not answered – i.e., “How did Māra originate?” and “What are Māra‟s social and

doctrinal functions?” – are actually intertwined. I will demonstrate how the figure of Māra is a

narrative code for Buddhist interactions with Brahmanical narratives, cosmologies, and doctrines

37
Ibid., pg. 197: “als die Personification des Ubels und des Todes und des ganzen Saṃsāra eine dem Buddhismus
eigenthumliche Gestalt geworden ist.” As a proper name, Windisch says this: “In der nichtbuddhistischen
Sanskritliteratur ist Māra als Eigenname ein seltenes Wort” (187).
38
Buddhism and the Mythology of Evil, pg. 46.
39
Satan and Māra, pg. 76.
 23

which permeated the Indian cultural milieu for centuries before the rise of renunciant groups.

Through the figure of Māra, Buddhist writers critiqued the concepts and assertions of their

religious and cultural rivals, inverting and subverting the prevailing cosmological and

sociological categories. The Māra myth is thus both an innovation and an appropriation. When

read in context and in conjunction with preceding and contemporary Brahmanical and (later)

Hindu myths of figures such as Kāma, Yama, and others, it becomes clear that Māra is indeed a

response to those figures, but in such a way that a Buddhist “spin” is evident. The nature of

Māra‟s origin and his socio-doctrinal role are thus not separate questions: I argue that Māra arose

as a Buddhist figure out of a need to forge a distinction from rival cultural groups as well as

assert characteristically Buddhist interpretations of perennial Indian philosophical and cultural

issues.

To carry out this argument, I have divided the dissertation into the following chapters.

Chapter two aims to accomplish several objectives. First, I critique the preceding scholarship in

further detail, particularly the common appellation “Buddhist Satan” which many scholars have

applied to Māra. Second, I discuss the way in which scholars ought to employ the term “evil” in

relation to Indian materials. Third, I outline the theoretical scheme by which I view religious

narratives, including a discussion and definition of the contested term “myth,” and the special

utility of narrative for studying social contest and debate. Chapter three discusses Māra as a

Buddhist critique, even satire, of Brahmanical creator deities, beginning with Prajāpati, but

concentrating most extensively on the classical Hindu figure Brahmā, who appears frequently in

the Pāli Canon. Chapter four investigates Māra‟s role in the Buddhist interpretation of the ascetic

versus Brahmin divide, particularly through comparison to narratives in which Indra destroys
 24

ascetics who threaten his position as king of the gods. I argue that Māra assumes Indra‟s position

in the Buddhist version of the contest, and that this substitution represents a Buddhist

reevaluation of the relationship between humans and gods as well as what constitutes proper

religious practice. Chapter five deals with Māra‟s relation to the Hindu god Kāma and the notion

of “desire” in general. In the first part of that chapter I compare narratives of the Buddha‟s

confrontation with Māra to Kāma‟s confrontation with Śiva, found in many Hindu texts. In the

second part of chapter five I focus special attention on the nymph-like apsarases,40 who bear

comparison to the daughters of Māra and raise the question of the gendering of death and the

ways in which Indian Buddhist literature used the character of Māra to demarcate gender roles.

Chapter six analyzes the particularly Buddhist approach to the universal quandary of death by

comparing Māra to the Brahmanical/Hindu figure of death, Yama. I will argue, in part, that the

two figures exist in a dialectical relationship: narratives of Māra as a fearsome figure play off

earlier Brahmanical depictions of Yama as regal and just, while later Purāṇic depictions of a

fearsome Yama show the influence – and adaptation – of Buddhist ideas.

The vitality and malleability of religious narrative is one of the themes of this study. Even

as, or perhaps precisely because, mythic narratives such as Māra versus the Buddha at Bodh-

Gayā evoke a sense of dazzling wonder at their spectacular events, these stories shape the way

individuals view the world and the societies in which they live. They have concrete social and

political effects from ordering how a society conceives of its place in the universe to how a

young boy undergoes monastic initiation. Myth is important, for the way it constructs a vision of

society as well as its ability, to which I personally attest, to cause a graduate student to remark,

40
Though cumbersome, this English rendering of the plural for apsaras is somewhat less so than the true nominative
plural of the Sanksrit word: apsarasaḥ.
 25

“what a story. Perhaps there‟s a dissertation in there somewhere.” If I can combine scholarly

rigor and complexity with a tinge of joy and wonder, I will have begun to do justice to both

senses of myth.
 26

Chapter 2:

Mistaking Māra: The Buddhist “Evil One” and the Study of Evil and Narrative in the History of
Religions
 27

Introduction

Perhaps due to the vast swath of material to which they have been applied, the terms

“myth” and “evil” have each had a long, contested history in the field of Religious Studies. As

such, it would be a mistake, or at least a demonstration of lack of disciplinary awareness, to

embark on a project utilizing either concept without an explicit discussion of how one

understands these terms. It is thus all the more important in the present work, which invokes both

“myth” and “evil,” to offer my understanding of those terms relative to this project. Beyond that

simple act of definition, however, part of what I will also argue in this chapter is that oversights

and imprecision in prior works on Māra are owed to miscalculations in the understanding and

usage of these terms, both ideologically and, in relation to Indian materials, historically and

contextually. There are three primary issues which have colored preceding treatments of Māra:

1.) the privileging of philosophy over narrative, 2.) the transference of Western notions such as

“sin” onto Indian concepts of evil, and 3.) the persistent comparison (even equation, at times) of

Māra with the Christian figure of Satan. As I will demonstrate, these issues are largely

interrelated, woven into the tapestry of a discourse which, though sometimes internally

inconsistent, does not waver in locating mythology as an inferior form of religious expression by

filtering its symbols through Western categories. In the following chapter, I will trace how these

trends have affected scholarly perceptions of Māra to this day, finally outlining the method on

which this dissertation is based. In short, I will argue that the best means of overcoming these

past biases is to recontextualize narratives of Māra as a figure at the nexus of Buddhist and

Brahmanical dialogical appropriation and contestation.

 28

I. The Theoretical Issues of Past Scholarship

Māra through the Lens of “Narrative Degeneracy”

In 1895, Ernst Windisch published the first major work devoted to the Māra mythology,

Māra und Buddha. In keeping with German philological approaches of the late 19 th century,

Windisch‟s perspective owes a great deal to the work of Max Müller. Müller argued that gods,

monsters, and other supernatural figures originally stem from a linguistic process in which words

for natural forces are gradually personified as agents.41 A Müllerian interpretation sees narrative

and mythic figures as derivative and a secondary process of linguistic misunderstanding. Clearly

operating under these concepts, Windisch develops a chronology for the Māra mythology in

which the figure originates in the Buddha‟s purely poetic description of how his teaching can

help followers conquer death. In this way, the Buddha merely would have been using figures of

speech current in his time.42 According to Windisch, Māra shifts from this originally purely

metaphorical usage into a debate opponent (essentially a straw man) for the Buddha in texts like

the Mārasaṃyutta of the Saṃyutta Nikāya. The symbol at that point diverged from its original

metaphorical meaning and intention, but Māra‟s appearances were still confined to “einfachen

Geschichten” (“simple stories”) of primarily philosophical content.43 That situation changed over

time, however, as these simple stories expand into the greatly detailed “grotesken kampf”

41
See Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion, pgs. 179-180. For example, on this basis Müller argues that
“Rudra” (which can mean, among other things, “howl,” or “roar”) was once merely an early Indian term for
powerful wind storms and, over time, the word developed a life of its own and came to be seen as a god of storms
(202).
42
Māra und Buddha,pg. 185: “Ich zweifle nicht daran, dass schon Buddha selbst von gesprochen hat, indem er
dabei an geläufige Vorstellungen seiner Zeit anknüpfte.”
43
Ibid., pg. 204.
 29

between Māra and the Buddha found in texts such as Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita, the

Lalitavistara, and Nidānakathā.44

A fatal difficulty with this assessment lies in its assumption that narrative is necessarily a

late development, and thus removed from a tradition‟s original intentions. Operating under that

belief, Windisch orders Buddhist texts into a chronology of increasing narrative elaboration,

resulting in a theory of the Māra mythology which locates its more detailed stories as the latest,

the most removed from the founder‟s intention, and thus less original or authentic. This

assumption becomes untenable when one takes into account that the elaborate nature of an Indian

narrative does not necessarily translate into a later date. Indeed, Gregory Schopen has argued that

versions of narratives and texts often interpreted as early due to a “simple” portrayal of events

may have resulted from a process of “leveling” and borrowing between schools over time,

meaning they are actually quite late.45 Simply because a text appears at a certain time does not

mean the story it relates did not exist prior to that time. It is the case that Nikāya texts, such as

the Mārasaṃyutta, may go back as far as the 3rd century B.C.E. and narratives of the Buddha‟s

life recounting his battle with Māra, such as the Buddhacarita, are several centuries later.

Material evidence, however, such as the stūpa at Sāñcī, illustrates this battle from a time roughly

concurrent with or only slightly after the 3rd century B.C.E. date of the Nikāyas, suggesting the

narrative was probably known for some time before it was committed to a text.46

The discrepancy between historical evidence and Windisch‟s position reveals the

circularity of his argument: earlier accounts are simple, which we know because the simplest

44
Ibid.
45
Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, pg. 27.
46
See Peter Skilling, “Redaction, Recitation, and Writing: Transmission of the Buddha‟s Teaching in India in the
Early Period,” in Buddhist Manuscript Cultures: Knowledge, Ritual, and Art, ed. Stephen Berkwitz, et al., pgs. 65
and 68.
 30

accounts are the earliest. Even more telling is the relationship between the terms he uses to

characterize his supposed textual progression: “ursprung,” “einfache,” and “groteske.”

Connected to “ursprung,” and the idea that Māra was originally a metaphor imparted by a purely

rational founder, is the tendency to read Buddhism as a preeminently philosophical tradition. By

that view, narrative constitutes a digression which varies over time in severity (from “einfache”

to “groteske”), but still deviates from an original tradition. Narrative is thus a less authentic form

of religious expression in Windisch‟s view, and this presumption leads him to foreclose on the

potential significance of Māra narratives.

A later work dealing with Māra, Buddhism and the Mythology of Evil by Trevor Ling,

though occasionally critical of Māra und Buddha, ultimately serves to restate and reinforce

Windisch‟s conclusion, if not his approach. In that work, Ling deals with Māra narratives in the

Pāli Canon and distances himself from Windisch‟s tendentious assumptions on textual

chronology.47 Instead, he anchors his approach in a distinction between “animistic” and

Buddhistic worldviews: the former is outward-looking, while the latter “pays primary attention

to the inner disposition of the individual.”48 As further support of this determination, Ling states

that when deciding what is or is not “essential Buddhist doctrine,” one ought to use the

Abhidharma, the philosophical collections in the Pāli Canon.49 This is opposed to another section

of the Canon, the Sutta Piṭaka, or story literature, which is “mixed with conventional truth to suit

the mind of the average man.”50

47
Buddhism and the Mythology of Evil, pg. 49.
48
Ibid., pg. 27-28.
49
Ibid., pg. 31.
50
Ibid.
 31

Having laid these premises as his foundation, Ling concludes that the Māra symbol

resulted from a conflation of a popular, animistic worldview and the philosophy of the Buddhist

Abhidharma. He puts the point in this way:

The symbol of Māra the Evil One, embodying at its most

prominent features the ills of human existence and their
hidden roots, bears a close resemblance to the general
shape of early Buddhist doctrine. What differentiates it
from these abstract expressions of doctrine are the
grotesque features which link it with popular demonology. 51

As the emphasis I have inserted into the passage highlights, Ling characterizes the “popular

demonology” in the same tone and language that Windisch bestowed upon narratives:

“grotesque.” While he does not adopt Windisch‟s linear view of gradual degeneration of

philosophy into mythology, instead postulating a concurrent marriage between the two, Ling

maintains the same hierarchy, locating narrative expression among, in his words, the “strands of

gross, popular demonology.” 52 Noting the absence of discussion of Māra in the Abhidharma,

Ling explains this absence by claiming that, “[Māra] is a feature which may well be dispensed

with at the more advanced stage of development represented by the Abhidharma.” 53 From this

perspective, the symbol of Māra is but the handmaiden of philosophy, culled from an “animistic”

worldview to serve as a vehicle for an abstract Buddhist Abhidharma.

In many ways, Ling‟s approach seems largely indebted to Robert Redfield‟s concept of

the “Great and Little Traditions,” which, respectively, consist of a reflective, philosophical few

embroiled in a contest of tradition with the unreflective many. 54 Just as intervening scholarship

undercut Windisch‟s Müllerian claims, we can draw upon recent works to problematize Ling‟s

51
Ibid., pg. 62. My emphasis.
52
Ibid., pg. 77.
53
Ibid., pg. 73.
54
See for example, Peasant Society and Culture, pg. 72.
 32

application of Redfield‟s thesis to this material. Robert DeCaroli, for instance, has argued on the

basis of inscriptional and artistic evidence that nāgas, yakṣas (Pāli, yakkha), and other beings

frequently characterized as “popular” figures, actually played a central role in the daily and ritual

lives of Buddhist monks.55 Gail Hinich Sutherland, in Disguises of the Demon, makes a similar

point, demonstrating how yakṣa narratives in Buddhism play an important role in the

cosmological view of the tradition.56 In the face of these studies, it is hard to postulate the stark

division between popular demonology and purely philosophical Indian Buddhism that Ling uses

to build his case for Māra as a bridge between those realms. In the face of a purely philosophical

Buddhism, mythology becomes an outsider or an interloper, a paradox the scholar must resolve,

rather than a natural part of the tradition. Writing on this very point, and attributing the

aforementioned outlook to an “evolutionary mindset,” DeCaroli comments that, “all evidence of

contact between Buddhism and popular spirit religions of the time had to be explained in terms

of conflict or reluctant concession to the masses.” 57 This, in some sense, is the impression one

gets from both Windisch and Ling: both assert a hierarchical, evolutionary relationship between

myth and philosophy, differing only in that one perceives a downward slide while the other sees

potential for an upward slope.

This discrimination between philosophy and myth in Buddhist Studies, to the detriment

of the latter, is not limited to Windisch and Ling, especially regarding the Māra mythology.

Alfred Foucher, writing not long after Ling, described the Lalitavistara account of Māra‟s

confrontation with the Buddha as “drowning in extravagance.” 58 Leaving little doubt as to his

55
Haunting the Buddha, pg. 84.
56
See especially pgs. 105-114.
57
Haunting the Buddha, pg. 7.
58
Life of the Buddha, pg. 105
 33

view of the relative importance, after recounting the narrative, Foucher seemingly breathes a sigh

of relief that he can, in his words, “put aside these fantasies and turn to reason.” 59 Before we

relegate this perception to a bygone day of scholarship, it is clear that the impulse to dismiss

mythology still creeps up, and in surprising places. For example, and again in relation to Māra,

Peter Harvey writes in An Introduction to Buddhism that “this account [Māra confronting the

Buddha], clearly portraying the final inner struggle of Gotama, gains dramatic color in the later

texts.”60 Though less blatant than Ling‟s characterization, one can read Harvey‟s description as

flowing from the same vein: narrative makes sense only as the expression of an interior

experience or philosophical abstraction. Additionally, by assuming the “colorful” versions come

about only as a later accretion, Harvey could be speaking for Windisch. The perceptions of Māra

espoused by Windisch and Ling, though repudiated by much recent scholarship, are still alive

and well.

Māra through the lens of Christianity: the “Buddhist Satan”

Another hallmark of the scholarship on Māra, which I will show is also ultimately related

to the same assumptions and prejudices about narrative, is an almost ubiquitous comparison to

the Christian figure of Satan. From a Western-centric point of view, this comparison seems to

make sense: if Jesus and the Buddha are analogous founder/savior figures, their antagonists must

line up as well. This certainly was Windisch‟s view: “Before his appearance as the preacher of a

59
Ibid., pg. 114. Peter Skilling observes that the earliest narratives of the Buddha‟s life which contain so-called
“colorful” details tend to appear around the same time Buddhist texts were probably committed to writing (first
century or so of the common era) and that the technology of writing allowed for the elaboration of detail. While an
interesting point that potentially explains some aspects of the developing narrative, Skilling‟s point is contradicted
somewhat by the existence of depictions of some of these “colorful” details (such as Māra‟s army or Māra‟s
daughters) at monuments like Sāñcī, which predate the writing of texts. See “Redaction, Recitation, and Writing:
Transmission of the Buddha‟s Teaching in the Early Period,” pg. 72.
60
An Introduction to Buddhism, pg. 21.
 34

salvation doctrine, the Buddha was attacked or tempted by Māra, like Christ by the Devil.”61 Due

to the widespread appearances of the comparison, however, it seems likely there are a variety of

motivations. At times it seems almost a throwaway phrase meant to quickly, however

inefficiently, render the foreign figure of Māra more familiar to a Western audience. In this

category, we find scholars such as Edward Conze, who, in Buddhism: its Essence and

Development, remarks briefly that “Māra corresponds to Satan.”62 Similarly, Hermann

Oldenberg considered Māra a “Satanic personality.” 63 Finally, both Rupert Gethin and Peter

Harvey gloss Māra as “Satan-like” in their introductory texts.64

These characterizations persist despite the existence of obvious and fundamental

dissimilarities between the figures. For instance, in most Christian theologies, Satan is a fallen

being who represents rebellion against a creator god, while Māra himself is a god who attained

his divine position via the accumulation of merit in past lives. It is partly this kind of dissonance

to which John Strong refers when he writes, “Māra is often thought of as a demonic figure, the

Buddhist equivalent of Satan, but this is somewhat misleading.” 65 While agreeing with Strong, I

would argue this persistent equivalence is actually greatly misleading and it is incumbent upon

us not only to recognize it, but also seek out its source. As I have already suggested, I contend it

is rooted in the aforementioned discourse privileging philosophy over narrative, a relationship

which is borne out by a return to an investigation of the primary scholarly works on Māra.

61
Māra und Buddha, pg. 1: “Buddha wird vor seiner Auftreten als Verkünder einer erlösenden Lehre von Māra
versucht oder angegriffen, wie Christus vom Diablos.” It is revealing that this statement not only appears on the first
page of Windisch‟s work, but it is also the very first sentence.
62
Buddhism: Its Essence and Development, pg. 35.
63
The Doctrine of the Upaniṣads and the Early Buddhism, pg. 60.
64
Respectively, The Foundations of Buddhism, pg. 23 and An Introduction to Buddhism, pg. 19.
65
The Buddha: a Short Biography, pg. 70.
 35

Besides Windisch and Ling, there is a third work which dwells intensively on the figure

of Māra, Satan and Māra: Christian and Buddhist Symbols of Evil by James Boyd. Boyd‟s work

is situated in a different methodological approach than his predecessors. As the title suggests,

Boyd‟s predominant concern is comparing the two mythological figures and to that end he

employs a phenomenological approach intended to reveal the “experience of evil” common to

both traditions.66 Though he resolves the textual appearances of Māra into various categories

suggestive of an independently existing entity – titled “possession,” “obstruction,” and so forth –

he concludes that “Māra‟s role is essentially one of encouraging man‟s [sic] own inclination

toward sense desires rather than actively enticing him [sic] as an external agent.”67

This tendency to read the figure of Māra as representing an individual‟s internal

processes and struggles is in conjunction with Boyd‟s predilection to interpret the category of

“experience” as entirely internalized. While aspects of Boyd‟s study are impressively detailed

and astute (for example, one could point to his thorough analysis of Māra‟s position in the

Buddhist cosmology),68 his preoccupation with experience leads him to regard all occurrences of

Māra as allegorical for mental or physical processes, despite their possible significance to a

wider social or historical context. For example, in discussing Māra‟s role as an obstructer, Boyd

quite plausibly suggests that stories in which Māra creates atmospheric or physical disturbances

around bhikkhus might symbolize the potential obstacles to meditation any monk must

66
Satan and Māra, pg. 1.
67
Ibid., pg. 83. On this score one could also cite Robert Warren Clark‟s unpublished dissertation, Māra and the
Psychopathology of Evil in Indian and Tibetan Buddhism, University of Virginia, 1994. Clark examines some Māra
stories from a psychoanalytic point of view, interpreting the figure as the projection of an individual‟s neuroses. The
majority of the incidents and texts discussed in the dissertation, however, deal with Tibetan demonic figures, and
thus lie outside the scope of this project.
68
Ibid., pg. 111-113.
 36

overcome.69 The difficulty occurs when Boyd applies the same frame to instances, such as in the

Dīgha and Majjhima Nikāyas, in which Māra is said to possess celestial Brahmās or earthly

Brahmins.70 According to Boyd, these stories were intended only to indicate how difficult a task

a bhikkhu faces in eradicating the internal distractions Māra represents – even the gods and

priests cannot do it!71 This could be a plausible reading, but Boyd unfortunately does not provide

any external justification for his claim other than the presumption that all appearances of Māra

can be traced back to the notion of internalized experience. He does not even entertain the

possibility that stories, such as the aforementioned ones in the Dīgha and Majjhima Nikāyas,

which explicitly mention persons and figures belonging to other social groups, might have a

sociological rather than psychological resonance.

The reasoning behind Boyd‟s eschewal of such seemingly obvious questions becomes

more explicit in the later stages of his work, when he commences his comparison between Māra

and Satan in earnest. The basis for that comparison is the famous experiential categories

expounded by Rudolf Otto – the “numinous” and mysterium tremendum et fascinans.72

According to Boyd, both early Christians and Buddhists interpreted their mythologies in one of

two ways: as an actual event, which he considers the behavior of the “non-reflective mind,” or as

an experience pointing to a higher meaning, which is the interpretation of the “reflective mind.” 73

Though he highlights and acknowledges some differences between the two mythologies, Boyd

comes to the conclusion that Satan and Māra play the same role in their respective traditions,

69
Ibid., pg. 92.
70
For instance, see DN II 262 and MN I 334.
71
Ibid., pgs. 93-95.
72
Ibid., pg. 138.
73
Ibid., pg. 137.
 37

namely as a metaphor for reflective mentalities and elevating and enriching the experiences of

the non-reflective mentality.74

Once Boyd invokes Otto toward the end of his study, it is easy to see that thinker‟s

fingerprints throughout the preceding text. A brief synopsis of Otto‟s theory will help us dust for

those prints in Satan and Māra. Otto‟s concern in Das Heilige (the work which obviously led

Boyd to his understanding of the mysterium tremendum and contrary mythological mentalities),

is to identify and explain the sui generis core of religion. He finds that core in what he calls the

numinous, by which he means “a uniquely numinous category of interpretation, value, and state

of mind.”75 The experience of the numinous is characterized by “kreaturgefühl,” creature-feeling

or consciousness, which is the feeling of a being “absorbed and disappeared in its own

nothingness in opposition to that which is above all creatures.”76 It is to this feeling that Otto

bestows the name mysterium tremendum, a feeling which contains awe as well as fear and is

experienced as an outside force.77

Having gotten this far, we can already better appreciate aspects of Boyd‟s argument and

why he poses certain questions and avoids others. Most prominent in this regard is his

aforementioned predilection to interpret appearances of Māra as allegorical for mental states and

their obstructions, eschewing the possibility that these instances could be devices for sociological

commentary. Steeped in the framework of Otto‟s numinous, Boyd is bound to interpret events

74
Ibid., pg. 139.
75
Das Heilige, pg. 7: “von einer eigentümlichen numionosen Deutungs- und Bewertungs kategorie und einer
numinosen Gemüts-gestimmtheit…”
76
Ibid., pg. 10: “das Gefühl der Kreatur, die in ihrem eigenen Nichts versinkt und vergeht gegenüber dem, was über
aller Kreatur ist.”
77
Ibid., pgs. 13-15.
 38

with an obvious social reading as actually the objective manifestation of what, in reality, is really

an internal experience.

Otto‟s influence goes even deeper, though, also forming the apparent background for

Boyd‟s reflective/non-reflective dichotomy, so fundamental to his comparison of Satan and

Māra. Tracing the history of the numinous and mysterium tremendum and speaking particularly

to his theory‟s application to the demonic, Otto contends that “the development of all religious

history proceeds from this first breakthrough in the mind of primitive humanity.” 78 The

conceptions of both gods and demons stem from the mysterium tremendum of the numinous, but

not all conceptualizations are equal, as some are still stuck in the more crude or brutish (“rohen”)

understanding characteristic of humanity‟s primitive forbears due to their inability to rationalize

and moralize their experiences.79 Christianity, on the other hand, which has most thoroughly

rationalized and moralized its experiences of the numinous, exemplifies the other end of the

spectrum.80

In this context, Boyd‟s division of the appreciation of mythology into the reflective and

non-reflective takes on new meaning. As the categories are derivative of Otto, they take on

Otto‟s same hierarchy, but in an altered sense. Whereas Otto posits the superiority of Christian

religious experience (rational and moral) over that of other traditions (relegated to the brutish or

crude), Boyd retains the distinction but rearranges the hierarchy in terms of kinds of religious

experience rather than kinds of religious tradition. In this way, the reflective mentality is that

78
Ibid., pg. 16: “Von ihm und seinem ersten Durchbruche in den Gemütern der Urmenscheit ist alle religions-
geschichtliche Entwicklung ausgegangen.”
79
Ibid., pgs. 163-165.
80
Ibid., pg. 94. This should come as no surprise to careful readers, for Otto begins his work with a reference to
Christianity‟s “überlegenheit” (superiority) over other religions (2), as well as its possession of the numinous in
unparalleled vigor and power, relative to other traditions (6).
 39

which sees past the mythological symbol to its rational and moral utility, while the non-reflective

mind is stuck in the more literal interpretation, which Otto might call “crude,” and still in need of

“enlargement and enrichment of meaning.”81

Having recovered Otto‟s prints, we can thus recognize the Christian theological prism

through which Boyd has filtered the Māra mythology. But while Boyd‟s consideration that both

the Satan and Māra myths are non-reflective is a shift from Otto‟s Christo-centric scheme, this

move is entirely in keeping with his predecessor in Māra scholarship, Trevor Ling. In the last

chapter of his work, Ling also considers comparisons with Satan and, like Boyd, finds a central

similarity. First of all, as he does with Māra, Ling asserts that the figure of Satan “is a

mythological development emerging from a background of profuse popular demonology,”

except among “Semitic” rather than South Asian peoples.82 He writes further that the

demonology out of which Satan sprung is alike in character to that which produced Māra. Both

are outward-looking rather than philosophical and “represented a rudimentary attempt to explain

and deal with the hostile, horrific and mysterious experiences of life.”83 As such, Ling reiterates

his stance that mythology is, at best, subordinate to or anticipatory of philosophy or ethics. The

function of both Satan and Māra as symbols is “to facilitate a transition of viewpoint for those

accustomed to thinking in demonic terms…the mythological figures are means to an end, rather

than ends in themselves.”84 Finally, he offers what he obviously considers a dire warning to

those who would consider otherwise. He writes that,

to regard Satan [as other than a bridging symbol] is to have

slipped back into primitive demonology, rather than to have

81
Boyd, Satan and Māra, pg. 139.
82
Buddhism and the Mythology of Evil, pg. 81.
83
Ibid.
84
Ibid., pg. 90.
 40

been pointed forward by the symbol to a realization of the

universal, cosmic hostility which [humanity] encounters in
[its] strivings after that which has been revealed to him. All
this is equally true of Māra.85

Given the preceding, rather than suggest that the notion of Māra as “Satanic,” or even the

“Buddhist Satan,” stems merely from the insensitive application of Christian categories (though

undoubtedly it is partly that), I believe another discourse about the very definition and nature of

religion is at work. Indeed, it is highly suggestive that in both Boyd and Ling there is a close

connection between the comparison of Māra to Satan and the dismissal of myth as the

manifestation of a primitive consciousness. What the link implies is not so much that Māra is the

Buddhist version of the Devil, but that the figure is the Buddhist version of Christian

superstition. In other words, the rhetoric is primarily directed toward delegitimating narrative and

mythology, here understood as the primitive cacophony of the masses, in favor of the philosophy

and ethics of a supposedly rational elite. The table in figure one will help to make these linkages

between the theorists more apparent.

Windisch Ling Boyd

Philosophy Original religion Great Tradition Reflective

Myth Degeneration Little Tradition Non-reflective

Theoretical influence Müller Redfield Otto

Compares Māra to No Yes Yes

Satan
Fig. 1

This table demonstrates the close affiliation of a dichotomy between supposedly high and

low, rational and non-rational religion and the tendency to compare Māra to Satan. A glaring

85
Ibid.
 41

exception exists in the case of Windisch, however. As we have seen at the beginning of this

section, Windisch begins his study with a direct comparison between Māra and Satan, as well as

the Buddha and Jesus. Yet when he returns to the issue of a relation between Māra and Satan

later in the book, his primary concern rests in whether or not the Buddhist mythology directly

influenced the accounts of Satan and Jesus in the New Testament. On the basis of the

etymological difference in the names “Māra” and “Satan,” Windisch discounts the possibility of

diffusion.86 More revealing, however, is a further point in which Windisch specifically rejects the

prospect that the narratives of Māra‟s confrontation with the Buddha at Bodh-Gayā could be

connected to the temptations of Jesus by Satan in the Christian New Testament: “All these

passages are connected to the grotesque form of Māra‟s attack on the Bodhisattva, which could

not in any case be the source of the narratives of the gospels.” 87 The use of the word “grotesque”

is once again significant, for it points to the fundamental reason behind Windisch‟s reluctance to

concede any relation, diffusionary or otherwise, between the Māra and Satan mythologies.

Maintaining consistency in his thinking, Windisch seems to realize that were he to admit to a

similarity between the mythologies, he would be forced to label Christian narratives “grotesque”

as well.

Also responsible for this distinction between Boyd and Ling on the one hand and

Windisch on the other is the difference in their evolutionary paradigms, mentioned briefly at an

earlier point in this chapter. For the sake of making the point as clear as possible, the

evolutionary schemes of all three theorists are detailed in table two below.

86
Māra und Buddha, pg. 218: “Die namen der Beiden sind ganz verschieden, auch ihrer etymologischen Bedeutung
nach.”
87
Ibid., pg. 217: “Aber alle diese stellen schliessen sich an die groteske form von Māra‟s Angriff auf den
Bodhisattva an, die auf keinen Fall die Quelle der Erzählungin den Evangelien sein könnte.”
 42

Stages of Religious Windisch Ling Boyd

development:
Original Philosophy Myth Myth

Intermediary Metaphorical Māra Symbolic Māra/Satan Symbolic Māra/Satan

Current Myth Philosophy Philosophy

Fig. 2

As this diagram illustrates, while all three see an evolutionary relationship between myth

and philosophy, Windisch, as a proponent of Müller‟s notions of linguistic degeneration, sees a

downward slide from pure philosophy to metaphorical mentions of Māra to the grotesque myths

of the battle at Bodh-Gayā. He is not willing, however, to admit that Christianity, at least at the

time of the writing of the New Testament, had sunk to the same level of “grotesque” expression.

Ling and Boyd, on the other hand, argue that Māra and Satan both arise from a primitive, non-

reflective mindset and are harnessed by a philosophical elite to serve as symbolic bridges to a

greater truth. In their cases, the label “Buddhist Satan” is just as much a comment about

Christianity as Buddhism. That is, working from the presupposition that philosophy constitutes

higher or proper religious practice or understanding, the arguments of Boyd and Ling are also a

statement about the narrative aspects of Christianity which do not “count” as much as the so-

called “rational” elements. Here the “other,” in the form of the Buddhist symbol Māra, is

encountered as a mirror image for the supposed vices and virtues of their own tradition, with an

evolutionary paradigm coloring the reflection.

The co-occurrence of a tendency to divide society into philosophical and animistic

classes on the one hand and lumping Māra together with Satan is not limited to the arguments of

Ling and Boyd. For example, in their respective anthropological studies of Śrī Lankan and

Burmese Buddhism, Michael Ames and Melford Spiro both delineate the subjects of their studies
 43

into Great and Little traditions. For his part, Ames strongly distinguishes between pursuits of

laukika (the worldly, profane realm of animism and magic) and lokottora (the supramundane,

sacred realm of monks and nirvāṇa). Māra, who according to Ames, “is to the Buddha as the

Devil is to Christ” belongs to rituals associated with animism and demons.88 In argumentation

reminiscent of Ling, Ames contends that laukika symbols and rituals, such as Māra, are

“transitional devices that mediate between the profane world and sacred Buddhist concerns.”89 In

this perspective, neither the “common people” nor mythic narratives qualify as being or having a

sacred concern.

Similarly, Melford Spiro begins his study of Burmese Buddhism with the observation

that the culture is replete with “animistic beliefs and practices” which constitute a very different,

and competing, religion alongside Buddhism.90 In this context, Māra belongs more to animistic

concerns and should be regarded as “the Buddhist Satan.”91 Should one trace Spiro‟s premises to

their logical conclusion, since 1.) animism constitutes a different religion than Buddhism, and 2.)

Māra is animistic in character, it thereby follows that 3.) Māra is not really Buddhist at all, let

alone “the Buddhist Satan.” The only way in which Spiro‟s statement makes sense is if it is

intended to suggest that the Māra mythology is a vestigial structure or popular accretion onto

“real” Buddhism, in the same way that Satan is parasitic on “rational” Christianity.

For several decades now the field of anthropology has moved away from the stark social

dichotomy of “Great” and “Little” traditions, as well as questioned the very stability of the

concept of “animism.” Scholars such as Gananath Obeyesekere and Stanley Tambiah have long

88
“Magical Animism and Buddhism: A Structural Analysis of the Sinhalese Religious System,” The Journal of
Asian Studies, pg. 24.
89
“Buddha and the Dancing Goblins: A Theory of Magic and Religion,” pg. 80.
90
Burmese Supernaturalism, pgs.3-5.
91
Ibid., pg. 46.
 44

since demonstrated the shortcomings of such approaches.92 Yet, as we have seen, the designation

of Māra as “Satan-like” persists, even into introductory texts such as those of Gethin and Harvey,

seemingly without any awareness of the problematic history and genealogy of that comparison.

Continuing this tendentious comparison, even in introductory contexts in which it might seem

innocuous, perpetuates a covert discourse on what counts as authentic religious expression and,

correspondingly, what does not. Even John Strong – who, if we recall, was a lone voice in

labeling the Māra/Satan comparison “misleading” – in his otherwise outstanding book on the cult

of Upagupta in Southeast Asia, raises the subject of Māra, only to direct readers to none other

than Windisch, Ling, and Boyd for more information.93 While the scholarly discourse has begun

to account for the conditions which produced the notion of the “Buddhist Satan,” the scholarly

perspective on Māra lags behind.

Defining “Evil” in an Indian Context

Of similar concern and import to this study is the definition of the term “evil.” Given the

history of theoretical and theological biases in past interpretations of the Māra mythology, the

issue at stake is not mere semantics. We must tread carefully and deliberately in the use of

terminology such as “evil,” which is ripe for similar abuse. Indeed, there is at least the tone of

such thinking in the standard translation of Māra‟s frequent appellation “pāpimā”/“pāpmā”

(Pāli/Sanskrit). Generally rendered, “the Evil One,” this translation implies that Māra is the

embodiment of evil, a figure dualistically opposed to all that is good and true. 94 Grammatically,

however, this represents a very strong reading of the respective texts. For example, in the first

92
For the former, see “The Great Tradition and the Little in the Perspective of Sinhalese Buddhism,” The Journal of
Asian Studies, pgs. 139-153. For the latter, see Buddhism and the Spirit Cults of Northeast Thailand.
93
The Legend and Cult of Upagupta, pg. 95, n. 1 (315).
94
For just a few examples, see the translations of the Saṃyutta Nikāya by Bhikkhu Bodhi, pg. 195 and The
Perfection of Wisdom Literature in Eight Thousand Lines by Edward Conze, pg. 166.
 45

few verses of the Mārasaṃyutta of the Saṃyutta Nikāya, Māra approaches the Buddha and is

referred to as “Māro pāpimā.”95 In this verse, “Māro” and “pāpimā” (which is declined from

“pāpimant”) both take the nominative case and “pāpimā” stands in an adjectival relationship to

“Māro,” providing “evil Māra” as a more literal translation. As I suggested, “Māra, the Evil One”

implies that Māra is the embodiment and repository of all things corrupt and malign, while “evil

Māra” connotes that the figure possesses certain of these characteristics, but is not necessarily

their instantiation. That “Māra, the Evil One” and “evil Māra” represent competing readings of

the text raises the question as to which is more appropriate in terms of the nature of the Māra

mythology, and also how the nature of “evil” is understood in Indian culture. These questions are

certainly related, but the first will evolve more as the dissertation progresses. To allow that

development to occur, we must deal first with the second matter, the notion of “evil” in Indian

culture.

Starting with the dictionary definitions of “pāpman” and “pāpimant,” both the Sanskrit

and Pāli terms are derivative of the term “pāpa,” so rendered in both languages. For pāpa, M.

Monier-Williams gives “bad, vicious, wicked, evil.”96 For the Pāli version, Rhys-Davids gives

“evil, bad, wicked, sinful.”97 The primary discrepancy is the lack of the notion of “sin” in

Monier-Williams‟ definition, though he does include that meaning for pāpman, so we can be

justified in saying that “sin” could be a broader part of the understanding of pāpa.98 At first

glance, based on these definitions, two principal issues arise. First, “evil” and “bad” operate at

95
SN I 103: atha kho māro pāpimā bhagavato cetasā ceto-parivitakkam aññāya yena bhagavā ten-upasaṅkami.
Bhikkhu Bodhi renders the words “māro pāpimā,” as well as the later appearance of the same words in the
accusative (“māram pāpimantam”) as “Māra, the Evil One,” in both cases. Conze, for his part, translates the
Sanskrit “māro pāpmā” similarly into “Māra, the Evil One.”
96
Sanskrit-English Dictionary, pg. 618.
97
Pāli-English Dictionary, pg. 453.
98
Sanskrit-English Dictionary, pg. 619.
 46

very different levels of meaning. Which is meant by “Māro pāpimā?” Second, “sin” is a loaded

term unto itself. How should we understand and employ it in the Indian context, if at all?

Taking up the second issue first, we find that in his bid to better fit Māra into comparison

with the Christian understanding of Satan, Boyd claims that the Buddhist and Christian

experience of Māra and Satan respectively “was an experience which was disruptive of the bond

between him [sic] and what he [sic] considered sacred.”99 This, Boyd asserts, is the “sinful”

nature of both figures. The theory underlying these claims belongs to that espoused by Paul

Ricoeur in The Symbolism of Evil. According to Ricoeur, sin is a “violated relation” composed of

“missing the mark, deviation, rebellion, straying from the path…”100 In language which

resonates closely with Otto, Ricoeur goes on to say that in this state of sin, “the violated pact

makes God the Wholly Other and man [sic] Nothing in the presence of the Lord. It is the

moment of the „unhappy consciousness.‟”101

Proceeding from these premises, it is difficult to see how Māra or humans under Māra‟s

sway could be considered “sinful.” The absence of a supreme power in Indian Buddhism makes

it difficult to square the notion of “wholly otherness” with disobedience, either to the Buddha or

the dharma. Māra, on the other hand, is a deva, but rather than considered disobedience,

rupturing the bonds of Māra that keep one mired in saṃsāra is the goal of Buddhist practice and

teaching. The Buddhist overturning, subordination, and complication of notions of deity thus

makes Ricoeur‟s definition of “sin” a clumsy fit. Were we to extract one phrase from his

explanation, “missing the mark,” we might come closer, especially if this were taken in the sense

of “misguided” or “ignorant.” This could potentially apply to Buddhist notions of actions taken

99
Satan and Māra, pg. 163-164.
100
The Symbolism of Evil, pg. 74.
101
Ibid., pg. 81.
 47

without proper understanding of the three marks – non-self (anattā), impermanence (anicca), and

pain (dukkha) – which characterize all phenomena, even Māra. If “sin” is taken in the sense of

ignorance, those who have either no understanding of the dharma or have turned away from it,

including Māra, could be considered “sinful.” That being the case, and in order to avoid

misunderstandings of terminology, in such instances I think it is better to use “ignorant” rather

than “sinful” when appropriate.

On the first point, regarding the definition of “evil,” Martin Southwold argues that we

should distinguish between “weak” and “strong” notions of evil to understand the meaning of

pāpa in Buddhism. Southwold would render the weak sense of evil as synonymous with “bad” or

“unpleasant,” while the strong sense connotes radical and excessive “evil,” on the scale of the

actions of the Nazis during the holocaust, to use his example.102 Based on fieldwork in Śrī

Lanka, Southwold asserts that Buddhist traditions do not possess a notion of evil in the strong,

radical sense, leaving “bad” rather than “evil” the better translation for pāpa.103 Besides bringing

us closer to an understanding of “evil” in a South Asian context, Southwold‟s sensible distinction

supplies yet another reason for the inadequacy of the phrase “Buddhist Satan.” This free

comparison glazes over the different levels and meanings of “evil,” obscuring the significance of

the idea in both Christian and Buddhist contexts.

The attention Southwold brings to multiple uses and senses of the notion of “evil” and the

word pāpa are unfortunately lacking in the prior scholarship on Māra. Ling offers no position on

how he understands “evil” or its relationship to pāpa and Māra. Windisch similarly eschews

outright definition and slips fluidly between “bösen” (evil) and “übel” (ill or bad) to describe

102
“Buddhism and Evil,” in Anthropology of Evil, ed. David Parkin, pgs. 128-131.
103
Ibid., pg. 137.
 48

Māra. Boyd, unlike his predecessors, explicitly and cogently wrestles with the possibly different

senses of evil and pāpa, settling on what Southwold would call a “weak” meaning. Based on the

Western philosophical distinction between natural and moral evil, Boyd argues that Māra‟s

coextension with saṃsāra renders him more a natural evil, thus he prefers to translate pāpa as

“bad,” as in “bad weather.”104 To his further credit, Boyd also distinguishes between the senses

in which Satan and Māra are “evil,” noting that “Māra is not the hostile power which brings ruin

and end to life; rather he promotes life in saṃsāra and those pleasures that lead to its

continuation.”105

Though more nuanced than his predecessors, a few difficulties still seem to attach to

Boyd‟s position. Referring to Māra as “bad,” especially in the sense of “bad weather,” seems to

trivialize a deity who holds the dual powers of lust and destruction under his sway. We can also

question how well the distinction between “natural” and “moral” evils applies to the Indian

context in which natural evil can have a moral component and one can be morally culpable for

events and actions out of one‟s control.106 Additionally, Boyd himself does not ultimately adhere

to his own understanding of Māra as “bad,” choosing instead to cast the figure in a more radical,

evil sense as the persecutor of Buddhists in comparison to Satan‟s infliction of torment and

martyrdom on Christians.107 Pāpa is thus contextualized for Boyd, but the context seems to be

the necessity of comparison to a Western figure rather than any quality endemic to Indian

culture.

104
Satan and Māra, pgs. 158-159.
105
Ibid., pg. 155.
106
See Doniger (O‟Flaherty), Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pgs. 6-7.
107
Satan and Māra, pg. 163.
 49

In what sense, then, can or should we refer to Māra as “evil?” For the purposes of this

dissertation, I will approach pāpa in Indian Buddhism simply as that which opposes or distorts

the good. Māra fits this definition on two counts. In a Buddhist sense, the “good” is the teaching

of the Buddha and the knowledge that teaching inculcates about the reality of existence.

Buddhist narratives offer abundant instances in which Māra attempts to obstruct that teaching. In

his commentary on the Dīgha Nikāya, Dhammapāla glosses one of the Pāli epithets for Māra,

“Kaṇha” (“Dark One”), as meaning that the god is “possessed of the dark dharma,” in other

words, the wrong teaching.108 In the same passage, Dhammapāla glosses “pāpimā” in relation to

Māra as “ativiya pāpatāya,” meaning “excessively pāpa” (literally, “very much more pāpa”).109

Between the two glosses we gain the understanding that Māra is pāpa in the sense that he

opposes and attempts to obstruct the dharma, even to an “excessive” degree. Buddhaghoṣa,

commenting on the Saṃyutta Nikāya, further cements this portrayal, arguing that Māra is

“pāpimā” in that he “incites” (niyojeti) others to pāpa and “himself is tied to pāpa.”110

From this commentarial perspective, we can appreciate that if the Buddha‟s teaching

represents knowledge about the ephemeral nature of self and desire, Māra represents pāpa in his

attempts to blockade and otherwise prevent the spread of that knowledge. He therefore represents

ignorance, both by trying to cover up that knowledge, but also, as Buddhaghoṣa‟s explanation

intimates, by being ignorant of the dharma himself (i.e., he is “himself tied to pāpa”). As was

explained in the introduction, Buddhist texts speak of a succession of Māras, just as there has

been a succession of Buddhas, a fact of which the current Māra is unaware. While Māra‟s “evil”

nature as a god of death and desire has roots in earlier Indian mythology, in the ways described

108
Dīghāṭṭhakathāṭīka, II 193: kaṇhadhammasamannāgamato kaṇha.
109
Ibid.
110
Sāratthappakāsinī, pg. 169: sayaṃ vā pāpe niyutto ti pāpimā.
 50

above we can say he is evil in a characteristically Buddhist sense. One of the strengths of this

approach, I believe, is that it places pāpa in close connection to the Buddhist understanding of

life‟s endemic problem, dukkha. Meaning “suffering,” “dissatisfaction,” or most simply, “pain,”

dukkha ranges from the existential to the mundane and constitutes the dilemma the Buddha‟s

teaching aims to resolve. As the being who attempts to obscure the endemic quality of dukkha,

Māra seeks to trap beings in an endless cycle of dukkha, bordering on the line between weak and

strong notions of evil.

Importantly, though, I do not believe either Māra or pāpa cross the line into the radical,

excessive “evil” of Southwold‟s strong sense. Characterizing Māra as “the Evil One,” whether

intentionally or not, imparts a sense of radical duality inappropriate to the nature of the figure:

rather than an eternal force or abstract presence, Māra is in some ways a cog in the saṃsāric

machinery he represents and defends. On the other hand, Māra in a weak sense (“the bad”)

dilutes the scope and power Buddhist texts ascribe to the god, not to mention his insidious role in

perpetuating the cycle of dukkha. This blending of strong and weak senses of evil, possibly

unique to the Buddhist understanding of reality, argues for the retention of the term “evil,” but in

a non-radical sense. Therefore, in this dissertation I will translate and understand Māro

pāpmā/Māro pāpimā as “evil Māra,” in an adjectival sense, with a lower-case “e,” staying true to

the figure‟s cosmological placement and character as well as its connection to saṃsāra and

dukkha.
 51

II. A New Approach

Myth Matters

Throughout this review of past literature and issues central to this project, we have seen

how the scholarship on Māra is outmoded, relying largely on discredited or at least

problematized theories. Descriptions of the nature of the figure and his mythology in current

scholarship have yet to catch up. Here in the final section of this chapter, I will describe the

methodology of this dissertation and propose the new approach in which I read the Māra

mythology as embedded in a dialogue with Indian cultural and narrative motifs. This approach

acts in a positive as well as a negative sense. First, I intend it as a corrective against the often

tendentious comparisons, categories, and theoretical hierarchies imposed by previous studies. By

reclaiming and restoring mythic narrative as a legitimate form of religious expression, rather than

subordinate or inferior to philosophy, we can begin to see Māra‟s crucial role in Buddhist social

delineation and identification. In this way, the subtitle of this section has a double meaning:

“myth matters,” meaning “myth” as a subject of study and how I define it, but also that “myth”

matters, asserting that these kinds of narratives might have had a concrete social impact. The

task of this dissertation is to reveal how the Māra myth can be read as creating this kind of

impact in Indian Buddhism.

In terms of reading Indian literature and mythology as a tapestry of interconnected

discourses, like the jumbled voices of a heated conversation, this study draws on a strong thread

of scholarship. A.K. Ramanujan has written that Indian civilization, “if it can be described at all,

has to be described in terms of…dynamic interrelations between different traditions and their
 52

texts, ideologies, social arrangements and so forth.” 111 To capture how Indian myths encapsulate

this tendency, Wendy Doniger uses the term “metamyth.” A metamyth, in her words, is “a text

that reflects self-consciously on another myth…myths that play explicitly against earlier variants

of the classic story.” 112 It would be incorrect, however, to read this argument as asserting that all

Indian myths are derivative of a primordial, ur-myth. Rather, as Doniger argues elsewhere, “the

myth that is reassembled from „the same‟ parts, even a variant that presents „the same‟ parts in

„the same‟ order, may take on a new meaning and become a different myth within a single

culture.”113 In the dialogue between or within traditions, mythic narratives cross-pollinate and

interact, affect, deflect, and even infect one another.

Unfortunately, as we have seen, to this point such an approach has not been taken to the

Māra mythology. Read through the lens of comparative and theoretical biases, the narratives

have lost the role they played for Buddhist communities in dialogue and competition with rival

sects and traditions. Other scholars have carried out studies applied to different sectors of

Buddhism more sensitive to these concerns. In the realm of philosophy, Joanna Jurewicz has

argued that the Buddhist concept of pratītyasamutpāda was formulated partly as a polemic

against Vedic cosmology and epistemology. 114 Similarly, dealing with Buddhist philosophical

concepts, in Selfless Persons, Steven Collins points out that the central concept of anātman (Pāli,

anattā) came about as a response to and critique of Brahmanical notions of self.115 What these

scholars have done in the realm of philosophy, I intend to carry out for Buddhist narratives of

111
“Where Mirrors are Windows: Toward an Anthology of Reflections,” History of Religions, pg. 191.
112
Other People‟s Myths, pg. 101.
113
The Implied Spider, pg. 42.
114
“Playing with Fire: The Pratītyasamutpāda from the Perspective of Vedic Thought,” pgs. 77-103.
115
Selfless Persons: Imagery and Thought in Theravāda Buddhism. See especially where Collins argues that in the
time of the rise of renunciant movements such as Buddhism, Brahmanical thought carried such “cultural prestige”
that no discourse could be created which did not in some way incorporate or critique those paradigms (32).
 53

Māra. Richard Gombrich has written that “to see the genesis of the Buddha‟s teaching as

conditioned by the religious milieu in which it arose is to adopt a truly Buddhist viewpoint which

I also believe to be good historiography.” 116 If we take Gombrich‟s statement and challenge

seriously, we must realize that any understanding of the role of Māra in Buddhist narratives is

incomplete without an accounting of the ways in which it drew upon preceding and

contemporary Brahmanical myths and traditions. I aim to recover that meaning of the Māra

mythology.

Besides concepts in Religious Studies, such as the “metamyth,” the manner in which I

read and interpret Buddhist and Hindu narratives in this dissertation is informed by related works

in literary and semiotic theory that deal with how narratives interact with and redeploy preceding

tropes. Harold Bloom, for instance, in assessing the manner in which Romantic poets played off

one another‟s styles (such as Wordsworth in relation to his predecessor Shelley) or drew upon

and remolded the classic cultural narratives of the Bible or Greek mythology, coined the term

“transumption.” Bloom describes transumption as “instances of the interpretive and revisionary

power of poetry perpetually battling its own belatedness.” 117 The concept is useful in the South

Asian context for thinking about how Buddhist narrative – which, to invoke Etienne Lamotte,

entered the cultural scene when already “India had a long history behind her” 118 – itself reworks

and battles against its “belatedness” relative to Vedic and Brahmanical practices. Second, when

comparing Buddhist and Hindu narratives, I also look for instances of what semiotician James

Liszka has called “transvaluation,” which are instances in which language “revaluates the

perceived, imagined, or conceived markedness and rank relations of a referent” in an opposing

116
How Buddhism Began, pg. 14.
117
The Breaking of the Vessels, pg. 74.
118
History of Indian Buddhism, pg. 1.
 54

system.119 The method that Liszka proposes to reveal these revaluations in contested uses of

language and narrative, and which I employ implicitly to a large extent in this dissertation, is

deceptively simple. According to Liszka‟s scheme, there are three levels of narration: agential

(the characters involved and their portrayed relation to a hierarchy), actantial (the actions the

characters perform), and narrative (the larger framework of the story, i.e. plot). By looking at the

ways in which competing cultures (or groups within a culture) employ similar or nearly identical

plots, yet diverge in the agential or actantial levels (that is, show the characters belonging to or

acting differently in response to prevalent hierarchies) we can ascertain the degree to which

narrative is being used to critique or defend dominant cultural systems. 120 For example, and

specific to the content of this dissertation, we will see this concept of transvaluation acted out in

Buddhist myths as Māra acts as a stand-in for the role of Brahmin gods or rituals, while the

Buddha or his followers represent the ascetic or renunciant values Brahmin texts occasionally

deride. By looking at the ways in which Buddhist narratives of Māra borrow the framework of

Hindu stories, retain the rough character structure (the “agential level,” to use Liszka‟s term), yet

attribute very different actions and relationships to the characters, I will argue that the mythology

of Māra thus stands as a deliberate Buddhist critique on Brahmanical hierarchies.

Having laid out my method in at least a cursory fashion, any project dealing with mythic

narrative must entertain certain criticisms leveled by some in the academy in recent years, and

dealing with those criticisms will outline further aspects of my approach. The critique of the

study of myth usually falls into one of two grounds: the study of myth treats narrative as if it is

1.) static and unchanging or 2.) authorless and outside human agency. J.Z. Smith, for instance,

119
The Semiotic of Myth, pg. 71.
120
Ibid., pgs. 121-129.
 55

has taken the study of myth to task for decontextualizing and dehistoricizing its subjects and the

societies concerned.121 On that same note, Bruce Lincoln has charged that “myth is often treated

as an anonymous and collective product, in which questions of authorship are irrelevant.” 122 To a

great degree, Smith and Lincoln seem to be aiming their fire at Levi-Strauss, Mircea Eliade, and

those who have followed in those footsteps.123 Mounting a defense of either Levi-Strauss or

Mircea Eliade is a subject outside the bounds of what I wish to argue, although I will say that

perspectives which rule out either theorist or his body of work as having no usefulness for the

future of the study of religion drastically overstate the case. I will, however, agree with critics

like Smith and Lincoln to the extent that authorial position and intent is of great import and

interest. In the present study, I prefer to think of “myth” almost in the sense of a verb, in that the

term implies action and contest. Anthropologist Edmund Leach summarizes this way of

understanding religious narratives very well, writing that myth “is a language of argument, not a

chorus of harmony.”124 Myths may be made, but we would be wrong to think they ever stop

being made, or being contested. In further defining “transvaluation,” Liszka has argued along

these lines also, writing that myth “is a shape, or better, a value-shifter rather than a value

producer.”125 Therefore, I understand “myth” as coextensive with “myth-making,” and

121
For example, see Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown, pg. 66.
122
Theorizing Myth: Narrative, Ideology, and Scholarship, pg. 149.
123
Lévi-Strauss, for instance, wrote that “Myths are anonymous…When a myth is repeated, the individual listeners
are receiving a message that, properly speaking, is coming from nowhere,” (The Raw and the Cooked, 18.)
Similarly, one of Eliade‟s most salient assertions was that the recitation of the myth takes the individual and
community back to a primordial time of creation, in illo tempore, (The Myth of the Eternal Return, pg. 20; Patterns
in Comparative Religion, pg. 429).
124
“Myth as Justification for Faction and Social Change,” in Studies in Mythology, ed. Robert Georges, pg. 198.
125
The Semiotic of Myth, pg. 202.
 56

furthermore that the act of myth-making is inextricable from social and political debate and

imagination.126

Taking up the points of the aforementioned critique individually, it should be apparent

that in no way do I consider mythic narratives static, as if stuck in amber. Indeed, the notion of

“metamyth” inherently connotes change and metamorphosis over time. The difficulty ensues

with the tendency of many mythic narratives, including those we will consider of Māra, to

portray themselves as timeless. The important point to remember is that such rhetoric is part and

parcel of a metamythic social discourse. As Roland Barthes has written, the primary purpose of

myth is to “transform history into nature.”127 In this sense, myth is “depoliticized speech,” a

political discourse which pretends it is not political, in order to lend an air of eternality onto the

contingent.128 The whole point of metamythic narratives, such as Buddhist myths of Māra, is to

demonstrate, as Doniger further describes, that “things have not changed, when in fact, they

have.”129 It is the task of this dissertation to lay bare the socio-political tensions and messages

within the metamythic literature of Māra, understanding that narrative, as Bakhtin described it, is

always “overlain with qualifications, open to dispute, charged with value…entangled, shot

through with shared thoughts and points of view.”130 On this same point, we could also add

Bloom‟s concept of “misprision,” the unavoidable act of criticism that every reader and author

performs upon prior texts, creating a situation in which “there are no texts, but only relationships

126
Literary theorist Northrop Frye makes a similar point about myth, which he categorizes as an art, in opposition to
the physical sciences: “Like art, and unlike sciences, [myth] deals, not with the world [humans] contemplate, but
with the world [humans] create” (31). See Fables of Identity: Studies in Poetic Mythology.
127
Mythologies, pg. 129.
128
Ibid., pg. 143.
129
Other People‟s Myths, pg. 113.
130
The Dialogic Imagination, pg. 276.
 57

between texts.”131 Elsewhere, Bakhtin‟s words are quite appropriate regarding the Māra

mythology, and South Asian narratives in general:

There are no „neutral‟ words and forms – words and forms

that belong to „no one‟; language has been completely taken
over, shot through with intentions and accents…each word
tastes of the context and contexts in which it has lived its
socially charged life; all words and forms are populated by
intentions.132

The second point, sensitivity to authorial intent and position, is equally important but

unfortunately more difficult. Some philosophers of hermeneutics have suggested that recovering

the intent of the author(s) and the reception of the audience is nearly impossible. Gadamer, for

instance, cites the insoluble issue of the interpreter‟s own subject position, writing that,

“reconstructing the question to which the text is presumed to be the answer itself takes place

within a process of questioning through which we try to answer the question the text asks us.” 133

Calling this encounter between interpreter and text a “fusion of horizons,” Gadamer suggests

that, since every act of translation bears the personality of the translator, there can be no

definitive interpretation of authorial intent.134 The concept of “audience” is similarly fraught

from this perspective, for since an author speaks to predecessors, contemporaries, and

successors, speaking of a particular audience is an unjustified limitation of a potentially infinite

set.135

To the degree that, interpreted most severely, Gadamer‟s points suggest the extreme

difficulty or even impossibility of the interpretive enterprise, they deserve to be taken seriously

131
A Map of Misreading, pg. 3.
132
Ibid., pg. 293.
133
Truth and Method, pg. 374.
134
Ibid., pg. 384.
135
Ibid., pg. 395.
 58

by scholars of religious narrative. However, while quite sensibly pointing out that (as anyone

who has worked to learn a foreign language knows) translation is always interpretation and,

additionally, that interpretation across time and culture can be perilous, if we read Gadamer‟s

hermeneutics closely enough, I do not believe his theory undermines a project like this

dissertation. On the contrary, even while problematizing hermeneutical processes, Gadamer also

argues that interpretation is far from impossible and is an experience that creates meaning across

cultures.136 Indeed, Gadamer‟s “fusion of horizons” is an apt phrase for the dialogic nature of

Indian literature in which a single text can represent an action, reaction, and counter-reaction to

assorted movements and ideas. To the extent that multiple voices and viewpoints are embedded

in one another throughout works of Buddhist and Hindu literature, there can be no such thing as

a pristine text. However, to guard against the imposition of my own interpretations over the

contents and contexts of the works I will investigate in this project, I will cite social and

historical evidence wherever and whenever possible, including Buddhist commentarial works.

The difficulty even in locating an author or a fixed date for a text in Indian literature

raises another issue for this kind of study, which is another reason why the dialogic approach

makes sense. The question of when and where Buddhist texts were written has long plagued

Buddhist studies. Much of this energy has been expended toward determining when the very first

texts may have been written, in India or elsewhere. Older scholarship, such as that of the “higher

criticism,” interpreted textual accounts and passages common to Buddhist sects as representing

the oldest layer. By this reasoning, accounts held in common by all schools were traced back to a

136
Ibid., pg. 402.
 59

time before the first schism, around the fourth or even fifth century B.C.E.137 More recently,

scholars, such as Gregory Schopen, have cast doubt on this assertion, arguing that the

commonalities this technique reveals could just as easily reflect a process of textual conflation

occurring at a later date. According to Schopen, the actual contents of textual corpuses, such as

the Pāli Canon, traditionally taken to be the earliest writings, should not be taken as any earlier

than the Śrī Lankan commentarial works of the fifth and sixth centuries of the common era.138

The extremity of both these positions is apparent, but together they serve to reflect the

difficulty of knowing the exact dates of Buddhist texts, let alone their precise authorship. As is

proven by the discovery of masses of hidden texts in what are now the modern regions of

Afghanistan and Pakistan, there are still a great deal of missing pieces left to this puzzle, to

which we cannot even put a neat, tidy border. It is highly likely, as Richard Salomon argues, that

Buddhist traditions were complex and varied from the beginning and that the process of textual

composition was equally complex and probably gradual.139

Though it is sometimes impossible to know a precise date for Buddhist texts, there is

good reason to believe the ones with which I shall be concerned (the Pāli Canon, Buddhacarita,

and others) date back to a period between the third century B.C.E. and the third century C.E.140

Other evidence, such as the existence of a text like the Netti Pakaraṇa, which is a guide for

commentators to write commentaries and is extant from the early part of the common era,

suggests that there was at least the inchoate notion of a canon with interconnected texts from that

137
For example see the works of A.K. Warder, Indian Buddhism, pg. 9; or Edward Conze, Buddhist Thought in
India: Three Phases of Buddhist Philosophy, pg. 31.
138
Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, pgs. 24-27.
139
“Recent Discoveries of Early Buddhist Manuscripts,” in Between the Empires: Society in India 300 BCE to 400
CE, ed. Patrick Olivelle, pg. 374.
140
For example, see Gombrich, How Buddhism Began, pg. 12 and K.R. Norman, Pāli Literature, pgs. 5 and 31.
 60

point in time or even earlier, if not a completely closed canon. 141 Even without the idea of a

fixed, closed Pāli Canon, we can still employ Anne Blackburn‟s use of the notion of “textual

community” to understand the early Buddhism with which this dissertation will be concerned. In

her work on eighteenth century Lankan practices, Blackburn uses this term,

to describe a group of individuals who think of themselves

to at least some degree as a collective, who understand the
world and their appropriate place within it in terms significantly
influenced by their encounter with a shared set of written texts
or oral teachings based on written texts…142

While Blackburn is talking about a very different context, specifically one in which

writing and literacy are established and sociological data is far more readily available, there are

reasons to postulate a “textual community” behind the early Pāli and Sanskirt Buddhist texts. For

instance, besides the early presence of the Netti Pakaraṇa, there is the established tradition of the

bhāṇika, or Pāli recitation groups, who memorized and recited parts of the incipient canon.

Scholars such as K.R. Norman have documented the overlap of these recitation groups, which,

while not overlooking the differences, still suggests an early sense of solidarity among Buddhist

groups.143 At the same time, rather than looking at Buddhist texts as fixed works during the

period of 300 BCE to 300 CE, it is better to see them as “process” texts, works in progress that,

while having a certain cohesion and a definite community to which they were affiliated, were

still undergoing the flux and change of active social and literary debate. This is in keeping with

what we know of other Indian traditions, namely incipient “Hinduism,” during this period

between the Mauryan and Gupta empires. That both Buddhist canons and the hallmarks of later

Hindusim (such as bhakti theism and epic and Purāṇic literature) did not reach their apogee and

141
For an excellent discussion of the Netti Pakaraṇa, see George Bond, The Word of the Buddha, pgs. 34-99.
142
Buddhist Learning and Textual Practices in 18th Century Lankan Monastic Culture, pg. 12.
143
See Pāli Literature, pgs. 8-9.
 61

solvency until after this period lends credence to a dialogic approach to both materials and

suggests that both underwent a dynamic series of changes and interactions during this formative

period. Without further ado, I go on to demonstrate the profits of this dialogic, literary approach

to the Māra mythology in the following chapters.

 62

Chapter 3:

The Two Faces of Deva: the Māra/Brahmā Tandem

 63

Introduction

Buddhist literature is replete with instances of the Awakened One encountering and

debating various figures about the nature of his teachings. In some cases, a visitor makes

elaborate obeisance, such as in the Brahmasaṃyutta of the Saṃyutta Nikāya, where we are told

that a certain Sahampati intricately arranges his robe, bows, and makes “reverential salutation

with his hands” (añjali) and begs the Buddha to teach the dharma.144 These figures are portrayed

as astute, eager students of the Buddha‟s teaching. On other occasions, however, the Buddha‟s

interlocutors are not nearly as well regarded, even occasionally being described as developing

extremely wrong views. Merely sensing such thoughts from a being named Baka leaves the

Buddha so disturbed that he immediately transports to Baka‟s whereabouts to correct him. As

opposed to Sahampati, Baka is portrayed as stubborn in his ignorance, yielding to the Buddha‟s

arguments only after an impressive display of supernormal power. 145 From all we know of the

Buddha, based on Buddhist traditions and other evidence, he was an itinerant samaṇa,

encountering many different kinds and classes of people during his journeys. Therefore, there is

nothing terribly remarkable in the fact that Buddhist literature should relate stories of those who

greeted his ideas with enthusiasm as well as those who resisted. What makes the contrary nature

of these two stories interesting is that both Sahampati and Baka are Brahmās, 146 figures of the

Brahmanical creator god.

How should we interpret this apparent contradiction, or at the very least, stark

ambivalence? Obviously the very notion of a self-sustained progenitor of the universe is

144
SN I 139.
145
SN I 142-144.
146
The plural for this term in its original Sanskrit (Brahman) would be “Brahmāṇaḥ,” but for the sake of
intelligibility in English, I have taken some Anglicizing liberties.
 64

anathema to numerous foundational aspects of Buddhism, such as dependent origination

(pratītya-samutpāda) and the authority of the Buddha. Some who have previously noted this

disparity attribute it to the vigorous atmosphere of competition and debate between Buddhist and

Brahmanical traditions, and how the former sought to incorporate the latter even as they pushed

back on one another.147 In this scenario, the contrary depictions represent a two-pronged

offensive by Buddhists. This perspective is undoubtedly correct, but in the following I seek to

complicate exactly how this debate took place and the way it was calibrated mythologically and

sociologically. Specifically, I will illuminate these dimensions by putting narratives of Brahmā

into conversation with the mythology of Māra. Comparison with the Māra mythology provides

new ways for interpreting the Buddhist duality of Brahmā. First, the duality of Brahmās in

Buddhist narratives is an appropriation and reinvention of the figure – what we might call

“Buddhification” – representing a broader critique of Brahmanical notions about creator deities

going back to the Vedas and the figure Prajāpati. I believe this critique comes into stark relief

through a comparison of the Prajāpati/Brahmā tradition to the Buddhist god Māra, who in a

certain sense, takes on many aspects of the Brahmanical creator deity. Secondly, the interactions

of Brahmā and Māra in Buddhist narratives – both when they appear in the same story as well as

the structural and linguistic continuities between their separate appearances – shed a great deal of

light on the Buddhist reaction to their Brahmanical competitors. When we look at the following

Pāli narratives in this manner, we find positive portrayals of Brahmā coinciding with his

subordinance to the Buddha, while negative characterizations associate the deva with Māra.

These two faces of deva – Brahmā allied with Māra versus Brahmā opposed to Māra – represent

a means to categorize Brahmins relative to their acceptance of the new roles Buddhist teachings
147
Greg Bailey, The Mythology of Brahmā, pg. 17.
 65

prescribed for them. While those roles tend to be relative to a particular social category of

Brahmin, they are always subordinate to the Buddha and his teaching, and the alternative to that

subordination is considered alliance with Māra.

In pursuing this line of thought, this chapter will also engage the question of audience,

i.e. the imagined listeners or readers of the Pāli texts. It is fruitful to frame that issue by looking

briefly at the concept of debate in the Pāli Canon. As noted by Joy Manné, more than half of the

suttas in the Dīgha Nikāya consist of the Buddha debating an adversary, more often than not a

Brahmin, in a style that adheres structurally to a formula extant from the Vedas. 148 The

frequency of such texts suggests an atmosphere in which debate between Brahmins and

Buddhists was commonplace, while the formula implies that the contests took place before an

audience familiar with the rules of such engagements. Along these same lines, in his work on

brahmodya (debate) in the Upaniṣads, Brian Black argues that the literary details of the debate

point beyond mere expository pedagogy, but also “highlight the social and interactive character

of debate.”149 Black applies this principle specifically to Buddhist works, arguing that Buddhists

“used a literary account of debate to play out real-world rivalries with other sects.”150 In these

cases of debate, the meaning and coherence of the text depends upon an audience familiar with

the conventions of debate, the relative tenets of the schools involved, and the social atmosphere

at the time. Additionally, as Manné argues elsewhere, among the many different forms and styles

in which Pāli Canon texts come, the debate format serves as an “exercise in publicity” and an

148
“The Dīgha Nikāya Debates: Debating Practices at the Time of the Buddha,” Buddhist Studies Review, pg. 121.
149
The Character of the Self in Ancient India, pg. 70. Black‟s argument in this book makes clear that the dialogic,
brahmodya was not restricted to Buddhist-Brahmin discourse, as I have chosen to focus on in this paper, but also
occurred quite vigorously between Brahmins. See especially pgs. 59-100.
150
Ibid., pg. 73.
 66

“opportunity for propaganda” that will attract new converts.151 In this way, debate stories in the

Nikāyas serve as a means to express the superiority of Buddhist teachings over those of

Brahmins in a manner recognizable to both parties.

I argue in this chapter that certain Pāli Canon narratives of Brahmā and Māra perform a

similar dialogic function, yet through the medium of mythic beings. Just as the brahmodya texts

in the Upaniṣads and Pāli Canon presuppose a certain understanding of Brahmanical

philosophical schools and tenets, the criticisms of Brahmanical doctrine and ritual funneled

through the figures of Brahmā and Māra suggest an audience familiar with those Brahmanical

concepts. More fundamentally, the adoption of Brahmā into the Buddhist pantheon suggests an

intention to speak to the followers of that deity, most pointedly his namesakes, the Brahmins.

However, in an obvious point of literary and didactic contrast with brahmodya and debate texts,

the suttas I will examine employ devas rather than human philosophers. As such, these Buddhist

narratives are both harsher in their criticism, raising condemnation of Brahmanism to a cosmic

level (as servants of Māra), but also gentler, as the critique is formed through the characterization

of heavenly beings rather than a caustic diatribe. Debate through mythic narrative, therefore,

provides a certain elasticity and equivocation not readily available in other textual forms. Indeed,

just as any satire reproduces the form it satirizes, albeit as a caricature, the Brahmanism

presented through the interplay of Brahmā and Māra preserves a certain dialogue between the

traditions. By navigating this tension, the dynamic between Brahmā and Māra seeks to pull

Brahmins into a certain social relationship with Buddhists even while it derides many of their

beliefs and practices.

151
“Categories of Sutta in the Pāli Nikāyas,” Journal of the Pāli Text Society, pgs. 73-76.
 67

Before dealing in detail with the narrative interactions of Brahmā and Māra, the pursuit

of this argument proceeds first with some introductory matter about the evolution of the concept

of the creator god in Brahmanical traditions, then secondly explicates the social situation at the

time of the Buddha. This background is important for understanding the context of the narrative

and social debates, its actors and agents, and the terms which they contested. Finally, a brief note

on sources: I draw primarily on the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa and epic literature of the Mahābhārata

to draw out the lineage and nature of Prajāpati and Brahmā. For Buddhist references to Māra and

Brahmā in this chapter, I primarily rely on the Pāli Canon, particularly the Dīgha, Majjhima, and

Saṃyutta Nikāyas, though I do have recourse to Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita as well as

Buddhaghoṣa‟s commentarial literature at various points.

The Brahmanical Concepts of Creator God

The history of the creator god concept goes back to Vedic traditions, specifically to the

figure of Prajāpati (literally, “lord of beings”). Of the several ways the god is linked with the

genesis of the universe, the most frequent is that he “emitted” all beings from his own body,

including gods, titans (asuras), humans, etc.152 At other times, as in the last book of the Rig

Veda, the universe sprouts from a giant golden egg, seemingly preexisting Prajāpati, but

Brahmanical texts nevertheless in these instances still associate the god with the very beginning

of existence and its life-forms.153 Besides emitting the universe from himself, Prajāpati is also the

source of the orderly progression of the seasons, life and death, as well as time itself – all

collectively called “the year.” 154 The practice of śrauta sacrifice also stems directly from

152
For example, see ŚB 10.4.2.2 (“emitted” - sasṛje, from sṛj).
153
For exemplary narratives of the golden egg, see RV 10.121.1 and ŚB 11.1.6.1; see also Jan Gonda, Prajāpati and
the Year, pgs. 81-82.
154
ŚB 10.4.3.1; 11.1.1.1; Gonda, Prajāpati and the Year, pgs. 9-17.
 68

Prajāpati‟s creative act, and in some cases Prajāpati is said to be the very first sacrificer, as well

as the very first sacrifice offered.155 Such an equation confers cosmological importance upon this

social institution and links the proper maintenance of existence itself with the sacrificial cult and

its officiants.156 Logically enough, those who correctly perform the sacrifice are identified as

following in Prajāpati‟s line and gaining great rewards, while failure is diametrically dire. 157

Gonda believes that this intersection of creator-sacrifice was ultimately responsible for the

ascension of Prajāpati to the ranks of a high god in the Brahmanical literature. 158

For the purpose of this study as well, the conflation of the creator god with sacrificial

practice will prove to be of great importance. In spite of that relationship, however, by the time

of the epic and classical period, Prajāpati had largely disappeared as an autonomous figure. For

the most part in the texts of that period one only finds “Prajāpati” as an epithet for other figures,

echoing the prominence and high stature the name once enjoyed. Buddhist Pāli Canon texts from

that period, and perhaps even slightly earlier, use the term as a proper name, but primarily in lists

having to do with the layout of the cosmos.159

The position of creator by that time in Brahmanical tradition, and recognized as so in the

contemporaneous Buddhist texts, is occupied by Brahmā. The precise point at which the deity

arises is somewhat murky, though Bruce Sullivan believes the earliest references may occur in

155
ŚB 2.4.4.1; 6.2.3.1. Taittirīya Saṃhita 1.6.9.1 also describes how Prajāpati “emits” the sacrificial rites from
himself. TS 5.7.6.6 locates the origin of the great sacrificial fireplace with Prajāpati.
156
For further explorations of this point, see Gonda, Prajāpati and the Year, pg. 69 and Brian K. Smith, “Sacrifice
and Being: Prajāpati‟s Cosmic Emission and its Consequences,” pg. 76.
157
ŚB 4.2.4.16, 11.2.7.1 describe such rewards. On the other side, ŚB 2.3.1.5 declares that the sun will not rise if the
sacrificial ritual is not conducted properly.
158
Prajāpati‟s Rise to Higher Rank, pgs. 36-41.
159
For Pāli Canon references to Prajāpati (therein called “Pajāpati”), see MN I 140; SN I 219, III 90; DN I 244-245,
III 205.
 69

the late Vedas (particularly Atharva Veda) or early Upaniṣads (such as Bṛhadāraṇyaka).160 The

issue of how the transition from Prajāpati to Brahmā occurred is equally fraught, although

Bhattacharji believes it was due to the merger between Prajāpati and the aforementioned

metaphysical principle of Brahman in the Upaṇiṣads. 161 One way to approach the latter question

is to examine the aspects of Prajāpati‟s character and mythology that carry over to Brahmā,

possibly extrapolating historical or social significance.

On that tack, beyond the simple fact that the name “Prajāpati” becomes a frequent

synonym for Brahmā in the Mahābhārata, he is exalted as a creator in some instances surpassing

the older stories of Prajāpati. At one point, apparently referencing the golden egg which

preexisted Prajāpati in some versions of creation, the wind god Vāyu proclaims to the warrior

Arjuna that “there is no egg; there is only Brahmā.” 162 Elsewhere in the epic, he is referred to by

epithets such as “svayambhu” (“self-born”) and “bhutapati” (“lord of beings”), all of which serve

to reinforce his position as exalted creator.163 Indeed, throughout the early sections of the epic,

the impression one is given of Brahmā thus corresponds very closely to the image of a powerful,

self-sustaining deity one sees portrayed in Prajāpati of the Vedas and Brāhmaṇas. Yet, this

portrayal begins to shift in the later sections of the Mahābhārata and becomes decidedly

different in Purāṇic literature. In these texts, most likely due to the rise of the theistic gods Viṣṇu

and Śiva, Brahmā‟s power is eclipsed and he is often portrayed as causing as much trouble as he

solves, leading E.W. Hopkins to remark that in the later literature Brahmā “is ever engaged in

160
See “The Religious Authority of the Mahābhārata,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion. The specific
passages from those texts that Sullivan cites are Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaṇiṣad 4.4.4 and AV 11.10.2.30.
161
The Indian Theogony, pg. 345.
162
MB 13.138.19: nāstyaṇḍam asti tu brahmā.
163
Ibid., 5.97.2 and 2.3.14, respectively.
 70

preserving the world from his own folly.”164 For instance, in this period Brahmā is known for

granting boons to demons, who proceed to gain dominion over the cosmos, leaving other gods to

deal with the consequences. Two of the most prominent examples, namely Rāvaṇa and Tāraka,

are subdued by multiforms of the newly ascendant gods, Viṣṇu and Śiva, respectively. 165 As

another example, in a late episode in the Mahābhārata, Brahmā grows restless and angry with

the overcrowding of the universe he has created and resolves to eradicate all beings with a

withering fire. When Śiva intervenes to stay Brahmā‟s hand, again aggrandizing that god at the

creator‟s expense, he instead brings into existence a dark figure of death to plague and destroy

beings.166 The benevolent, powerful creator god thus becomes, simultaneously, the source of his

creation‟s woe.

Apart from these instances of the later development of the Brahmā figure in Hindu

literature, my focus in this chapter rests on the ways in which his characterization in the earlier

epic texts might have provided ripe material for Buddhist satire. To get a sense of why the figure

may have been such an appealing target, we can trace the way in which Brahmā is closely

aligned with Brahmanical values. To begin with, similar to what we saw in the figure of

Prajāpati, Brahmā‟s creation of the world is linked to the sacrificial rite,167 and he is regarded as

the preeminent sacrificer in the entire universe: “desirous of sacrifice, Lord Brahmā, grandfather

of the entire world, could not see any equal to himself in sacrificial knowledge.”168 At other

times, he is beseeched by gods and humans for assistance in arranging the sacrificial grounds and

164
See Epic Mythology, pg. 195.
165
In the case of Rāvaṇa, Rāma, manifestation of Viṣṇu, destroys the demon, while it is Śiva‟s son Skanda who
defeats Tāraka. The former, of course, occurs in the Rāmāyāṇa, as well as other places, while the latter is recounted
at length in the Śiva and Skanda Purāṇas, as well as other works.
166
MB 12.248.12-250.41.
167
Ibid. 12.327.30.
168
Ibid. 12.121.15: brahmā yiyukṣurbhagavān sarva loka pitāmahaḥ |
ṛtvijaṃ nātmanā tulyaṃ dadarśati hi naḥ śrutaṃ ||.
 71

altar.169 Finally, in the same speech to Arjuna noted earlier, Vāyu deems Brahmā

brāhmaṇaśreṣṭham, “the best of Brahmins.”170

This last passage provides a clue as to the shift which may have occurred from the figures

of Prajāpati to Brahmā. While the latter maintains, and perhaps even intensifies, the connection

between creation and sacrifice, it assumes the role of the figurehead for the Brahmin class in a

way that Prajāpati, though regarded as a sacrificial priest, never does in the Vedic or Brāhmaṇa

texts. Bailey and Sullivan note this aspect of Brahmā when they characterize the deity as the

embodiment of pravṛtti (worldly pursuits) and ritualist values.171 Though we would do well to

heed Gonda‟s warnings about regarding Brahmā as an artificial apotheosis of the Brahmin class,

it is safe to say that the deity is a central representation of the values, interests, and appeal to

authority of the priestly class. 172 This may speak to an increasing concern during and before the

epic and classical periods with solidifying the role and authority of the Brahmin class, leading to

the rise of Brahmā and the concordant fall of Prajāpati.

That speculation aside, with Brahmā as a creator deity representing pravṛtti values,

sacrificial ideology, and the Brahmin class, we can begin to appreciate the extent to which the

deity and its narratives would provide fertile soil for Buddhists to plant seeds of contention. The

Māra mythology sprouts from at least some of those seeds. Though on an admittedly broad level,

we can point to aspects of Māra‟s character which suggest he constitutes an inversion of the

Prajāpati/Brahmā creator figure. For one, as the amalgamation of the life-impulse of desire, on

the one hand, and death on the other, Māra carries on the tradition of Prajāpati/Brahmā, who

169
MB 3.129.22, 13.65.17-20.
170
MB 13.138.19.
171
Sullivan, “The Religious Authority of the Mahābhārata,” pg. 381; Bailey, The Mythology of Brahmā, pgs. xiv-xv
and 77.
172
Gonda, “Prajāpati‟s Relations with Brahman, Bṛhaspati, and Brahmā,” pg. 11.
 72

create the universe but also bring death into existence.173 Secondly, as personification of saṃsāra

and the figurative holder of the bhavacakra (the “wheel of being or becoming”) Māra represents

the ever-grinding wheel of time, just as Prajāpati represented the Year.174 Third, a staple of

Māra‟s activities is to advance pravṛtti values, such as delighting in sons and possessions,

pursuing austerity in the proper context, or laying hold of large quantities of material treasures. 175

Finally, in his commentary on the Majjhima Nikāya, Buddhaghoṣa makes the linkage explicit.

Dealing with a passage listing cosmological figures, Buddhaghoṣa glosses “Pajāpati” by saying,

“in this case, „Pajāpati‟ is to be understood as „Māra is Pajāpati.‟”176

Given Buddhaghoṣa‟s statement, we are justified in saying that the Buddhist tradition

itself, at least by the time of the commentaries in the fifth century CE and most likely long

before, conceived of Māra in the mold of Prajāpati/Brahmā. Indeed, given the other broad

similarities noted above, it seems likely that this notion goes back a great deal further, to the very

inception of the Māra figure, as the characteristics described above are essential to its nature at

its earliest appearance. As a being bent on binding and trapping others in the dukkha-permeated

realm of saṃsāra, Māra at this broad level is obviously a negative comment on the creator god

tradition. The supreme irony, though, is that Buddhist traditions uniformly reject the notion of a

173
Prajāpati, though opposed to Mṛtyu in some texts, also serves as death in others, such as the Tāṇḍya Brāhmaṇa,
21.2.1, in which he begins to consume his own creation out of gnawing hunger. For Brahmā‟s part, there is the
aforementioned episode in the Mahābhārata in which he brings death, in a feminine form (Nirṛti), into existence to
assuage the suffering of the universe under the weight of propagating creatures. For further discussion of these
points, see J. Bruce Long, “Death as Necessity and Gift in Hindu Mythology,” in Religious Encounters with Death,
pgs. 73-96.
174
See also David Kalupahana, “The Buddhist Conception of Time and Temporality,” who notes that in the
Buddhist tradition “Time assumes the position of Māra, the personification of death” (183). Raimundo Panikkar,
“Toward a Typology of Time and Temporality in the Ancient Indian Tradition,” makes a similar observation about
Brahmā: he is the author of time “and he is also the destroyer” (161).
175
Respectively, SN I 107-108, 103, 116-117.
176
Papañcasūdanī I 76: Pajāpati ti ettha pana māro pajāpati ti veditabbo.
 73

creator deity, so this cannot simply be a case in which the creator god turns out to be evil. 177

Rather, Māra (who at any given time is just a being who will die and be reborn like others) is a

“creator” god who is not really a creator at all, since there actually was no creation to begin with.

The humor latent in this notion gives us some sense of what Gombrich means when he argues

that Māra is primarily a satire to make light of figures like Prajāpati/Brahmā, as well as Mṛtyu. 178

While Gombrich is entirely correct, this still leaves the matter at the broad analogical level

outlined above. I believe the Brahmā and Māra narratives in Buddhist texts work together in a

much more intricate and revealing way, and to bring those intricacies to light it is necessary to

delve deeper into the social situations and realities of Buddhist/Brahmin interaction.

The Social Context and Complexity

By the time of the Buddha, the term “Brahmin” had become a normative standard against

which renunciant groups compared themselves. In fact, in Buddhist Pāli texts one often finds the

dvandva compound samaṇa-brāhmaṇa referring to the relationship between these groups.179

Deciphering the dvandva yields a certain ambiguity, however, for it can be interpreted as the

pairing of forever opposed categories (such as “night-day,” or “happiness-pain”), or, as Uma

Chakravarti argues, we can resolve the compound as a unified pair representing “possessors of

knowledge” in opposition to the rest of society, the ordinary people who did not possess esoteric

understanding.180

That both readings are possible is itself informative as to the relationship which obtained

between Buddhists and Brahmins. Indeed, it is clear that while the thrust of Buddhist discourse is

177
This is perhaps a difficulty for those who wish to make the comparison to the Christian Gnostic traditions.
178
How Buddhism Began, pg. 80.
179
Bailey and Mabbett, The Sociology of Early Buddhism, pgs. 118-120.
180
The Social Dimensions of Early Buddhism, pg. 45.
 74

that Brahmanical cosmological, sociological, and ritual notions were flawed, there is never a

statement that these concepts needed to be completely eradicated. On the contrary, we find

instead the express desire to build upon Brahmanical ideas, even if those ideas were reinvisioned

within a Buddhist framework to the point that they were hardly recognizable. In a process Bailey

and Mabbett label “marketing,” as in the repackaging and reselling of a brand name, Buddhists

sought to cast themselves as the new and improved Brahmins. 181

At the same time, it is important to realize that the Buddhist revision of “Brahmin” did

not take place in the face of a monolithic, one-tone Brahmanism. Besides religious officiant,

Brahmins at the time of the Buddha held multiple identities, often blending the religious, social,

and economic spheres. Buddhist texts themselves recognize this plurality, frequently qualifying

what kind of Brahmin it is they are talking about when such a personage comes on the scene.

The terms most often encountered in the Pāli texts are “mahāsāla,” “gahapati,” “bhikkhako,”

and “jaṭila.” The first two, meaning “one of great halls” and “lord of the house,” respectively,

refer to the householding, economic sphere of society. Of the two, gahapati is more abundant in

the texts and is the one with which we will primarily be concerned.182 The second pair of terms,

meaning “mendicant” and “one with matted or braided hair,” respectively, can be understood as

ascetics, though in context they are applied normally to Brahmin ascetics. While certainly other

181
The Sociology of Early Buddhism, pg. 153.
182
Some debate has occurred over the degree to which this name could also refer to vaiśyas, particularly given the
occasional social division of khattiya, brāhmaṇa, gahapati, and samaṇa found in Buddhist texts (MN II 199, SN II
246, AN I 33-35). In that revision of the vaṇṇa system, gahapati seems clearly to take the place of the vaiśya class,
yet on other occasions, when referring to individuals, the term gahapati is only ever suffixed to brāhmaṇa, most
likely describing a subclass of extremely wealthy Brahmins (N.K. Wagle, Society at the Time of the Buddha, pg.
152.) This leads Chakravarti to argue that the mere translation “householder” or “merchant” is insufficient (65-66).
On the whole, then, the term applies to extremely wealthy Brahmins more than vaiśyas. This is the interpretation
Tsuchida Ryūtāro gives in “Two Categories of Brahmin in the Early Buddhist Period” (58), and it is the one which I
follow in this work.
 75

ascetic groups populated India during this time, such as Jainas and Ājīvakās, these groups are

generally referred to by other names, such as “nigaṇṭha” (“without ties”) for Jainas.

These two groups, though they represented two different spheres of life, still operated

along the axis of Vedic and pravṛtti ideologies, giving Buddhist communities ample reason to

regard them with marked ambivalence. When we look at Buddhist texts to determine their

perspective on the gahapati, for example, we find a mixed picture. On the one hand, these

householders sometimes received special privileges from the sangha, such as personal visits

from the Buddha or his closest disciples when the lords of these households were ailing. 183 As

wealthy householders served to support the sangha with alms and donations, these special favors

and attentions are hardly surprising. Yet, as Bailey and Mabbett note, this puts the sangha in

something of a bind, for as an acquirer of materials and advocate of a worldly existence, the

gahapati stands for values completely opposed to the wandering, homeless bhikkhu.184 Indeed,

even as the gahapati receives special favors, his supposedly avaricious and acquisitive nature is

roundly condemned and criticized at other times.185

Two stories in the Saṃyutta Nikāya help to illustrate the complicated relationship the

sangha forged with the gahapatis and mahāsālas. First, we are told that a certain “very wealthy

Brahmin” (brāhmaṇa-mahāsālo) fallen on hard times, as evidenced by his shoddy clothes,

encounters the Buddha and tells the sad story of being evicted by his sons and their wives. The

Buddha teaches the Brahmin some verses repudiating his sons, which he recites upon returning

183
See AN III 19; SN IV 152-153, 329.
184
The Sociology of Early Buddhism, pg. 50.
185
For example, see MN III 167; DN II 245. See also Bailey and Mabbett, The Sociology of Early Buddhism, pgs.
110-115.
 76

home, resulting in a warmer reception. The mahāsāla then provides a “teacher‟s fee” (ācāriya-

dhanam) to the Buddha and becomes a lay follower.186

Here the potential symbiosis between householders and the sangha is in full display. A

mahāsāla down on his luck receives a teaching which reverses his downward trend and the

Buddha receives a gift for his trouble. On the other hand, there is a hint of suspicion of the

household life beneath this veneer of cooperation. The once wealthy Brahmin is portrayed as at

the mercy of fickle progeny, casting a pall of instability on the household life. The mahāsāla

seems to have come to something of that same conclusion, for at the end of the story he becomes

a follower of the sangha. When read in light of the importance of male progeny in Brahmanism

for carrying on the authority and vital functions of their fathers, the Brahmin in this case has

been cut off from immortality. 187 Interestingly, the Buddha intervenes and the Brahmanical

version of immortality (householding and sons) has been exchanged for the Buddhist (the

sangha).

While this story shows the beneficial interaction between the two groups, a second

passage is more doubtful. Here the Buddha enters a Brahmin village for alms, but the Brahmin

householders (here called brāhmaṇa-gahapatikā), under the control of Māra, refuse to bestow

any gifts. Māra then mockingly offers to reverse his control and allow the Buddha to gain alms,

if only he will make a second round. After rebuking Māra for this act, the Buddha responds as

follows: “We who have nothing live happily, indeed. We will be like the radiant gods, who were

eaters of joy.”188

186
SN I 175-177.
187
See Black, The Character of the Self in Ancient India, pgs 141-142.
188
SN I 113-114: susukham vata jīvāma yesaṃ no nātthi kiñcanaṃ |
pītibhakkhā bhavissāma devā ābhassarā yathā ti ||
 77

The Buddha‟s response seems in part an evocation of the satirical “creation” story of the

Aggañña Sutta in the Dīgha Nikāya. In that sutta, when the universe “reboots,” as it were, the

first beings are entirely self-luminous and sustain themselves entirely on pīti, which is joy or

bliss. Over time, as they are further contaminated by desire, they develop a need for coarser,

grosser material for subsistence, leading to coarser, grosser bodies and eventually the whole host

of social ills which plague humanity. 189 Absent alms, the Buddha seems to say, the sangha (and

the concluding verse is in the third person plural, meaning the Buddha is speaking on behalf of

more than himself) will return to this earlier, more pristine state. The frame narrative for this

creation story in the Aggañña Sutta also speaks critically of Brahmins: two ex-Brahmin

householders and prospective monks comment on abuse they have suffered from Brahmins for

renouncing this heritage.190 The Buddha then offers his competing account of origins to refute

the Brahmanical claim that theirs is a superior vaṇṇa. Richard Gombrich, in fact, has ably

demonstrated the satirical nature of the Aggañña Sutta, arguing that the text incorporates and

reworks notions of Brahmanical creation found in the Rig Veda and Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad.191

The ultimate goal of the story, then, as Gombrich plainly puts it, is “to deny the Brahmin view of

the origin of society and to make fun of it.”192

In an aside, in the Milindapañha King Milinda asks the interesting question that, if Māra can so easily prevent the
Buddha from attaining alms, does that not make the god of saṃsāra more powerful? After explaining that Māra has
acted out of “envy” (issāpakato) toward the Buddha, the monk Nāgasena argues that Māra is successful only
because he has “hidden himself” (nilīyitvā) like a thief (corā) in the kingdom of a powerful ruler (154-158).
189
Compare DN III 84: Saṃvaṭṭamāne loke yebhuyyena sattā ābhassara-saṃvaṭṭanikā honti. Te tattha honti
manomayā pītibhakkhā sayampabhā antalikkhacarā subhaṭṭhāyino ciram dīghaṃ addhānaṃ tiṭṭhanti. (“When the
universe contracts, beings are born in the Ābhassara realm. There they live, mind-made, eating joy, self-luminous,
moving in the sky, glorious, and they remain that way for a long time.”)
190
DN III 80-81.
191
“The Buddha‟s Book of Genesis?” Indo-Iranian Journal, pgs. 166-167.
192
Ibid., pg. 163.
 78

Noting this allusion to the Aggañña Sutta helps us see how truly ambivalent Buddhists

might have been toward alms-gathering from Brahmin householders. The preferable means of

subsistence is to eat pure joy, but this is no longer possible, as the Buddha‟s initial pass through

the village makes clear. As this age represents degeneration from past purity, the need for food is

non-negotiable, which puts even Buddhists at the mercy of Brahmin householders.

It is also highly significant that Māra is the symbolic vehicle for explaining the

householders‟ refusal to give alms. Portrayed as easily manipulated by Māra, the householders

are thus aligned with the campaign to obstruct the dharma. But on a more specific social note,

the refusal to give alms, which disrupts the symbiotic relationship noted in the first story, is

linked to the power most subversive of the Buddha‟s teaching. Therefore, we get the impression

that whenever Brahmins act outside the bounds prescribed by the Buddhist vision for how the

social groups should cooperate, it is an act potentially attributable to Māra himself. This crucial

alignment of narrative and social prescription will become even more evident later in this

chapter.

We can observe the same kind of complicated relationship between the Buddhist

community and the other broad category of Brahmins, the jaṭila. At first these two groups would

seemingly have more in common than bhikkhus and householders due to a shared ascetic ethic.

That being the case, there were still good reasons for Buddhists to regard the jaṭila with

suspicion. Despite the fact that, as Patrick Olivelle points out, the jaṭila were preeminent in

attempts to push against the boundaries of Brahmanism from the inside, partly by eschewing the

householder life, they were still not beggars like the bhikkhus.193 Rather, the jaṭila occupied

fixed āśrams, went through the stages of life according to varṇāśramadharma, and participated
193
Patrick Olivelle, Saṃnyāsa Upaniṣads, pg. 36.
 79

in the śrauta sacrifices, perhaps even to a greater extent than the gahapatis, dressing in animal

skins and using implements such as the udumbara staff.194 Though the jaṭila occupies a very

different station than the older Vedic priests, he still draws upon and identifies with that lineage.

This alone would predispose some conflict with Buddhist traditions.

Tsuchida, however, has argued that jaṭilas on the whole receive less criticism in Buddhist

texts than gahapatis.195 While this may be true, if one reads the texts closely enough, the same

kind of complicated ambivalence we have just observed regarding Brahmin householders also

obtains with regard to jaṭilas. In one such text, a “mendicant Brahmin” (bhikkhako brāhmaṇo)

approaches the Buddha and asks, “Honorable Gotama, I am a mendicant, and you, sir, are also a

mendicant. How then are we not of the same condition?”196 Immediately this passage cuts to the

heart of the potential conflict between Buddhists and Brahmin ascetics that, frankly, Tsuchida

misses by simply focusing on the quantity of negative references: the two groups are potentially

too similar. In this passage, the Brahmin is pushing on the lines dividing the two interpretations

of asceticism, attempting to blur the distinction and perhaps subsume Buddhist ideas under the

Brahmanical umbrella. To preserve the distinction, the text shows the Buddha immediately push

back, redrawing the line in interesting ways. He says, “just because one begs (bhikkhavo) to

another, through this one is not a beggar (bhikkhako). Having taken up domestic practice, one is

not a beggar (bhikkhu).”197 I have chosen to render “bhikkhu” here as “beggar” to maintain

continuity with the rest of the passage: one does not become a beggar or mendicant simply by

begging, but also by renouncing all domestic practice, including the āśram and śrauta sacrifice.

194
Tsuchida, “Two Categories of Brahmin in the Early Buddhist Period,” pg. 83.
195
Ibid., pgs. 86-91.
196
SN I 182.
197
Ibid.: na tena bhikkhako hoti yāvatā bhikkhavo pare |
visaṃ dhammam samādāya bhikkhu hoti na tāvatā ||
 80

On those points, according to this passage, one can still find a clear demarcation between

Buddhist and Brahmin ascetics. With the way this verse plays with language, however, one could

translate “bhikkhu” either as “beggar,” in keeping with the prior terms, or as “monk,” since what

the author(s) are plainly doing is preserving Buddhist asceticism and monasticism as distinct

from Brahmanical practice.

In response to his interlocutor, the Buddha offers one further verse: “The one who,

having excluded merit and evil, is a brahmacarin and he proceeds in the world with

understanding and is called a bhikkhu.”198 Now the Buddha has entirely turned the tables,

claiming Brahmanical ground as his own: the true brahmacarin, traditionally the dedicated

celibate student of the Vedas, is actually the bhikkhu, for the Buddhist monk is the one who

“proceeds in the world with understanding.” Here I have left bhikkhu untranslated to convey this

transference of office: the Buddhist monk is the true heir to the Vedic tradition, because he

understands it better. Buddhist literature is replete with examples of the redefinition of

“Brahmin” to mean “the Buddha” or an adherent to the dharma. For example, the Brāhmaṇa

Vaggo of the Dhammapada is entirely dedicated to making claims such as, “one is not a Brahmin

by matted locks or family or birth. The one who is truthful and pure and follows the dharma is a

Brahmin.”199 A later text, the Milindapañha, argues that a true Brahmin is one who has achieved

release, awakening, and, interestingly for our purposes, “defeated Māra‟s army” (mārasenaṃ

vidhamitvā).200 Proper comprehension of reality, which is the cornerstone of the Buddha‟s

dharma, is thus held above the performance of ritual as another way to define Buddhist practice

198
Ibid.: yo dha puññān ca pāpañ ca bāhitvā brahmacariyaṃ |
saṅkhāya loke carati sa ve bhikkhūti vuccatīti ||
199
26.11: na jaṭāhi na gottena na jaccā hoti brāhmaṇo |
yamhi saccaṃ ca dhammo ca so sucī so ca brāhmaṇo||
200
Pg. 226.
 81

over and against Brahmanical. In this case, at the conclusion of the encounter, we find that the

Buddha‟s argument must have been convincing: the bhikkhako Brahmin becomes a lay follower.

In many ways, the preceding story can be seen as the ideal scenario from the Buddhist

perspective, in that the Brahmin posed his question, the Buddha answered, and the Brahmin gave

in to superior reasoning. In other instances, the outcome is not so favorable, as when a group of

bhikkhus are approached by a Brahmin ascetic with a great deal of knotted, matted hair, wearing

an antelope hide, and carrying a staff of udumbara wood.201 Each of these details immediately

lends the story a realistic feel and locates the Brahmin firmly in the Vedic tradition. Getting the

bhikkhus‟ attention, he questions why such young men would have left home, for now is the time

to enjoy the pleasures due to that age.202 Unconvinced, the bhikkhus instead consult the Buddha,

who reveals that their questioner was actually Māra, disguised in the form of an ascetic Brahmin.

The argument with which the bhikkhus are confronted is one we would expect such

Brahmins to make against Buddhists, namely that they have undertaken their asceticism and

renunciation out of sync with the correct stages of life. The most significant aspect of the story

aside from that is, obviously, the affiliation of a combative Brahmin ascetic with Māra. Unlike

the prior case, this is not a Brahmin who converts, or even can convert, for he is really Māra in

disguise. It is not too great an extrapolation to see the text as suggesting that Buddhists should

treat the recalcitrant Brahmin ascetics who refuse to acknowledge the superiority of Buddhist

ideas about asceticism as part of Māra‟s forces.

As with the earlier pair of stories, the symbol of Māra is part of a strategy of social

prescription by which Buddhists can make sense of the ambivalent relations experienced with

201
SN I 117: mahantena jaṭaṇḍuvena ajinakkhipa-nivattho…udumbara-daṇḍaṃ.
202
Ibid.: bhuñjatu bhonto mānusake kāme.
 82

different groups of Brahmins. Those gahapatis and jaṭilas who play their proper roles will

subordinate themselves to the Buddha, and either offer alms or acknowledge that the dharma is

the true culmination of Brahmanism. If they do not, they are clearly under the influence of Māra,

or themselves representatives of that god. Once we place Buddhist narratives of Brahmā in this

framework, it becomes apparent that they operate together as a way to prescribe social roles for

Brahmins. Next I turn to the portrayals of Brahmā in the Pāli Canon and the part they play in

advancing these social divisions, hierarchies, and prescriptions.

Pāli Canon Narratives of Brahmā and Māra

Before proceeding, we should discuss one fact about Brahmā peculiar to the Buddhist

conception, namely that, as is apparent from the introduction to this chapter, the tradition holds

to the existence of multiple Brahmās. In Buddhism, “Brahmā” refers to a particular class of gods

who dwell in the rūpaloka. Like Māra, these gods live for a period of time and are then reborn,

yet unlike the god of saṃsāra, there are multiple such deities at once, and Buddhist literature

often gives them proper names and biographies to distinguish between them. For instance, in the

Brahmasaṃyutta of Saṃyutta Nikāya we learn of the Brahmā Tudu, who was once a Buddhist

monk.203 Other Brahmās are regular fixtures in the Buddha‟s life, such as Brahmā Sahampati

who we are told initially asked the Buddha to teach the dharma and then delivered a kind of

eulogy upon the Awakened One‟s passage into parinirvāṇa. The Mahāpadāna Sutta of the

Dīgha Nikāya, which portrays its tale of the life of the previous Buddha Vipassī as a paradigm

for the lives of all Buddhas, gives this role to a “certain Mahābrahmā,” closely linking the

Buddha and the teaching of the dharma to the concept of Brahmā.

203
SN I 149.
 83

However, simply by virtue of expanding the category of “Brahmā” from a single deity to

an entire class, thereby multiplying the number of personalities involved, the Buddhist literary

tradition already signals an intent to redefine that concept. I believe we can read the respective

portrayals of these individual Buddhist Brahmās as specific episodes in that effort. Some

Buddhist narratives of Brahmās highlight the deva to make the point that the Buddha is praised

even by devas, to advance a particular Buddhist teaching, to invite or urge the Buddha to teach,

or a combination of some or all three. The aforementioned incident in which Brahmā Sahampati

appears at the passing of the Buddha is just such an example. In the Dīgha Nikāya‟s version of

the Buddha‟s death, appearing in the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta, after the Buddha passes, Brahmā

Sahampati appears and says, “All beings in the world, all bodies must break up. Even the teacher

without equal in the world, the mighty lord and perfect Buddha has passed away.” 204 The

moment of the Buddha‟s passing is obviously a keen moment for emphasizing the universal

nature of anicca, in that even the renowned teacher himself cannot last forever. Using Brahmā –

the creator and an image of permanence in the Brahmanical tradition – to reinforce this point,

however, is a supremely ironic move that appropriates the deva for Buddhist purposes and

subordinates him to the dharma.

This same Brahmā Sahampati also shows up in another story to make pronounced

obeisance to the Buddha. Noted at the beginning of this chapter, Brahmā Sahampati goes to the

Buddha and bows, offering añjali, the joining together of the hands in salutation.205 This gesture

is noteworthy in combination with an immediately following episode that tells of a former

204
DN II 157: sabbe „va nikkhipissanti bhūtā loke samussayaṃ
yathā etādiso satthā loke appaṭipuggalo
tathāgato balapatto sambuddho parinibbuto.
205
SN I 139.
 84

Brahmin, now an arahant and appropriately named Brahmadeva, who is about to seek alms from

his mother. We are told she has been making constant oblations and offerings to Brahmā

(Brahmuno āhutiṃ niccaṃ paggaṇhāsi).206 Before Brahmadeva arrives, Brahmā Sahampati visits

the arahant‟s mother and criticizes her ritual practice. “Lady Brahmin,” he chides, “This is not

the food of Brahmā. So why recite mantras not knowing the path to Brahmā?”207 The verb

“jappasi,” which I have translated here as “recite mantras” can also mean “mumble or mutter,”

making the rendering “why mumble not knowing the path to Brahmā?” The ambiguity is itself

significant, seemingly equating mantras to mumblings or verbal gropings in the dark, in search of

connection to an absent deva.

Brahmā Sahampati then goes on to tell the mother that her son, Brahmadeva, has

“surpassed the devas” (atidevapatto), “deserves offerings from humans and devas” (narāṇaṃ

devānaṃ ca dakkhiṇeyyo), and therefore she must “let him eat the most excellent alms that are

the offering” (so tyāhutiṃ bhuñjatu aggapiṇḍaṃ).208 In line with the corrective that chanting of

mantras is akin to mumbling, these remarks position alms-giving as the true sacrifice, suggesting

that giving the offering to a bhikkhu rather than a deva is in fact the proper way to perform the

ritual. The name of the bhikkhu, Brahmadeva, is obviously not accidental in this regard: he is the

real Brahmā god, whereas Brahmā Sahampati himself acknowledges that he has been surpassed.

The interplay of the gesture of añjali in the previous story with the verb paggaṇhāsi serves to

further underscore this point. Paggaṇhāsi is the verb in the passage in which Brahmā Sahampati

has told the Brahmin mother she should not offer (paggaṇhāsi) to Brahmā. Besides “offer,” the

206
SN I 141.
207
Ibid.: netādiso brāhmaṇi brahmabhakkho |
kiṃ jappasi brahmapatham ajānantī ||
208
Ibid.
 85

verb can also mean “stretch forth or hold out one‟s hands.” In the earlier passage, as well as

others in the Nikāyas, this Brahmā stretches out his hands to the Buddha and now instructs the

Brahmin mother, who has been holding them out to a deva (wrongly, from the Buddhist point of

view) to follow suit. That it is the deva himself who redirects this sign of obeisance speaks to the

degree of “Buddhification” Brahmā has undergone in these narratives.

That process of appropriation, and its significance in terms of social prescription, is in

even sharper relief when we consider narratives in which Brahmā gods and Māra come into

contact with one another. Such a confrontation occurs in Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita. In that

elaborate poem, just as Gotama is on the brink of achieving awakening, Māra senses his

preeminence over saṃsāra is in jeopardy and resolves to intervene. First he employs his desire-

inducing arrows, and when this fails, summons an army of monsters to destroy the meditating

sage.209 After the army is also woefully ineffective at breaking Gotama‟s concentration, let alone

killing him, a “certain being of excellence, invisible form standing in the sky” calls upon Māra to

halt his attack.210 This being declares that since the world is carried away by many wrong paths

(bahūbhiḥ kumargaiḥ), he should refrain from assaulting the one searching for the right path

(sanmārgam anvicchanti).211 Compared to the “great darkness” (mahandhakāre), the prospective

Buddha is a “lamp of knowledge” (jñāpradīpaḥ) and that light must not be extinguished.212

Instead, by carrying on with this futile attack, he charges that Māra has been excessively proud

209
BC 13.13-18.
210
Ibid., 56: bhūtaṃ tataḥ kiṃcid adṛśyarūpaṃ viśiṣṭabhūtaṃ gaganastham eva.
211
Ibid., 62.
212
Ibid., 63.
 86

of his power during a time when his station is actually starting to slip or totter away. 213 In

response to this repudiation, a dejected Māra slinks away, his army dispersing. 214

We have good reason to believe that the unnamed “certain being” who plays an important

role in driving off Māra actually refers to a Brahmā. The most important evidence for that

position is the similarity between this being‟s speech and texts in the Nikāyas that speak of a

Brahmā exhorting the Buddha to share his knowledge and teach the dharma for the good of the

world. In the Saṃyutta Nikāya, for example, the Buddha briefly experiences doubts about

continuing to profess the dharma, due to the widespread delusion of beings. 215 This wavering in

resolve is enough to cause Brahmā Sahampati to cry out, “Oh! The world will be destroyed, the

world will perish completely!”216 Immediately he goes to see the Buddha and is successful in

beseeching the Awakened One to continue professing the dharma. The previously mentioned

Mahāpadāna Sutta of the Dīgha Nikāya puts such exhortations on the part of Brahmās in a

longer temporal perspective, telling of the past Buddha Vipassī‟s decision to teach at the urging

of a Brahmā again because otherwise, the world would perish and perish utterly. 217 That text,

instead of referring to a “certain being,” instead refers to a “certain great Brahmā” (aññtaro

Mahābrahmā).218 The similar language on the part of the Nikāya Brahmās and the “certain

being” of the Buddhacarita – who similarly despairs of the survival of the world if the Buddha

does not teach – leads me to the conclusion that the latter refers to Brahmā.

213
Ibid., 69: bhūnmahimnā tava Māra mānaḥ (“Māra, [you are] arrogant, proud of your power”), cale pade
vismayamabhyupaiṣi (“at a time when your station wavers.”)
214
Ibid., 70-71.
215
SN I 136: rāgadosaparatehi: “afflicted by hate and lust,” is the literal translation.
216
Ibid. 137: nassati vata bho loko vinassati vata bho loko.
217
DN II 37-40.
218
Ibid., II 43.
 87

That being the case, two points emerge. First, the motif of Brahmā pleading for the

presence of the dharma in the world shows the supposed creator‟s actual helplessness in being

able to better the lives of beings or sustain existence. That task requires the Buddha, showing

who the true prime mover (after a fashion) really is. At the same time, it shows that the deva

does have a place in the scheme of things, being instrumental to the Buddha‟s decision to teach.

Dhivan Jones has also noted the significance of Brahmā asking the Buddha to teach and argues,

sensibly in my opinion, that “the reason Brahmā asks the Buddha to teach…is that his merely

asking suggests the superiority of the dharma to Brahmanism, since it shows this Brahmā to be a

convert to Buddhism.”219

Along with Jones, I would also argue that whatever role Buddhist texts give to a

particular Brahmā, they make no mistake that it is unambiguously below the Buddha. As we see

in the Buddhacarita, though, this is a point that Māra does not appreciate. This is the second of

the two points that I believe emerge from the analysis so far: from the Buddhist perspective, a

good deva should know his/her place. Māra is therefore the epitome of the bad deva who,

believing in his superiority to the Buddha, reviles and attacks him. In the stories described so far,

in which Brahmā advances the Buddha‟s teaching (often at the expense of Brahmanism) and

acknowledges the Awakened One‟s superiority, he epitomizes the model deva. Subordinate

Brahmās, like Sahampati, and Māra would then be structural opposites, working in Buddhist

narratives to advance the tradition‟s reconceptualization of the role and place of gods. 220

219
“Why Did Brahmā Ask the Buddha to Teach?” Buddhist Studies Review, pg. 98. On this point, it is an interesting
aside to note that Greg Bailey has argued that parts of the Mahābhārata and Rāmāyāṇa in which Brahmā asks Vyāsa
and Vālmīki to recite the respective epics, and use the meter that they employ, is a Hindu appropriation of the trope
of Brahmā asking the Buddha to teach, but turning it toward Brahmanical narratives. See The Mythology of
Brahmā, pgs. 175-181.
220
This is the main theme of chapter four of this dissertation.
 88

Negative representations of Brahmās in Buddhist texts show the reverse situation, specifically,

the arrogant and obstructionist nature of Brahmanical devas. These representations, as we shall

see, correspond almost diametrically with the positive portrayals already covered. For instance,

though it is a later text from a different tradition, the Mahāvastu contains an episode in which a

Mahābrahmā appears to Gotama when he is still at his palace and attempts to dissuade him from

leaving his princely life. In his promises of worldly riches and earthly dominion in exchange for

forsaking renunciation, this Mahābrahmā acts in the same manner attributed to Māra in other

Buddhist texts and creates a clear contrast with the Sahampati who begs Gotama not only to

achieve awakening, but to spread the dharma.221

This contrast in the Buddhist portrayal of Brahmās, however, represents a statement not

just about the nature of gods, but the nature of society. Given Brahmā‟s status as the titular

Brahmanical deity, it is certainly not accidental that the behavior of the positively portrayed

Brahmās reflects the attention Buddhists believed they were due from Brahmins. Thus the degree

to which they recognize that alms-giving is the corrected form of sacrifice and the Buddha is

their learned superior, they are emulating such great Brahmās as Sahampati. When they fall short

of this goal, they are akin to Māra.

Both sides are evident in the Māratajjanīya Sutta of the Majjhima Nikāya. In this sutta

Māra assails one of the Buddha‟s most prominent disciples, Moggallāna, by entering into his gut,

giving him a stomachache. Moggallāna recognizes Māra‟s presence immediately, much faster

than any of the Buddha‟s other disciples. Soon we are told this because in a past life he was a

Māra, named Dūsī.222 Māra Dūsī, like the current Māra, pursued and attempted to frustrate that

221
MV II 158.
222
MN I 332
 89

era‟s Buddha (named Kakusandha). Similar to a Saṃyutta Nikāya text we have already

examined, Māra Dūsī exerts his influence over a group of Brahmin householders

(brāhmaṇagahapati anvāvisati) first to ridicule the bhikkhus as belonging to a lower vaṇṇa and

mistaken in their practices. Specifically, the gahapatis call the bhikkhus “dark offspring of

Brahmā‟s feet” (kiṇhā bandhupādāpaccā) and ones who, though they boast they meditate,

actually meditate wrongly (apajjhāyanti).223 The second insult seems plain enough in implying

that, unlike Brahmanical practice, Buddhist meditation leads nowhere, which is something of a

mirror image of the charges Buddhist passages make about Brahmanical ritual. The first phrase,

however, requires further exegesis. Though “bandhu” can also mean “kinsmen” – this is how

Bhikkhus Ñāṇamoli and Bodhi render it in their translation224 – “bandhupādāpaccā” more

specifically, when used by a Brahmin, could be rendered, “offspring from our kinsman‟s feet,”

taking into account the belief that Brahmā is the ancestor of all Brahmins. 225 The first insult thus

clearly references Brahmin arguments reaching back to the Vedic myth of Puruṣa‟s sacrifice to

assert that Buddhists and other renunciants are inveterately of lower social standing than

Brahmins. (Indeed, these are the kind of arguments to which the satirical Aggañña Sutta, briefly

considered earlier, is a response.) The charge was apparently fairly prevalent, for one finds

oblique responses to it in other Buddhist texts, such as the Thera- and Therīgāthā, in which

various monks and nuns express that, “previously I was a kinsman of Brahmā (brahmabandhu)

but now [that is, after becoming a Buddhist] I am a true Brahmin.”226 In the case of the

223
Ibid. 334.
224
The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha, pg. 433.
225
T.W. Rhys-Davids understands the passage this way in the Pāli-English Dictionary, pg. 482.
226
The line is repeated almost word for word in several places in the text. See Theragāthā, 29 and 82, and
Therīgāthā, 147, 151, and 155.
 90

Māratajjanīya Sutta, the Buddhist narrative clearly links this Brahmanical discourse, including

its portrayal of Brahmā, to the obstructive and deceptive machinations of Māra.

Buddha Kakusandha advises his followers to respond to these criticisms with equanimity,

and recommends the same course when Māra switches tactics to have the Brahmins honor and

praise the bhikkhus.227 Māra‟s attempts to arouse first anger and then pride in the bhikkhus,

allowing him to gain influence over them, are thus thwarted. The climax of the flashback occurs

when Māra Dūsī causes a boy to hurl a rock at an attendant of the Buddha‟s, at which point,

Moggallāna explains, that particular Māra was reborn in hell and then later, reborn as

Moggallāna.228 The remainder of the sutta is given over to description of the hells and further

upbraiding of Māra for his audacity in persecuting one of the Buddha‟s followers.

One passage in that later part of the text bears special attention. Moggallāna recounts

speaking to Sakka (Indra), who relates the following words of Brahmā: “I see the radiance

operating outside the Brahmā world. Thus how could I think, „I am eternal,” or „I am

permanent?‟”229 While the gahapatis under Māra‟s power draw on the figure of Brahmā in an

attempt to put Buddhists in their place (lower than Brahmins, of course), the real Brahmā

(according to Buddhists) speaks out at the end to dispute the Brahamanical notion of himself as a

permanent, eternal creator. The point of intersection for both portrayals, and one of the vertices

along which we can make the most fruitful contrast, is the figure of Māra. The bad behavior and

(according to Buddhists) fallacious arguments of the Brahmins are symptoms of Māra, while

Brahmā‟s words at the end are a rebuke to Māra, emphasizing that nothing is permanent, even

227
MN I 335-336.
228
Ibid. 336-337.
229
Ibid. 338: passāmi vītivattantaṃ brahmaloke pabhassaraṃ |
so ‘ham ajja kathaṃ vajjaṃ ahaṃ nicco ‘mhi sassato ||
 91

devas like themselves. The undercurrent of these twin streams is that the Buddhist version of

Brahmā models the correct, more obsequious behavior Brahmins could and should take on

through proper understanding. Anything less results in delusion at the hands of Māra.

This is precisely the situation other Buddhist narratives either imply or expressly state is

at work in descriptions of other Brahmās. In contrast to the preceding unequivocal

denouncements of permanence and eternality, this second category of Brahmā narratives

consistently portray certain Brahmās as advocates of such beliefs. With the help of the Buddha,

the Brahmā involved is disabused of these notions, but the process generally involves a display

of logical force or supernatural powers. At play in these Pāli stories, as in the proceeding

category, are specific references to different Brahmin social groups, as well as the power of

Māra, either hovering in the background or standing directly alongside Brahmā.

A typical example occurs in the Saṃyutta Nikāya. One passage in that collection tells of a

certain Brahmā (we are not given the name) who develops the view that he is permanent,

everlasting, and his realm is impenetrable to ascetics. The Buddha and four of his closest

disciples quickly puncture this misconception by appearing in the Brahmā‟s realm: each of the

disciples occupies a quarter of space while the Buddha, significantly, appears directly above the

Brahmā, giving a spatial demonstration of his superiority in addition to the display of

supernormal power. Having surrounded the Brahmā, Moggallāna asks if he has cause now to

revisit his previously stated views. Given what has transpired, the Brahmā remarks, “I no longer

hold that view which I previously held. I see the radiance operating outside the Brahmā world.

Thus how could I think, „I am eternal,‟ or „I am permanent?‟” 230

230
SN I 144-146: na me mārisa sā diṭṭhi yā me diṭṭhi pure ahu |
passāmi vītivattantam brahmaloke pabhassaraṃ |
 92

A few similarities to the Māratajjanīya Sutta are worthy of note. First, Brahmā‟s

language in the preceding passage is identical to what is found in the Māratajjanīya Sutta.

However, rather than a freely-offered rebuke to Māra, the admission this time is elicited by a

humbling exhibition of the Buddha‟s superiority. Additionally, it is significant that Moggallāna,

the one who pressed Māra on impermanence, is the cross-examiner in this case as well. When we

compare Māra in the Māratajjanīya Sutta to the Brahmā in this Saṃyutta Nikāya text, it becomes

apparent that this representation of the deva parallels Māra.

This parallel and connection to Māra is at work in most of the stories about Brahmās in

the Nikāyas, though sometimes it is rather subtle and emerges only by comparison with other

texts. By looking closely at the portrayal of these Brahmās and the language used, we can

uncover these correlations with Māra and, noting the Brahmin social groups mentioned,

determine its social intent. Two Dīgha Nikāya texts in particular, which both cast the primacy of

Brahmā gods as illusory – and even delusional – help us locate this context. In the Brahmajāla

Sutta, for instance, the Buddha tells a story of the beginning of a cosmic cycle. Though similar in

this way to the Aggañña Sutta, which primarily dealt with political and social organization, this

text focuses on deflating the notion of a permanent creator god. According to the Buddha, after

some time the universe contracts and then expands again, and luminous beings are reborn in a

Brahmā world. Eventually, one expires and is reborn in an empty Brahmā palace. Lonely and

wishing for company, other beings are coincidentally reborn in the same palace. The first being

believes he is responsible and declares, “I am Brahmā, the Great Brahmā, supreme lord,

unsurpassed, lord of all, almighty maker, creator, assigner of stations, mother and father of all

svāhaṃ ajja kathaṃ vajjaṃ ahaṃ nicco „mhi sassato ti ||

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beings who are and will be. These beings were created by me.” 231 Noticing the self-proclaimed

Brahmā was indeed in the palace first, the subsequent beings assent to his declaration, repeating

the same list of epithets. Eventually one of the beings is reborn in the human world, taking up the

path of an ascetic.232 Through his meditative effort and mental concentration (ceto samādhiṃ),

he achieves awareness of his past life in the Brahmā palace and remembers the being who

claimed to be the Great Brahmā. His practice is not attuned enough to remember beyond that

point, however, and rather than putting the memory of the past life in the proper context, he

instead draws the wrong conclusion: a Great Brahmā exists who is “permanent, fixed, eternal,

and unchanging, and he remains that way forever.” 233

Besides showing belief in a permanent creator god to be the result of a multilayered and

ancient (not to mention colossal) misunderstanding, this story is also a polemic against ascetics

who engage in practices that are Buddhist-like but not entirely under Buddhist rubric. This seems

directed at the Brahmin ascetic who, we have noted, is like the Buddhist bhikkhu but maintains

allegiance to Vedic tradition, causing friction on both counts. Here we see the outcome of near-

Buddhist practice still rooted in the Vedas: he comes close to unmasking the true nature of

Brahmā, but instead buys into the faux deva‟s illusory claims and, what is even more egregious,

begins to promulgate them. The thrust of the story is that in order to untangle all these wrong

views one must forswear Brahmanical methods and outlooks in favor of Buddhist.

The Dīgha Nikāya‟s Kevaddha Sutta makes a similar point about Brahmā while directing

itself against the Brahmin gahapatis. The start of the text is the gahapati Kevaddha coming to

231
DN I 18: aham asmi brahmā mahābrahmā abhibhū anabhibhūto aññadatthudaso vasavattī issaro kattā nimmātā
seṭṭho sañjitā vasī pitā bhūta bhavyānaṃ. Mayā ime sattā nimmitā.
232
Ibid.: itthattaṃ āgato samāno agārasmā anagāriyaṃ pabbajati.
233
Ibid.: so nicco dhuvo sassato avipariṇāmadhammo sassatisamaṃ tath‟ eva ṭhassati.
 94

speak to the Buddha. For this audience, the Awakened One tells a story about a bhikkhu who,

curious to know where “elements cease without remainder,” consults first the thirty-three gods,

then the Yāma gods, before finally arriving at the realm of Brahmā.234 When the bhikkhu asks

this Great Brahmā his question, the latter responds only with a recitation of his titles, identical to

what we saw in the Brahmjāla Sutta: “Bhikkhu, I am Brahmā, the Great Brahmā, supreme lord,

the unsurpassed lord of all, almighty maker and creator, assigner of stations, mother and father of

all beings who are and will be.”235 Twice more the bhikkhu repeats his question only to receive

the same non sequitur for an answer. Finally, the Brahmā takes the monk aside (ekamantaṃ

apanetvā) in order to save his retinue, as well as himself undoubtedly, the experience of publicly

admitting he does not know the answer.236 Though to this point the text is a rather pointed

condemnation of Brahmā for trying to mask his ignorance with, of all things, declarations of his

supremacy, he next lauds the Buddha. The bhikkhu, he says in no uncertain terms, has acted

badly (dukkatam), even offensively (aparaddham) by asking others for the answer to his

question instead of going to the Buddha. 237 He further tells the bhikkhu to find the Buddha

without delay and “accept the answer just as the Blessed One explains it.” 238 Criticism is thus

quickly reflected onto the bhikkhu: why would he expect an answer other than bluster from

someone besides the Buddha? Keeping the frame of the story in mind, namely the Buddha‟s

instruction of a gahapati, it is apparent that the critique can be traced back a further step, as a

kind of preemptive recrimination stating that Brahmin householders are as mistaken as the

234
DN I 211-220.
235
Ibid. 221: aham asmi bhikkhu brahmā mahābrahmā abhibhū anabhibhūto aññadatthudaso vasavattī issaro kattā
nimmātā seṭṭho sañjitā vasī pitā bhūtabhavyānan ti.
236
Ibid. 221-222.
237
Ibid. 222.
238
Ibid.: yathā ca te bhagavā vyākaroti tathā naṃ dhāreyāsīti.
 95

bhikkhu in the story if they seek answers to their questions from a deva with fancy names but no

real knowledge. The real locus of authority, the sutta posits, is the Buddha or his followers.

As a pair, the Brahmajāla and Kevaddha Suttas are instructive about the arguments

Buddhist authors directed toward the different Brahmin social groups. Based on the evidence in

the Brahmajāla Sutta, they targeted Brahmin ascetics for having practices which fell just short of

Buddhist understanding, with enormous misperceptions of the actual state of reality to show for

it. The Kevaddha Sutta reveals a rhetoric of gahapati dependence on the sangha, apparently as

an attempt to display the Brahmin as the source of all instruction. In both cases, the argument is

made by revealing Brahmā‟s claims to permanence and eternality to be baseless. Crucial to the

intricacy of this Buddhist discourse, however, is an understanding of how these claims of

permanence and eternality are ultimately grounded in the figure of Māra.

Attempts to cover up the reality of anicca are a calling card of Māra in the Nikāyas, as

demonstrated by his response to the Buddha‟s declaration that human life is short: “Human

beings have long lives; a good person does not revile it. One should go on, content like a

sleeping baby, for death has not arrived.”239 Similarly, Māra contends later on that “the days and

nights do not fly by, life does not stop, human lives roll on like a chariot hub.” 240 Interestingly,

given the conception of saṃsāra as a wheel continually spinning on and on, taking beings with it

through endless rebirths, the image of life as a chariot wheel is actually quite consonant with

Buddhist teaching. Rather than point this out, though, in both cases the Buddha is content to state

239
SN I 108: dīgham āyu manussānaṃ na naṃ hīle suporiso |
careyya khīramatto va natthi maccussa āgamo ti ||
“Khīramatto” literally means “intoxicated with milk,” which I have rendered as “sleeping baby” because the sense
seems to be one immune to cares or worries.
240
Ibid. 109: nāccayanti ahorattā jīvitaṃ n‟ uparujjhati |
āyu anupariyāti maccānaṃ nemi va ratha kubbaranti. ||
 96

the opposite of what Māra has just asserted, specifically, in the first case, “The life of humans is

short. A good person should revile it. One should go about with head on fire, for death has

come.”241 In the Buddhacarita, as Māra intervenes against Gotama‟s enlightenment quest, he

identifies himself entirely with the old Brahmanical order, telling the sage, “Get up, Kṣatriya,

one who is afraid of death. Abandon the dharma of release and follow your own dharma. Strive

to obtain the world through arrows and sacrifices, and from the location of this world, obtain that

of Vāsava.”242

These dialogues between the Buddha and Māra firmly align the latter with pravṛtti

concerns and ideologies. When placed alongside encounters between a deluded Brahmā and the

Buddha in Buddhist texts, we begin to see the profound rhetorical similarities between the devas.

A prime example occurs when an “evil or pernicious theory” (pāpakaṃ diṭṭigataṃ) develops in

Brahmā Baka‟s mind: “This is permanent, this is stable. This is eternal, this is self-sufficient, this

has an unchanging nature. Here one does not age, one does not die, one does not move on, one

does not arise again. There is no other escape better than this.”243 Immediately we should notice

that these are the same kind of views Māra was espousing: life is long, stable, and happy, while

death is remote and not a matter of concern. As in other stories when a Brahmā develops such

views, the Buddha senses Brahmā Baka‟s mindset and becomes disturbed, saying, literally, “Oh!

241
Ibid. 108: appam āyu manussānaṃ hīleyya naṃ suporiso |
careyyādittasīso va / natthi maccussa nāgamo ti ||
(Literally, “…death has not not come.”)
242
13. 9: uttiṣṭha bhoḥ kṣatriya mṛtyubhīta cara svadharmaṃ tyaja mokṣadharmam |
bāṇaiśca yajñaiśca vinīya lokaṃ lokātpadaṃ prāpnuhi vāsavasya ||
It is also possible, though this chapter is not the context in which to develop the idea, that this sentiment on the part
of Māra may be borrowed from the Bhagavad-gītā, as Kṛṣṇa attempts to rally Arjuna to fight at Kurukṣetra. I will
look into this possibility further in chapter four, when I deal with the figure of Indra and Buddhist uses of Māra to
rework notions of the kṣatriya class.
243
SN I 142: idaṃ hi mārisa niccaṃ idaṃ dhuvaṃ / idaṃ sassataṃ idaṃ kevalaṃ idam acavanadhammaṃ / idaṃ hi
na jāyati na jīyati na mīyati na cavati na uppajjati / it ca panaññam uttariṃ nissaraṇaṃ natthīti.
 97

Brahmā Baka has become ignorant!”244 He appears in Brahmā‟s realm and the corrective he

offers to Brahmā Baka‟s views is strikingly similar to his retorts to Māra: “Baka, though you

think life is long, in fact life here is short, not long.” 245 The Buddha goes on to prove he knows

the Brahmā‟s past and the span of his life which, though quite long, will inevitably come to an

end. Just as Moggallāna deflates Māra‟s perception of eternality in the Māratajjanīya Sutta by

revealing he is not the first and only Māra, the Buddha knocks Baka from his pedestal by

demonstrating he is not the first and only Brahmā. Both those narratives make clear that any

bhikkhu outranks even the highest deva in term of viññā (discernment or understanding) whether

it is Māra or Brahmā. Indeed, these narratives also imply that in many important ways, a Brahmā

who does not understand his place in the new Buddhist cosmic hierarchy is similar to Māra,

making the same problematic arguments, and thus necessitating the same kind of response.

The Majjhima Nikāya variant of the Baka Brahmā story makes explicit the connection

between Māra‟s deluding influence and the misperceptions and self-aggrandizing of Brahmā by

placing the two devas together. In the Brahmanimantanika Sutta, Brahmā Baka espouses the

same view about the permanence and eternality of existence, in identical language as the

Saṃyutta Nikāya version.246 The Buddha is similarly distressed and transports to the Brahmā

world to disabuse Baka, but in this version, Māra appears in the Brahmā world as well, exerting

his power over a member of the Brahmā assembly. Under Māra‟s control, the assembly member

warns the Buddha, “Bhikkhu, do not insult him, for this is Brahmā, the Great Brahmā, the

244
Ibid.: avijjāgato vata bho bako brahmā.
245
Ibid. 143: appaṃ hi etaṃ na hi dīgham āyu |
yaṃ tvaṃ baka maññasi dīgham āyu ||
246
MN I 326: idaṃ niccaṃ idaṃ dhuvaṃ idaṃ sassataṃ idaṃ kevalaṃ idaṃ acavanadhammaṃ, etc.
 98

supreme lord, the unsurpassed lord of all, almighty maker and creator, assigner of stations,

mother and father of all beings who are and will be.”247

We should notice immediately that this is the same list of epithets and adjectives Brahmā

uses to describe himself in the Brahmajāla and Kevaddha Suttas, yet here they are the speech of

Māra. Bailey has argued that these epithets, particularly abhibhū (“supreme lord”) and

anabhibhūto (“unsurpassed lord”) might suggest that Buddhists considered Brahmā to have

overcome Māra.248 In contrast to Bailey, the fact that in the Brahmanimantanika Sutta it is Māra

himself who utters these words suggests a different interpretation. It seems more plausible from

my perspective that such language was meant to parody Brahmanical descriptions of Brahmā,

undercutting the concept and legitimacy of that creator god. For instance, the Pāli Canon‟s

repeated epithets of Brahmā in the suttas we have discussed match closely to Brahmanical

descriptions and exaltations of Brahmā, such as “the great lord of the three worlds,” and “lord of

all that moves and is still.”249 It seems more likely, therefore, that the narratives represent a

Buddhist maneuver to appropriate Brahmanical language and place it in such a context, namely

the speech of Māra, which completely voids its authority. The creator god and his supposed

supremacy, the narrative tells us, is actually a work of Māra. 250

After Māra influences the assembly member to list these attributes of Brahmā, along with

a list of devas and ascetics who have preceded the Buddha throughout time, an unbowed

247
Ibid. 326-327: bhikkhu bhikkhu metam āsado metam āsado eso hi bhikkhu brahmā mahābrahmā abhibhū
anabhibhūto aññadatthudaso vasavattī issaro kattā nimmātā seṭṭho sañjitā bhūtabhavyānaṃ.
248
The Mythology of Brahmā, pg. 14.
249
MB 13.65.18-19: bhagavaṃstvaṃ prabhurbhūmeḥ sarvasya tridivasya ca; and tvaṃ hi sarvasya jagataḥ
sthāvarasya carasya ca
250
In the Theragāthā, on the other hand, we do have an exhortation to “become Brahmā, unsurpassed destroyer of
Māra‟s army” (brahmabhūto atitulo mārasenappamaddano) (79). In this case, however, while the verse indicates
Brahmā defeated Māra, it also suggests the listener/reader become Brahmā, achieving or surpassing the status of
deva, which is a different notion entirely.
 99

Awakened One merely responds, “I know you, evil one. Do not think, „he does not know me,‟

for you are evil Māra.‟”251 Two related points proceed from this passage. First, the Buddha‟s

words are directed as much at Brahmā as Māra, for by immediately recognizing the machinations

of Māra and labeling them as such, he has performed a feat for which Brahmā Baka apparently

does not have the proper comprehension. Namely, the Buddha demonstrates the necessary

understanding to see through appearances and deceptive phenomena. Second, this sutta is yet

another example in the theme we have seen of viññā as the means by which Buddhists ought to

relate to devas. Given the lineage of the creator deity and its apprehension in Brahmanism,

discussed earlier in this chapter, this standpoint differs starkly from the Brahmanical tradition‟s

means of interacting with such devas: ritual, primarily sacrificial. Buddhist texts certainly

redefine Brahmanical ritual and imbue sacrifice with a different sense, and I would suggest these

Pāli narratives participate in that project.

Meanwhile, the Buddha‟s recognition causes Māra to retreat temporarily and the

conversation moves to a dialogue between Brahmā Baka and his visitor. The deva repeats his

assertions of permanence and eternality, adding a veiled threat that there is no escape beyond and

that the Buddha will only become exhausted and remain in Brahmā‟s dominion for him to

destroy.252 If earlier we had seen Māra echo Brahmā‟s speech, here Brahmā echoes Māra‟s

words, for other Buddhist texts have Māra speaking in just these terms, naming the seemingly

expansive borders of his control and warning the Buddha not to test them. For example, in the

Mārasaṃyutta, he boasts, “the eye is mine…the ear is mine…the nose is mine…the tongue is

251
MN I 327: janāmi kho tāhaṃ pāpima mā tvaṃ maññittho na maṃ jānātīti māro tvam asi pāpima.
252
Ibid., 328: na c‟ ev‟ aññaṃ uttariṃ nissaraṇaṃ dakkhissasi yāvad eva ca pana kilamathassa vighātassa bhāgī
bhavissasi.
 100

mine…the body is mine…the mind is mine…where can you go to escape from me?” 253 At each

point, such as cited above, the Buddha cedes control of the dominion named by Māra as his

province, but posits a further area over which Māra cannot exert control, which the Buddha and

his arahants inhabit.

As we would expect at this point, the Buddha replies to Brahmā Baka in the

Brahmanimantanika Sutta just as he counters Māra elsewhere. He acknowledges the extent of

the deva‟s control, his tremendous power (mahiddiko), high station (mahānubhāvo), and great

authority (mahesakkho).254 However, there are realms which the Brahmā neither knows nor sees,

that he cannot appreciate devas as devas, Pajāpati as Pajāpati, nor Brahmā as Brahmā, meaning

he cannot see them for what they are. The Buddha knows all these things, can perceive devas as

the impermanent and fluctuating beings they actually are, and thus surpasses Brahmā Baka in

discernment.255 To demonstrate that his realm exceeds Brahmā‟s, the Buddha disappears from

Baka‟s sight, while the Brahmā cannot do so. At that, Baka Brahmā and his assembly assent to

the Buddha‟s superiority.256

While the Buddha‟s speech in this narrative seems directed at a deva, in line with the

other narratives we have analyzed, there is also a more earthly object for his discourse, namely

Brahmā‟s namesakes, the Brahmins. Indeed, as it consists of a challenge, a refutation, and an

admission of defeat on the part of the Buddha‟s opponent, the story‟s structure is similar to what

Manné outlined as the features of a debate sutta.257 In this way, the Buddha‟s contest with Baka

seems clearly parallel to his engagements with human Brahmins. By extension, other aspects of

253
SN I 115. Other example abound, such as SN I 106, 111, 112; MN I 151-160.
254
MN I 328-329.
255
Ibid. 329.
256
Ibid. 330.
257
“Categories of Sutta in the Pāli Nikāyas,” pg. 45.
 101

the Buddha‟s encounter with Baka in the Brahmanimantanika Sutta resonate with how Buddhist

traditions contend one should deal with Brahmanical deities. For example, another sutta in the

Majjhima Nikāya, the Mūlapariya Sutta, contains a speech in which the Buddha argues that the

average (puthujjano), ignorant (assutavā, literally “unheard or untaught”) person perceives

Pajāpati as Pajāpati, devas as devas, and Brahmā as Brahmā because he does not fully

understand (apariññātam).258 Buddhaghoṣa‟s commentary on this passage is particularly helpful

for making this connection. As I have already noted earlier, he glosses “Pajāpati” as another term

for Māra. The untaught person, then, also does not recognize the works of Māra. But it also

seems that Māra, too, does not understand Māra, for while he believes he is permanent (nicco)

and stable (dhuvo), like Prajāpati and Brahmā and all other beings, he will ultimately perish

(vinassissati), powerless (avaso) and weak (abalo).259

When we place the two suttas together, simple deduction elicits the conclusion that by

espousing views of eternality, Brahmā Baka only possesses the understanding of an average

person. By extension, Brahmins who insist that an eternal, permanent creator god exists and

outranks the Buddha fundamentally misunderstand reality. Additionally, as many texts

demonstrate implicitly through rhetorical and linguistic parallels, and the Brahmanimantanika

Sutta shows explicitly, this Brahmanical fallacy is attributable to Māra who, by advancing the

idea that phenomena last forever, seeks to keep beings trapped in saṃsāra. That Brahmins do not

realize their delusion at the hands of Māra only further demonstrates their delusion. However, at

an even greater level of complexity, as Buddhaghoṣa‟s commentary attests, Māra is also akin to

Brahmā and Prajāpati, being himself a deluded deva and pseudo-creator.

258
MN I 2.
259
Papañcasūdanī Majjhimanikāyaṭṭhakathā, I 33.
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Conclusion

At the end I would like to summarize some of the salient points I have put forth in the

preceding. First, I have argued that the Māra/Brahmā tandem in the Pāli Canon is a reinvention

of the Brahmanical Prajāpati/Brahmā creator god tradition. The principle concerns of that

reinvention were to shift the method of interaction with such gods from sacrifice to viññā and

elevate the Buddha, his followers, and the key principles of the tradition, such as anicca, above

these devas. Second, I have also stressed the social connection. Two kinds of Brahmins tend to

appear in Pāli Buddhist texts, namely wealthy householders and ascetics, and the Buddhist

tradition treated both with ambivalence. The Māra/Brahmā tandem represents a narrative method

by which Buddhists could acknowledge this diversity and prescribe different social roles to the

various groups in accordance with their relation to the dharma, which represented the new social

order. Portrayals of Brahmā as subservient to the Buddha and espousing Buddhist views serve

also as role models for human Brahmins to follow, and place the god in opposition to Māra.

Conversely, the episodes in which Brahmā asserts cosmic superiority or eternal status show him

to have the same misconceptions as Māra, or (as in the case of the Brahmanimantanika Sutta)

actually to be laboring unknowingly under the power of Māra. Overall, the Māra/Brahmā tandem

operates at both these levels, helping us make sense of the initially disorienting disparity of

treatments Brahmā gods receive in the Pāli Canon. As a satire on creator gods and a response to

a diverse social situation, Māra and Brahmā are two sides of a coin, and two faces of deva.
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Chapter 4:

Deva Buddha, Demonic Māra; Demonic Buddha, Deva Māra

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I. Introduction

Rubin’s Vase, Śleṣa, and Māravijaya

Anthologies of optical illusions will frequently include the so-called “Rubin‟s vase”

(depicted in figure one). Seen from one perspective, the design is plainly a vase. Apprehended by

the eye (and brain) slightly differently, however, the image resolves into two faces in profile,

“face to face,” as it were. While both readings of the image are possible, it is difficult (if not

impossible) to process them simultaneously. One can see either the vase or the faces, but it is

very hard to see both at the same time, and attempting to do so can be disorienting.

Figure One: “Rubin‟s vase.”

 105

Indian literature possesses something of the same phenomenon in an advanced technical

flourish employed frequently by writers of mahākāvya (ornate poetry). Called “śleṣa,” it is a

double-entendre pun which can operate throughout whole stanzas. The śleṣa is a deliberately

ambiguous construction requiring – and even more to the point, inviting – multiple readings to

understand the work.260 The result can often be two contradictory readings of the same line, as in

this verse from the Bhāgavata Purāṇa:

rajanyeṣā ghorarūpā ghorasattvaniṣevitā |

pratiyāta vrajaṃ nehi stheyam strībhiḥ sumadhyamāḥ ||261

The line is spoken by Kṛṣṇa after he has called the gopīs to come dally with him and,

read one way, it says, “This night is terrible, inhabited by terrible creatures. Go back to Vraja,

thin-waisted ones. Women should not remain here.” However, if in the first line the long vowels

“ā” at the respective ends of “rajanyeṣā” and “rūpā” are interpreted as privative “a‟s” before

both instances of “ghora,” and if in the second line the “na” is taken with “pratiyāta,” the line

reads: “This night is pleasant [literally “unterrible”], inhabited by friendly [“unterrible”]

creatures. Don‟t go back to Vraja, thin waisted ones. Women should remain here.” This mixed

message is entirely in keeping with Kṛṣṇa‟s mischievous character in the Bhāgavata Purāṇa, as

well as that particular scene in which he toys with the affections of his gopī admirers. The

instance of śleṣa serves to emphasize the god‟s playfulness and embody his contradictory nature

(god/human, lover/leaver) in the very words of the text. Like the Rubin‟s vase discussed above,

the content of the object (be it an image or a text) has not changed. Both readings are present and

260
Siegfried Lienhardt, History of Indian Literature: A History of Classical Poetry, pgs. 222-224. Māgha, among
others, as evidenced in the Śiṣupālavadha, was a master of this literary trick (see Louis Renou, Indian Literature, pg.
24).
261
Bhāgavata Purāṇa 10.29.19. My thanks to Blake Wentworth for drawing my attention to this instance of śleṣa.
 106

while it is difficult to maintain both simultaneously, to a large extent both readings coexist,

erupting from the image or page depending on the observer‟s perception and interpretation. Both

perform an operation that logical argument cannot achieve: the communication of two

contradictory messages simultaneously.

In the spirit of Rubin‟s vase and śleṣa, in this chapter I argue that Buddhist narratives of

Gotama‟s battle with Māra at Bodh-Gayā (which I have referred to in this dissertation as

“Māravijaya” – “the victory over Māra”) possess an ambiguous, double-entendre quality,

containing at least two possible readings of the relationship and relative cosmic identities of the

adversaries. On the one hand, in keeping with one of the ordering themes of Indian mythology

since the Vedas, namely the notion of eternal conflict between gods and demons, 262 the

Māravijaya narratives cast the Buddha-to-be as a deva-like figure who conquers a

correspondingly asura-resembling Māra. On the other hand, comparison to Brahmanical texts

also shows Māra, by attempting to arrest the practice of a powerful ascetic, is acting in a

characteristically deva-like manner, whereas the Buddha-to-be, by disrupting the cosmic order, is

in fact behaving like a demon. As I will show, both interpretations are firmly grounded in the

symbolism and content of the mythology and its texts. The coexistence of both meanings, of the

deva-Buddha versus the demonic Māra alongside the deva-Māra versus the demonic Buddha,

creates a play of opposites and tension of contradiction no philosophical treatise could manage.

Though seemingly dissonant, the two valences work together to articulate a Buddhist statement

on social and cosmic hierarchies opposed to and distinct from the Brahmanical vision.

The figurative nexus for this revision and renegotiation is found in the Brahmanical deity

Indra. The connections between Indra and Māra are just as complex, and ultimately
262
Wendy Doniger (O‟Flaherty), The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pg. 58.
 107

demonstrative of ideology, as those the previous chapter advanced regarding Māra and Brahmā.

Since Indra is the primary foe of the asuras as well as the ascetics who threaten the gods, the

figure of the thunder god stands in natural tension with both valences of the Māravijaya mythic

cycle. The two traditions of narratives are, to invoke Bakhtin, dialogically linked, embedded in

one another, for “the word is shaped in dialogic interaction with an alien word that is already in

the object.”263 The comparison between the evolving mythology of Indra and the valences of the

Māravijaya narratives will show that the Buddha-to-be‟s battle with Māra is a vicarious battle

with Brahmanism, of whom Māra is the surrogate. In the one sense, by acting the part of an Indra

defeating the Māra-asura, Buddhist authors expressed what they believed could be retained,

although revised, from the Brahmanical worldview. Through the other valence, of a demonic

Buddha besting an Indra-Māra, these authors showed the extent to which Brahmanical views and

norms needed to be overthrown.

The Changing Character of Indra

Given the centrality of Indra to these narratives and the comparisons I will make, the

evolution of his mythic character is important and will be summarized briefly here. As one of the

most popular Vedic deities, the thunder god stood in that tradition, and for some time afterward,

as the archetype of the Kṣatriya varṇa.264 In that capacity, many of the hymns addressed to Indra

appeal for the materials and goods which result from conquest in battle, such as wealth, and also

those things which are more generally connected to virility, such as cattle, sons, and a long

263
The Dialogic Imagination, pg. 280.
264
Dumézil, The Destiny of the Warrior, pg. 90. Though I am aware of the shortcomings of Dumézil‟s work recently
brought to light by some (such as Bruce Lincoln in Theorizing Myth, pgs. 121-137) there are still applicable and
useful aspects to his research.
 108

life.265 His most important triumph, in the Rig Veda and every tradition thereafter, is his victory

over the serpent Vṛtra, which results in his frequent appellation “Vṛtrahan,” the “slayer of

Vṛtra.”266 The battle between the thunder god and the serpent comes complete with lightning,

thunder, rains of hail, and tremors in the earth and skies.267 Indra eventually smashes Vṛtra

utterly, breaking the serpent‟s head and jaw, then splits open his body to unleash the dawn, sky,

sun, and waters, all previously pent up in the monstrous snake.268 W. Norman Brown

characterizes the battle as a confrontation between sat (being) and asat (non-being), cthonic

darkness and celestial light.269 Vṛtra, whose name appropriately stems from the root vṛ (conceal,

encompass, restrain), according to this interpretation personifies a principle of dark inertia that

must be overcome in order to bring about the creation of the world.270 Indra, therefore, according

to this interpretation, makes the world safe for civilization. But as others, like Laurie Patton,

have pointed out, there is a curious resemblance between the dark, intransigence of Vṛtra, who

holds back the waters of fertility and life, and the human enemies (dāsas, mlecchas, or

amanuṣyas) discussed in the Vedas, who have dark-colored skin, worship the wrong gods, and

therefore must be relieved of their cities and wealth by Indra. 271 Indra, therefore, from this

perspective, makes the world safe for Aryans and Brahmins.

Whether one ascribes to an allegorical interpretation like Brown, leans to the sociological

end like Patton, or tends to combine the two (as I do), the picture that emerges of Indra is of a

potent, formidable warrior deity in a predominant cultural position. Symbolizing the warrior

265
Jan Gonda, Indra Hymns in the Rig Veda, pgs. 48-50. For an exemplary such hymn, see RV 2.19.
266
A.A. MacDonnell counts no less than seventy usages of that term in the Rig Veda alone, Vedic Mythology, pg. 60.
267
The battle is described in numerous places throughout the Rig Veda. For examples of these specific phenomena,
see RV 1.32.13; 1.80.11-13; and 6.17.9.
268
RV 1.32.1-10; 4.17.3; 10.152.3.
269
W. Norman Brown, “Theories of Creation in the Rig Veda,” pg. 24.
270
W. Norman Brown, “The Creation Myth of the Rig Veda,” pgs. 88-94.
271
Bringing the Gods to Mind, pg. 119.
 109

class and the conquest of primordial disorder (whether elemental or human), the Vedic Indra is a

central figure. Yet by the later tradition, certainly the time of the classical epics, Indra‟s position

at the apex of the cosmic pantheon has faltered quite dramatically. His character has declined to

where his narratives highlight sexual transgressions (i.e., seducing Ahalyā, the wife of the sage

Gautama) and even his great triumph over Vṛtra is tainted by the sin of Brahminicide.272 Rather

than bringing the universe into being and heralding the beginning of Vedic culture, in the epic

versions of the myth (which I will discuss in more detail later) after defeating Vṛtra, Indra must

instead renounce his throne and sulk off to perform penance. By this time the thunder god has

even been replaced as the archetypal Kṣatriya by his son Arjuna. Indeed, one could even see

Indra‟s parentage of the great epic warrior as a means of passing the torch.273 Though still

nominally “king of the gods” in the epics and purāṇas, in that literature Indra has become, in the

words of Doniger (O‟Flaherty), “a clown king, a blustering figurehead mocked by the now

dominant priests…”274

As Doniger‟s comment suggests, the shift in Indra‟s representation is perhaps owed to a

shift in power from the Kṣatriya to Brahmin class. Along these same lines, if we take into

account another social shift, namely the rise of Buddhist traditions and their literature, we find

yet a third stage in the characterization of Indra. In Buddhist Pāli sources the name “Indra”

primarily occurs in formulaic lists of the gods.275 More frequent are stories about the god

renamed as “Sakka” (“mighty”) who, along with the name change, transforms from a virile

warrior to the paragon of strength ruled by restraint. In one text, for example, after a captured

272
Dumézil, pg. 70; See also Maurice Winternitz, History of Indian Literature, pg. 393.
273
Dumézil, pg. 90; Alf Hiltebeitel, The Ritual of Battle, pgs. 261-262.
274
The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pg. 146.
275
For instance, see DN I 244, II 261, and MN I 140.
 110

asura has repeatedly insulted and berated the god, Sakka merely replies dryly that he is content

not to trade barbs with a fool.276 In an even more revealing incident, after losing a battle with the

asuras, we are told a retreating Sakka notices his path will endanger a nest of birds and thus,

rather than endanger the helpless creatures, turns to surrender. As it turns out, Sakka actually

wins the day through this sudden maneuver, for the asuras become bewildered by his about-face

and decide to retreat.277

It does not take much analysis to conclude that the Buddhist presentation is not the same

Indra as the Vedic god whose wrath makes the earth quake,278 nor whose heroism (vīryam) and

“manly power” (paumsiyaṃ) are directly linked to the ability to crush, kill, and destroy

enemies.279 Indeed, a representative exhortation to the deity in the Rig Veda reads, “Strive

forward! Dare! Your thunderbolt is not restrained. Indra, your power is manliness. Kill Vṛtra and

conquer the waters.”280 Whereas the Buddhist Sakka unintentionally wins battles through

restraint and refuses to strike a blaspheming enemy, the Vedic Indra is celebrated for lacking

restraint and considered “manly” (i.e., heroic) due to his proficiency in killing.

If we take Indra as the paradigmatic deity of the Kṣatriya varṇa, the differing

representations of the god between Vedic and Buddhist narratives constitute two poles of

interpretation of the ideal nature of that class. In between stands the third understanding of Indra

described in the synopsis above, which is the classical and Purāṇic characterization of the flawed

yet still martially potent Indra who jealously guards his cosmic preeminence. To put it

276
SN I 222.
277
SN I 224-225.
278
RV 4.17.2
279
RV 1.80.8, 10.
280
RV 1.80.3: prehi abhīhi dhṛṣnuhi na te vajro ni yaṃsate |
indra nṛmṇaṃ hi te savo hano vṛtraṃ jayā apo ||
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succinctly, I believe the double-valence, śleṣa-nature of the Māravijaya narrative addresses both

competing Brahmanical notions of Indra. On the one hand, the tame Buddhist Sakka and the

valence of the myth in which a deva-like Gotama bloodlessly defeats an asura-like Māra is a

Buddhist re-writing of the meaning of the Kṣatriya varṇa. On the other hand, the deva-Māra

versus demon-Gotama valence is an inversion of the Hindu epic motif in which Indra attacks

threatening ascetics and is subordinated to Brahmanical authority.

Sources of the Māravijaya Myth Cycle

Before proceeding further, some discussion of the major sources of the Māravijaya myth

is required. The primary versions of the story are the Padhāna-sutta of the Suttanipāta and

Nidānakathā in Pāli, the Mahāvastu and Lalitavistara in Buddhist Sanskrit, and Aśvaghoṣa‟s

Buddhacarita in Sanskrit. The oldest is most likely the Padhāna-sutta (third or second century

BCE), followed by Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita (second century CE), while the Nidānakathā,

Lalitavistara, and Mahāvastu have less certain dates, but are most likely extant from the third or

fourth centuries CE. Though their precise dates are somewhat vague and certain linguistic

properties locate them later than the other versions, there is reason to think that (besides the

Padhāna-sutta) all the versions herald from the early centuries of the Common Era.281 (As a brief

aside, the Mahāvastu deserves special mention as its likely span of composition (second century

BCE to fourth century CE) and obvious structural reliance on the other versions suggest it is a

patchwork of the other stories and therefore somewhat later than the others.)

At any rate, the basic story (summarized from all versions, though some emphasize or

neglect given aspects or locate them slightly differently) is that the sage Gotama, resolving to

Buddhahood, took a seat under a tree at Bodh-Gayā, catching the attention of Māra. Threatened
281
Winternitz, A History of Indian Literature, pg. 189.
 112

at the prospect of the sage‟s Buddhahood, Māra intervenes and, through appeals to sensual desire

as well as martial force, attempts to arrest Gotama‟s attainment. He fails and Gotama becomes a

Buddha.

As mentioned, different versions cast aspects differently; for example, Buddhacarita

portrays the temptation of desire as an arrow fired by Māra, while in Lalitavistara the god

employs his seductive daughters. Some of these discrepancies in detail or order might be owed to

sectarian issues: Nidānakathā serves as the introduction to the Jātaka collection and is

considered authoritative by the Theravāda school, the Lalitavistara is a Mahāyāna work, the

Mahāvastu has been connected to the Lokottaravādins, and Buddhacarita was composed in an

area of Sarvāstivādin predominance, though Johnston speculated Aśvaghoṣa was a

Bahuśrutika.282 The overall structural similarity of the story throughout its different instantiations

is striking and suggests a basic narrative was considered legitimate by all sects, notwithstanding

the minor variations. This overall consistency in the face of sectarian differences has led some

scholars to refer to the Buddha‟s biography as “pan-Buddhist.”283 Some, like Winternitz and

Ernst Windisch, thought the Padhāna-sutta was this earliest version due to its sparse treatment

and lack of descriptive flourishes, such as the numerous verses of description of Māra‟s army

one finds in Buddhacarita or Lalitavistara.284 It is not quite so easy to make this judgment,

however, as some such as Lamotte have noted artistic depictions of these events in the Buddha‟s

life exist as early as the second century BCE, probably before most of the literary descriptions.285

Additionally, the authors of the Buddhist story literature, like Aśvaghoṣa, as Strong explains,

282
Johnston, Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita, or Acts of the Buddha, pg. xxxv.
283
Liz Wilson, Charming Cadavers: Horrific Figurations of the Feminine in Indian Buddhist Hagiographic
Literature, pg. 192.
284
Johnston., pg. 97.
285
The History of Indian Buddhism, pg. 666.
 113

“were not so much composers of original works as reworkers of old legends and oral

traditions.”286 The Māravijaya narrative (what perhaps we could call the “Māravijaya myth

cycle” as a whole), therefore, could conceivably go back to the earliest strata of Buddhist oral

traditions even without a corresponding textual record, and thus reflect the concerns of that time,

such as the need to form distinctions from and against Brahmanical competitors. At the same

time I believe it is wise to bear in mind Patton‟s warning that a preoccupation with the precise

origins of narratives can lead to the implication that those origins exhaust the meaning and

application of those narratives.287 Those meanings almost certainly evolved and were debated

from the first and second centuries BCE to the early common era, but the wide overlap in certain

valences show that a concern with engaging and countering Brahmanical discourse was a

prevailing theme. It is the symbolism of that theme, relevant to Indra and Māra, which I discuss

in the following.

II. Deva Buddha, the “New” Indra versus Asura Māra, the Resurgent Vṛtra

As Lowell Bloss points out, the struggle between Māra and the Buddha is nothing less

than a confrontation over world sovereignty and whether the current regime governing the

phenomenal world will be retained or forever undermined.288 The texts themselves bear this out,

as in the Lalitavistara, wherein Māra describes his position this way: “I am lord of desire over

286
The Legend of King Aśoka, pg. 32.
287
Myth as Argument: the Bṛhaddevatā as Canonical Commentary, pg. 38.
288
“The Taming of Māra,” pg. 157. Nancy Falk makes a variant of this argument, but locates the Māravijaya stories
in the broader theme of a king‟s conquest over the wilderness, and hence identifies Māra as an outgrowth of the
yakṣa (Pāli, yakkha) figure. See “Wilderness and Kingship in Ancient South Asia,” pgs. 11-12. Others who have
interpreted Māra as a species of yakṣa include Robert DeCaroli (see Haunting the Buddha, pg. 116) and Trevor Ling
(see Buddhism and the Mythology of Evil, pgs. 44-46). Two difficulties stand in the way of this categorization. First,
as we have seen, Buddhist texts confer a celestial status to Māra that is rarely (if ever) given to yakṣas. Second, a
key part of Buddhist narratives involving the taming or defeat of a yakṣa is its incorporation into the sangha. This
certainly does not occur with Māra following the Bodh-Gayā encounter. While Māra does convert in the Upagupta
myth cycle, as John Strong demonstrates, this series of narratives involves a whole host of other themes and issues
(see The Legend and Cult of Upagupta, pgs. 95-117).
 114

the whole world, with its gods, hosts of dānavas, humans, and animals subject to me and under

my control.”289 Earlier in the same text, as Gotama prepares to begin his final meditation at

Bodh-Gayā his thoughts follow the same trajectory. After achieving awakening, he asserts, “I

will be king of the three worlds, honored in heaven and on earth, lord who turned the wheel of

the dharma, powerful possessor of the ten perfections.”290 In her analysis of feminine figures in

Indian Buddhism, Miranda Shaw emphasizes the “world navel” aspect of Gotama‟s seat at Bodh-

Gayā and that it is specifically chosen to coincide with the aspect of Pṛthivī, the earth goddess,

which confers royal sovereignty. 291 In the Milindapañha, which stands outside the Māravijaya

cycle and, in general, serves as a text that comments on issues in earlier Buddhist narratives and

doctrine, Nāgasena explains to Milinda that the Buddha can be considered a king since he “rules

the world systems through dharma” (lokadhātuyā dhammena rajjaṃ kāreti), having achieved

that reign partly though “bringing sorrow to Māra‟s army” (socayanto mārasenaṃ), that is,

conquering Māra‟s forces.292 The scope of the battle then is on par with the classic struggle

between the devas and asuras, with dominion over the worlds and all their beings hanging in the

balance.

The battle itself also has the characteristic “fireworks” of the deva/asura battles. In the

Indra/Vṛtra story, while the thunder god launches the final salvo of wind and lightning, the

monstrous serpent also employs thunder and lightning in an attempt to stave off the deva, along

with wind, rain, and hail.293 In the Māravijaya myth cycle, Māra does the same. According to the

289
21.165: kāmeśvaro „smi vasitā iha sarvaloke devā sadānavagaṇā manujāśca tiryā |
vyāptā mayā mama vaśena ca yānti sarve uttiṣṭha mahya viṣayastha vacaṃ kuruṣva ||
290
21.116: bheṣyi ahaṃ hi rāju tribhave divi bhuvi mahito īśvaru dharmacakracaraṇo daśabalu balavān ||
291
Miranda Shaw, Buddhist Goddesses of India, pgs. 20-22.
292
Pgs. 226-227.
293
RV 1.32.13; 1.80.12.
 115

Lalitavistara, in addition to unleashing an army of pretas, piśācas, and yakṣas, the lord of desires

summons winds, pouring rain, and a flurry of one hundred-thousand thunderbolts

(vidyusahasraśatāni).294 The Nidānakathā breaks this part of the confrontation into nine stages,

in which Māra successively invokes storms of wind, rain, rocks, sharp weapons, charcoal,

embers, sand, mud, and darkness.295 The Buddhacarita sets the mood in this way: “Seeing the

time of battle at dusk for Māra and the bull of the Śākyas, the sky disappeared, the earth

trembled, and the directions resounded,” and the wind howled, the stars and moon disappeared,

and the oceans shook.296

Of particular importance is Buddhacarita‟s description of the effect of the battle on the

celestial sphere, that Māra‟s attack obscures the sky, stars, and, especially, the moon. In light of

Māra‟s ability to pull off such a feat, it is interesting to note the well-known tradition of the

asura Rāhu (“seizer”) who swallows these very same celestial bodies (usually the moon) during

the eclipse (which can be another gloss of “Rāhu”). While the Buddhacarita leaves the

connection circumstantial, the Lalitavistara makes it explicit: as the devas who initially

supported Gotama flee at Māra‟s approach, they warn the sage, “in the great battle you will be

ruined, under the sway of Māra, just as the moon was to the asura.”297 We could say that these

references are entirely coincidental, meant only to aggrandize the conflict to a cosmic scale, but

in keeping with Bakhtin‟s observation that language is never neutral,298 I think it would be a

294
21.19.
295
The Jātaka, together with its commentary, ed. V. Fausbøll, vol.1, pg. 73. These additional methods of attack
attributed to Māra give some sense of the kinds of variations in the story.
296
13.28-29: taṃ prekṣya mārasya ca pūrvarātre śākyarṣabhasyaiva ca yuddhakālam |
na dyauścakāśe pṛthivī cakampe prajajvaluścaiva diśaḥ saśabdāḥ ||
viṣvagvavau vāyurudīrṇavegastārā na rejur na babhau śaśāṅkaḥ |
tamaśca bhūyovitatāna rātriḥ sarve ca saṃcukṣubhire samudrāḥ ||
297
21.174: adya prayāsyasi vināśu mahāraṇesmiṃ mārasya eṣyasi vaśaṃ asurasya venduḥ
298
The Dialogic Imagination, pg. 293.
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mistake to dismiss the correspondence so casually. Bearing in mind that part of Māra‟s character

in the Buddhist tradition is as a seizer of beings, one who binds them to rebirth in saṃsāra, the

link to Rāhu puts a twist on the notion of the eclipse. Rather than an astronomical state, being

eclipsed by Māra according to Buddhist traditions means enthrallment to delusion and desire.

The celestial event for which Rāhu stood, in which light is obscured and darkness reigns,

provides a magnificent metaphor for that condition and the passages in both texts of the

Māravijaya make that metaphorical link, which consequently serves to cast Māra in a classically

asura way, albeit with a twist.

Equally rooting Māra in, as well as reenvisioning, asura mythology are frequent

references to the demon Namuci. Throughout the Padhāna-sutta, Mahāvastu, and Lalitavistara

Māra is often referred to as “Namuci” in such a way that the names seem nearly synonymous. 299

Like Rāhu and Vṛtra, “Namuci” etymologically carries a sense of restriction and imprisonment,

meaning literally, “non-releaser.” The demon Namuci, again similar to Vṛtra, was also a

restricter of the waters and an enemy of Indra. According to the Rig Veda the thunder god killed

Namuci not with lightning, as with Vṛtra, but the curious implement of sea foam.300 At first we

might ask why the author(s) of the narratives would not align Māra with Vṛtra, given the monster

serpent‟s greater fame, but I would argue that Namuci, given the literal sense of the name, offers

a more fertile opportunity for Buddhist exploitation: as the Buddha strives for the release (Pāli

verbal root, “muc”) of beings, Māra is the “namuc,” the one who does not release. In his analysis,

299
See Padhāna-sutta 3.2.2, 3.2.15; LV 21.5, 42, 81, 172, 184, 200. Also compare MV II 10, 413; and BC 15.25.
The latter is an instance in which Māra‟s daughters Rāga, Rati, and Ārati refer to themselves as namucerātmajā, “the
daughters of Namuci.” Outside the Māravijaya narratives, in Theragāthā, a verse declares, “I live without
defilements, having conquered Namuci‟s army,” obviously referencing Māra through the Vedic name (jitvā
namucino senaṃ viharāmi anāsavo) (pg. 38).
300
RV 5.30.7-8.
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Trevor Ling saw a similar parallel, that while Namuci (as a drought demon) was a threat to the

physical well-being of humanity by withholding the rains, Māra threatened one‟s spiritual

livelihood by withholding the truth about the impermanent and unsatisfactory nature of reality. 301

Indeed, this is how the Buddhist commentarial tradition has tended to interpret the reference to

Māra as “Namuci,” for instance when Dhammapāla glosses Māra as “Namuci” since he does not

release beings to cultivate the dharma.302 In this way, the Māravijaya narratives again appropriate

an asura figure toward their representation of Māra, simultaneously recalibrating its meaning.

The symbolism of waters and rain that we first encountered in the cataclysmic finale of

the Indra/Vṛtra duel is brought up again by the Namuci/Māra parallel. In the Vedic stories of

Indra‟s victory over Vṛtra, the waters gushing out of the snake go along with the sun, the stars,

the cattle, and seem closely connected with the notions of vitality, wealth, and abundance, all of

which are forces previously restrained.303 While at no point in the Māravijaya stories, or at any

time thereafter, does Gotama slay Māra (which is a point I will discuss soon in greater detail), in

some versions of the story water does make an appearance upon the sage‟s final victory. In the

Buddhacarita, after Māra leaves the field and his army scatters, we are told in the second line of

the last verse of the chapter that “the sky along with the moon reappeared, like the smile of a

young woman, and a fragrant rain of flowers and water drops fell.”304 The brief description in

301
Buddhism and the Mythology of Evil, pg. 55. Ernst Windisch also notes the deva/asura dynamics invoked by the
use of the name Namuci, but attributes the reference ultimately to a “regression” in Buddhist narratives to an earlier,
more fanciful speech, Māra und Buddha, pg. 185.
302
Dīghāṭṭhakathāṭīka, II 193.
303
To cite just a few: RV 1.32.1-2; 1.85.9; 4.17.3.
304
13.72: yuvatiriva sahāsā dyauścakāśe sacandrā surabhi ca jalagarbhaṃ puṣpavarṣaṃ papāta. The kāvya touch
of likening the rescued sky and moon to a young woman‟s smile unavoidably brings to mind the chivalric trope of
the maiden rescued from the dragon, especially if we take Māra as an Asura like Vṛtra who was, after all, a giant
serpent. Ultimately though I think this comparison also overlays extraneous cultural roles and threatens to read the
story, as Coomarasway does, as “just another” Indo-European tale of the hero‟s conquest over a chthonic beast (see
“Angel and Titan: An Essay in Vedic Ontology, Journal of the American Oriental Society, pgs. 373-419).
 118

Saundarananda, another work by Aśvaghoṣa, also declares that upon Gotama‟s awakening rain

fell from cloudless skies.305

In each case, the Vedic versus the Buddhist, what does the water symbolize? As I have

mentioned, in the Vedic account the almost violent deluge seems connected to the genesis of the

very substances of physical and cultural life: the sun, stars, cattle, etc. According to the

Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa, “everything was in Vṛtra, including the three vedas,” 306 meaning the great

snake stifled not only cosmogenesis, but also the sociogenesis of Vedic culture. By his warrior

act of splitting open Vṛtra, Indra helps create the world and the Vedic people who will worship

him, and that, I would argue, is central to the Vedic symbolism of the water release. As we might

expect, the Buddhist symbolism is different, beginning already in the fact that water manifests

not as a gushing, roaring flood, but a gentle rain, perhaps in correspondence to the Buddha‟s

relatively quiescent triumph, especially when compared with Indra‟s bone-crushing conquest.

These waters too signal a new creation, not of a world, but of the (re)emergence of the dharma

into the world, which brings about a reappraisal of the world. Like Vṛtra, Māra had tried to hold

these waters back and on the heels of his equally futile attempt also comes the founding of a new

society, the sangha.

Even in the face of such interesting comparisons, it is important to note that the release of

water is absent from other versions of the Māravijaya confrontation.307 That the primary

305
3.9.
306
5.5.5.1.
307
It is known, however, and also extremely popular, to this day in Southeast Asian Theravādin ritual celebrations of
the Buddha‟s awakening, in which Gotama calls upon the earth to bear witness to his merit. She emerges from the
ground as a goddess with hair sopping from the water Gotama has poured on her in past lives and, wringing out her
locks, produces a flood that washes away Māra and his army. The scene can be found in literary form in the circa
twelfth century Thai work, Paṭhamasambodhi. See Jacqueline Filliozat (ed.), Oxford: Pāli Text Society, 2003, 134-
135. In large part, the tradition goes back to the Nidānakathā, the version preferred by the Theravāda, in which
 119

examples are found in Aśvaghoṣa‟s works is no accident, bearing in mind what we know of who

Aśvaghoṣa was. By all accounts, the poet was thoroughly schooled in Brahmanical tradition,

perhaps even coming from Brahmanical heritage.308 As such it is no surprise that his work is

replete with allusions and direct references to Brahmanical customs, śāstras, and myths.309 With

this background, it seems more than a little coincidental that the Buddha‟s victory over Māra,

like Indra‟s over Vṛtra‟s, is attended by the release of waters. From my vantage, it seems likely

that a clever poet used the device as an opportunity to claim that the Brahmanical release of

waters has been superseded by the Buddha‟s waters of release. Should we widen our scope,

however, and take the rain symbolism at its base signification (a cathartic release indicating

triumph and the beginning of a new age), it becomes clear that the other versions have parallels

to the Buddhacarita‟s water drops. In the Lalitavistara, for instance, the gods appear and heap

praise upon the sage, saying, “Victory to you, hero of the world!” (jaya lokavīra) and drop

flowers, pearls, and banners upon him.310 The Nidānakathā version, rather than describing water

bursting from a dam, instead relates how the entire universe burst forth in fecundity when

Gotama defeated Māra, as trees and flowers bloomed and sprouted leaves and fruit.311 Therefore,

while water specifically may be lacking in these versions, they contain clear parallels of the idea

of a constricted, restrained world exploding into freedom, in keeping with the Vedic standard.

Gotama calls upon the earth for witness, though no flood results (74). That being said, to me it still seems possible to
draw a link back to the Rig Veda battle and its use of water symbolism.
308
Johnston, Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita, or Acts of the Buddha, pg. xv; A. Berriedale Keith, Classical Sanskrit
Literature, pg. 25.
309
For example, see BC 5.79 for a reference to Agni‟s role in fire sacrifice and 5.30-40 for allusions to śāstra
literature.
310
21.199-202. See also MV II 343-344, which has an almost identical description of a downpour of flowers,
garlands, and celebration.
311
Pg. 76.
 120

If, as I have worked to demonstrate, there is a correspondence forged in the Māravijaya

cycle between Māra and the asura tradition, logically we would expect the narratives then to cast

the Buddha as a new Indra, the hero who masters the monster and bests the beast. In fact,

throughout the Buddhacarita we do find instances in which Gotama is likened to Indra as a

mighty figure, as “one equal to Indra” (indrasamo).312 Additionally, and perhaps somewhat akin

to Indra‟s pervasive epithet Vṛtrahan, the texts confer titles on the Buddha-to-be such as

namuciṃhantum (“capable to kill Namuci”),313 mārabalahantā (“killer of Māra‟s forces”),314

jitārisiṃhā (“lion-like one whose enemy is defeated”),315 the one who “broke the host of

Namuci,”316 and “vanquisher of Māra.”317 At one point in the Mahāvastu, a Mahābrahmā praises

the Buddha for smashing Māra‟s troops and suggests he raise his banner like a conqueror.318 All

carry obvious connotations of martial, warrior prowess and, if one did not read the narratives,

would suggest that the Buddha crushed Māra and scattered him to the winds as Indra did to his

asura foes.

This is not what happens, however, and while the texts exalt in Gotama‟s victory over

Māra and occasionally describe it in military metaphors, they also take the opportunity to point

out clearly that the sage triumphs in a manner completely different from the usual warrior

methods. As Ralph Flores observes, “it is Māra, then, and not the Buddha, who assumes the

traditional role of epic warrior.”319 Playing out that role in the Lalitavistara and Mahāvastu, for

312
5.22. See also 2.25 and 7.43.
313
LV 21.43.
314
Ibid., 21.80.
315
Ibid., 21.200.
316
MV II 414.
317
Ibid., 416. We could also include Pāli Nikāya texts, such as those in which Brahmā and Sakka both greet the
Buddha as “vīra vijitasaṅgāma,” “hero whose enemies are conquered” (SN I 233-234).
318
Ibid., II 344.
319
Buddhist Scriptures as Literature: Sacred Rhetoric and the Uses of Theory, pg. 42.
 121

example, Māra assembles his war counsel of numerous generals and sons to devise a strategy for

attacking the sage. His counselors immediately divide into two camps, one in favor of the attack

and the other opposed. The former extol Māra‟s impressive powers, the reach of the god‟s

influence, and point out that Gotama “has neither allies nor an army,” both of which Māra has in

large supply, and thus there is no need “to fear the sage” nor hesitate moving against him. 320 The

opposing camp grants Māra‟s power, even that he can crush mountains and rules over both gods

and humans, but argue this will not be enough against the bodhisattva. 321 Māra, of course, sides

with the saber-rattlers in his retinue and sets out at the head of vast legions of misshapen,

gruesome monsters carrying frightful weapons, summoning overpowering forces of nature, all

against a solitary ascetic sheltered only by a tree.322

Yet despite the apparently lopsided nature of the confrontation, Māra soon finds his

advantages in weapons and numbers amount to naught. The arrows, spears, rocks, javelins, and

so forth of his hideous soldiers are either unable to reach the meditating bodhisattva or are

transformed into sweet-smelling flowers.323 The rain, lightning, hail, embers, charcoal, and other

destructive downfalls the god summons meet the same end, dissipating or halting before they

reach their target.324 As a final humiliation and frustration of Māra‟s vaunted military might and

320
LV 21.42: senā na tasyāsti kutaḥ sahāyāḥ kasmād bhayaṃ te; MV II 428-438.
321
LV 21.40-41.
322
Māra‟s army (mārasena) is described in frightful terms by most versions as a collection of creatures with
misshapen features, amalgams of human and animal body parts, or varied combinations of different kinds of
animals. See BC 13.18-27; LV 21.16; MV II 411-415; NK, pg. 72. Padhāna-sutta of Suttanipāta seems to treat
Māra‟s army metaphorically: “First among your armies is „desire,‟ second is named „dislike,‟” and so on (3.2.12)
although a few verses later that text describes the army arrayed in order to do battle (yuddhāya) (3.2.18). Given the
Padhāna-sutta is likely the oldest textual version of the encounter, its possibly metaphorical treatment of the army
has led some, such as Ernst Windisch, to consider its vivid description as a later accretion of popular tradition (Māra
und Buddha, 304). On the other hand, we could just as easily argue that the Padhāna-sutta has treated preexisting
vivid accounts in a metaphorical manner. To assume that such developments flow uniformly in one direction or the
other is unwarranted.
323
BC 13.34-46; LV 21.175-185.
324
NK, pgs. 73-74.
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godly prowess, according to the Mahāvastu, after the onslaught has run its ineffectual course,

Gotama disperses the host and its leader with a mere cough. 325

The Buddha-to-be, therefore, practices a singular form of combat, one which is different

in kind and vastly superior to the usual Kṣatriya methodology and mentality. While Māra is

portrayed in the Lalitavistara as ignorant of his foe‟s new and different quality of “weaponry,” in

the Buddhacarita he himself points out the distinction. When his ministers ask why the god

seems so troubled, Māra replies, “the sage wears the armor of ascertainment, drawing the

weapon of resolution and the arrow of knowledge. He sits, desiring to conquer my domain.

Because of that, my mind is dejected.”326

Far from an isolated case, this technique of casting discernment, knowledge, and other

aims of the Buddhist path as the Buddha‟s “weapons,” occurs numerous times in the texts,

suggesting a concerted effort at redefinition. In the aforementioned debate between Māra‟s

counselors, those in favor of an attack argue Gotama will be easy prey since he “has no spears,

lances, clubs, swords, elephants, horses, chariots or soldiers.”327 In other words, he has none of

the tools and devices of the warrior class, the Kṣatriyas, and should be defenseless against those

who possess and use the traditional trappings of that position. The opposing camp of counselors

is quick to point out, however, that the bodhisattva is equipped in even more formidable ways.

Though lacking a sword of steel, Gotama carries the daḍvīryakhadgaḥ, (the “sword of steady

heroism”) and the prajñadhanuḥ (“the bow of wisdom”). While he has no chain mail, the sage is

kṣāntibalaiḥ kavacito (“armored with the power of mercy”), and even without an elephant or

325
MV II 418, 420.
326
13.4: asau munir niścaya varma bibhratsattvāyudhaṃ buddhiśaraṃ vikṛṣya |
jigīṣurāste viṣayānmadīyāntasmādayaṃ me manaso viṣādaḥ ||
327
LV 21.44: na śaktiśūla na gadā na khaṅgāḥ na hastino „śvā na rathā na pattiḥ
 123

horse, he yet has trivimokṣavāhanasi (“the mount of threefold release”). Harnessing this

equipment, the other counselors caution that “through the force of merit [Gotama] will conquer

Māra‟s army.”328 In the Mahāvastu, in response to Māra‟s boasts of an army beyond anything the

sage could muster, Gotama merely says that he abides in charity, morality, forebearance, and

compassion.329 Earlier in the same text, we are also told that Gotama will destroy Māra‟s fetters

and snares with his “weapon of wisdom” (prajñāśastraṃ).330 In the Nidānakathā, after all the

devas have fled, the bodhisattva realizes his solitary state, but still confidently resolves in the

face of Māra‟s onslaught that, “having struck with this very sword of the perfections, I will be

able to destroy this army.” 331 Outside the Māravijaya, in the Pāli Theragāthā, a verse describes a

monk looking toward the time when he will take up the “fiercely powerful sword made of

wisdom” (paññāmayaṃ uggatejaṃ satthaṃ) and “break Māra with his army” (māraṃ sasenaṃ

sahasā bhañjissaṃ).332

Perhaps the most stirring example, however, comes from the Padhāna-sutta. That text

renders the bodhisattva‟s attitude just before the confrontation in this way:

Having seen the army on all sides and Māra harnessed with his
mount for the sake of battle, I go to meet it. They do not move
me from this spot. The world with its gods cannot overcome your
army, but I go against it with wisdom as one would go against an
unbaked bowl with a stone.333
328
Ibid., 21.45: puṇyābalena sa hi jeṣyati mārasenām
329
II 341.
330
Ibid., 307.
331
Pg. 72: pāramisatthen‟ eva paharitvā ayaṃ balakāyo mayā viddhaṃsetuṃ vaṭṭatīti.
332
Pg. 82.
333
3.2.18-19: samantā dhajiniṃ disvā yuttaṃ māraṃ savāhanaṃ yuddhāya paccuggacchāmi. Mā maṃ ṭhanā
acāvayi. Yaṃ te taṃ nappahasahati senaṃ loko sadevako taṃ te paññāya gacchāmi āmaṃ pattaṃ va amhanā. I
should note that “paññāya,” which I have translated as “with wisdom” is the form for this word in the dative as well
as instrumental sense. Thus, we could also render it, “for [the sake of] wisdom,” which is also plausible since
Gotama‟s meditation and confrontation with Māra is for the sake of obtaining a supremacy of wisdom. I translated
the term in the instrumental however to give the sense of wisdom as the means of Gotama‟s victory, which seems to
be the thrust of the passage. The Dhammapada has a closely related verse in which one is advised to recognize the
body as a clay pot (kumbhūpāmaṃ kāyam imaṃ viditvā) and battle Māra with the weapon of wisdom
 124

The picture implied by these two verses is vivid: a single, probably very lean mendicant standing

against the terrible might of a powerful god commanding vast, armored legions of soldiers. Yet,

in the face of these odds the sage is not only unbowed but supremely confident, standing as

firmly as the stone whose hardness he invokes as an image for how he will break Māra‟s forces.

The battle is indeed mismatched here, as it is in all the other versions, but in the bodhisattva‟s

favor, not Māra‟s.

Taken together, this rhetorical device, present in all variants of the cycle, much like we

saw in chapter three regarding the notion of “Brahmin,” works to remodel what constitutes

Kṣatriyahood. In place of swords, the myths argue a true warrior sharpens knowledge; rather

than aiming arrows, a courageous person focuses on discernment. In light of the parallels, both

explicit and implicit, in the stories between Māra and asuras like Namuci and Vṛtra, Gotama‟s

victory would then be like Indra‟s. Indeed, like Indra, Gotama does triumph, but his means of

victory and the arsenal he wields, the stories go out of their way to tell us, are decidedly unlike

Indra‟s. By portraying the conquest as a particularly Buddhist triumph, in which judgment

trumps javelins and not a drop of blood is spilled, the stories assert a new vision of warrior

identity.

That a debate was ongoing between renunciant traditions and Brahmanical authorities

over the meaning of kṣatriyahood is corroborated by a Jaina text, the Uttaradhyayana sūtra,

which contains strikingly similar passages. In one chapter of that work, king Nami of Mithilā

renounces his ruler lifestyle to become a wanderer and Śakra (Indra; Pāli, “Sakka”) appears “in

the form of a Brahmin” (māhaṇarūveṇa) to interrogate his reasoning. The disguised Śakra

(paññāvudhena) (3.8). The commentary on the Dhammapada verse identifies the “weapon of wisdom” as
vippassanā (pg. 128).
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proceeds to instruct Nami that he must give up his foolish idea of renouncing and instead build

forts, battlements, and conquer his enemies so that he will gacchasi khattiyā, literally “go to

Kṣatriyahood,” or “have status as a Kṣatriya.” 334 Nami‟s replies resonant with what we have seen

in the Māravijaya stories, as he retorts that one should instead “break the armor of karma with

the arrow that is penance,”335 and “rather than one who conquers thousands of enemies, one who

conquers the self achieves the highest conquest.”336

By putting Śakra in the form of a Brahmin, this story quite clearly aligns the archetypal

Kṣatriya with Brahmanical concerns, suggesting that the assertion of typical Kṣatriya duties has

just as much, if not more, to do with Brahmanical ideologies than anything else. A few verses in

the Buddhacarita, in which Māra appeals to this ideology to undermine Gotama‟s activities,

contain a number of parallels to the Jaina account. When the god approaches the meditating sage,

he says, “Get up, honorable Kṣatriya, one who fears death. Practice your own duty and abandon

the dharma of release. Tame the world with arrows and sacrifices…Proceed on the path taken by

the kings of the past. For one of birth in a powerful line of sages and kings, to practice begging

for alms is disgraceful.”337 In other words, it is unsavory for a man of Gotama‟s (at least

according to the narratives) princely birth to take on a role outside the prescriptions of

Brahmanical stratification. In the Mahāvastu version Māra provides the same alternative to the

334
See 9.18, 24, 28, 32 for this argument and the recurring refrain of gacchasi khattiyā. I should also take this
opportunity to point out, as John Garrett Jones has, that there a few Pāli Jātakas in which Indra (Sakka) plays a
similar role as in this Jaina narrative, testing the resolve of renunciants. See Tales and Teachings of the Buddha: the
Jātakas in Relation to the Pāli Canon.
335
9.22: tavaṇārāyajutteṇaṃ bhittūṇaṃ kammakaṃcuya.
336
9.34: jo sahassaṃ saṃhassāṇaṃ saṃgāme dujjae jiṇe | egaṃ jiṇejja appāṇaṃ esa se paramo jo ||
337
13.9-10: uttiṣṭha bhoḥ kṣatriya mṛtyubhīta cara svadharmaṃ tyaja mokṣadharmam |
bāṇaiśca yajñaiśca vinīya lokaṃ lokātpadaṃ prāpnuhi vāsavasya ||
panthā hi niryātum ayaṃ yaśasyo yo vāhitaḥ pūrvatamair narendraiḥ |
jātasya rājarṣikule viśāle bhaikṣākamaślāghyamidaṃ prapattum ||
Cowell‟s version retains some gaps where the manuscripts he used were corrupted. In his text “yajñaiśca” is left
blank and I have filled in that word using Johnston‟s Sanskrit text.
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ascetic, telling him to put aside his efforts and “rule the kingdom and make great sacrifices.” 338

One finds Māra expressing a similarly Brahmanical attitude in Padhāna Sutta, in which he

advises the meditating Gotama to give up the arduous life of the renunciant ascetic and go back

to the brahmacarin way of life and perform sacrifices to Agni as ways of making merit.339

Proper conduct for a man of Gotama‟s station, as held by Brahmanical authorities (who have

Māra as their spokes-deva in these passages), is to fight and conduct sacrifice. Put yet another

way, like other Kṣatriyas, he should endeavor to protect and propitiate the priestly class. That

Gotama persists in his action constitutes a challenge to the Brahmanical system.

I believe we must read the Māravijaya myth cycle‟s recurrent redefinition of the role and

conduct of the warrior as a product of an atmosphere in which such social roles and identities

were hotly contested. Consequently, it appears as a reinvention of the nature of Kṣatriya and a

statement against prevalent Brahmanical conceptions. From this point of view, we can see that

Māra plays a Brahmanical part in these Buddhist narratives, speaking the priestly talking points

about social roles and wanting to fight the old fight with the old weapons for the same old

reasons. In contrast, Gotama has found a new and better way, against which the lord of desire

and death is helpless.

The picture becomes even clearer when we place the Māravijaya stories in conversation

with Pāli stories of the Buddhist Sakka, introduced earlier in this chapter. If we recall, Sakka is

as tranquil as the Vedic Indra is stormy (in both senses), exhibiting the Buddhist virtue of

equanimity. This irony is too obvious to be accidental on the part of the authors or lost on the

audiences of these Pāli texts. Beyond that transformation of character, the texts go a step further

338
II 405: mahāyajñāni yajamāno rājyaṃ kārehi gautama.
339
3.2.4: carato ca te brahmacariyaṃ aggihuttañ ca jūhato pahūtaṃ cīyate puññaṃ kiṃ padhena kāhasi.
 127

and make a case which has great bearing on the issues we have been examining in the

Māravijaya narratives.

Besides serving as a paragon of restraint, Sakka (like the “good Brahmās” of chapter

three) loses no opportunity to show his subservience to the Buddha. One such incident has Sakka

approaching the Buddha to ask, “Gotama, what is the one thing it is permissible to kill?” In the

same spirit as the passages from the Māravijaya stories, the Buddha answers counterintuitively,

in a manner that reshapes the question: “The noble ones praise the killing of anger.” 340 In other

words, the god who is the archetype of the Kṣatriya class asks for instruction on how to carry out

the characteristic duty of that class, and the Buddha obliges by reorienting the goals of that social

group.

Elsewhere, Sakka is himself approached for veneration, on which occasion he is quick to

point out whom he believes truly deserves praise and adulation. When a king asks whom the god

reveres, Sakka answers,

All the Kṣatriyas on the earth, the four great kings, and
the resplendent thirty humbly revere me. I revere those
endowed with virtue, those in concentration for a long
time, those completely venerably gone forth, those aimed
at brahmacariya, those householders making merit,
the lay followers possessing virtue.341

In an immediately following passage Sakka further expands on his response:

In the world with its gods, Mātali, I revere the completely

awakened one, the superior teacher. And I revere, Mātali,
those who conquer ignorance, hate, and lust, the Arhats
340
SN I 237: kodhaṃ chetvā sukhaṃ seti | kodhaṃ chetvā na socati ||
kodhassa visamūlassa | madhuraggassa vāsava ||
vadham ariyā pasaṃsanti \ taṃ hi chetvā na socatīti ||
341
SN I 234: maṃ namassanti tevijjā | sabbe bhummā ca khattiyā ||
cattāro ca mahārājā | tidasā ca yasassino ||
ahaṃ ca sīlasampanne | cirarattasamāhite || sammā pabbajite vande brahmacariya parāyane ||
ye gahaṭṭhā puññakarā | sīlavanto upāsakā ||
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whose defilements are destroyed. 342

These passages demonstrate that the restrained Sakka of Buddhist literature is more than

just a satirical or ironical device. In Discourse and the Construction of Society, Bruce Lincoln

argues that one way to alter the sociopolitical dimensions of a body of narratives is to “advance

novel lines of interpretation for the established myth or modify details in its narration and

thereby change the nature of the sentiments (and the society) it evokes.” 343 In this way, the

Buddhist transformation of Indra is part of a concerted effort to renegotiate the identity of the

Kṣatriya varṇa: the real warrior conquers ignorance, kills anger, and, most importantly,

acknowledges the Buddha as primary authority. On these points, the Pāli texts assert, we need

only look to Sakka, who has learned his restrained ways from the Buddha. In the face of this fact,

the text implies rhetorically, can human Kṣatriyas do any less?

This is not to say that Brahmanical and later Hindu traditions did not renegotiate or

interrogate the concept of “Kṣatriya.” Indeed, those traditions often did in the classical period,

sometimes in language consonant with the Buddhist and Jaina perspectives. A striking example

comes in the Bhagavad Gītā as Arjuna questions the morality of war and wavers in his warrior

duty. In response, Kṛṣṇa instructs Arjuna to sever attachments to the results of his actions and,

through devotion (bhakti) surrender to god. In the course of his teaching, Kṛṣṇa at one point tells

Arjuna that the warrior must “know the self in the self sustaining beyond knowledge and, one of

great arms, conquer the formidable enemy in the form of desire.”344 Similar to the Jaina and

342
SN I 235: so idha sammāsambuddho | asmiṃ loke sadevake ||
anomanāmaṃ satthāraṃ | taṃ namassāmi mātali ||
yesam rāgo ca doso ca | avijjā ca virājitā ||
khīṇāsavā arahanto | te namassāmi mātali ||
343
Pg. 25.
344
Bhagavad-Gītā, 3.43: evaṃ buddheḥ paraṃ buddhvā saṃstabhyātmānamātmanā |
jahi śatruṃ mahābāho kāmarupaṃ durāsadam ||
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Buddhist rhetoric, these lines transfer the aggressive action of the warrior toward a more

contemplative goal, here the suppression of desire, as a way for Arjuna to negotiate his role as

Kṣatriya amidst a fratricidal situation he sees as terribly wrong. Indeed, one can read the entire

Bhagavad-Gītā as an attempt to mediate the old Brahmanical codes with the challenges of

renunciant ideals. Though while the language may be similar to Buddhist and Jaina sentiments,

the outcome certainly is not, for Kṛṣṇa‟s solution – and I believe it is fair to say the Brahmanical

and Hindu solution as well – that rests on devotion to a deity and an altered but intact Kṣatriya

duty (Arjuna ends up fighting after all) is not in harmony with the outlook of either renunciant

group.

As we have seen, that Buddhist outlook has emphasized restraint, equanimity, wisdom,

and discernment as its “weapons.” In the wielding of these powers, the Buddha is unsurpassed,

despite the example of Sakka, whom the Pāli texts point out has learned all he knows from the

Buddha. Most clearly though, the Māravijaya stories show Gotama at the moment of his greatest

demonstration of the new Kṣatriya nature, conquering Māra. All in all, then, in this valence of

the myth cycle, we have seen the Buddhist stories play off the classic Indra/Vṛtra battle by

casting Māra in the role of the asura and the Buddha-to-be as the deva who conquers. Both roles,

though, are significantly redefined: rather than obstructing waters and riches, Māra obstructs

knowledge, and rather than crushing his adversary‟s skull, the bodhisattva smashes Māra‟s

metaphorical grip on beings. Just as the Buddha‟s victory heralds a new vision of the world,

embedded in the symbolism of the narrative is a reimagination of the Kṣatriya social class.
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III. Demonic Buddha, Deva Māra

Having examined one valence of the Māravijaya cycle, it is now time to flip the picture to

determine what other images emerge and reread the śleṣa to detect the double meaning. While I

have argued that the narratives of the Buddha-to-be versus Māra reveal a renegotiation of the

Kṣatriya class according to Buddhist ideals, in this second part of the chapter I argue that the

stories also simultaneously act to assail the Brahmin class‟s position of privilege. The former, as

we saw, comes through an appropriation of structures and symbols of the Vedic Indra/Vṛtra

story, while the latter comes through an inversion of a prominent epic and Purāṇic theme. That

theme, just like the Vedic narratives, contains Indra in the starring role.

As recounted in the earlier synopsis of the thunder-god‟s mythic evolution, Indra was a

very different god by the classical period. Though still lauded for his ancient triumph over Vṛtra

and the asuras, the king of the gods at this time was also seen as flawed, of lesser stature than

ascending figures like Śiva or Viṣṇu, and continually paranoid of potential usurpers of his place

in the cosmic hierarchy. In his study of the changing dynamic of the warrior concept in the

Mahābhārata, for instance, Alf Hiltebeitel notes pronounced instances of Indra‟s insecurity, such

as in the Śānti Parvan when a series of the god‟s former enemies inform him of how they were

displaced, highlighting the precariousness of his position.345

A consistent aspect of the threat to Indra‟s position in the epics and, later, the Purāṇas

(though I concentrate on the epics in this chapter)346 is the accrual of power by ascetics. By this

345
Ritual of Battle, pg. 159; for the MB passage, see 12.215-221.
346
I do this for two reasons. First, the epics are more closely contemporaneous to the Māravijaya myths I am
discussing. Second, as Danielle Feller has pointed out, the classical period of epic composition seems to be a time in
which older narratives and figures (like Indra) were employed to bolster the prestige of the Brahmins: “We could
almost claim that the myths which are mentioned in the [Rig Veda] in order to glorify the gods to whom the hymns
are addressed, are used in the Epics in order to glorify the Brahmins.” (The Sanskrit Epics‟ Representation of Vedic
Texts, pg. 297).
 131

practice, the stories consistently relate, a human or demon can amass enough power to displace

the gods, particularly Indra, and the thunder-god intervenes to prevent this occurrence. His

intervention takes the same pattern in many cases. The first recourse is to attempt to sway the

ascetic from his self-denial through temptation by heavenly nymphs, the apsarases.347 In some

cases, such as Śaradvata, the ascetic is taken enough by the apsarases that he ejaculates, thereby

forfeiting his accumulated power.348 Other times, however, for varying reasons, the apsaras

seduction does not succeed and in those cases Indra escalates the confrontation, moving to

dispatch the would-be usurper with his thunderbolt, as for example in the case of Triśiras

(Viśvarūpa), which I will discuss in more detail below.349

Given our familiarity with the structure of the Māravijaya stories from the first part of the

chapter, some resonances between the epic and Buddhist narratives should already be apparent.

First, in both cases a god intervenes to attempt to prevent an ascetic from toppling his cosmic

position of power and authority. Second, the means both gods employ are similar: the seductions

of desire and then, when necessary, military might. Differences also obtain, however, for in the

epic case the god is victorious and the world better for his victory, while in the Buddhist

scenario, the human challenger emerges triumphant, which those stories likewise paint as a

celebratory outcome.

Clearly, given their similar structure and opposite endings, these myth cycles possess

different conceptions of the relative relationship between the human and divine worlds. Stated

simply at the outset, I interpret this inversion as a Buddhist polemic against the Brahmanical

347
At other times, however, he enlists the Hindu god of desire, Kāma, for this task.
348
MB 1.120.5-12. I will delve more into the relation between the feminine, ascetic power, and symbolism of death
and evil in chapter five.
349
MB 5.9.3-50; 12.329.
 132

cosmological structure. Since, I believe, stories about classifications of gods are inevitably

stories about the classification of human beings, I believe it is also a polemic against the

Brahmanical social structure. Instead of Indra, a deva defending the divine and worldly order, the

Buddhist stories contain Māra, a wicked god who will stop at nothing to keep humans in

bondage.

Brahmanical Classification

To comprehend the complexities of these connections and the homology in Indian

religious and social history between the divine and human worlds, some background is necessary

about ideology of social stratification in India. Writing extensively on this topic, Brian K. Smith

has argued that the stratification scheme in later Hinduism is a continuation of underlying

principles of organization already present in the social, etiological, and cosmic categories of the

Vedas.350 To give one clear example, the social grouping of varṇa has an antecedent in the

Puruṣasukta Sūtra, which asserts that the Brahmin, Kṣatriya, Vaiśya, and Śudra classes arise due

to “qualities inherent in them – supposed natural inclinations.”351 The authors of the myth – the

Brahmins – neither coincidentally nor accidentally locate their group and its specialty of

sacrificial ritual at the apex of society, fulfilling one of Smith‟s opening comments: “if

classication is fundamental to thought, those who control the form classification takes…have a

rather obvious advantage.”352

At the same time that these oldest texts take care to separate and divide human groups

from one another, they also go to lengths to differentiate humans from deities. While the devas

possessed a corresponding system of varṇa (complete with Brahmin gods like Agni and Kṣatriya

350
Classifying the Universe, pgs. 28-80.
351
Ibid., pg. 29.
352
Ibid., pg. 4.
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gods like Indra), and Brahmins could attain a kind of ritual divinity by speaking for the gods,

Smith strongly points out that the two states were quite differently conceived. He writes, “in

sacrificial Vedism, the gods remained the gods and men essentially remained men.” 353 Part of

that insoluble, non-permeable distinction comes from the ritual precision gods possess but

humans, incorrigibly and inveterately, lack.354 The devas get the long end of the stick from this

discrepancy, possessing immortality and heavenly abodes, while humans endure mortality and

perpetual dependence on the gods.

We should keep in mind, however, that not all humans are in an equally disadvantageous

state, as the varṇa system attests. What is more, if the distinction between human classes is

mirrored in the heavenly world, this serves as an immense justification for the social ideology: to

question or challenge Brahmanical supremacy is thus also to question and challenge the gods.355

As the ritual and social intermediaries and interpreters between human and deva, the status of the

Brahmin in all cases is expressed as inviolate.

It is important not to oversimplify complex historical and religious situations by

suggesting these textual assertions forever and in all cases corresponded to the social reality from

the time of the Vedas to the classical period. Indeed, the very fact that these Brahmin texts

repeatedly and stridently declare their superior status is perhaps in itself good evidence that this

status was insecure and questioned by a great many. It is incontrovertible, though, that the

assertions outlined above served as the premises for a large portion of the social conversation in

Indian culture. As such, they illustrate much of what Bourdieu argued about theories of class:

353
“Gods and Men in Vedic Ritual,” pg. 306.
354
Ibid., pgs 294-295; see also Doniger (O‟Flaherty), Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pg. 63.
355
Smith, Classifying the Universe, pgs. 88-90, 112.
 134

“every established order tends to produce the naturalization of its own arbitrariness.” 356

Specifically regarding the role myth plays in such schemes, and with obvious relevance to varṇa

and the relation between devas and humans, Bourdieu also pointed out that “the taxonomies of

the mythico-ritual system at once divide and unify, legitimating unity in division, that is to say,

hierarchy.”357 While such hierarchies, in Bourdieu‟s theory, attempt to insulate themselves from

resistance and criticism by portraying their arbitrary position of power as natural and matter of

fact (what he terms “doxa”), debate and contestation inevitably ensue. He writes, “the dominated

classes have an interest in pushing back the limits of doxa and exposing the arbitrariness of the

taken for granted; the dominant classes have an interest in defending the integrity of doxa or,

short of this, establishing in its place the necessarily imperfect substitute, orthodoxy.”358

In reading the history of Indian religions over the large swath of time encompassing the

Vedas to the era of the epics, we find precisely the dialectic advanced by Bourdieu. Even well

before the classical era serious movements had arisen to mount vigorous challenges to the Vedic

ideologies of the Brahmins. In a point which speaks to the tensions seen in the first part of this

chapter, even within the Brahmanical tradition there were debates over social roles, as

Brockington detects in the Mahābhārata: “Much of the didactic part of the Mahābhārata is

concerned to lay down in the most emphatic terms the rights and privileges of the Brahmins…on

the other hand, the narrative tends to stress Kṣatriya values and their distinction from other

groups.”359

356
Outline of a Theory of Practice, pg. 164.
357
Ibid, pg. 165.
358
Ibid., pg. 169.
359
The Sanskrit Epics, pg. 205.
 135

As I have emphasized in the preceding chapters, however, some of the most pronounced

pressure on the Brahmanical system came from challenges of ascetic, renunciant movements like

Buddhism. As we have already seen so far, Buddhist narratives actively redesigned the notions

of “Brahmin,” “sacrifice,” and “Kṣatriya” and apropos of our interests in this chapter, they also

contested the rigid Brahmanical hierarchy of devas and humans. For example, in terms of its

characterization of the Buddha, Buddhist texts frequently blur the lines between god and human.

Gail Sutherland puts it this way: “the Buddha is preeminently human, yet through insight and

asceticism he has developed the power and cosmic centrality of a god.” 360 As chapter three and

the first part of this chapter have demonstrated, there are numerous examples of texts

subordinating Brahmanical devas to the Buddha, flipping the preexisting hierarchy. Thus, if we

(however advisedly) term the Buddha “deva-like” (or “deva-lite,” if preferable to those wishing

to retain Buddhism‟s “godless” nature), he does not take on the role of just another deva, but a

deva above all others. Indeed, there are instances in Buddhist texts referring to the Buddha as

adhideva, literally “above the gods.” 361

Such a challenge to the Brahmanical classificatory scheme would not go unnoticed or

unmet, however, as Sutherland also notes, telling us that such an inversion of the Vedic order,

from the Brahmanical perspective, “confers upon [the Buddha] the status of a demon…” 362

Additionally, as Doniger (O‟Flaherty) reminds us in her thorough treatment on the subject,

whereas in Brahmanical traditions “a priest might legitimately emulate the gods, an ascetic

should not. An ambitious priest was like a god; an ambitious ascetic was like a demon.”363

360
Disguises of the Demon, pg. 115.
361
K.R. Norman, Pāli Literature, pg. 47.
362
Disguises of the Demon, pg. 115.
363
The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pg. 89.
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Underlining this point, Brockington contends that throughout the Mahābhārata the use of tapas

– literally “heat,” the fiery power and energy gained via austerity – is a means to coerce or

challenge the gods.364 In keeping with my earlier principle, I believe we should not read stories

about classifying (or reclassifying) gods as having to do merely with the heavenly realm. In fact,

it is easy to read Brahmanical anxiety about ascetics usurping the position of the devas as anxiety

about ascetic seizure of priestly preeminence. As the case of the Buddha illustrates, ascetics who

can attain power equal to or greater than the gods have effectively circumvented the

intermediary, ritual authority of the Brahmins stretching back to the Vedic tradition.

Consequently, from the Brahmanical point of view, the degree to which the distinction between

devas and humans is diminished is the same degree to which priestly authority is diminished.

From this perspective a number of aspects of the recurrent epic narratives of Indra versus

ascetics come into relief. With the foregoing in mind, I will go into more detail about one such

story from the Śānti Parvan. Though the story occurs elsewhere in the Mahābhārata with

variations, it will become clear in a moment why I have highlighted this version. In this story,

Viśvarūpa (also called “Triśiras” due to his three heads), the son of Tvaṣṭṛ, has practiced such

long and fearful asceticism that he is threatening to overthrow the gods, particularly Indra. 365 The

thunder-god summons a group of apsarases to distract Viśvarūpa and in due course, the ascetic

becomes agitated or rattled (kṣubhitaṃ) by their presence and attached (sakta) to them.366 But the

nymphs have come only to tease, and incensed that they would leave him to return to the gods,

364
The Sanskrit Epic, pg. 239.
365
This story may go back as far as the Rig Veda (4.18), as well as Brāhmaṇa texts such as Taittirīya Saṃhitā (2.5.1)
and the Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa (2.153-155). Technically, Tvaṣṭṛ and Viśvarūpa are both Brahmins, but, as Doniger
(O‟Flaherty) explicates in The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology (see pgs. 103-105), they have betrayed the gods
by making secret deals with demons and Viśvarūpa‟s ascetic practice is explicitly stated (at least in the
Mahābhārata) to threaten Indra‟s status.
366
MB, 12.329.21.
 137

Viśvarūpa vows, “then this very day the gods along with Indra will be no more!” 367 Faced with a

quickly escalating threat, the gods repair to Brahmā who instructs them to find a mahāyogī

named Dadhīca and make a weapon from his bones.368 Dadhīca is himself performing austerities

when the gods find him, but entirely unlike Viśvarūpa he is obedient to the devas and agrees to

do whatever they request, not even balking when they ask him to surrender his body. From his

bones, the gods fashion the vajra (“thunderbolt”), “made with the bones of a Brahmin.”369 Using

that vajra, Indra decapitates Viśvarūpa, and thereupon Vṛtra emerges from the dead ascetic‟s

body (briefly bringing to mind the Hollywood horror movie finale in which the monster is never

quite dead, but can always return for one last gasp). Indra slays Vṛtra as well, but tainted by the

stain of Brahminicide must do penance and temporarily abdicate his position.370

A number of interesting points emerge from this story in light of the socio-ideological

situation. First, we see that a threat to the authority and unique position of the gods must be dealt

with decisively and, if necessary, violently, using the weapon once reserved to destroy asuras,

the thunderbolt. Second, in the contrast between Viśvarūpa and Dadhīca, the story very

obviously lays out a distinction between orthodox and heterodox forms of asceticism. Dadhīca

willingly serves the gods, giving up his body for their benefit, while Viśvarūpa disrupts the very

order of the universe. The latter‟s chaotic nature is emphasized to the point that Vṛtra, the ancient

Vedic symbol of darkness and chaos, bursts out upon the ascetic‟s death, as if the serpent had

lain in wait there all along.371 As chapter three laid out, there were, in fact, ascetic Brahmins, but

367
Ibid., 12.329.22-23: atha tā viśvarupo „bravīd adyaiva sendrā devā na bhaviṣyantīti.
368
Ibid., 12.329.24-25.
369
Ibid., 12.329.27: brahmāsthisaṃbhūtena.
370
Ibid., 12.329.28-30.
371
I should note that in another version Viśvarupa and Vṛtra are actually two separate creations of Tvaṣṭṛ, rather than
the serpent literally emerging from the ascetic (Mahābhārata, 5.9.40)
 138

these groups still rooted their practice and ideology in the Vedas and the authority of the devas.

In this instance in the Mahābhārata, we seem to find an example of Bourdieu‟s theorem that

dominant classes under stress will, in place of lost doxa, attempt to delineate between orthodox

and heterodox beliefs and practices, in this instance, spelling out the proper place for asceticism

in relation to Brahmins and devas. The Mahābhārata story also seems a good example of the

kind of narrative structure which, by initially imperiling a kind of hierarchy, ultimately works to

reinforce and strengthen its “natural” rightness.372 Third, in many ways the myth suggests Indra‟s

subordination to the Brahmins, making it clear that the Kṣatriya must depend on priestly

superiors. For one, as we saw, the instrument with which he is finally able to defeat Viśvarūpa is

made from the very bones of a Brahmin, and without this device, he could not prevail. For

another, following his victory, Indra is stained with Brahminicide, showing even a deva cannot

escape retribution for harming a priest. In sum, I suggest that what we have in this story, and the

others like it in which Indra must subdue a threat to his authority and cosmological preeminence,

is a Brahmanical defense of hierarchal ideology in narrative form. Just as the rebellious

Brahmin-ascetic Viśvarūpa represents a threat to the cosmic structure, ascetic movements

unfettered from Brahmanical authority, like Buddhism, threaten the social structure imagined

and preferred by Brahmins.

Māra, the Jealous God

The Brahmanical narrative response, however, generated a Buddhist narrative response,

which I believe we find in the Māravijaya stories. An important question arises at this point

about the difficulties of narrative chronology in India. With the lack of certainty of textual

dating, the possibility exists that the Brahmanical Indra/ascetic narratives could be a response to
372
See James Liszka, The Semiotics of Myth, pgs. 150-155.
 139

the Buddha/Māra stories rather than the reverse, which would certainly alter the dynamic I

suggest. Indeed, in the fourth and fifth chapters of this dissertation we will look at examples of

just this kind of Brahmanical response to Buddhist discourses and narratives of Māra. However,

in this case, there is good reason to believe that the Brahmanical cycle is the older, even absent

precise dating. Though it quite possibly predates the epics, we know the Indra/ascetic stories

occur at least as early as the Mahābhārata. According to our best evidence, the composition of

the Mahābhārata occurred from around four hundred BCE to four hundred CE, with a core text

(since lost) upon which layers upon layers of additions were made.373 This period overlaps the

composition of the Māravijaya stories we have been considering, but instances in the Māravijaya

stories show prior awareness of the epics. For example, Aśvaghoṣa specifically mentions

episodes from the Mahābhārata and Rāmāyāṇa in his works, both Buddhacarita and

Saundarananda, showing not only that the core of the epics existed during that time, but that

Buddhist communities were aware of them. Even more directly relevant to our purposes, and

contributing to my selection of the particular version of Indra versus Viśvarūpa above,

Aśvaghoṣa directly cites the episode in which Indra loses his place to Nahuṣa, which follows

immediately upon the thunder-god‟s abdication due to Brahminicide accrued by slaying

Viśvarūpa and Vṛtra.374 Outside the Māravijaya stories, we find evidence in the Pāli literature

that, even if not specifically tied to asceticism, the theme of Indra‟s paranoia over his cosmic

position was well-established. In the Sakkasaṃyutta, there is a story of a yakkha, called a

kodhabhakkho (“anger-eater”) who usurps Sakka‟s throne when the god is absent. The other

373
J.A.B. van Buitenen, The Mahābhārata (trans.) vol. 1, pg. xxv.
374
BC 11.14. As Doniger (O‟Flaherty) noted in The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, the story of Indra slaying
Tvaṣṭṛ‟s son Viśvarūpa goes back to the RV (10.8.8-9), but in that account, though Viśvarūpa is described as “the
one desirous to obtain great strength” (bhūrīd udinakṣantam), the later epic narrative adds the all important method
for the attainment of that strength: asceticism.
 140

gods try to remove the interloper by hurling abuse and even weapons upon him, but true to his

name the yakkha literally consumes this abuse and becomes more regal, handsome, and god-like

with every angry attack. When Sakka arrives, he greets the yakkha in exactly the opposite

manner. Though his spot has been usurped, the thunder-god heaps kindness, respect, and

compassion upon the yakkha who, in the reverse process, becomes uglier, less regal, and less

powerful, finally yielding the throne back to Sakka.375 This marvel of Buddhist equanimity (or

what some might call aggressive passivity or even reverse psychology) clearly illustrates what

we saw in the first part of this chapter about the Buddhist redefinition of Indra‟s character from

the Vedic warrior to the pacific Sakka. As such, it does not make sense as a satire or redefinition

without the author(s) or audience‟s awareness of the prior model. Thus in this particular story,

there is no narrative payoff or punch-line if one is not aware of stories in which Indra responds

with hostility and violence at the prospect of losing his throne.

On the basis of these points, both internal and external to the Māravijaya narratives, I

believe Buddhist literati were therefore quite well aware of the Brahmanical narrative cycle

involving Indra and, in the form of the Buddha-to-be versus Māra, offered their response. From

the beginning of the encounter in these stories, we can see their strong relation to the prior

narratives, first in Māra‟s reaction when he realizes Gotama is on the verge of attaining

awakening. Whereas the rest of the world rejoiced at the sage‟s vow when he took his spot under

the tree, “Māra, the enemy of the good teaching, trembled in fear.”376 Another term found in the

Buddhacarita for Māra‟s unease is viṣādaḥ (13.4), which is the same word used to describe

Indra‟s dismay at Viśvarūpa‟s austerity in one version of that story: “Having seen the brilliant

375
SN I 237-238.
376
BC 13.1: tatrāsa saddharmaripustu māraḥ.
 141

and immeasurable asceticism of that virile being, he [Indra] became immovably dejected

(viṣādam), thinking „he [Viśvarūpa] must not attain status as an Indra.”377 In other instances

other terms are used to convey Indra‟s unease at the growing power of ascetics. Mahābharata

1.20.5, for example, in which the ascetic Śaradvata gains extraordinary power, uses the word

saṃtāpayāmāsa, meaning he “heated” or “burned” Indra through his gathering power. Derived

from the root “tap,” which also gives us “tapas” (asceticism, or austerity), the choice of that term

in that instance conveys the double nature of tapas: it is the heat or power one generates within,

but also projects without onto others.378 Though he does not “burn” Māra as such, there is

something of the same sense in the Lalitavistara in which the Buddha-to-be decides Māra ought

to be present at his awakening. Consequently, he sends a beam of light called

sarvamāramaṇḍalavidhvaṃsanakarī (“that which makes the destruction of all Māra‟s realms”)

from his forehead into the god‟s realm, capturing Māra‟s attention by making all the abodes dim

and quake.379

Furthering the similarity, when explaining the reason for his unease to his attendants,

Māra says, “if he [Gotama] proceeds to overpower me and relates the path of release to the

world, then my realm is empty.”380 In other versions Māra‟s concern is likewise focused on his

own power and authority and the fear that these will be divested or supplanted by Gotama‟s

success. As the Lalitavistara phrases it, Māra fears the sage will render his realm vacant (śunyaṃ

377
MB 5.9.7: tasya dṛṣtvā tapo vīryaṃ sattvaṃ cāmitatejasaḥ |
viṣādam agamaścakra indrayojaṃ mā bhaved iti ||
378
Here Brockington‟s observation, cited earlier, that tapas is used throughout the epics as a means of coercion of
the gods is appropriate: the gods, especially Indra, physically feel the heat radiating from an ascetic‟s body and, lest
they or the universe be burnt, must do something to address the situation. A famous instance not involving Indra
occurs in the Kirāta Parvan in which Arjuna performs austerities until he is exuding enough smoke and flame to
scorch (same phrasing, saṃtāpayati, “he causes to heat,” i.e., “burns”) local ṛṣis and consequently garners Śiva‟s
attention (MB 3.69.20-30).
379
21.1.
380
BC 13.5: yadi hyasau māmabhibhūya yāti lokāya cākhyātyapavargamārgam | śūnyastato „yaṃ viṣayo mamādya
 142

kariṣyati puraṃtava) and leave the god powerless (abalo balo).381 Spread over multiple sections,

several passages in the Mahāvastu version show that Māra fears his power will be eclipsed.382

Then later, after Gotama has taken his meditation spot, the god of saṃsāra resolves that the sage

“must be removed from his throne lest the multitudes desert my realm.”383

The mention of a throne as a contested object in the struggle occurs elsewhere and is an

evocative image. In his early apprehensions about the bodhisattva, the Mahāvastu further states

that Māra considered him potentially as a rival king, meaning that from the god‟s point of view,

the contest was entirely about lordship and supremacy. 384 In the Nidānakathā, Māra leaves no

doubt about his perspective on the scope of the struggle, or his disdain for his opponent‟s stature,

telling Gotama to get up from his seat for it does not belong to him, it is Māra‟s. 385 The word I

have paraphrased here as “seat” (pallaṃkā) means more specifically a cross-legged sitting

position – i.e., Gotama‟s meditation posture – but in the context and in conjunction with the

other versions, I believe we would be warranted in interpreting it also as a reference to the

throne.

In the characters of both Māra and Indra we can thus see the same kind of devotion to and

protective impulse for their own position and power. In The Symbolism of Evil, writing about

what he called the “wicked god and the tragic vision of existence,” Paul Ricoeur stated that, “the

jealous gods cannot endure any greatness besides theirs; man, then, feels himself thrust back into

his humanity.”386 While Ricoeur is primarily referencing the Greek gods, such as Zeus, who

381
LV 21.4.
382
See MV II 162-163 and 314-316.
383
Ibid., 409.
384
Ibid., 315: pratirājasaṃjñāṃ bodhisatve upasthāpetvā.
385
Pg. 73: Siddhatta uṭṭhahatha etasmā pallaṃkā nāyaṃ tuhyaṃ pāpuṇāti mahyaṃ eso pāpuṇātīti.
386
Pg. 217.
 143

withheld power and knowledge from the mortal beings under them, his words apply equally well

to both Māra and Indra. Ricoeur goes on to discuss the role of Prometheus in Greek mythology

as an agent of resistance to the tyrannical rule of the gods, as the rebel who brought fire to

humanity. That fire, Ricoeur argued, symbolizes “reason, culture, the heart,” and “summed up

what it is to be [human], breaking with the immobility of nature and the dreary repetitiveness of

animal life.”387 While Brahmanical and Hindu traditions have no misapprehensions about the

often capricious and self-interested nature and behavior of the gods, these traditions, through

ritual and ideology, have reconciled themselves to these facts and even incorporated them.388 On

the other hand, the Buddhist portrayal of Māra suggests no such acceptance. By obscuring the

knowledge of reality and striving to prevent beings from attaining such knowledge, Māra is the

epitome of Ricoeur‟s “wicked god” and, according to the Māravijaya stories, in order to free

humanity, this god must be overthrown. In this way perhaps we can see the Buddha as a

comparative figure to Prometheus, though obviously with a number of caveats and disanalogies.

One immediately interesting point of contrast is the symbolism of fire. While perhaps connoting

civilization in the Greek context, as Ricoeur claimed, fire means no such thing in Buddhism.

Rather, in that tradition it represents desire and that which must be overcome or extinguished

(literally, “nirvāṇa”) before awakening is achieved.

At any rate, we can say with certainty that Buddhist traditions portrayed Māra as a

tyrannical figure bent on maintaining his position of superiority over humans. Contrary to this

387
Ibid., pg. 223.
388
This is illustrated, for example, in the scene in Abhijñānaśakuntalam when the revelation of Śakuntalā‟s
parentage (from an apsaras and a sage whose tapas was threatening the gods) elicits only the dry observation from
King Duṣyanta that “the gods do possess fear of the deep meditation of others” (asyetadanyasamādhibhīrutvaṃ
devānām), (Act 1, pg. 28). Also see Doniger (O‟Flaherty), The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pgs. 139-173 for
a full treatment.
 144

view, as I have argued, the strict division between gods and humans plays into the Brahmins‟

favor, and therefore so does Indra‟s jealousy and insistence at all costs that such a boundary be

maintained. Notably, Māra and his minions express the same fear about the mingling of the

mortal and immortal, the human and the godly. In the Lalitavistara, the god tells his attendants

that Gotama “will make even the three downfalls [ignorance, desire, and anger] empty entirely,

he will make the citadel of gods and humans entirely full. The beneficent one, having touched

immortality, will bestow happiness, supreme immortality, and knowledge of meditation.” 389 In

the first case, the nature of Māra‟s anxieties come into better focus in relation to the Buddhist

conception of the Wheel of Becoming (bhavacakra). A means of communicating the inner

workings of the realm of kāmadhātu, the Wheel of Becoming is conceived in five (or six) gatis

consisting of (in descending order of auspiciousness) devas, humans, animals, pretas, and hells

as sections of a circle around a hub, at the center of which are a pig, a rooster, and a snake. The

Lord of Desire himself is considered to encompass the wheel, grasping it with both hands and

feet.390 A potent symbol of saṃsāra, which literally means “turning,” the wheel thus depicts

Māra‟s pervasive influence over all the various aspects of saṃsāra. The animals at the center of

the wheel respectively represent ignorance, desire, and anger (the three downfalls to which Māra

refers in the foregoing passage) that serve as the properties fueling the turning of the wheel and

keeping beings trapped in continuous rebirth. The fears Māra voices, consequently, bear on the

inherent categories of saṃsāra. Upon awakening, the god believes, Gotama‟s spread of the

389
21.3: śunyāṃ kariṣyati apāyatrayo „pyaśeṣaṃ pūrṇāṃ kariṣyati purāṃ suramānuṣāṇāṃ |
dhyānābhijña paramaṃ amṛtaṃ sukhaṃ ca dāsyatyasau hitakaro amṛtaṃ spṛśitvā ||
390
For a full discussion of the bhavacakra‟s symbolism, importance in Indian Buddhism, and connection to Māra,
see David Snellgrove, Indo-Tibetan Buddhism, pgs. 14-18. Though there is debate as to the extent to which the
bhavacakra was a conceptual rather than visual image in Indian Buddhism, there is no question as to its pictorial
ubiquity in the Tibetan tradition.
 145

dharma will mean that beings currently inhabiting the lower existences will vacate those realms

and flood the two higher areas of birth. The hierarchical nature of saṃsāra will thus be

irreparably skewed, like a wheel spinning out of balance.

In the second case, Māra expresses concern that upon becoming a Buddha, Gotama will

achieve immortality and bestow this same state on other beings. This touches on a frequent

theme in Indian religions, as Doniger (O‟Flaherty) has shown by cataloging and discussing

numerous mythic instances of virtuous demons and ascetic humans challenging the cosmological

classificatory system by seeking immortality, a quality only the gods may possess. 391 As Doniger

tells us, the gods attack this problem one of two ways: destroy the challenger or alter the

classifying system to include him; either way, the system remains intact and free from

anomalies.392 The former strategy we have seen attributed to Indra in the epics and will look at in

relation to Māra shortly, but for now it is interesting to note that the latter incorporating strategy

is also present in the Māravijaya narratives. In the Lalitavistara, for example, as an alternative to

awakening, Māra‟s seductive female servants advise Gotama that he could use his accumulated

store of ascetic power to gain a heavenly existence where he could live like a god attended by

celestial nymphs such as themselves.393 The Mahāvastu contains similar instances of “bartering”

in which Māra suggests Gotama “cash in” (so to speak) his austerity to become a king over all

the continents of the earth second only to the gods in power and renown. For instance, Māra tells

Gotama that “once you have made the sacrifices called the „horse sacrifice,‟ „person sacrifice,‟

„white lotus,‟ and „young bull sacrifice,‟ you will be immortal and a god.” 394 These suggestions

391
See The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, especially pages 79-83.
392
Ibid., pg. 82.
393
21.118.
394
II 405: aśvamedhaṃ puruṣamedhaṃ puṇḍarīkaṃ nirargaḍaṃ |
 146

seek to resolve the situation in a manner befitting Brahmanical taxonomy: were Gotama to take

either course Māra (or the god‟s surrogates) proposes, the sage would be fully a god or fully a

human and not a Buddha, which can be seen as an ambiguous mixture of both classes. As I

established earlier, and Doniger (O‟Flaherty) also points out in her work,395 there is a clear

ideological component behind this hierarchy that plays into Brahmanical favor. That such a

taxonomical concern is aligned with Māra in the Buddhist stories is just as clearly an ideological

attempt to subvert the Brahmanical categories. In this way we can understand why the Buddhist

authors so knowingly, willingly, and explicitly cast the Buddha in a role Brahmanical tradition

would consider anomalously demon-like and, correspondingly, Māra defensively deva-like.

Besides appeals to the prevailing structure of the cosmos and the riches thereof that

Gotama could obtain, Māra has other recourse in defending his position from the ascetic. This

takes us to the battle scenes themselves, perhaps the most famous parts of the Māravijaya

narratives. Though present in some form in all versions, there is some variety as to the order and

presentation of the confrontation, but an overview of its events shows again how aspects of the

stories have been appropriated from and engage with Brahmanical sources. The confrontation

itself consists (generally) of three parts: temptation to sensual pleasures, armed attack, and

challenge of the sufficiency of Gotama‟s merit. The first bears obvious resemblance to the

Indra/asectic stories, for just as the thunder god employs apsarases to distract and seduce

ascetics from meditation, Māra assigns beautiful and scantily clad women, usually described as

his daughters, to stir Gotama‟s desire for pleasure. However, while in the Brahmanical stories

this occurs usually as the precursor to a military intervention, Buddhist narratives locate it

etāṃ yajñāṃ yajitvān ho hisi amara maru ||

395
See Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pgs. 82 and 222.
 147

differently. In the Nidānakathā and Buddhacarita Māra first attacks with his army, and then

some time after Gotama becomes the Buddha the three daughters appear to tempt him sexually.

In both cases, the daughters assume a series of physical forms (young virgins, middle-aged

women, mothers, etc.) in an attempt to find an appearance most desirable to the Buddha. 396 In the

latter instance there exists the possibility that the incident is the interpolation of another author,

for it occurs in the fifteenth chapter and only the first thirteen and part of the fourteenth chapters

exist in Sanskrit and can be verified as Aśvaghoṣa‟s work. 397 Adding some weight to the

interpolation argument is the fact that the episode with the three daughters is strikingly similar to

a text from the Saṃyutta Nikāya (SN I 124-137), perhaps suggesting it was added to the

biographies somewhat later. Also, technically the Buddhacarita includes a sensual temptation in

the thirteenth chapter, as Māra‟s first attempt to sway Gotama is through an arrow designed to

instill him with lust.398 The Lalitavistara is one version that definitively puts the apsaras

temptation first, as in that account Māra marshals his army, but sends in his daughters first, who

show off various body parts and in various forms, all of which the Buddha-to-be derides in

turn.399

There are two points I wish to make on the varied content and placement of these

temptations of desire. First, the tendency to place the encounter with Māra‟s daughters after the

Buddha‟s awakening may reflect the grafting on of a text extant since the Nikāyas, but it also

may stem from a wish to make the victory over tempting females seem more ongoing and less

final, a theme I will deal with more in the next chapter. Second, should we assume that the

396
NK, pgs. 78-79; BC 15.13-36.
397
Cowell, pg. ix.
398
13.12-16. These verses seem intended clearly to evoke Kāma‟s encounter with Śiva, and as such I will deal with
them more fully in chapter five.
399
21.90-100.
 148

episode with the daughters is an interpolation, this in combination with the similarity to the

apsaras aspect of the Indra/asectic stories seems only to speak more to an express desire on the

part of the Buddhist authors to mirror their narratives against the Brahmanical versions.

The second prominent aspect of Māra‟s confrontation with Gotama is the invocation of

the god‟s army, which stands in for the martial phase of Indra‟s attack, the thunderbolt. As we

have seen, Māra does summon storms and wind in the Nidānakathā and unleashes lightning in

the Lalitavistara and Mahāvastu.400 Though he does not attempt to use a thunderbolt against

Gotama in quite the same decisive manner as Indra does against ascetics, the fact that Māra‟s

signature weapons (bow and arrow, as well as snares or nooses) are not highlighted in the

Māravijaya narratives while lightning gains an explicit mention, seems to suggest, at least

circumstantially, that the Buddhist portrayal of Māra in the Māravijaya is more closely patterned

on Indra than the Buddhist portrayal of Māra in other texts. This would, naturally, serve to align

the two mythic cycles very closely. At any rate, however, since the thunderbolt is not Māra‟s

primary weapon, or even greatly emphasized in the Māravijaya stories, it would be difficult to

maintain generally that he is vajrabāhu (“one in the arm of whom is the thunderbolt”) in the

same way as Indra.401

400
For the MV reference, see II 339.
401
Gonda notes the frequency of this term for Indra, Epithets in the Rig Veda, pg. 63. There is, however, a curious
instance in the Buddhacarita in which Māra is called “citrāyudham,” which Johnston translates as “him of the bright
weapon” (188). Were we to keep to this translation there is the ambiguous possibility that Aśvaghoṣa suggests Māra
bears a thunderbolt-like weapon. The word “citra,” however, while meaning “bright,” can also suggest multi-
colored, which is in keeping with the weaponry associated with Kāma, who Māra is clearly likened to elsewhere in
the thirteenth chapter. In fact, in the same line is another bahūvrīhi, “puṣpaśaram,” meaning, “the one whose arrows
are flowers. This is entirely in keeping with instances when Kāma‟s bow is referenced in other contexts, though that
weapon it is not usually called citrāyudham. For example, in Kālidāsa‟s Abhijñānam-Śakuntalam there is reference
instead to Kāma‟s kusumāyudha (“weapon of flowers”) (3.3). I will deal more extensively with the relationship
between Kāma and Māra in the next chapter.
 149

One point in which the Māravijaya narratives, and the continuing representation of Māra

in general, seem to go out of their way to make Māra like the king of the gods, however, is

placing the lord of desire on an elephant during the battle. As Hopkins documents, in the epics

Indra frequently rides the gajarājavāhana, “the mount who is the king of the elephants”

(Airāvata), in keeping with his royal status.402 Māra, too, is frequently depicted as charging at the

bodhisattva on an elephant, called “Girimekhala” (“girdled with mountains”) in the Nidānakathā,

though elsewhere unnamed.403 By the time of the Mahāvaṃsa, the Theravāda tradition seems to

take the Māra/elephant association as established fact, since that text describes the god as “the

one with an elephant” (Māro sahatthī).404 In addition to explicit mention of the elephant,

numerous passages in the Thera – and Therīgāthā exhort practitioners to conquer Māra “with his

mount” (savāhanam).405

Besides this possible correlation, there is other circumstantial evidence linking Māra‟s

attack, particularly the Mārasena, to the Indra or even broader Brahmanical tradition. Though the

members of the army (described in all versions as being misshapen mismatches of body parts,

human and animal) bear the most prominent morphological resemblance to rākṣasas, piśācas,

and other such beings, certain aspects of their behavior seem to connect them to more deva-like

figures.406 For instance, some of Māra‟s soldiers seem reminiscent of the maruts, Indra‟s literal

stormtroopers. These soldiers of Māra take on the form of massive, black clouds, dropping

402
Epic Mythology, pg. 124.
403
NK, pg. 72; also see Padhāna-sutta 3.2.18: māraṃ svāhanaṃ yuddhāya.
404
ed. Wilhelm Geiger, 30.75. See also Thupavaṃsa, which like the Nidānakathā, places Māra on an elephant
named “Girimekhalā” (pg. 233).
405
For a few examples, see pgs. 23, 105, 124, and 129.
406
For descriptions of these creatures strikingly similar to descriptions of the Mārasenā see for instance AV 8.6. In
fact, LV 21:16 explicitly lists rākṣasas, pretas, piśācas and so forth as members of the army.
 150

deluges of rain and lightning.407 Similarly, in the Rig Veda the maruts are frequently described as

manifesting into dark clouds and bearing shining or bright spears (bhrājadṛṣṭayaṇ), most likely

referring to lightning.408 In case of references to lightning, it is perhaps worthwhile to note that,

of the many terms available in Sanskrit and Pāli for “lightning,” both the Vedic verses to the

maruts and the Buddhist descriptions of the monstrous Mārasena use “vidyut.” In addition, the

maruts are portrayed as quite fearsome, inciting fear in all manner of beings (bhayante viśvā

bhuvanā) as they are “awful to see” (dṛso haraḥ).409 Though the Māravijaya accounts describe

the Mārasena as frightful primarily in terms of gross deformity, there at least seems a superficial

similarity regarding their awfulness and power over storms in relation to the maruts.

Though different in arrangement and detail, the actual battle sequence of the Māravijaya

narratives still closely follows the epic Indra/ascetic pattern. The components are the same

(temptation to desire and physical attack) and, what is more important, the motivation –

destroying a threat to the human/deva boundary and maintaining deva dominion over the world –

is identical. It would perhaps be more surprising were there no differences, thereby indicating an

unwillingness for the Buddhist authors to place their stamp on the other narratives with which

they were interacting. In that list we could place the multifarious pandemonium of the Mārasena,

possibly related to the tradition of maruts but just as closely affiliated with the traditions of

yakṣas and other demi-god/demi-demon beings. The calm and equanimity with which Gotama

greets the assault is universal in the myth cycle and departs significantly from Brahmanical

accounts of the demons who battle gods or the ascetics who challenge the heavens. This quietude

407
BC 13.45: bhūtvāpare vāridharā bṛhantaḥ savidyutaḥ sāśanicaṇḍaghoṣāḥ; LV 21, pg. 222, line 19:
vidyudvarṣān kṣipanto vajrāśaniṃ kālameghān.
408
RV 1.64.11 and 5.55.1, for instance, refer to their shining spears.
409
RV 1.85.8. See also 1.19.5 where they are called “ghoravarpasaḥ,” “of frightful form.”
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surely plays a part in the ideology of the peaceful Buddha. Even more dramatic is the addition by

authors of the Nidānakathā and Lalitavistara of Gotama‟s call on the earth to testify to his merit.

Iconographically enshrined in the ubiquitous bhūmisparśa (“earth-touching”) posture, this

popular image of the Buddha-to-be in seated position touching the earth with the fingers of one

hand relates to a crucial moment in those texts. Māra challenges the ascetic‟s right to claim

awakening, arguing that, after all, as a god of high station he has earned greater merit and

therefore has a better claim to the seat Gotama occupies. The entire host of the Mārasena assent

to Māra‟s claim, shifting the burden to the ascetic, who calls on the earth to bear witness to the

meritorious acts he performed in previous lives. A thunderous earthquake ensues and Māra‟s

army is shaken away in calamitous ruin, Gotama‟s superior merit thereby demonstrated.410 The

Nidānakathā further describes that as the sage gained awakening, flowers bloomed throughout

the universe, creepers sprouted and blossomed on trees, and fruit germinated on vines. 411 If we

read this explosion of fertility not only as an expression of universal joy but also the creative

power of stored austerity, it provides another valence to the rain imagery in the Buddhacarita

and Saundarananda. Though Gotama could have “cashed in” his austerity for kingship or

worldly pleasures, he instead applies it toward meditative accomplishment, the release of which

comes as the sprouting of vegetation or showers of rain. This is in keeping with other textual

traditions in which the release of an ascetic‟s austerity is linked with rain and fertility. In those

traditions, however, the ascetic‟s practice normally equals drought and a local king sends a

woman to seduce the sage, thereby vacating his powers. 412 In the case of the Buddha, however,

410
NK, pgs. 74-75; LV 21.188-191. As referenced earlier (n.306), later accounts such as the Paṭhamasambodhi have
the Mārasena flooded away by water.
411
NK, pg. 76.
412
See Wendy Doniger (O‟Flaherty), Śiva, the Erotic Ascetic, pgs. 41-46.
 152

he has resisted all challenges and the energy that is released does not represent depletion, but

rather regeneration. What better way than a literally earth-shaking and earth-renewing ending to

depict the defeat of a god and the beginning of a new cosmic and social order?

Conclusion

At this point I am in the somewhat uncomfortable position of admitting to what most

scholars (whether they acknowledge it or not) actually engage in. Namely, what I have done in

this chapter is really quite artificial, for resolving the two strands of the myth cycle, namely

divine-Buddha/demon-Māra and demon-Buddha/divine-Māra, into isolation seems like

separating two singers engaged in a harmonious chord. I began this chapter with the analogy of

Rubin‟s Vase and the śleṣa, two ambiguous constructions carrying double meanings. With both,

I suggested that to understand either object fully, the two meanings have to be taken together. So

it is also with the Māravijaya narratives. As I have pointed out along the way, there is certainly

overlap between the two currents in the stories, since both work to redefine the culture at hand

while simultaneously playing the Brahmanical norm off against the Māra figure. On the one

hand, there is the Buddha as a new kind of kṣatriya who prevails against ancient chaos (Māra)

without fighting, leaving behind the old warrior ways (also Māra). On the other, there is the

unabashedly demonic Buddha who breaks ontological categories to usher in a new order against

Brahmanical deva-tyranny (Māra, yet again). Deftly, without announcing its double-intent, the

Māravijaya myth cycle makes sociological and cosmological claims simultaneously that are as

much anti-Brahmanical as pro-Buddhist. As with the Rubin‟s Vase or śleṣa, or so much of

Buddhist thought, correct perception makes all the difference.

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Chapter 5:

Māra, Dealer of Death through Desire: the Buddhist Mortification of Kāma

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I. Introduction

In the Indian Buddhist traditions, desire (kāma) represents the force most consistently

obstructive to release from the rounds of rebirth.413 Given that these traditions are rooted in

renunciation and asceticism, this simple fact is unsurprising, but it perhaps conceals the

complexity with which Buddhist literature defined and understood the concept(s) of desire in

relation to other Indian traditions. For instance, though Brahmanism and, later, Hinduism also

positioned desire against self-denial, there is also the tendency in those traditions for these forces

to flow into and penetrate one another dynamically. Indeed, as Doniger (O‟Flaherty) points out,

we should not interpret the Hindu perception of these forces as diametrically or intrinsically

opposed, for though they represent different polarities of experience and practice, Hindu

philosophical and narrative discourses posit a potentially energetic vacillation between these

powers.414 Buddhist traditions, on the other hand, have been much more systematically

suspicious of desire, defining and cataloging its nature and psychological effects in order to root

it out.

Academic analysis of the Buddhist treatment of desire – and the distinctiveness of that

treatment from Hinduism – has primarily focused on this philosophical and psychological level.

David Webster, for instance, in his otherwise very helpful work The Philosophy of Desire in the

Pāli Canon, claims that, “Buddhism, devoid of such „grand narratives‟ of cosmology [as exist in

Hinduism], has perhaps been dialectically forced to engage more with the roots of desire.” 415

Though certainly lacking a cosmogonic narrative, in contrast to Webster‟s assertion, we have

413
This statement, and the attitudes toward desire that I ascribe to Indian Buddhism throughout this chapter, clearly
do not apply to Tantric Buddhism. The inclusion of the views of that strain of thought fall well outside the bounds of
this dissertation and, though certainly interesting, will not be dealt with here.
414
Śiva, the Erotic Ascetic, especially pgs. 33-39 and 82.
415
Pg. 89.
 155

seen a narrative tradition in Buddhism which deals with desire in the mythological sense, namely

the figure of Māra. Representing the coordination of desire and death, lust plus decay, Māra

constitutes a distinctively Buddhist narrative conceptualization of the nature and peril of kāma.

In this chapter I will show how narratives of Māra assert a distinctively Buddhist position

on the subject of kāma, in relation and opposition to Hindu perspectives. To accomplish this

admittedly expansive task, I have divided the chapter into two parts. In part one I first examine

the history and definition of various notions of desire in the respective traditions, then analyze

narratives of Māra versus the Hindu personification of desire, Kāmadeva. The centerpiece of part

one is a comparison of the kāvya works Buddhacarita and Kumārasaṃbhava, which both deal

with the root narrative of a god of desire assailing a powerful ascetic. The manner in which they

do so, however, reveals the ideological perspectives of each tradition. In part two I deal with how

Buddhist literature employs Māra to make statements on issues of gender. Both the Kāma and

Māra mythologies communicate a discourse that women are alluring yet dangerous expressions

of desire, the ultimate agents of prakṛti (“matter,” in the case of Hinduism) or saṃsāra (in the

case of Buddhism). Buddhist literature appropriated these associations between kāma/prakṛti as a

means to sort women into roles appropriate and inappropriate in relation to the male sangha.

This involved associating women of the household sphere with the daughters of Māra, while

women who join the sangha specifically renounce that identity. The common thread between the

two halves of this chapter is that as Buddhist literature engages kāma, either as an abstract

concept or a personified deity, it relentlessly correlates desire with death. Hereafter I refer to this

process as the “mortification” of kāma, for whenever and wherever kāma (“desire,” or “lust”)

arises, Indian Buddhist traditions never fail to overlay that notion with “Māra,” literally “Death.”
 156

Hence desire, lust, and love are considered conflations, connotations, and coordinations with

death, decay, and destruction.

II. Kāma and Māra in Kāvya Literature

The Development of Kāma

Given its expansive nature, it is difficult to trace a precise origin of the term kāma.

Scholars who have studied the term tend to define it in ways that convey almost a sense of angst

and perpetual longing. Catherine Benton, for instance, insists that beyond merely connoting

desire in a sexual sense, kāma is desire in the broadest possible sense, meaning want for

whatever one does not possess.416 Joanna Macy describes kāma in a similar manner, suggesting it

is “the urge to remedy the sense of one‟s own incompleteness.”417 Textually, one of the very first

references to kāma comes in that earliest strata of Indian works, the Rig Veda, which asserts that,

“kāma arose in the beginning, and that was the first issue from the mind.”418 Here the exact

nature of kāma is not specified, but it is given a primordial nature and affiliated with manas, the

mind, closely aligning desire with thought. To a degree, this reinforces the definitions of Benton

and Macy, which both ascribe a deliberative, almost contemplative quality to kāma, as they both

see it as the recognition of one‟s deficiency. The other important aspect of the Rig Veda verse,

though, is the ancient origin of kāma: it arose in the beginning, and therefore (perhaps

unsurprisingly) has always been with us as an integral part of existence.

416
God of Desire, pg. 4.
417
“The Dialectics of Desire,” pg. 146.
418
10.129.4: kāmas tad aghre samavartatādhi manaso retaḥ prathamaṃ yad āsīt. An identical passage occurs in the
AV at 19.52.1.
 157

These qualities of the abstract concept “kāma” find their way into the representation of

Kāmadeva, who does not appear as a personified figure until the second century BCE. 419 In her

fascinating work on that deity, Benton delineates the facets and contours of Kāmadeva‟s literary

and artistic appearances, including stories of his origins. In the Śiva Purāṇa, for instance, the

creator Brahmā gazes upon a beautiful woman and the god Kāma springs from his mind due to

the thought of lust. That text then describes Kāma‟s essential features, both physically and

metaphysically: he has a golden body, beautiful eyes and face, a fish for his emblem, and a

sugarcane bow with flower arrows for his weapons, which he will use to exert control over even

Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Śiva, let alone lowly mortals.420 The Śiva Purāṇa account, though far later

than the Vedic text, harkens back to the Rig Veda verses by locating Kāma‟s origin in Brahmā‟s

mind. Kāmadeva continues this Vedic sense of kāma‟s intimate connection to identity and

consciousness, as is evident from two of the god‟s primary epithets: smara (“memory”) and

manobhava (“mind-born”). At the same time, in the case of the Śiva Purāṇa it is not simply a

generic thought of desire or incompleteness (to use Benton and Macy‟s phrase) that generates

Kāmadeva, but more specifically the thought of lust over a woman‟s physical form. By the time

of its personification as a god, kāma thus seems more expressive of desire in terms of sexuality

and lust rather than the general sense of “wanting.”

There is another aspect to kāma, though, attaching to both the abstract and personified

senses, which also goes back to the Vedic tradition and lends a darker, more ambivalent hue to

his coloring. Though beautiful himself and constantly surrounded by green and growing things –

indeed, Madhu, the personification of spring is Kāmadeva‟s constant companion – the god of

419
Benton, God of Desire, pg. 128. This is the case, at any rate, for textual accounts.
420
Śiva Purāṇa, 2.18-42. See Benton‟s translation, which is excellent: God of Desire, pg. 25.
 158

love is also considered a god of affliction, torture, and pain. The refrain of a love spell in the

Atharva Veda, for instance, declares, “I pierce you in the heart with the terrible arrow of

Kāma.”421 Just as desire can be warm as the spring sun, it can also burn, pester, and madden, like

the buzzing or stinging of the bees and wasps that accompany spring flowers. In fact,

Kāmadeva‟s sugarcane bow and flowering arrows are often said to be covered with bees and

wasps, suggesting that just as the petals of a beautiful flower can hide a stinging insect, the

blossoming of love contains potential heartache. Playing again on this connection to the mind,

besides smara and manobhava, Kāmadeva is also very frequently called “manmatha” (“mind-

breaker”) and “madana” (“maddener”), emphasizing the other aspect that, even when fulfilled

(not to mention unrequited), desire and lust can drive a person crazy. It is in this vein that the

Atharva Veda calls Kāmadeva‟s arrow “terrible” (bhīma) and also that King Duṣyanta complains

to Kāmadeva in Abhijñānaśakuntala: “Those like me [lovelorn] see your flower arrows and the

moon‟s cool rays as false. The moon emits fire with its cool rays and your flower arrows are as

hard as steel (vajra).”422

How to comprehend this ambivalence has generated something of a disagreement among

scholars. E. Washburn Hopkins, an early scholar of epic literature, while acknowledging the

potentially maddening influence of Kāmadeva, thought it a step too far to associate the god with

death or destruction.423 In her study, on the other hand, Benton sees these and other passages as

evidence that “desire works always in the shadow of death.”424 It is fair to say that in early

literature, at least as far back as the Atharva Veda, kāma is regarded ambivalently as a wondrous

421
3.25.1-4: isuḥ kāmasya yā bhīmā tayā vidhyāmī tvā hṛdi.
422
3.3: tava kusumaśara tvaṃ śītaraśmitvam indor dvayam idam ayathārthaḥ dṛsyate madvidheṣu |
visṛjati himagarbhair agnimindurmayūkhais tvam api kusumabāṇānvajrasārīkaroṣi ||
423
Epic Mythology, pg. 166.
424
God of Desire, pg. 34.
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but also wounding power. The representation of Kāmadeva shows that desire strikes from

without (through piercing arrows) and also springs from within (born of one‟s own mind).

However, while the Atharva Veda verses and Duṣyanta‟s lament express negative and painful

aspects of Kāmadeva, and even if we go as far as Benton to see desire as being in the shadow of

death, it is still another leap beyond these premises to conclude that desire and death are one and

the same. This is the Buddhist interpretation of kāma, and in the next section I trace the

boundaries and history of that claim.

Buddhism and Kāma

The idea of “desire” is connoted by many terms in Buddhist scriptures. In his project on

desire in the Pāli Canon, David Webster delineates between these terms and demonstrates how

each shows a slightly different shade of what one might translate as “desire” in English. During

that discussion, Webster highlights passages in the Netti Pakaraṇa and Dīgha Nikāya which

seem to allow for positive uses of desire. In the former, the passage reads, “desire (taṇhā) is of

two types: skillful and unskillful. The unskillful leads to saṃsāra, while the skillful is the desire

(taṇhā) for abandonment [of saṃsāra], which leads to diminuition [of worldliness].”425 For

Webster, this creates the seeming paradox of desiring the end of desire.426 Given our discussion

of the notion of desire in other Indian materials in the preceding section, we can perhaps suggest

some other ways to look at this passage. For one, the Netti Pakaraṇa verse clearly indicates that

intention is the crucial factor in separating skillful from unskillful taṇhā, specifically that one

with the intention to end taṇhā possesses skillful taṇhā, while unskillful taṇhā points toward

saṃsāra, meaning it is desire purely for the sake of desire. The affiliated Dīgha Nikāya text, the

425
Netti Pakaraṇa, pg. 87: tattha taṇhā dvidhā kusalāpi akusalāpi |
akusalā saṃsāragāminī kusalā apacayagāminī pahānataṇhā ||
426
Philosophy of Desire in the Pāli Canon, pgs. 132-134.
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Saṅgīti Sutta, gives the same sense, describing profitable desire as the desire which leads to the

cessation of desire (nirodhataṇhā).427 In the face of the long Indian tradition, going back to the

Vedas, of treating desire as a primordial force intrinsic to human existence, I would interpret

these Buddhist passages as admissions that a desiring disposition is the default status of the

human condition, but that desire can be redeployed. In other words, one can work with human

nature, though it is flawed with desire.

For our purposes, however, there is another more important distinction to make. In these

Buddhist passages the Pāli term I have (perhaps too generally) translated as “desire” is taṇhā,

which may be more specifically rendered as a “craving” or “thirst” for something. In this way,

taṇhā perhaps corresponds to the general, abstract sense of kāma (as Benton and Macy define it

above) as the feeling that we are incomplete, and the subsequent yearning to remedy that

deficiency. As we saw above, though, the personified Kāmadeva is most often associated with

desire not for something, but rather the potentially maddening yearning for someone. According

to certain Buddhist texts, such as we have seen in the Netti Pakaraṇa and Dīgha Nikāya, it is

possible to rehabilitate the desire for something (taṇhā), but is the same allowance made for the

desire and lust for someone (kāma)?

In fact, a survey of Buddhist texts, both relatively early as well as commentarial, shows

that a different, more negative standard applies to kāma. Referring back to the Netti Pakaraṇa is

an interesting place to start, both due to its qualifications about the usefulness of taṇhā as well as

the text‟s position in the tradition as a guide to the Pāli Canon for commentarial writers. 428

Though technically non-canonical, it is a fairly early text (perhaps dating from the first century

427
DN II 216.
428
George Bond has written illuminatingly on this use of the Netti Pakaraṇa. See The Word of the Buddha: the
Tipiṭaka and its Interpretation in Theravāda Buddhism, pgs. 34-99.
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CE), preserving a sense of how the Canon was viewed prior to the writing of other

commentaries.429 Buddhaghoṣa‟s Visuddhimagga is another useful work to consult, representing

the point at which the Pāli Canon was effectively closed and the scriptures thereof were seen

retrospectively. Within the Canon itself, I will primarily look at the Suttanipāta, a quite early

text, and the Potaliya Sutta, which contains several lengthy analogies of kāma to decay and

death.

Examining the textual tradition from these multiple angles and along this continuum

nevertheless reveals a uniform perspective on the subject of kāma, all of it negative. For instance,

the Netti Pakaraṇa describes the dangers of kāma in terms of the middle way, saying “the pursuit

of self-mortification and attachment to sensual desires (kāmasukhallikānuyogo) are thus an

impurity, while concentration and insight are purity.” 430 Elsewhere, listing the four kinds of

confused perceptions (vipallāso), the Netti Pakaraṇa states that one who possesses the wrong

perception of asubhesa santi (seeing “peace in the ugly”) is “one who clings to kāma” and

“grasps at kāma.”431 Reinforcing this perspective, the Visuddhimagga lists the “excitement of

kāma” (kāmacchanda) as the first of five factors (pañcānga) representing worldly obstacles to

concentration.432 The Suttanipāta sees a similar relationship, stating that “whoever avoids kāma,

like one would avoid a snake‟s head with his foot, is mindful (sato) and overcomes attachment in

the world.”433 Whereas the usage of taṇhā suggests that the term is understood in the broad sense

of general “craving” or “wanting,” kāma refers more specifically to sensual, even lustful or

429
E. Hardy, Introduction to the Critical Edition of the Netti Pakaraṇa, pg. xxvii.
430
110: tattha atta kilamathānuyogo kāmasukhallikānuyogo ca saṃkileso samathavipassanā vodānaṃ.
431
115: pathame vippallāse ṭhito kāme upādiyati idaṃ vuccati kāmupādānaṃ.
432
Pg. 146.
433
4.1.3: yo kāme parivajjeti sappasseva padā siro |
so imaṃ visattikaṃ loke sato samativattati ||
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sexual, desires. As the Suttanipāta passage illustrates by its likening of kāma to a snake

slithering on the ground underneath one‟s foot, there is also something insidious and threatening

about sensual desire that one must avoid at all costs. I am not aware of any passage in Buddhist

literature that describes taṇhā in quite this way, showing that kāma was almost definitely seen in

a different, more menacing light. The Potaliya Sutta continues this portrayal, as the Buddha

likens the pursuit of kāma to a dog licking the blood from meatless bones thrown out by a

butcher or a bird of prey carrying a piece of meat and thus becoming the target of attacks by

envious rival birds of prey.434 In both cases, there is a fleeting sense of satisfaction followed

quickly by dismay or danger, showing that the pleasure reaped through kāma is only momentary

and ultimately empty. Additionally, these are both very violent images, as the dog attempts to

gain satisfaction from the butcher‟s slaughter of other beings, while the bird of prey comes into

life-threatening peril after seizing its supper. Quite vividly, both parables communicate that death

is just around the corner from kāma, if not hidden secretively within it. The Dhammapada states

this relationship outright, declaring that “kāma gives birth to sorrow” (kāmato jāyati soko), while

in the Theragāthā we are told that “whoever desires desire, desires pain” (yo kāme kāmayati

dukkhaṃ so kāmayati).435

There is a potential counterexample in Indian Buddhist literature, namely the story of the

Buddha‟s half-brother Nanda, as told especially by the poet Aśvaghoṣa. Nanda begins the story

as a householder, passionately devoted to his wife Sundarī. The couple is so deeply in love that

the text describes them as “targets for Kandarpa and Ratī,” that is, for Kāmadeva and his wife

434
MN II 364.
435
See DhP 16.7 and Theragāthā, pg. 14.
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Ratī.436 The Buddha takes pity on Nanda, seeing how he is caught “in the mire of love”

(snehapaṅkān), and resolves to set him free.437 This rescue mission first requires subterfuge and

coercion to draw Nanda into the sangha. After his ordination, Nanda‟s practice and resolve falter

to such an extent that even further drastic action is needed on the part of the Buddha. The

Awakened One takes his half-brother on a voyage to the heavenly realms where the celestial

apsarases frolic. There he promises that, if he practices diligently, Nanda can have all these

nymphs, whose beauty far surpasses the earthly Sundarī. Ironically, however, once Nanda

undertakes Buddhist practice with the same fervor that he once devoted to the pursuit of

pleasure, he realizes the emptiness of desire, releases the Buddha from the earlier promise, and

attains awakening.

This story would at first seem a perfect instance of Webster‟s conundrum, namely of the

usefulness of desire for ending desire, lending kāma a certain utility in the Buddhist tradition. In

several places, though, the text goes out of its way to describe Nanda‟s case as exceptional,

perhaps as the proverbial exception that proves the rule. The Buddha‟s course of action is

described as a radical course of treatment, indeed “just as a doctor strives to increase pain in

order to draw disease out from the body.” 438 Desire is thus still a disease, even when it is used as

a treatment. Elsewhere the narrative describes kāma as “without value or substance” (asāra) and

“dreamlike” (svapnanibha).439 Perhaps most damningly, sensual pleasures are declared

“auspicious for no one and the cause of pain, both now and hereafter.”440 The portrayal of kāma

in Saundarananda is consistent with the rest of Buddhist scripture and, far from advising

436
Saundarananda, 4.8: kandarparatyor iva lakṣyabhūtaṃ.
437
Ibid., 5.18.
438
Ibid., 10.43: doṣāṃś ca kāyād bhiṣag ujjihīrṣur bhūyo yathā kleśayituṃ yateta.
439
Ibid., 5.22-23.
440
Ibid., 9.47: paratra c‟ aiv‟ eha ca duḥkhahetavo bhavanti kāmā na tu kasya cic chivāḥ.
 164

Nanda‟s course of treatment for everyone, the text describes it in terms similar to the use of

poisons to cure a disease. In the final analysis, then, the representation of kāma in

Saundarananda contributes to the Buddhist understanding that, while very rarely and

provisionally expedient, desire is still ultimately poisonous.

Though we have seen a degree of danger ascribed to kāma in Hindu literature, it is

revealing that the perceived hazard of sensual desire and the corresponding animosity towards it

in that tradition in no way approaches what one finds in the Buddhist canon. In the Kāma Sūtra,

for instance, the text‟s organizing principle is that sensual desire has its place in life, and while

kāma is to be enjoyed, one cannot give oneself over to pleasure without restriction. The goal of

this classic Hindu treatise on desire is therefore not to eradicate or unduly exalt kāma, but

provide a manual by which the wise may pursue sensual pleasure in an informed and controlled

manner. Ludo Rocher supports this interpretation of the Kāma Sūtra, arguing that the text goes to

great lengths to strike a balance between the power and pursuit of kāma and the other

puruṣārthas (“goals of humans”).441 The Buddhist attitude toward kāma clearly diverges from

such perspectives, and we are now in a position to investigate the ways the narratives of Māra

and Kāmadeva reflect and advance these contrasting attitudes.

God of Saṃsāra and God of Desire

One need not look far for instances in Buddhist literature linking Māra to kāma and

Kāmadeva, the concept and the deity. In the first case, we find that, according to the

Āneñjasappāya Sutta in the Majjhima Nikāya, sensual desires (kāmā) are Māra‟s dominion

(māradheyyaṃ), Māra‟s realm (mārass‟ esa visayo), Māra‟s bait (mārass‟ esa nivāpo) and

441
“The Kāma Sūtra: Vātsyāyana‟s Attitude Toward Dharma and Dharmaśāstra,” pgs. 522-524.
 165

Māra‟s hunting ground (mārass‟ esa gocaro).442 Similarly, a monk named Rāhula declares in the

Theragāthā that he, “having forsaken desire” (taṃ kāmam aham ujjhitvā), and thus having

“broken Māra‟s bonds” (chetvā mārassa bandhanaṃ), has achieved peace (nibbuto).443

Elsewhere in the Theragāthā another monk, named Uttarapāla tells of how previously “the five

qualities of kāma, the deluders in the world, caused me to fall,” placing him “under the control of

Māra and the power of strong arrows.”444 Finally, though, he proclaims his success at breaking

free from the “snares of the lord of death” (maccurājassa ahaṃ pāsāpamuccitaṃ) and by the

same process gave up all sensual desires (sabbe kāmā).445

The Theragāthā‟s imagery of five qualities of kāma (pañca kāmaguṇā) in conjunction

with arrows has an obvious resonance with the established description of Kāmadeva‟s five lust-

inducing flower arrows. The hunting image also appears in the Majjhima Nikāya‟s Nivāpa Sutta,

which contains an extended metaphor of a deer trapper (Māra) who employs traps and bait

(pañca kāmaguṇa) to ensnare herds of deer (renouncers and Brahmins). The metaphor involves

four different deer herds, of which three are unable to resist or are eventually deceived into

taking the bait. Only the fourth herd, which represents the Buddha and his followers, completely

shuns the bait and finds a place where the hunter cannot follow.446 We find a brief allusion to this

image in the previously mentioned Saundarananda as well, as Nanda‟s fellow monks are

incredulous that being so close to escape he would still cling to sense desires, like a deer running

442
MN II 261-262.
443
Theragāthā, pg. 35.
444
Ibid., pg. 31: pañca kāmaguṇā loke sammohā pātayiṃsu maṃ.
pakkhano māravisaye daḷhasalla samappito.
The five kāmagunā correspond in Indian philosophy to the five senses. See also the Vekhanassa Sutta, MN II 42-43
for a discussion of the kāmaguṇā.
445
Ibid. See also DhP 1.7-8 which similarly correlate overcoming kāma to defeating Māra.
446
MN I 151-160.
 166

back into the hunter‟s net.447 Conversely, when Nanda finally overcomes his kāma appetites, he

is said to have conquered Māra.448

The forces of sensual pleasures, therefore, are cast as Māra‟s weapons and tools to trap

beings in saṃsāra, associating kāma with entrapment in the round of rebirth and death. He is a

hunter who uses snares and baited hooks to capture all, even bhikkhus, who delight in sensual

pleasures.449 Indeed, the picture that emerges from these accounts is of a lurking, prowling entity,

singularly devoted to entangling beings in an intractable net of desire. In this way, the Buddhist

texts cast the generic force of kāma as one of the prime machinations for Māra to lure and

deceive beings into the never-ending cycle of death.

Beyond the generic sense of kāma, however, certain Buddhist texts explicitly identify

Māra as Kāmadeva. One of the clearest examples comes in the Buddhacarita, which describes

Māra as “the one who those in the world call Kāmadeva” (yaṃ kāmadevaṃ pravadanti loke) and

“supreme lord of the actions of kāma” (kāmapracārādhipatiṃ).450 Additionally, he is referred to

by compounds meaning, “the one whose arrows are flowers” (puṣpaśaraṃ), and “one of the

bright weapon” (citrāyudhaṃ), suggesting his bow is iridescent and variegated like Kāma‟s. 451

Furthermore, when the god sets out to arrest Gotama‟s progress toward awakening, he

approaches the ascetic, “having seized his bow made of flowers and the five arrows that make

delusion.”452

447
8.15.
448
Ibid., 18.28.
449
SN IV 92-94; 159.
450
13.2.
451
Ibid.
452
Ibid., 13.7: tato dhanuḥ puṣpamayaṃ gṛhītvā śarānāṃstathā mohakarāṃśca paṃca |
This is the verse from Cowell‟s edition. Johnston‟s differs slightly, reading in part “śarān jaganmohakarāṃśca
pañca,” but this does not change the meaning substantially.
 167

By so baldly conflating Māra and Kāmadeva, Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita clearly takes a

different tack from the Nikāyas, which as we just saw merely assign the force of sensual

pleasures to Māra as his sphere of control and chief power. This is obviously a different strategy

for relating Māra to the concept of desire and past scholars have explained the variance in terms

of a gradual tendency on the part of Buddhist authors to add layers of mythology onto

philosophical discourses. Maurice Winternitz, for instance, contrasts “simple and sober” early

suttas of the Nikāyas with the “exaggeration of the later biographies of Buddha,” particularly

works like the Buddhacarita, but especially the later Lalitavistara.453 Along the same lines, Ernst

Windisch saw the Māra symbol developing from a simple metaphor in the philosophical

discourses of the Nikāyas to an unwieldy mythology in the various stories of the Buddha‟s

awakening.454 As I discussed in chapter two, many scholars still approach the Māra mythology

from the related perspective that the figure is merely an allegory for philosophical positions,

rather than investigate the significance of its literary qualities. In terms of the material at hand in

this chapter, there are at least two primary problems with interpreting the different

representations of Māra/kāma between the Nikāyas and Buddhacarita as the result of an

evolution from philosophy to literature. First, as we have seen throughout this dissertation,

Māra‟s appearances in the Nikāyas can also have elaborate literary and mythical qualities,

blurring such easy distinctions between philosophy and literature. Second, this logic collapses

Buddhist narratives like Buddhacarita and Lalitavistara into one category, leaving us ill-

positioned to appreciate the differences between these stories and what those differences might

represent. From the perspective of the Māra/kāma question, it seems clearly significant that of

453
See History of Indian Literature, Vol. II., pgs. 97 and 260.
454
Māra und Buddha, pgs. 210-213.
 168

the Māravijaya narratives, only the Buddhacarita clearly and explicitly conflates Māra with

Kāmadeva. Lalitavistara describes Māra as lord of Kāmadhātu and, along with the Nidānakathā

and Mahāvastu, portrays an attempt by the god to instill Gotama with sensual desire as a means

to arrest his progress to awakening, but through the wiles of his daughters. By endowing Māra

with Kāmadeva‟s name and characteristic equipment (the five flower arrows), Aśvaghoṣa makes

a very deliberate descriptive move in the Buddhacarita that distinguishes that narrative‟s

characterization of Māra from the others. In the rest of this part of the chapter, I argue that this

difference demonstrates Aśvaghoṣa‟s engagement with the Hindu kāvya literature surrounding

the trope of the powerful ascetic versus the desire god. Through that trope, the Buddhacarita

advances a particular treatment of desire, death, and asceticism. By looking at Aśvaghoṣa‟s work

in this way, I am in part reacting against the sentiments of some, as voiced by the critical editors

of the Subhāṣitaratnakoṣa – a compendium of Sanskrit poetry which figures in my following

analysis – who believed that Sanskrit kāvya was so rife with myth and “sensuous emotion” that

Buddhists could only write such literature “by forgetting they were Buddhists.” 455 On the

contrary, my argument will show that Aśvaghoṣa‟s kāvya is not an un-Buddhist concession, but

an advancement of Buddhist values through the medium of poetry. As such, Aśvaghoṣa‟s work

stands in conversation with another classic kāvya work, Kālidāsa‟s Kumārasaṃbhava, which

directly treats the same desire-god-versus-ascetic trope. By comparing the different treatments of

this theme in these directly related works, we gain a unique vantage on the Buddhist/Brahmin

dialogue about the relationship of kāma and death.

455
The Subhāṣitaratnakoṣa of Vidyākara, ed. D.D. Kosambi and V.V. Gokhale, pgs. 58-59.
 169

The Backgrounds of Aśvaghoṣa, Kālidāsa, and the Śiva/Kāma Myth Cycle

Scholars are nearly unanimous on the connection between Aśvaghoṣa and Kālidāsa, as

well as the deliberate commentary each made on the other‟s respective tradition. Though

approximately two centuries separate the poets (with Aśvaghoṣa dated most likely to the second

century CE reign of Kaniṣka and Kālidāsa to the fourth or fifth century), A.B. Keith, for

instance, writes that “we cannot minimize the influence of Aśvaghoṣa on Kālidāsa.”456 A.K.

Warder similarly believed that Kālidāsa, though an orthodox Brahmin, made a “thorough study

of the epics of the great Buddhist poet” and additionally drew liberally on aspects of the

Buddhist vaṃśa literature to craft the Raghuvaṃśa , the chronicle of the lineage of Rāma.457 For

his part, Aśvaghoṣa quite certainly was influenced by and reacted to Brahmanical traditions in

his work. Some have even speculated he was once a Brahmin before becoming a Buddhist. 458

Throughout the Buddhacarita, as both Patrick Olivelle and E.H. Johnston note in the prefaces to

their respective translations, Aśvaghoṣa overtly alludes to the Hindu epics, particularly the

Rāmāyāṇa, which he references in an effort to cast Gotama as a sort of “new Rāma.” 459 Other

passages in the Buddhacarita refer to Gotama and his palatial surroundings as akin to those of

Indra (indrasamo), and after the Prince‟s departure the bereavement in the city of Kapilavastu is

likened to the state of Indra‟s heaven when the thunder god abdicated after committing

Brahminicide.460 Both authors thus reacted to and adapted aspects of the other‟s narratives,

456
Classical Sanskrit Literature, pg. 23.
457
Indian Kāvya Literature, pgs. 131-137. See also Krishnamurti‟s Kālidāsa, pgs. 74-75.
458
Winternitz, History of Indian Literature, pg. 257.
459
See Olivelle, The Life of the Buddha, pgs. xxii-xxiii, and Johnston, Buddhacarita, or Life of the Buddha, pgs.
xlvii-l. Some of the most significant allusions are deliberate parallels between Gotama‟s great departure and Rāma‟s
exile into the forest. For example, the charioteer who drives Gotama away from the palace confines compares
himself to Rāma‟s charioteer Sumantra (6.36) and Śudhodana compares his grief at Gotama‟s renunciation to
Daśaratha‟s lamentations (8.79, 8.81).
460
See 5.22, 5.45, and 8.13.
 170

participating in a literary game of one-upmanship in which they sought to portray their particular

tradition as superior.

As mentioned above, the particular narrative we will examine stems from the desire-god-

versus-ascetic trope, which appears as Māra versus the Buddha in chapter thirteen of

Buddhacarita and as Kāma versus Śiva in chapter three of Kumārasaṃbhava. An early version

of the Kāma/Śiva confrontation, which is a mainstay of later Purāṇas, appears to be the root text

both authors worked from in devising their differing versions. Though dating Purāṇic literature

is a hazardous endeavor, we can perhaps delineate between younger and older Purāṇas, and even

younger and older versions of particular Purāṇas. Thus a quite late Purāṇa, like the Śiva Purāṇa,

which has one of the most developed accounts of the clash between Śiva and Kāma, probably

went through numerous recensions and an earlier version may have served as the inspiration for

both Aśvaghoṣa and Kālidāsa.461 Briefly outlined, the basic story involves the devas sending

Kāmadeva to incite sensual desire in Śiva, who has renounced all worldly pleasure, in order to

procure a son to lead their army against a mighty demon. As helpfully outlined by Benton,

almost all variants involve the king of the gods, Indra, summoning Kāmadeva into his presence

(literally, “remembering him,” playing on the connection of kāma to manas), then dispatching

him to imbue Śiva with desire, whereupon the ascetic god becomes enraged and reduces

Kāmadeva to ashes with fire from his third eye.462 Later, however, the god of desire is either

revived or realized to still be alive, yet in an intangible, bodiless (anaṅga) form, which is

arguably even more powerful for lacking the limitation of physical form. Different versions

ascribe the upper hand variously to Śiva‟s asceticism or Kāmadeva‟s power such that the upshot,

461
See the following authors for that specific claim: Ludo Rocher, The Purāṇas, vol. II of A History of Indian
Literature, pg. 89; Mirashi and Narayan, Kālidāsa: Date, Life and Works, pg. 139.
462
See God of Desire, pgs. 48-49 for Benton‟s helpful outline.
 171

when taken together as one mythic cycle, is of tension and conflict surging and rebounding back

and forth, like ocean waves rising, falling, and crashing against a rocky shore. Doniger

(O‟Flaherty) notes the ambiguity of the symbolism of fire, which is the power ascetics possess

(tapas) and the infuriated Śiva uses to incinerate Kāmadeva, but is also the fire of passion, used

by the love god to burn us all with desire.463 Read in this way, Śiva‟s incineration of Kāmadeva,

far from showing his superiority, demonstrates that he was, in fact, aroused, as is also borne out

by his later marriage to Pārvatī.

As that conclusion suggests, besides the contrast between the figures of Māra and Kāma,

we will also find that the two narratives are concerned with distinguishing the characters of Śiva

and the Buddha. Though their respective traditions consider both figures masters of self-control

and meditation, one is a human (or quasi-superhuman) and the other is a supreme deity. Also, in

their respective confrontations with the god of desire, they fight for different causes. In the case

of Śiva, the god resists leaving the disciplined life of self-denial for the householding realm and

what is at stake is the balance between asceticism and fertility. The Buddha‟s battle with Māra,

on the other hand, represents the battle between the Buddhist path and the twin forces of kāma

and death. For Aśvaghoṣa, the concern is to show the Buddha as even more powerful than Śiva,

while Kālidāsa attempts to maintain Śiva‟s preeminence while negotiating a balance between the

Lord of Yoga‟s might and the intractable nature of kāma.

Narratives of the conflict of Kāmadeva and Śiva thus emphasize the impossibility of

eradicating desire, but also the necessity of controlling and even sublimating its power. 464 In

other words, the mythic cycle expresses to a large degree the philosophy of desire we saw above

463
Śiva, the Erotic Ascetic, pgs. 157, and 257-260.
464
God of Desire, pg. 58.
 172

in the Kāma Sūtra, that since kāma cannot be destroyed, it should be given its appropriate due.

We also saw, however, that the Buddhist tradition has a diametrically different position, and it is

these two opposing points of view that will play out in the respective narratives of Aśvaghoṣa

and Kālidāsa.

The Buddhacarita and Kumārasaṃbhava Compared

Māra‟s first scheme in the Buddhacarita for breaking Gotama‟s meditative practice

plainly resonates with the Śiva/Kāma myth cycle. Having taken up his bow, described earlier as

citrāyudhaṃ (the “bright” or “variegated weapon”), Māra draws one of his five flower arrows.

The particular arrow is described as lelihānaḥ, which is a form of the root “lih” and can mean

“serpent,” in keeping with the root‟s base meaning of “lick or lap” (due to the snake‟s tendency

to flick its tongue). When applied specifically to an arrow, however, this form of “lih” can

simply mean “destroyer.”465 Though arrows are often likened to snakes, especially venomous

snakes,466 in Indian literature, Aśvaghoṣa actually makes a subtle move in this characterization.

Kāmadeva‟s arrows are associated with flowers (lotuses or mangoes, for example) and given

names such as harṣaṇa (“excitement”) or unmāda (“madness”). The former is given as the shaft

that strikes Śiva in the Śiva Purāṇa, whereas it is the latter in the Vāmana Purāṇa.467 Benton

cites a few other names for Kāmadeva‟s arrows, such as vijṛmbhaṇa (“blossoming”), which is in

keeping with the botanical metaphor for desire, as well as santāpana (“afflicting”), an

appellation that resonates with the tradition of ambivalence toward Kāma going back to the

465
BC, 13.13. See A.A. MacDonell, A Practical Sanskrit Dictionary, pg. 263 for the meanings of the root lih, and
pg. 264 for lelihānaḥ specifically.
466
E. W. Hopkins, Epic Mythology, pg. 166.
467
See Śiva Purāṇa, 18.25 and Benton, God of Desire, pg. 54 for a partial translation of the Vāmana Purāṇa
account.
 173

Atharva Veda.468 Even at its strongest, though, this ambivalence does not carry the same

injurious connotation as Māra‟s arrow, which leads to destruction, foreshadowing how the text

will go on to classify desire as merely another name for death.

Before employing this destroying arrow, Māra extols its irresistible power by listing

some of its past victims. First he mentions Śūrpaka, who Johnston believes refers to a fisherman

completely overcome with desire for a princess, which might be a reference to a variant of the

Kathāsaritsāgara.469 Next he references Purūrava, a descendant of the mighty lunar race, who

became “helpless” (vicittaḥ) in longing for the apsaras Urvaśī, and also Santanu, father of

Bhīṣma in the Mahābhārata, who lost his self-control (svatantraḥ) in desire for the goddess

Gaṅgā. Both fell to their respective states at the arrow‟s slightest touch. 470 In Aśvaghoṣa‟s other

work, Saundarananda, as Nanda laments his unquenchable desire, he offers an even lengthier list

of similarly luminous, powerful men who have succumbed to the power of kāma, including

accomplished sages like Āṅgirās and Kāśyapa, as well as gods like Indra and Sūrya.471 The point

in both texts, as Māra declares threateningly to Gotama in Buddhacarita, is that if these adept

and sturdy men of the past could not ward off the potency of this arrow, how can he hope to

resist?

The most revealing comparison occurs when Māra actually discharges the arrow and

observes with astonishment that Gotama does not stir even the slightest bit. His confidence

suddenly faltering, Māra expresses disbelief at the fact that “Śambhu (Śiva), though a god, when

pierced was swayed toward the daughter of the mountain king (Pārvatī). This one disregards that

468
Benton, pg. 56.
469
BC, 13.11; Johnston, Aśvaghoṣa‟s Buddhacarita, or Acts of the Buddha, pg. 190 n.11; Warder, Indian Kāvya
Literature, pg. 174.
470
BC 13.12.
471
7.25-7.46.
 174

very arrow.”472 At this point the text uses some terms more reminiscent of Kāmadeva‟s activity,

as Māra decides that “neither flower-arrows nor excitement (puṣpabāṇaṃ na harṣaṇaṃ) nor

binding to pleasure (nāpi raterniyogam) are appropriate for this one.”473 In what may be the use

of a pun, the verb I have translated as “appropriate” (arhati) is also the root for the Buddhist term

arhat, a literally “worthy” or “accomplished one,” and the term for an awakened person in

several schools of Indian Buddhism. Gotama‟s worthiness for awakening has made him

unworthy (in the sense of ill-suited) for desire, suggesting he is transcending these problematic

aspects of human nature.

With the failure of his destructive, desire-inducing arrow, Māra changes strategies and

summons his host of goblins (bhūtagaṇa) to attack Gotama. The manner in which he makes this

summons has great import on the current argument, for it is said that he “remembered”

(sasmāra) his army, and consequently the host of goblins, ghouls, and monsters appeared.474 As I

demonstrated in chapter four, the figure of Māra also owes a great deal to the mythology of the

god Indra, who plays the part of “remembering” (sasmāra), in other words summoning,

Kāmadeva into the presence of the gods so that he can be assigned the task of assailing Śiva with

desire. The characterization is meaningful in the Hindu context as it reinforces Kāmadeva‟s

connection to memory and the mind, which as we have seen is also expressed in his epithets

manobhava and smāra. The fact that Aśvaghoṣa uses the same verb in Buddhacarita cannot be

seen as accidental, for the poet has already collapsed the figures of Kāmadeva and Māra while

explicitly referencing the desire god‟s conflict with Śiva. Rather than ordering an agent of desire

into battle, as does Indra, Māra commands a gruesome army of death, which the text describes at

472
BC 13.16: śailendraputrīṃ pratiyena viddho devo „pi śambhuścalito babhūva na cintayatyeṣa tam eva bāṇaṃ.
473
Ibid., 13.17.
474
BC 13.18.
 175

length in a passage that occupies more than half the entire chapter. What we find, then, is that

Māra‟s Kāmadeva aspect very quickly gives way to death, so quickly in fact that the Kāmadeva

characterization seems as if a veneer by comparison, a veneer that is shed to reveal destruction

and monstrosity. The narrative, through its course of events and its use of language, shows that

underneath kāma lurks death. If, when it comes to the Hindu stories, what comes first to mind is

desire, in the Buddhist versions, it is instead death.

To make this point, as we have seen, Aśvaghoṣa draws on Hindu literary figures both

major and minor, from the Mahābhārata to the lineage of Manu, but none more obviously than

Śiva and Kāma. These are the raw materials he has imported, converted, and inverted to show

that desire and death are in fact coordinates. In the course of making that point, he also advances

the Buddha as a clear superior of Śiva: the ascetic god trembled and burst open his third eye in

his bid to defeat Kāmadeva, while the Buddha did not bat so much as an eyelash in overcoming

Māra. In their commentaries on the text, both Johnston and Olivelle suggest that, since the

Buddhacarita alludes to Śiva being pierced and weakened by the arrow, Aśvaghoṣa may have

had access to a version of the story that has been lost.475 While this may be the case, there is also

the possibility that Aśvaghoṣa portrayed Śiva in a weaker light so as to aggrandize the Buddha‟s

conquest of kāma and death all the more, positioning the Awakened One as the preeminent

power and authority in the universe, greater even than Śiva, the Maheśvara (“great god”) and

Yogeśvara (“lord of discipline”).

Lest we think the Buddhist account of these events is unanswered and unchallenged, the

third chapter of Kālidāsa‟s Kumārasaṃbhava provides a very different rendering of the same

root narrative. As the otherwise invincible demon Tāraka can only be defeated by the son of
475
Buddhacarita, or Acts of the Buddha, pg. 491 n. 16; Life of the Buddha, pg. 462, n. 13.16.
 176

Śiva, the stage is set for the appearance of Kāmadeva. As king of the gods, Indra leads the war

council and brings Kāmadeva into their presence from his mind (manasā). Upon arriving,

Kāmadeva immediately boasts of his power, pronouncing that he will overwhelm whoever he is

sent against and “will afflict his dharma and artha like a flooded river overcomes both banks.”476

This line and its metaphor are significant for two reasons. First, it directly echoes a verse in

Buddhacarita in which Māra affirms, “I will go in order to break [Gotama‟s] vow like a flooded

river burst over a dam.”477 Beyond those parallel verses, the comparison of kāma‟s ferocious

power to a flash flood appears in other Buddhist texts. Suttanipāta, for instance, warns that those

who are not wary of kāma will be overwhelmed, “like a broken boat in the water,” while those

who assiduously abandon kāma, “having bailed out the ship from the flood, will cross over to the

other side.”478 The other side represents awakening, which is obstructed by the rushing waters of

desire, forded only through diligent practice. The Theragāthā, like the Buddhacarita, names

Māra as the inundating power, with a monk named Māluṅkyaputta cautioning, “do not allow

Māra to break you again and again as a flood breaks a reed.”479 Like the whole of the

Buddhacarita narrative, these two verses emphasize the connection between kāma and death, and

perhaps even more pointedly, re-death, for attachment to desires constitutes attachment to

saṃsāra, Māra‟s kingdom.

The comparison is important, secondly, for how the Kumārasaṃbhava verse treats the

metaphor slightly differently. In that case, it is not exactly the path to awakening that Kāmadeva

threatens to obscure, but dharma and artha, the other puruṣārthas, which key Hindu texts, not

476
Kumārasaṃbhava, 3.6: kasyārthadharmau vada pīḍayāmi sindhostaṭāvogha iva pravṛddhaḥ.
477
BC 13.6: yāsyāmi tāvad vratamasya bhettuṃ setuṃ nadīvega ivātivṛddhaḥ.
478
4.1.5-6: nāvaṃ bhinnaṃ ivodakaṃ…tare oghaṃ nāvaṃ siñcitvā pāragū.
479
pg. 44: mā vo naḷaṃ va soto va māro bhañji punappunaṃ.
 177

the least of which being the Kāma Sūtra, balance with or even emphasize over kāma. Through

their deluges of kāma, both Kāmadeva and Māra isolate and even violate core principles of the

traditions they respectively represent. The comparison we can make between the “kāma flood”

metaphors in both literatures helps put into relief how each tradition viewed the position and

potential danger of the intensity of desire.

After taking up the mission from the gods, Kāmadeva begins to display some of that

intense power as he processes to Śiva‟s āśrām with his wife Ratī and Madhu (Spring) as

companions. The world begins to transform in their wake as desire and passion exude from their

very presence: winter changes to spring, flowers burst into bloom, animals become amorous

toward their mates, and the ascetics practicing near the āśrām lose all focus.480 With Kāmadeva‟s

stature established, the party enters the hermitage and the text transitions to a description of

mighty Śiva. The reader is treated to elaborate descriptions of the god‟s unbending posture, dark

and lustrous form, motionless eyes, rays of light shooting from his head, and the severe gaze he

uses to penetrate into his inner self (ātmānam ātmany avalokayantam).481 The god‟s

concentration is so potent and indomitable, that we are told he is “still like a reservoir of water

without a ripple.”482 The juxtaposition of these two lengthy descriptions creates an atmosphere

not unlike a heavyweight fight, albeit of cosmic proportions: in one corner is Kāmadeva, master

of desire and the irresistible force, while in the other corner is Śiva, lord of meditation and an

immovable object.

At heart, however, the story appears to portray Kāmadeva to be at a distinct disadvantage,

particularly by foreshadowing his immolation throughout the narrative in the use of epithets such

480
Kumārasaṃbhava, 3.24-39; cf. Śiva Purāṇa, 18.2-10.
481
Kumārasaṃbhava, 3.44-3.50.
482
Ibid., 3.48: apāmivādhāram anuttaraṅgam.
 178

as “anaṅga” (“bodiless”).483 Additionally, as Kāma first observes Śiva in the creeper bower he is

called “āsannaśarīrapātas” (“the one whose body was soon to fall”).484 Sensing he may be

outmatched, the desire god actually drops his bow briefly, but regains form once Pāravatī arrives

on her daily rounds in service of Śiva. Newly encouraged by a beautiful female form through

which to channel his power, the archer strings an arrow called saṃmohanaṃ (“bewilderment”),

and Śiva‟s concentration is disturbed “like the mass of the sea at the beginning of the moon‟s

rise” (candrodayārambha ivāmburāśiḥ).485 This beautiful phrase deftly plays off the earlier

image of Śiva as a motionless reservoir of water, showing how it is now rippled with waves and

eddies. At the same time, it reinforces the scale of the confrontation at hand: the pull of desire is

as powerful as the gravity of a celestial body, while ascetic self-control is as stern as the weight

of the ocean. In this instance, the ocean pushes back, for as he instantly senses the disruption,

Śiva scans about for the cause. In a fascinating interplay of the notion of sight, Śiva‟s yogically

enhanced gaze catches Kāmadeva squinting his eyes as he aims.486 Overcome by rage, he opens

his third eye and unleashes a volley of scorching, blazing fire that utterly obliterates

Kāmadeva.487 Or so it would seem. As the rest of the story reveals, in Kumārasaṃbhava as well

as the other versions, Kāmadeva‟s demise has been greatly exaggerated. Though in Kālidāsa‟s

version Śiva recovers his yogic composure very quickly, faster than in other variants such as the

Vāmana and Śiva Purāṇas, Kāmadeva has still been able to affect him. Indeed, as Doniger

(O‟Flaherty) has written, the “fire of Kāma” is a double entendre, meaning that the fire is the

483
Ibid., 1.48.
484
Ibid., 3.44.
485
Ibid., 3.67.
486
Ibid., 3.70.
487
Ibid., 3.71-3.72.
 179

mingling of the forces of tapas and kāma rather than their opposition.488 Some of Kālidāsa‟s

other work bears out this hypothesis, as King Duṣyanta laments in Abhijñānaśākuntalṃ that,

since he has been reduced to ashes, the only way one can explain Kāmadeva‟s continuing power

to burn souls (such as his) is that the god of desire partially absorbed Śiva‟s fire. 489 The outcome

of the confrontation is even murkier when we take into account that, in the end, Śiva takes

Pārvatī as his wife and the joining of their hands is said to set in motion (vṛtti) the activities of

the mind-born one (manobhava).490 While at great cost, it would seem that Kāmadeva

accomplished his mission after all.

When comparing the two kāvyas, we can see that both are concerned with blending sets

of concepts and ideas. Kālidāsa perhaps has the more difficult task of presenting both figures as

potent, yet flawed. This he accomplishes by showing Śiva as the rigorous ascetic who restores

his concentration in the face of a powerful seduction, yet oversteps his bounds in trying to

completely eradicate all desire. The latter is symbolized by the flashy, but ultimately ineffectual

immolation of Kāmadeva. For his part, the god of desire, who arrogantly announced his ability to

flood dharma and artha, is chastised rather brutally, but attains an even more expansive presence

as anaṅga, the bodiless one. Both are exalted and both are humbled, all in the service of

demonstrating that tapas and kāma are not necessarily mutually exclusive, but have their time

and place.

As we saw, Aśvaghoṣa‟s concern is quite different. While Kālidāsa‟s Śiva and Kāmadeva

achieve a measure of détente, the Buddha‟s victory over Māra is unambiguous and complete,

also revealing in its course that the force with which he has actually been contending is not

488
Śiva, the Erotic Ascetic, pg.169.
489
3.4
490
Kumārasaṃbhava, 7.77.
 180

desire, but death. When Māra‟s “lelihāna harṣaṇa bāṇa” (“destructive exciter arrow”) fails, he

quickly exchanges those tools for his “bhūtagaṇa” (“horde of goblins”), an almost endless

parade of monsters carrying spears and axes rather than flowers. Lurking just underneath the

seductive beauty of desire, then, is the horror of death. While the flower arrows of Kāmadeva

may hide stinging bees, the bow of Māra conceals murdering beasts. For Aśvaghoṣa, and

Buddhism in general, there is thus no balance to achieve with kāma. As the poet has so potently

expressed through his implementation of the figure of Māra, all desire is conducive of saṃsāra,

which is unquestionably ruinous.

Later poetry, such as that anthologized in the Subhāṣitaratnakoṣa, further reinforces these

contours and distinctions. One verse, attributed to Saṃghaśrī, explicitly compares Śiva‟s reaction

to Kāmadeva with how the Buddha confronts Māra:

Kāma and anger are both states inimical to self-control. Having

Killed Anaṅga, what did the enraged Three-eyed one accomplish?
But the One who peacefully and calmly overthrew Manmatha without
enmity, the Buddha, chief of sages, may he point to your welfare.491

Bluntly inquiring as to the point of Śiva‟s outburst, for by giving in to either desire or anger he

disrupts his practice, the writer demonstrates the superiority of the Buddha‟s reaction, which is

no reaction at all. Another verse, given as Vallaṇasya‟s, uses the Hindu narrative‟s muddled

decision to exalt the Buddha: while Kāmadeva is reduced to ash, Śiva becomes married, and

Māra sulks away in defeat, in contrast to all those characters, the Awakened One emerges

unbowed.492 Other verses point to Kāmadeva‟s ability to subdue Śiva, the god of gods, using

491
1.3: kāmakrodhau dvayamapi padaṃ pratyanīkaṃ vaśitve hatvānaṅgaṃ kim iva hi ruṣtā sādhitaṃ tryumbakena |
yastu kṣāntyā śamayati śataṃ manmathādyānarātīn kalpāṇaṃ vo diśatu sa munigrāmanīrarkabandhuḥ ||
492
Ibid., 1.9.
 181

only flowers,493 or the god‟s paradoxical combination of marriage and asceticism494 as evidence

that the heavyweight bout was not a split decision, but rather a knockout in favor of Kāmadeva,

again placing the Buddha far above Śiva.

Comparison of these two narratives places their respective theories of desire into relief,

and due to the obvious connection between the authors through the kāvya tradition, sheds light

on the debate over the appropriate place of kāma between the two traditions. On the one hand,

the Hindu tradition walks a fine line, recognizing the disruptive power of kāma, expressed by the

maddening and pervasive presence of Kāmadeva, but still maintaining that the emotion and drive

have a profitable use. Buddhism, on the other hand, engages in a literary process I would call the

“mortification of kāma,” through which both the abstract sense of kāma and the mythic figure of

Kāmadeva are subsumed into Māra and subordinated to the power of death. Whereas from the

Hindu point of view, an attempt to destroy desire is delusional, from the Buddhist perspective,

anything less than the eradication of desire is delusion unto destruction and death. In the next

part of this chapter I will show how Buddhist narratives of Māra similarly adapt and refashion

other aspects of the kāma mythology, but to the particular end of creating and reinforcing a

gender hierarchy.

II. The Gender of Māra

Introduction

In the preceding section I undertook an analysis of the correspondence of chapter thirteen

of Buddhacarita and chapter three of Kumārasaṃbhava to show the common root yet ultimately

divergent trajectories of the portrayals of Māra and Kāmadeva, respectively. This point,

493
Ibid., 14.5: kusumapṛṣatkairdevadevasya.
494
Ibid., 5.33.
 182

however, is not the only area of overlap between the two stories. In fact, in another glaring

example of borrowing, both texts contain an episode in which a main character conducts a

procession through the streets of a celebrated city, to the great fanfare of the occupants. Though

this trope appears throughout Indian literature and is rather commonplace, the way in which the

two corresponding passages play off one another is revealing. In the Kumārasaṃbhava, this

passage occurs when Himālaya leads Śiva through his city on the way to wed Pārvatī. As the god

travels the streets, women race to their windows just to catch a glimpse of him, leaving their hair

undone, their feet still wet from bathing, clothes half arranged, and makeup half applied.495 The

eyes of these sundarī (“beautiful women”) watch Śiva intently as he processes along, following

him this way and that, darting in all directions like bees (vilolanetra bhramaraiḥ) to behold the

god‟s glorious physical form.496 Representing Śiva‟s entrance into house-holding status, to a

degree the passage also realizes Kāmadeva‟s earlier boast to Indra that, whoever his target, he

will break that person‟s asceticism using the lovely, playful eyes of sundarī - beautiful

women.497 As such, it reinforces the notion that perhaps Kāmadeva did win after all.

Buddhacarita contains a nearly identical processional scene in which, after hearing

Siddhattha will be leaving the confines of his father‟s palace on a chariot ride, women rush to

their windows to catch a glimpse of the prince. In their haste, they similarly leave their hair,

clothes, and makeup undone, jangling their misplaced jewelry. 498 As they peer from the

windows, it is said that “the city shone on all sides with beauty, like heavenly mansions with

495
Kumārasaṃbhava, 7.55-7.68. The same passage, with different characters, also takes place in Kālidāsa‟s
Raghuvaṃśa, 7.5-7.12.
496
Ibid., 7.62.
497
Ibid., 3.5.
498
BC 3.14-3.19.
 183

apsarases.”499 For his part, the prince appears to them in a form as beautiful as the “one whose

banner is a flower,” i.e. Kāmadeva.500 Though identical in structure and nearly so in language,

the Buddhacarita processional passage occurs in a very different context and provides a very

different interpretation of the house-holder situation. While Śiva heads into the city towards

matrimony and acceptance of the house-holder‟s life, Siddhattha heads out of the city for the

journey on which he will see the four sights that will stun him into renunciation of the house-

holder‟s life. As it plays out in Kumārasaṃbhava, the procession of Śiva represents an

acceptance of kāma, whereas in Buddhacarita, Siddhattha‟s procession signals the eventual

rejection of kāma. This culminates later in the narrative when, after he has escaped the palace

and set upon the path to awakening, Siddhattha sends his charioteer and horse back to the city

without him. Thinking the prince is coming, the women again rush to the windows, but this time

they are dirty, unadorned, unkempt, and, when they see the Prince‟s horse rider-less, bereft and

sorrowful.501 While Śiva enters the city for his marriage, the future Buddha never reenters, which

is treated like a funeral.

A key point of contrast for the differing portrayals of procession in these narratives is the

attitude each hero develops toward the sundarī, the beautiful women who rush to glimpse them.

In many ways, they represent the force of kāma that is being either accepted or rejected by the

traditions behind these respective versions of the processional trope. In this second part of the

chapter, I will investigate how the Buddhist mortification of kāma and Kāmadeva portrays

almost the entire female gender as agents of Māra. To develop this line of thought, and its

interrelation with the mortification of kāma, I will first briefly discuss the role of women in

499
Ibid., 3.20: śrīmat samantān nagaraṃ babhāse viyad vimānair iva sāpsarobhiḥ.
500
Ibid., 3.24.
501
Ibid., 8.14-22.
 184

Indian Buddhism, especially as expressed by the literary figures of the apsaras and Māra‟s

daughters, and then show how kāvya descriptions of female beauty are inverted by Buddhist

literature as a means to warn monks, as well as nuns, about the inherent dangers of women.

Throughout, as we will see, Māra lurks in the background.

Women in Buddhism: Egalitarianism, Androcentrism or Misogyny?

Over the years, scholarship has taken conflicting views on the situation of women in

Buddhism, with more recent research tending to overturn the sanguine assessments of earlier

scholars. I. B. Horner, for instance, in her pioneering work in the 1930s, thought that

membership in the bhikkhunīsangha offered women a level of self-determination and authority

unparalleled in India to that point, such that she considers the Buddha‟s decision to create an

order of nuns “a bright light in the history of freedom.”502 Later interpreters, such as Susan

Murcott and Miranda Shaw, have sought to support Horner‟s initial findings by emphasizing the

ritual and patronage practices performed by nuns and laywomen, and also searching out the

voices of individual women in the Buddhist tradition.503 Shaw particularly has advanced the case

of Mahāpajāpatī Gotamī, the Buddha‟s stepmother, as a female Buddha on par with Gotama.

Basing her case on the Gotamī Apadāna of the Khuddaka Nikāya – in which Gotamī leads a

community of five hundred nuns, displays supernatural powers, and achieves extinction – Shaw

argues that the story of Gotamī proves the existence of a school of thought in the Indian tradition

which believed women could achieve Buddhahood and were equal to men.504

502
Women Under Primitive Buddhism, pg. 113.
503
See Murcott, The First Buddhist Women: Tradition and Commentary on the Therīgāthā, pgs. 30-35; Shaw,
Buddhist Goddesses of India, pg. 146.
504
Buddhist Goddesses of India, pgs. 146-151.
 185

The example of Gotamī is an interesting case in point, however, and admits of other

interpretations. Liz Wilson, for one, in her ground-breaking work Charming Cadavers (which

greatly informs my work in this second part of the chapter) does not deny that Gotamī may have

been a role model for women, but in that capacity other aspects of her story would also have

served to reinforce a subordinate position for nuns and laywomen. For example, as Wilson points

out, Gotamī is invariably deferential to the Buddha and dependent on his instruction and

permission at all phases of her learning and displays of supernatural power.505

The story of the original founding of the bhikkhunīsangha in the Anguttara Nikāya and

Culavagga of the Vinaya Piṭaka would seem to support Wilson‟s point of view. As those texts

portray the event, Gotamī pleaded with her stepson repeatedly to found a women‟s order, but the

Buddha refused until a man (Ānanda) spoke on her behalf. Even then Gotama famously

predicted that the admission of women into the order would halve the life of the dharma and

instituted eight additional prātimokṣa rules (applying only to women) limiting their authority. 506

Within the text, the Buddha describes these rules as a dam to hold back a dangerous flood, which

evokes imagery we saw in the first part of this chapter. If we recall, in Hindu literature kāma was

sometimes metaphorically described as an uncontrollable rush of water, and this same image was

recast in Buddhist narratives as the power of Māra.507 This classifies women as inherently

dangerous and in need of special instruments of control, which is an attitude we would expect if

the text were written from a male, monastic, and ascetic point of view. As wives, mothers,

sisters, and daughters, women like Gotamī would represent the social world male renouncers

505
Charming Cadavers, pg.144.
506
See AN IV 227. Some of the rules are, for example, that a nun must bow and follow the instruction of any monk,
even if he is her junior in years as well as time ordained.
507
Ibid. Also see Wilson, Charming Cadavers, pg. 147.
 186

sought to escape in the first place.508 According to some, like Nancy Falk, the eight further rules

(garudhamma), and the fear of women they represented, stunted women‟s abilities to assume

roles of institutional leadership and thus may have led to the demise of the bhikkhunīsangha even

before the rest of the Buddhist institutional tradition died out in India.509

While Horner and others view the story of the bhikkhunīsangha‟s founding as the

interpolation of later misogynist editors and thus discount its legitimacy, that point is not beyond

refutation and does not address the suspicion of women clearly voiced in numerous other texts.

In the Dīgha Nikāya, for instance, Ānanda asks how bhikkhus should behave towards women,

and the Buddha expresses the preference that monks avoid speaking to or even seeing women. If

seeing or speaking to women is unavoidable, the Buddha cautions his followers to “concentrate

and have presence of mind” (sati upaṭṭhāpetabbā) – in other words, to be on their guard.510 At

the same time, given the necessity of obtaining alms from householders, contact with women

would in fact have been unavoidable. Diana Paul and Ellison Findly both claim that the celibate

monk‟s dependence on the female householder for the necessities of life might have exacerbated

anxieties about women, as is voiced in Buddhist admonitions against begging from widows,

prostitutes, and other women whose sexuality is not under male control.511 Yet other passages

portray the difference between such women and housemistresses as being one of degree, not

kind. In one Saṃyutta Nikāya text, for example, the Buddha strongly cautions against undue

socialization with female donors, for if a monk should happen to see the “woman of the house”

(mātugāmaṃ) “scantily clad” (dunnivatthaṃ), he will succumb to kāma, which of course leads to

508
Ibid., pg. 143.
509
“The Case of the Vanishing Nuns,” in Unspoken Worlds, pg. 216.
510
DN II 141.
511
Diana Paul, Women in Buddhism: Images of the Feminine in the Mahāyāna Tradition, pg. 8; Ellison Banks
Findly, “The Housemistress at the Door,” in Jewels of Authority: Women and Texts in Hindu India, pg. 25.
 187

māraṇaṃ - death.512 All women, then, are in a sense duplicitous, for though they manifest and

exhibit the potential pleasures of desire, within those forms lurks the power of death.513

Thus while it is possible that, in some isolated cases, the bhikkhunīsangha was a space

for women to exercise a certain authority, and that the Indian Buddhist tradition contained

multiple perspectives on the place of women, 514 one of the most prominent (if not also

dominant) threads of discourse in Buddhist literature asserted that women were dangerous. As

the preceding passage from the Saṃyutta Nikāya demonstrates, the link between kāma and Māra

is an important part of this rhetoric. In the next section I will first explore how Buddhist literature

triangulates women, desire, and death by conflating two classes of literary characters, the

apsaras and the daughters of Māra. Secondly, I will demonstrate how this triangulation further

serves to reduce women to the emblematic role of material (prakṛti) obstacles of the world of

rebirth and death (saṃsāra).

Apsarases, Mārakanyāḥ, the Prakṛti/Saṃsāra Complex

A Saṃyutta Nikāya text tries to communicate the illusory and dangerous nature of the

phenomenal world to its readers and listeners by referring to it as a “forest called delusion”

(vanaṃ taṃ mohanaṃ nāma) that “resounds with hosts of nymphs” (accharāgaṇasaghuṭṭḥaṃ)

and “is associated with hordes of cannibal ghouls” (piśācagaṇasevitaṃ).515 The term accharā,

which I have translated as “nymph,” corresponds to the Sanskrit apsaras, which has a history

and significance in Indian mythology bearing on the meaning of this Nikāya passage and this

512
SN II 271.
513
Wilson, Charming Cadavers, pgs. ; see also B.C. Law, Women in Buddhist Literature, pg. 50.
514
Alan Sponberg, for instance, delineates three main categories of representation of women in the Pāli literature:
soteriological inclusiveness, institutional androcentrism, and ascetic misogyny. “Attitudes Toward Women and the
Feminine in Early Buddhism,” in Buddhism, Sexuality, and Gender, pgs. 13-20.
515
SN I 33.
 188

chapter as a whole. In Vedic usage, apsaras means “moving in the waters,” as one finds in an

Atharva Veda passage describing how the apsarases and gandharvas make their homes in the

waters.516 Besides waters, the apsaras was also associated with and thought to dwell in trees,

suggesting that the figure might have originated within the same fertility cults that worshipped

yakṣas/yakṣasīs.517 In addition to the yakṣa and the gandharva, who are male celestial musicians,

the apsaras has also been associated with more malign creatures, such as the rākṣasa, literally

“night roamers” who cause injury, disease, and threaten the sacrifice.518 Other verses in the

Atharva Veda, in fact, contain verses one can chant to ward off or expel apsarases and rākṣasas,

showing that the two kinds of beings were not thought simply to travel in the same circles, but

possessed similarly threatening powers and behaviors.519

Unlike the gandharva and rākṣasa, the apsaras is seen as a strictly feminine entity who

post-Vedic literature comes to regard as the courtesan and messenger of the devas.520 Several

verses in the Mahābhārata give lists of notable apsarases (such as Ghṛtācī, Rambhā, and Urvaśī)

along with their attributes, which include proficiency in music (especially the lute), dancing and

extraordinary beauty.521 Of the apsaras‟s attractive physical qualities, particular emphasis falls

on their waists, breasts, and “lotus eyes” (padmalocanāḥ) which cast “amorous sidelong glances”

(kaṭākṣahāvam) capable of “enchanting the mind and heart” (manoharāḥ).522 The bewildering,

516
For speculation on the etymology of apsaras, see MacDonnell, Vedic Mythology, pg. 134; AV 2.2.3.
517
Gail Hinich Sutherland, The Disguises of the Demon, pg. 46.
518
N. N. Bhattacharyya, Indian Demonology, pg. 41.
519
AV 4.37.2.
520
They are referred to literally as the “girls” or “maidens of the gods,” for instance in the MB 1.130.6 (devakanyā),
and Abhijñāna-śākuntalaṃ, 3.43 (surayavatī).
521
For instance, see MB 1.114.50-54. The connection between the apsaras and music, MacDonnell believes, may go
back as far as AV 4.37.5, though it occurs with much greater frequency in the post-Vedic, epic literature.
Additionally, Banerjee points out that the Nātyaśāstra contains a creation story of sorts in which the apsarases are
created by Brahmā especially to be mistresses of the art of dancing. Apsaras in Indian Dance, pg. 30.
522
MB 3.44.31-32.
 189

even intoxicating nature of their beauty is closely allied to Kāmadeva, who we will recall uses

the power of desire to create madness (madana) and churn minds (manmatha). Either directly

alongside or acting in the name of Kāmadeva, apsarases are frequently given the task of

seducing human ascetics into releasing their built-up stores of tapas through sexual wiles.523 That

the seduction of these ascetics usually occurs in wooded areas near lakes or streams continues

the apsaras‟s Vedic associations with trees, water, fertility, and nature in general. It also, as

Banerjee and Handique note, unifies the symbolism of these celestial nymphs in the Indian

concept of prakṛti, literally “matter,” or “worldliness.”524 In a web of correspondence, the

symbol of the apsaras links feminine beauty with prakṛti and all that is attractive and pleasurable

(i.e., sexuality and music) about the world. As the Saṃyutta Nikāya verse above demonstrates

very succinctly, Buddhist literature captures this same web of correspondence involving the

apsaras (Pāli, accharā), yet portrays it as illusory and dangerous. The natural world of prakṛti in

that verse is now the “forest of delusion” and the delightful apsarases are shadowed by the

cannibalistic, ghoulish piśācas, echoing the same “bait and switch” between death and desire

found in Gotama‟s confrontation with Māra in the Buddhacarita. The seductive celestial nymph,

as we discovered in chapter four, has a very different valence in Buddhist literature, which exalts

stamina and resistance in the face of feminine beauty. In fact, Buddhist literature transparently

melds the nature and symbolism of the apsaras into the characters of the daughters of Māra in a

maneuver Ernst Windisch quite rightly called a “transference of names.” 525 Māra‟s heavenly

realm is described in terms like that of Indra and other devas, with his daughters dancing and

523
For a just a few examples of a pervasive trope, see MB 1.65.20-45, 1.154.1-5, and 1.120.1-14.
524
Krishnakanta Handique, Apsarases in Indian Literature, pg. 20; P. Banerjee, Apsaras in Indian Dance, pg. 133.
525
Māra und Buddha, pg. 197: “ubertragung des namens.”
 190

playing lutes amidst jewel-bedecked mansions.526 As was also mentioned briefly in chapter four,

and will be explored in great detail very soon, Māra‟s daughters are also on the frontline of the

god‟s assault on the Buddha in many versions of the Māravijaya narrative, attempting

(unsuccessfully) to seduce Gotama through sexual blandishments. This is also a very obvious

continuation of the apsaras/ascetic trope in Hindu literature, but like Aśvaghoṣa‟s submersion of

Kāmadeva into Māra, the grafting of Māra‟s daughters onto the apsaras similarly conflates

desire and death. In this way, the prakṛti symbolism of the Hindu apsaras becomes the saṃsāra

symbolism of Māra‟s daughters.

Another episode in the Buddhacarita illustrates this transition exceptionally well and also

points to a further dimension of the Buddhist “mortification” of the apsaras. When the Prince

returns from his chariot ride after the vision of the four sights, his harem is waiting to engage

him in sexual activity and they greet him with eyes “blossomed with wonder”

(vismayotphullalocanāḥ).527 Being ones whose “minds are captured by Manmatha”

(manmathākṣiptacetasaḥ),528 they surround Siddhattha and display physical forms that he admits

would “be capable of swaying even a sage without lust.”529 Flaunting their eyes, arms, legs, hips,

and breasts, the harem encompasses the Prince in a scene like “Vivasvat surrounded by

apsarases.”530 Given the Prince‟s revelation of the inherently painful and fleeting nature of life,

the same prakṛti symbolism (nature, sex, music, etc.) used in the Hindu characterization of the

apsaras here appears as a mere façade over the reality of suffering, death, and rebirth. Indeed,

526
For example, see MV II 360 and LV 21.43.
527
BC 4.2.
528
Ibid., 4.3.
529
Ibid., 4.11: śaktāścālayituṃ yūyaṃ vītarāgānṛṣīnapi.
530
Ibid., 4.28: vivasvānapsarovṛtaḥ.
 191

the Prince is figuratively and literally enclosed (vṛtaḥ) by these forces, just as we all are

according to Buddhism.

The passage implies something else in addition, for while the apsaras and Māra‟s

daughters are celestial beings, the harem women, though the epitome of human beauty, are just

that – human. The Buddhist redefinition of the Hindu apsaras/prakṛti complex does not cease at

transferring that symbolism from one group of celestial nymphs to another, in this case Māra‟s

daughters, who signify the desire/death dialectic of saṃsāra. Rather, as the Buddhacarita

passage suggests, all women possess the apsaras/prakṛti nature and are capable of derailing

one‟s practice and clouding his understanding. Thus, they are more accurately seen as

representatives of saṃsāra.

Yet, Buddhist narratives are by no means unique among Indian traditions in implicating

women as the conduit for the depredations of desire. According to a verse in the

Subhāṣitaratnakośa, though Kāmadeva lacks the māyā (magical or creative powers) of other

devas, he does not need such abilities as long as he has the “tender and resounding speech”

(mṛdu ca mañju ca bhāṣitāni) and “sidelong glances and pleasing brows” (vilocanavīkṣitāni

vāmabhruvāṃ) of women as his weapons (ayudham).531 The female eye figures prominently in

kāvya descriptions of Kāmadeva‟s powers and weaponry, even equating the god‟s five arrows

with their glances and the pupils with the “sharp arrow tips that pierce men‟s hearts.”532 In

Kumārasaṃbhava, as Kāmadeva boasts to Indra of his power to sway ascetics from their

practice, he is able to do so specifically through the “lovely, playful eyebrows and sidelong

531
16.3.
532
Ibid., 14.2. The equation of the arrows and sidelong glances: pakṣmalāḥ strīkaṭākṣāḥ pañcabānasya bāṇāḥ; and
the comparison of the arrow tips and pupils: narahṛdayabhidastārakakrūruśalyāḥ.
 192

glances of beautiful women.”533 As another example, the related Śiva Purāṇa also suggests that

Kāmadeva‟s bow is found in the contracted brow of women.534

As a whole, the mythic cycle of Śiva‟s destruction of Kāmadeva greatly contributes to

this trope, for as we saw in part one, the god of desire is briefly put off, but not eradicated, and

by some accounts is ultimately triumphant over the ascetic. In many interpretations, the physical

form of Kāmadeva and his desire-inducing power are simply redistributed through Śiva‟s fire

into other elements. Benton explains that this is the case in the Matsya Purāṇa, which disperses

the essence of kāma to the “sweetness of honey, the fragrance of mangoes, the intoxication of

wine, moonlight, and the brisk quality of spring air.” 535 Kālidāsa similarly portrays the influence

of the god in the calling of birds, bees, flowers, and the onset of spring in general.536 But in those

cases, the poet also links these elements to kāma through women, showing that just as often the

reservoir and reinvigorating agent for Kāmadeva‟s energy appears in feminine form, particularly

women‟s eyes. Though now a “bodiless god” (devamanaṅgameva), a verse tells us, Kāmadeva is

still able to restrain the three worlds through the “lotus eyes of lovely women”

(ramanīnetrotpala).537 Elsewhere the lovely gaze of women is specifically said to bring the god

back to life after his seeming destruction by Śiva. 538

Thus while Hindu writings portray Kāmadeva‟s power as undoubtedly potent and

expansive, from another perspective the god can also be seen as a largely dependent entity,

reliant as he is on the attractiveness of women both to instill men with desire and, in the later

533
3.5: sundarīnām ārecitabhrūcaturairvilāsaiḥ kaṭākṣaiḥ.
534
18.31: bhrukuṭyau caite kandarpasya.
535
God of Desire, pg. 49.
536
For example, see Raghuvaṃśa 9.43 and Abhijñānaśakuntalam, 4.29.
537
Subhāṣitaratnakośa, 14.6.
538
Ibid., 16.12.
 193

descriptions of the Śiva/Kāmadeva cycle, to bring him back from the brink of destruction. This

dependence expresses the Hindu perspective that women are the locus of prakṛti, as is further

evidenced by the ubiquitous triangulation of kāma, the natural world (bees, flowers, etc.), and the

feminine gender.539

The mediation of Kāmadeva‟s power through women offers an interesting comparison to

Buddhist descriptions of Māra‟s influence and nature, and also reveals an essential contrast in

how the two traditions dealt with the issue of gender. The gender of Māra is itself an interesting

place to begin. In the Anguttara Nikāya, the Buddha warns his followers that women are entirely

and without exception the snares (pāsa) of Māra, suggesting a very close connection between

that gender and the god of saṃsāra.540 Other Pāli texts, however, leave little doubt as to Māra‟s

personal gender. As the Netti Pakaraṇa puts it, “no case exists in which evil Māra might be a

woman, but that evil Māra might be a man, such a case exists.”541 The Bahudhātuka Sutta of the

Majjhima Nikāya makes the same distinction. In the midst of a cosmological list, the text

declares it impossible for a woman to be a cakkavattin (“wheel turner”), a Brahmā, a Sakka

(Indra), as well as a Māra.542 Boyd believes that this represents a misogyny by which the

extremes of existence (demon and god) are reserved only for men, but this assumes a Western

characterization of Māra as a demon in opposition to the gods, while I have argued that the

Buddhist literature actually portrays Māra as a multiform of gods like Indra and Brahmā. 543 In

contrast, I suggest that the combination of these verses – that women can never be a Māra but are

539
While Knut Jacobsen has argued that the scholarly linkage of prakṛti with women in sāṃkhya philosophy is
based on flimsy evidence, the materials with which I am concerned are literary in nature and do show this
relationship. “The Female Pole of the Godhead in Tantrism and the Prakṛti of Sāṃkhya,” Numen, pgs. 56-81.
540
AN III 68-69.
541
Pg. 93: itthi māro pāpimā siyā ti ṭhānaṃ netaṃ vijjati. Puriso māro pāpimā siyā ti ṭhānaṃ etaṃ vijjati.
542
MN III, 65-66.
543
Satan and Māra: Christian and Buddhist Symbols of Evil, pg. 116
 194

always the instruments of Māra – shows that Buddhist mythology mediates Māra‟s influence

through women in a fashion similar to how Hindu mythology funnels the power of Kāmadeva

through women.

The nature of what is being mediated, however, represents a fundamentally different

outlook on women. While Kāmadeva‟s connection to women in the Hindu context suggests that

the feminine is inextricably linked to a force that can enthrall a man, but also scorch and enfeeble

his mind, Buddhist rhetoric casts women‟s power to entrance instead as a force masking the

horror of death. In the words of Liz Wilson, this serves to feminize saṃsāra and portray the

realm of death and rebirth “as a prison in which women are the agents of incarceration.”544

Indeed, Wilson has shown convincingly that “repulsive figurations of the feminine” are

widespread in Indian Buddhist literature, serving as signposts by which monks (and sometimes

nuns) could recognize and recall the inextricable link between desire and death.545

The Mahādukkhakkhandha Sutta of the Majjhima Nikāya serves as an excellent case in

point of Wilson‟s thesis. In that text, the Buddha gives his bhikkhus a lesson in the dangers of

rūpa (“form”) by magically manifesting the body of a young girl, then slowly altering the image

to reflect her aging, sickness, death, and final putrescence and decomposition. Gradually, as her

beauty and body decay, her internal organs and fluids, which the body normally conceals, slough

out disgustingly. At that point, the Buddha declares, “the danger is manifested” (ādīnavo

544
Charming Cadavers, pg. 4. See also Nancy Falk, “The Case of the Vanishing Nuns: the Fruits of Ambivalence in
Ancient Indian Buddhism,” pgs. 108-110, and Diana Paul, Women in Buddhism, pg. 5.
545
See Charming Cadavers, especially pgs. 8-12 and 77-110. It is also worthwhile to note that, as Patrick Olivelle
has revealed in his studies of the Upaniṣadic literature, some Hindu renouncer groups possessed an equally raw, and
profoundly negative, view of women, particularly their bodies. As these groups were similarly reacting against
Brahmanical ideologies, this demonstrates a commonality amongst renouncer groups as to the dangers women posed
when it came to attempting to leave society behind. See Patrick Olivelle, Saṃnyāsin Upaniṣads, pgs. 77-78.
 195

pātubhūto), meaning that foul death, which lurks beneath the allure of desiring forms, has been

revealed.546

While the Majjhima Nikāya text makes the connection between women and saṃsāra

explicit, in the next sections I want to examine in more detail how Buddhist narratives of Māra

and Māra‟s daughters are employed in that venture. I will look at how those narratives redeploy

the tropes Hindu literature uses to link celestial beings of desire (Kāmadeva and apsarases) with

human women and cast them as emblems of creeping death. Specifically, we have seen that the

symbolism of music, dancing, nature (forests, flowers, bees), and the eye are all used in Hindu

kāvya to connect women to desire and all that is prakṛti in existence. The Buddhist narratives we

will examine divert those symbols to show that women represent desire, and hence are a front for

Māra, and therefore are partisans for death.

Men versus Women: The Buddha

In the Buddhist tradition, the obvious model for dealing with the dangers posed by

women will always be the Buddha himself. Buddhist literature contains several examples of the

Awakened One sidestepping such temptations at different stages in his journey. These

differences are important and cast interesting light on the assessments made to this point, as well

as the stories we will examine below later. When the Buddha was still Prince Siddhattha, we

have already seen how the women of his harem surrounded the bodhisattva upon his return from

his chariot ride and made a series of sexual overtures. Throughout that scene the women are

either explicitly called apsarases or are described in language evocative of portrayals of

apsarases in Hindu literature. For example, their eyes are compared to lotuses and other parts of

546
MN I 88-89.
 196

their bodies to various other flowers, such as the aśoka and tilaka.547 This relates the harem

women to the entire kāma/apsaras/prakṛti complex, but it also lays the foundation for the

inversion of that complex in a later scene in which the harem lies sleeping. Siddhattha is on the

verge of departure and his vision of the women, who are passed out in stupors after their revelry,

removes any doubt from his mind about the correctness of his decision. We are told that the lutes

and flutes of the women are silenced and in the gloom of the twilight their formerly blooming,

flower-like bodies are now like “karṇikāra branches torn by an elephant” or lotuses with bent

stalks.548 Their eyes, so alluring and bewitching previously, are now closed, the ornaments they

jingled in Siddhattha‟s face are now disheveled, and the bodies they flaunted look contorted and

unsightly.549 Bit by bit, symbol by symbol, this passage unravels and inverts the tropes of the

earlier presentation of the harem, revealing that the kāma-laden, prakṛti nature the women

presented at that time was actually only a front for saṃsāra and a trap from Māra.

When the future Buddha is just setting out on his journey, therefore, he encounters and

overcomes the obstacle of human female beauty. The situation changes, however, when Gotama

is on the precipice of awakening or has already become a Buddha. At that point, Māra‟s

daughters, the celestial representatives of female beauty, accost the renouncer and attempt to

rekindle his desires and lusts. There are several versions of this encounter, three of which take

place after Gotama has become the Buddha and two before.550 The Saṃyutta Nikāya,

Buddhacarita, and Nidānakathā all place the encounter after Gotama‟s awakening. The latter

two narratives appear to be based on the Nikāya account, which begins with Māra‟s daughters

547
See especially BC 4.35-4.38.
548
Ibid., 5.51: gajabhagnā iva karṇikāraśākhāḥ; 5.53.
549
Ibid., 5.57-5.61.
550
It is worth noting that the Buddhacarita version comes in a later chapter (15.11-15.34) which is most likely a
later interpolation by an author other than Aśvaghoṣa and hence not part of the original narrative.
 197

Taṇhā (“craving”), Rāga (“lust”), and Ārati (“dissatisfaction”) vowing to rectify their father‟s

failure to ensnare Gotama in the web of saṃsāra. Not unlike Kāmadeva‟s boastful speech in

Kumārasaṃbhava, the trio describes how they will capture Gotama “like a forest elephant”

(araññam iva kuñjaraṃ) with the “snare of lust” (rāgapāsena).551 The daughters then manifest a

multiplicity of physical forms, from young virgins to older mothers, seeking the particular body

type and age that will arouse the Buddha, but they are unable to elicit any reaction whatsoever.

Astounded at his resilience, the daughters remark that this display would have ruptured the heart

of any other Brahmin or ascetic, driving him mad and causing hot blood to spurt from his mouth

(uṇhaṃ lohitaṃ vā mukhato uggaccheyya).552 The Pāli term for “mad” (ummādam) is directly

related to the Sanskrit term from which Kāmadeva derives his epithet Madana – the maddener.

The particularly gory and violent sentiment of this passage shows a far harder edge to the notion

of kāma, however, than what was found in the Hindu materials. Indeed, the daughters‟ intended

consequences of their display implies that desire not only entails death, but a violent, painful

death.

Another revealing passage occurs after the daughters return to their father and report their

failure. Māra derides their attempt, saying it was doomed from the start, like trying to break

through a mountain with a lotus stalk.553 This expresses certainly the futility of the action, but

also engages the broader kāma/apsaras/prakṛti symbolism we have been investigating. Whereas

in part one we saw how Kāmadeva instilled Śiva with desire through his flower arrows, here the

“lotus flower,” connoting lust for women, cannot contend with the unswayable mountain that is

the Buddha. The phrase also very compactly communicates the extent to which Gotama has

551
SN I 124.
552
Ibid., 125.
553
Ibid., 126.
 198

gained the ability to see through the prakṛti nature of women to the saṃsāric reality beneath,

transcending and escaping the power of kāma and Māra. Additionally, when we look at the

narratives of Gotama‟s life as part of one cycle, it becomes clear that the insight which allows

him to remain aloof and untouched by the decadent temptations of Māra‟s daughters takes root

during the sleeping harem scene in Buddhacarita. At that moment the Prince witnesses the

botanical beauty of his human harem wilted and withered, decaying in the shadow of death. That

realization about human women propels him on the path to becoming a Buddha and plants the

seeds that will lead him to reject even celestial women, like Māra‟s daughters. This is because, as

the myth cycle as a whole begins to tell us, in terms of their connection to and tendency to

enmesh one in saṃsāra, there is little difference between the two.

The Lalitavistara version of Gotama‟s encounter with Māra‟s daughters illustrates these

concepts in even more vivid fashion by effectively collapsing the harem and daughter narratives.

Unlike the other accounts (with the exception of the Mahāvastu), the Lalitavistara places the

encounter with the daughters as one of the trials Gotama undergoes just before his awakening.

When Māra senses the ascetic is about to break from the bonds of saṃsāra, he convenes a war

council, at which a lieutenant named “Ratilola” (“ramblings of desire”), promises to overwhelm

Gotama with one thousand well-adorned apsarases who carry the sounds of thousands of

musical instruments.554 As the stated purpose is to draw Gotama back into bondage within the

realm of death and rebirth, the use of these clearly prakṛti elements strikes an immediate

resonance between those attributes and saṃsāra.

Agreeing with Ratilola, Māra dispatches his daughters, who are explicitly labeled

apsarases in the text. Once before the ascetic, they begin to “display the thirty-two kinds of
554
LV 21.53.
 199

female artifices” (dvātriṃśadākārāṃ strīmāyām upadarśayanti).555 In an exhibition reminiscent

of the earlier harem scene in Buddhacarita, among other displays, Māra‟s apsaras daughters

bear their breasts and thighs, pucker red lips, pose to exaggerate the flatness of their bellies or

roundness of their hips, cast penetrating sidelong glances, and dangle their earrings. 556 Besides

further connecting the harem with Māra‟s daughters, the description of their erotic parade in

front of the ascetic is also significant for how it involves Buddhist views of the body in the midst

of its denouncement of sensuality. The enumeration of the daughters‟ “female artifices” (thirty-

two) is clearly deliberate, for this corresponds exactly to the mahāpuruṣalakṣana – the marks of

the great man, a cakravartin (Pāli, cakkavattin), the “wheel-turner” who is either a world ruler or

a Buddha. Indeed, just prior to the arrival of Māra‟s daughters, as he first calls the earth to

witness to his superior virtue, the text gives a brief description of various aspects of Gotama‟s

thirty-two marks, such as his webbed fingers and the wheels on the soles of his feet.557 As Reiko

Ohnuma has shown, Buddhist literature portrays the attainment of a Buddha‟s body not as an

overnight achievement, but rather the work of numerous lifetimes involving sacrifice of

imperfect members, which in the next lifetime are replaced by perfected counterparts. 558 In this

way, over eons of meritorious deeds and laborious sacrificial acts, the bodhisattva gradually

assembled a body of the thirty-two marks, which is necessarily also a male body. As Ohnuma

puts it, “in this case, it is the male body – perhaps a trope for Buddhahood itself? – that

constitutes the desired ideal, while the female body is cast as ordinary and imperfect.” 559 In terms

of the confrontation in the Lalitavistara, the juxtaposition of the thirty-two marks of Buddhahood

555
Ibid., pg. 233 line 25.
556
Ibid., pgs. 233-234.
557
Ibid.,pg. 232, lines 23-27.
558
See Head, Eyes, Flesh, and Blood: Giving Away the Body in Indian Buddhist Literature.
559
Ibid., pg. 221.
 200

against the thirty-two feminine wiles of Māra‟s daughters creates an obvious and revealing

opposition. On the one hand, there is the dharmic, perfected body of the soon-to-be Buddha,

which serves as a signpost for the path to release from saṃsāra and suffering. On the other hand,

are the arrayed forces of prakṛti and saṃsāra, which are shown as feminine and conducive only

to entrapment in desire and death.

As this framing would suggest, a great deal of the ensuing encounter after the daughters

put on their sensual show revolves around a point-counterpoint argument on the merits of desire

and the female body. Making their case first, the apsaras daughters tell Gotama that, “Beautiful

spring, the greatest season has come, the trees have bloomed. Enjoy it, lover. Your body is

beautiful and well-adorned with the marks of a ruler.”560 Two points immediately follow from

this verse. First, by locating the seduction in the woods, in springtime, the text has aligned itself

clearly with the earlier Hindu conceptions of the apsaras and Kāmadeva, and also the more

negative Buddhist perception, as evidenced by the Nikāya passage cited above, that the woods

and its accharās are emblematic of delusion.561 Second, even as they attempt to bewitch Gotama

with their bodies, they flatter his by recognizing the beauty of his thirty-two marks, which

follows a precedent in the Buddhacarita: upon seeing the “beautiful, brilliant bodily marks”

(śobhitaṃ lakṣanair dīptaiḥ) with which the Prince was born, the harem women consider him the

human form of Kāmadeva himself (nāryaḥ kāmo).562 This in turn corresponds to Kālidāsa‟s

work, such as Raghuvaṃśa, when the princely descendant of Raghu and his wife parade through

560
LV 21.90: suvasantake ṛtuvara āgatake ramimo priya phullitapādapake |
tava rūpa surūpa suśobhanake vaśavarti sulakṣaṇacitratake ||
561
I should point out that due to its distinction from urban areas and the seclusion it provided, the forest in other
Buddhist contexts has been a symbol of austerity and thus purity of tradition. See Michael Carrithers, The Forest
Monks of Sri Lanka and Daniel Boucher, Bodhisattvas of the Forest and the Formation of the Mahayana: A Study
and Translation of the Rastrapalapariprccha Sūtra.
562
BC 4.4.
 201

the streets and appear to onlookers to be the instantiations of Kāmadeva and Ratī.563 In that

instance, the beauty of their bodies is a function of their royal bearing, which is one of the

valences of the thirty-two marks as well. However, by choosing the path of Buddhahood instead,

Gotama has eschewed the earthly royalty represented by the descendants of Raghu, and to which

both the harem women in Buddhacarita and Māra‟s daughters in Lalitavistara respond. By

making the connection between Gotama‟s thirty-two marks and kāma, both groups of women,

earthly as well as celestial, show they fundamentally misunderstand the difference between

perfect and imperfect bodies. They demonstrate that they would not recognize the dharma if it

appeared before them. Indeed, due to the physical form of Gotama‟s thirty-two marks, it actually

has.

Possessed by this misapprehension about the qualities of a perfect body, the daughters

proceed again to offer their bodily forms to Gotama for appreciation. They tell the sage that they

are well-ornamented divine women (marukanya sulaṃkṛtikā) who have come so that he may

enjoy their bimba-like lips, white teeth, lotus-like eyes, and rounded breasts and hips, as well as

their dancing and music.564 Interestingly, they end their appeal with the assertion that “if you do

not want such desirous women, you are indeed greatly and mightily deceived regarding the

world.”565 This perspective seems in large part a distillation of the view of kāma in Hindu texts,

that desire is embedded in the world and inescapable, even for the most accomplished of

ascetics, as the Śiva/Kāmadeva myth cycle demonstrates. They thus exhort Gotama to fall in line

with this view of existence, for by this vantage kāma is only natural and entirely human.

563
Ibid., 7.15.
564
LV 21.92-96.
565
Ibid., 21.98: yadi necchasi kāmasulālasikāṃ suṣṭu suvañcitako „si bhṛśaṃ khalu loke.
 202

The Buddha-to-be, naturally, offers a different take, beginning with the declaration that

kāma only “accumulates much pain, and is in fact the root of pain.”566 Desire is endless, he

continues, and the concept of beauty that Māra‟s daughters admire and represent is illusory, like

a “theater of illusion” (māyāraṅgam).567 Gotama then proceeds, point by point, to refute the

pristine and attractive nature of each body-part the women have offered to him, describing for

instance how the smooth belly hides urine and feces, the eye floats in polluted liquids, and so

on.568 “A man who becomes a slave to kāma on the part of beautiful women is a fool,” Gotama

summarizes, “and abandons virtue and concentration.”569 Very deliberately, then, the bodhisattva

reveals the latent suffering within desire, the mark of death that hovers over kāma, and

establishes virtue and concentration, the dharmic way, as the diametric opposition to the

prakṛti/saṃsāric desires the women offer him.

Rather than admit defeat, the daughters intensify their efforts, swaying like young vines,

playing their music even louder, and once again positioning their overtures in the context of the

spring season.570 Their appeal builds to a fever pitch as they finally exhort the ascetic to enjoy

their favors and abandon his austere life, “having gone to the pleasure garden of women, of

desire and lust in the city of Māra.”571 In each case, Gotama offers a rejoinder, again pointing out

that a body desirable on the surface hides unpleasantness, such as worms and maggots, 572 and

that the springtime‟s blooming trees and buzzing bees will dry up and die, like all else. 573 The

Buddha-to-be finally dismisses the daughters with the gender-condemning proclamation that he

566
Ibid., 21.100: bahuduḥkhasaṃcayā duḥkhamūlā.
567
Ibid., 21.101-102.
568
Ibid., 21.103-105.
569
Ibid., 21.107: kāmādāsu bhavīti yo nara pramadānāṃ śīle utpathi dhyāyi utpathi matihīno.
570
Ibid., 21.111-112, 115.
571
Ibid., 21.119: mārapure ca kāmaratayaḥ pramadavaśagataḥ.
572
Ibid., 21.124.
573
Ibid., 21.122.
 203

has “given up the company of women, whose quality is to captivate.”574 Realizing their defeat at

last, the daughters retreat back to their father.

The Lalitavistara narrative puts a number of issues into relief. First, drawing on Hindu

kāvya imagery, the stories of the Buddha‟s resistance to Māra‟s daughters demonstrates that the

kāma/apsaras/prakṛti complex is actually a Māra/saṃsāra complex, with the beauty of the

female body and the natural world covering up the dark truth of death‟s inevitability. The

apsaras is not simply a beguiling minion of Kāmadeva who might cause one to lose his faculties

temporarily. In reality, she is an agent of Māra on a mission to blind and anesthetize men to the

horror of suffering and impermanence so that they will be bound forever to saṃsāra. But,

secondly, these stories ceaselessly pursue a connection between the celestial apsaras in Māra‟s

service and human women. The women of the harem and the daughters of Māra play similar

roles in similar ways in their respective appearances in the Buddhacarita and Saṃyutta Nikāya,

while Gotama‟s final indictment of desire is directed not only at the apsarases who have

accosted him, but to women as a gender. In this way, thirdly, when we look at the myth cycle of

Gotama‟s encounters with the daughters of Māra longitudinally, as a prince he must overcome

the temptations of human women (his harem) while as a Buddha-to-be or a fully Awakened One

he contends with Māra‟s daughters or Māra himself. The sense is that once he has progressed far

enough along the path, Gotama breaks through the mediation of Māra‟s power through women to

confront the interrelation of death and desire at its root. In the next sections, I will look at how

the paradigms and themes of the Buddha‟s resistance to Māra‟s daughters are used to measure

success or failure along the path for monks and nuns in terms of battling the forces of Māra

masked as kāma.
574
Ibid., 21.126: nārisaṃgha tyajamī guṇaharapramadāḥ.
 204

Men versus Women: Bhikkhus

Earlier we encountered a Majjhima Nikāya passage in which the Buddha instructed his

monks on the folly of attachment to rūpa by conjuring the form of a young girl and gradually

decomposing her before his followers‟ eyes. At the end, Gotama declared, “the danger is

manifested” (ādīnavo pāturahū), providing a lesson in the consubstantial nature of women,

kāma, and death. As we just saw in the previous section, the life of the Buddha, especially his

rebuke of the harem and Māra‟s daughters, also provides a model for monks to replicate the

Awakened One‟s success. In that model, Gotama progressed from overcoming the wiles of

human women to transcending the ploys of Māra‟s celestial apsarases, largely by realizing that

the two groups are one and the same. In Buddhist literature monks similarly confront the kāma

temptations of the feminine and, like Gotama at the beginning of his journey, they face the initial

stage of confrontation with earthly females and their success is measured by whether or not they

are able to recognize the apsaras/Māra nature of the women they encounter.

A typical example comes in a Theragāthā verse attributed to Nāgasamāla, describing a

monk‟s reaction to a woman encountered on his alms route. We are told this woman is

“ornamented, well-dressed, with a garland, adorned with sandalwood paste, dancing to music in

the middle of the great road.”575 Having just examined the mythology of Māra‟s daughters in

great detail, it is not difficult to see the similarity between the description of those celestial

women and the account of this “dancing woman.” In that light, even though the Pāli term for

“road” in this verse is patha and not magga, it is tempting to read the “great road” that the

woman obstructs not only as the alms path but also the Buddhist path (magga) in general.

575
Theragāthā, pg. 33: alaṃkatā suvasanā mālinī candanussadā |
majjhe mahāpathe nārī turiye naccati naṭṭakī. ||
 205

Nāgasamāla quickly recognizes this fact, seeing through the woman‟s dress and music to the

“snare of death laid out” for him.576 Once this connection is made, Nāgasamāla tells us in

language identical to the Buddha‟s Majjhima Nikāya lecture, that the “danger is manifested”

(ādīnavopāturahū). Māra, who lays out traps in the forms of seductive women and hunts through

snares of kāma, has been revealed.

Buddhaghoṣa‟s Visuddhimagga tells a similar story of the elder Mahātissa in the midst of

a discussion on the non-apprehension of signs that are a “basis for defilement”

(kilesavatthubhūtaṃ), such as male, female, and “the sign of beauty” (subhanimittādikaṃ).

Within this context, the story of Mahātissa is somewhat ironic, for according to the passage, the

elder was traveling and encountered a woman “elaborately adorned, like a daughter of the gods,”

(i.e., decked out like an apsaras).577 Being “one of corrupt mind” (vipallacitta), she laughs and

smiles at the elder flirtatiously, yet when Mahātissa looks at her, he focuses solely on the sight of

her teeth, gaining a “perception of ugliness” (asubhasaññaṃ), presumably due to the fact that the

teeth are a visible reminder of the inner, skeletal self we all possess. 578 When the woman‟s

husband passes by and asks the elder if he saw her, Mahātissa replies that all he saw was a

skeleton (aṭṭhisanghāṭo) or, more literally, a “collection of bones.”579 I suggest the story is ironic

in its context for, while the frame is Buddhaghoṣa‟s exegesis of apprehension beyond signs such

as gender, the meaning of Mahātissa‟s encounter seems entirely predicated on gender. Indeed, it

is another example of a monk successfully internalizing the Buddha‟s teaching and recognizing

576
Ibid.: maccupāsaṃ va oḍḍitaṃ.
577
Visuddhimagga, I 20: sumaṇḍita pasādhitā devakaññā viya.
578
Ibid., I 21.
579
Ibid.
 206

that a woman‟s apsaras allure is just a cover for death and the machinations of Māra, in a way

perhaps analogous to how the skin covers the skeleton.

Buddhist literature, however, does not a provide a spotless record of monks triumphing

over the female forces of kāma and Māra. In some stories, the monk struggles and backslides, if

he reaches a state of realization at all. The story of Nanda, the Buddha‟s half-brother, as briefly

related in part one, is very clear on how difficult it can be to renounce desire and appreciate its

connection to death. Having left his wife Sundarī and ordained against his wishes, Nanda is

relentlessly pained by longing for his spouse and former life, until the Buddha takes his half-

brother on a tour of the heavens, where he sees apsarases the likes of which make Sundarī look

like a mutilated, one-eyed monkey by comparison.580 Though clearly in a manner unlike the

Buddha or other monks, Nanda has gained insight into the repulsiveness of mortal feminine

beauty, albeit by comparison to celestial women. Over time, and again with the help of superiors

such as the accomplished monk Ānanda, Nanda proceeds to give up his aspirations for apsarases

as well, grasping finally that their beauty is just as ephemeral. Though it takes a different tack,

and lends a much longer trajectory to the journey, this narrative closes the same circle, equating

mortal women to apsarases. Indeed, at one point in the text, as Sundarī waits in vain on the

balcony for her husband‟s return, she is compared in all her jewelry and finery to an apsaras

looking on for her lover.581 Like Gotama before him, though his perceptions are certainly

different along the way, Nanda first conquers his attachment to mortal women, then overcomes

his desire for the apsarases, positing that the two groups represent the same folly, the same

hindrance, and the same danger.

580
Saundarananda, 10.50.
581
Ibid., 6.3.
 207

Part of the reason Nanda‟s practice is so fraught, we are told, is due to his strong

connection to the married householder life. Before taking his half-brother on their heavenly

journey, the Buddha gives as one of his reasons for this extraordinary measure the grave extent

to which Nanda is “wandering in the delusion named „wife.‟”582 Karen Lang has argued that the

application of the phrase “lord death‟s snare” to women in the Theragāthā (as we saw above

with Nāgasamāla) is meant to impress upon monks the danger that women, especially former

wives, will draw them back into the social world they have renounced.583 In fact, one such

episode details a monk looking upon his former wife and their children, holding their arms out to

him, as “lord death‟s snare.”584 One of the most famous cautionary tales of a monk backsliding in

this instance, of failing where Nanda eventually succeeded, comes in the Vinaya Piṭaka with the

case of Sudinna. Alarmed at his ordination, Sudinna‟s family questions the young monk, his wife

asking if he is performing the practice to gain celestial women (accharā).585 Though he answers

in the negative, the question foreshadows later events and symbolism. Later, out of concern for

producing an heir, Sudinna‟s mother asks the monk‟s former wife to dress in all her finest jewels

and clothes, and beseeches her son to father a child with his wife.586 Sudinna acquiesces and, in a

heavily charged phrase, “having taken his former wife by the arm, plunged into the great

forest.”587 Combined with the earlier reference to the accharā, his wife‟s ornamentation and the

association of his descent from the practice and breaking of his precepts with a plunge into the

depths of the woods, long associated with the apsaras, this short passage seems designed to

582
Ibid., 10.3: bhāryābhidhāne tamasi bhramantam.
583
“Lord Death‟s Snare: Gender-Related Imagery in the Theragāthā and the Therīgāthā,” Journal of Feminist
Studies in Religion, pg. 70.
584
Theragāthā, pgs. 299-300.
585
Vinaya Piṭaka, I 17.
586
Ibid., 17-18.
587
Ibid., 18: purānadutiyikāya bāhāyaṃ gahetvā mahāvanaṃ ajjhogāhetvā.
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represent Sudinna‟s sexual indulgence as surrender to the prakṛti forces of kāma. When

Sudinna‟s transgression comes to light, the Buddha reveals the real impact of the monk‟s

weakness in the face of kāma: he will endure repeated suffering and death (maraṇā).588 Lang is

correct, then, that the specter of death, and more specifically Māra, is used to keep monks leery

of the allure of women, but it is also couched in a way that borrows and inverts the

kāma/apsaras/prakṛti symbolism of Hindu literature. In this way, the lord of death and the lord

of desire become two halves of the same whirling sphere, the realm of saṃsāra, into which men

are pulled by the undulating arms, legs, and eyes of beautiful women, earthly as well as celestial.

If this is the case, however, how should we consider the situation of women who identified

themselves as Buddhists? In the next section I will look at the appearance of these themes in

narratives of Buddhist nuns.

Women versus Women: Nuns

The Bhikkhunīsaṃyutta and Therīgāthā are especially useful resources for investigating

this question, as they are purportedly accounts from the point of view of nuns. In one sense, the

way in which Indian Buddhist nuns viewed their own female gender is fairly clear. Lang has

detailed the ways in which awakened women invariably became indifferent to or even disdainful

of their femininity, as attested to in their textual testimonies as well as the monastic practices of

head-shaving, wearing form-concealing monastic robes, and engaging in austerities, all of which

serves to erase gender distinction.589 This would suggest that female practitioners had

internalized the androcentric rhetoric of their male counterparts. Along these lines, Wilson

argues that only “those nuns who saw themselves from the point of view of their male observers

588
Ibid., 20.
589
“Images of Women in Early Buddhism and Christian Gnosticism,” Buddhist-Christian Studies, pgs. 99-101.
 209

had the best chance of being recognized by their peers for their perspicacity and insight in the

Dharma.”590 Here I wish to add to this scholarship by showing how the entangled symbolism of

Māra and the kāma/apsaras/prakṛti complex, treated as an external enemy in narratives of the

Buddha and bhikkhus, becomes the enemy within from the perspectives of nuns.

This dynamic is especially apparent due to the fact that, unlike monks, there are several

instances in which nuns are said to contend directly with Māra.591 One account, seemingly quite

complimentary to women, begins with Māra insulting the nun Somā as possessing only “two

finger wisdom” (dvangulapañña), meaning she only has enough intelligence to tell if rice is

cooked by squeezing it between thumb and forefinger.592 In both the Bhikkhunīsaṃyutta and

Therīgāthā versions, Somā retorts that when the mind is focused, gender is meaningless. 593

Though implying that men and women possess equal potential for awakening, and thus easily

constituting some of the most uplifting words about women in the entire Pāli Canon, Somā‟s

response also comprises a negation of femininity, suggesting that the notion of her gender must

be overcome rather than embraced. The double-standard becomes evident if we apply the same

logic to the Buddha‟s awakening. Gotama was not required to renounce his masculinity or the

category of gender as a prerequisite to awakening; in fact, on the contrary, as the principle of the

thirty-two mahāpuruṣalakṣana makes clear, Gotama‟s maleness is a necessary condition for

Buddhahood and his conquest of Māra. Somā, on the other hand, must reject her femininity as an

empty state in order to push back Māra.

590
Charming Cadavers, pg.13.
591
The story of Moggallāna in the Mārattajjanīya Sutta is a key exception. Besides this case, though monks may
encounter Māra, he is usually disguised in the form of someone or something else.
592
SN I 129; Therīgāthā 61. This is Dhammapāla‟s interpretation of the dvangulapañña phrase, see
Therīgāthāṭṭhakathā, pg. 67.
593
Ibid.
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Elsewhere Māra‟s overtures to nuns are overtly sexual, for example encouraging Selā,

Upacālā, Sīsūpacālā, and Uppalavaṇṇā to enjoy the “pleasures of desire”

(bhuñjāhikāmaratiyo).594 Each responds with the formula “I know you, evil Māra, you are

beaten” (evaṃ jānāhi pāpima Māra nihato tvam asi), precisely as the Buddha does in the

Mārasaṃyutta to each of Māra‟s challenges. The similarity in language and structure intimates a

similar ability for women to overcome Māra, but comparison to the Buddha‟s experiences is

once again interesting, for Māra‟s sexual and kāma-related challenges of Gotama are always

mediated by women, either his daughters or the harem. Structurally, if women were on par with

men, one would thus expect nuns to face a mediating figure corresponding to the apsaras. In

fact, Indian mythology possesses such a class of beings, as we saw earlier in our overview of the

apsaras, namely the gandharvas, forest-dwelling minstrels of the gods. Instead, these Buddhist

narratives portray nuns as being approached directly by Māra, suggesting that the mediating

apparatus was not considered necessary in this case, perhaps because women were thought

intrinsically more given to kāma and prakṛti. Thus, while aspects of the Buddhist tradition

certainly view kāma and Māra (particularly through the later scholastic delineation of four or five

Māras) as intrinsic to the personality of all humans, regardless of gender, literary works such as

the kind we have been considering tend to portray these threats to males extrinsically and

females more intrinsically.

594
Therīgāthā, pgs. 129, 141, 142, 145. Interestingly, though Buddhist tradition insists on Māra‟s maleness, I have
not found an instance in which Māra himself attempts to seduce a nun. On a connected issue, there is a point of
debate in the Kathavatthu on whether or not Māra is responsible for the nocturnal emissions of monks. While some
monks in the past, the text explains, believed that Māra could directly cause these emissions as a way to make
bhikkhus doubt their practice, the ultimate decision is that Māra is not responsible (pgs. 164-165). Extrapolating
from this, we might say that the Buddhist tradition has been wary to consider the possibility of personal sexual
contact between Māra and the members of the sangha, male or female.
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Other verses further illustrate that interpretation, such as the story of the nun Vijayā. In

this case, Māra draws on the apsaras/prakṛti multiform of music to appeal to Vijayā, telling her

that while they are young, together they should play the “five limbs of music”

(pañcāṅgaikenaturiyena).595 While we have seen music employed by Māra‟s daughters and the

harem against Gotama and a woman in the road against Nāgasamāla, both as attempts to ensnare

these men in the web of saṃsāra, in neither case do the women ask them to play this music

together. Māra thus seems engaged in an effort to reenlist Vijayā in what is her latent, apsaras

nature. Vijayā‟s response is also informative, as she replies to Māra‟s offer that she is “troubled

and ashamed by this foul body, which is impermanent and will break up, and I have removed the

craving for kāma.” 596 Cutting to the chase, Vijayā immediately recognizes Māra‟s musical

invitation for what it is: an appeal to reawaken the seductive power of her own body. Her

response makes the further connection that she is immune to his ploy, and in fact has overcome

taṇhā and kāma, precisely because she has realized the disgusting nature of her female body.

Vijayā‟s rebuttal indicates that she appreciates Māra‟s musical proposition, the female body, and

kāma to be an interwoven, inextricably linked combination of saṃsāric impulses.

A final Therīgāthā story crystallizes these issues particularly well. In this narrative, an

unnamed man waylays the nun Subhā in Jīvakamba forest. Taken by her beauty – Subhā, in fact,

means “beautiful” – he makes sexual advances toward the nun, first emphasizing the natural

splendor of their location until he proposes more directly that “we should delight in this

blooming forest.”597 Even at this point the story already provides an interesting contrast to the

595
SN I 131.
596
Ibid: iminā pūtikāyena bhindanena pabhaṅgunā |
aṭṭiyāmi harāyāmi kāmataṇhā samuhatā ||
597
Therīgāthā, pg. 159: ramāmase pupphite vane.
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Vinaya Piṭaka account of Sudinna and also Gotama‟s trial by Māra‟s daughters in the

Lalitavistara. In both those cases, the women are either made out to be or are in fact apsarases

whose mission is to seduce the man and pull him into the forest, the flowering blooms and

seeming vitality of which they both exalt and embody. As we saw, Sudinna does not appreciate

that the consequences of pursuing kāma with the apsaras is thrall to Māra, while Gotama is

victorious since he has mastered that insight. In Subhā‟s case, the genders of the protagonist and

antagonist have been reversed: here the male praises the beauty of nature and invites the female

into the forest of kāma. The significance of this alteration begins to come to light when the man

attempts further flattery – or at least what he takes to be flattery – by comparing Subhā to an

accharā (Sanskrit, apsaras) in beauty. Her eyes especially enrapture the man, making his

kāmarati (“lust for desire”) and kāmaguṇa (“quality of desire”) increase, and he compares them

in form and beauty to blue lotuses.598

Seeing her disturbingly, even threateningly, persistent suitor‟s lustful state of mind,

Subhā offers a response that again invites parallels to Gotama in the Lalitavistara. Just as the

Buddha-to-be, when faced with Māra‟s daughters‟ recitation of the attractiveness of the various

parts of their bodies, offers a negative appraisal of each part in turn, so Subhā critiques as impure

or vile each aspect of her own body that her admirer has praised. Her eyes, which the man

singled out, she especially denigrates, calling them “like balls set in a hole, with a bubble in the

middle, filled with fluid.”599 In very similar language, reacting to Māra‟s daughters flaunting

their lotus-like eyes, in the Lalitavistara Gotama contends that “eyes are equal in resemblance to

598
Ibid., 159-160.
599
Ibid., 162: vaṭṭanir iva koṭar‟ ohitā majjhe bubbuḷakā sāssukā.
 213

bubbles bound to the skin, just like hard lumps of blood broken forth on the cheek.”600 The

difference, of course, is that the Buddha-to-be directs his invective at the apsarases circling

around him, while Subhā maligns her own body, focusing the withering critique inward.

The nun‟s reaction diverges most dramatically from Gotama‟s when, faced with her

suitor‟s incessant propositioning, Subhā rips one of the esteemed eyes from its socket to offer to

the man. Shocked and tempered by the display, the man relents and repents his behavior. Later

Subhā encounters the Buddha, receives a special teaching and becomes an arhat. In the last lines,

we are even told that “having seen the one of whom the marks are excellent in merit, her eye

became just as it was previously.”601

In part, the story of Subhā seems to confirm Wilson‟s thesis that women are recognized

as authorities only when they themselves espouse misogynist rhetoric. Commenting on this story,

Wilson indeed believes that “it is only by blinding herself…that Subhā was at last treated as a

woman of insight – a seer and not just a sight to be seen.”602 Indeed, it is remarkable that after

Subhā goes to self-mutilating lengths to demonstrate the inherent putridity of her female body,

her eye is restored by the presence of the Buddha‟s perfected, unquestionably male body. 603 In

another parallel to the Lalitavistara, which put forth the dichotomy between Gotama‟s thirty-two

marks of Buddhahood and the thirty-two wiles of Māra‟s daughters, we are similarly faced with

the curative purity of the Buddha‟s body versus the intrinsic impurity of a woman‟s body. The

badgering suitor focuses on these superficially attractive aspects of femininity, comparing and

contextualizing it into what we have seen as the kāma/apsaras/prakṛti complex. He seems, in his

600
LV 21.103: netrā budbudatulyasādṛā tvacanaddhāḥ kaṭhinaṃ śoṇitapiṇḍamudgataṃ yatha gaṇḍaṃ.
601
Therīgāthā, 162: passiya varapuññalakkhaṇaṃ cakkhu āsi yathā purāṇakan ti.
602
Charming Cadavers, pg. 169.
603
In his commentary, Dhammapāla supports the interpretation that it is the sight of the Buddha‟s thirty-two marks
of perfection which restores the nun‟s eye, see Therīgāthāṭṭhakathā, pg. 260.
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attempt to seduce Subhā, to be trying to appeal to or reawaken the apsaras nature latent within

her, which the Indian Buddhist tradition seems to attribute to all women. Though Buddhist texts

are replete with vividly loathsome descriptions of the human body in general, from the narratives

we have looked at it seems clear that special abuse was reserved for the female body. By

appropriating, inverting, and redeploying the kāma/apsaras/prakṛti imagery in Hindu literature,

Buddhist authors created a means by which to show monks and nuns either emulating or falling

short of the Buddha‟s example. In the case of monks, this required vigilance against the external

threat of Māra‟s daughters, masked as everyday women. In the case of nuns, this required

discipline and mindfulness against their own, inner apsaras nature.

Conclusion

At the end, I would like to reiterate the main points of both parts of this chapter and the

theme which binds them together. In the first part, I examined how Buddhist literature portrays

kāma as simply a veneer for death, with a special eye to the ways in which Aśvaghoṣa‟s

Buddhacarita subsumed the Hindu god Kāmadeva into Māra as a means for advancing this

perspective. In part two, I examined how Buddhist literature appropriated the Hindu

apsaras/kāma/prakṛti complex, molding it into the relations of Māra, Māra‟s daughters, and

saṃsāra, which serves to support a gender hierarchy and express fears of women on the part of a

male, ascetic community. As a whole, the two parts expose the manner in which narratives of

Māra, rather than simply being a Buddhist repackaging of the notion and figure of Kāma, are

actually a complicated strategy by which the force of desire is “mortified” and shown to be a

front for the power of death.

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Chapter 6:

Dialogues with Death: Māra, Yama, and Coming to Terms with Mortality
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I. Introduction

In this final chapter of the dissertation, I will consider the intersections of the Buddhist

Māra narratives with the evolving Hindu conceptualizations of death. Arguably, nothing may be

more central to the existence of religious belief and institutions than the fact of human mortality.

Stuart Blackburn writes that, “As a source of Indian religious thought, death is probably

unsurpassed,”604 while Wendy Doniger (O‟Flaherty) has argued that all Indian religions, in some

fashion, are founded on the pursuit of immortality. 605 In the case of Indian Buddhism, the issue

of death is inextricably linked to the figure of Māra, who stands for the cosmological and

individual processes of death, and whose very name means “Death” (or perhaps, with more

etymological precision, “Killer”).

For their part, the Vedic, Brahmanical, and later Hindu traditions conceived of their own

variety of ways for dealing with the unpleasant fact of mortality. Mythically, a whole

constellation of figures have personified or conceptualized death from the Vedic to Purāṇic eras,

including Mṛtyu, Kāla, and Nirṛti. At the center of this assemblage, however, has always been

the figure of Yama, whose representation has changed dramatically from earlier to later

traditions. As will become clear, those changes in the representation of Yama come largely as a

result of changing ritual and philosophical means of dealing with death. This chapter is thus

primarily a study of the ways in which, through the figures of Yama and Māra, Buddhist and

Hindu (and pre-Hindu) narrative traditions expressed their differing views on how to deal with –

and even overcome – death.

604
“Death and Deification: Folk Cults in Hinduism,” History of Religions 24:3, pg. 255.
605
The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pg. 214.
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To argue these points, I have laid the chapter out in the following way, which is generally

similar to the preceding chapters. First, I will outline the salient characteristics and changes in

representation of the figure of Yama, from Vedic to Purāṇic times, noting how these attributes

correspond to prominent ritual, doctrinal, and social ideologies. Building on that discussion, I

will then demonstrate the ways in which early Buddhist portrayals of Māra as a god of death are

critiques of the ideologies one finds represented in the early depictions of Yama. In the second

half of the chapter, I move from more general arguments to make more specific comparisons

between particular narratives. In the first part of that section, I will compare the Kaṭha Upaniṣad

and narratives of Māra, paying particular attention to the different portrayals of the gods of death

in each story and their interactions with, respectively, the Brahmin Naciketas and the ascetic

Siddhattha Gotama. In both cases, the hero challenges and wrests knowledge from the god of

death and there are clear structural similarities in the narratives. At the same time, the differing

nature, tenor, and stakes of the contests in the respective stories shed light on the differing

Brahmanical and Buddhist values behind each text. In the second section of the latter part of the

chapter, I will look at how the theme of escaping or thwarting the power of death has been

represented in each tradition through the figures of Yama and Māra. In particular, I will compare

the Hindu stories of Sāvitrī in the Mahābhārata and the Purāṇic narratives of Ajāmila and Śveta

with the Buddhist Mahāparinibbāna Sutta of the Dīgha Nikāya and the story of the monk

Godhika in the Mārasaṃyutta of the Saṃyutta Nikāya. Each of these stories, in its own way,

demonstrates a way to overcome death, but in so doing possesses the unique flavor of its distinct

tradition, which comes into relief through the comparison. Therefore, ultimately in this chapter I

will argue, as I have throughout the dissertation, that the figure of Māra stands at the nexus of
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Buddhist literary interaction with Brahmanical and Hindu values and acted as an explicit and

implicit means by which the tradition could critique those opposing principles. Though by

looking here at the post-Buddhist Purāṇic literature, in this chapter we are also in a position to

assess how, in some ways, we can potentially regard Hindu narratives of Yama as a reaction

against Māra.

II. Yama and Māra, Gods of Death

The Changing Faces of Yama

As a point of departure, and for the sake of comparing Yama and Māra, it is helpful to

survey the long and dynamic history of the Hindu god of death. Yama is a very minor figure in

the early Vedic pantheon, to the extent that scholars, from as far back as Arthur MacDonnell,

have noted that he is technically not even a god at this point.606 This stands in great contrast to

the contemporary situation in which, as Filippi points out in a survey of Indian views of death,

“Yama is a deity who inspires dread. In India, talking about him or simply pronouncing his name

is avoided even today.”607 That startling change can be accounted for by the equally

revolutionary shift from Vedic ritualism to Hindu devotionalism, the effects of which on the

figure of Yama I will outline below before proceeding to a comparison with Māra.

Starting in the Vedic period, there are indications that Yama may have been considered

the first human to die and, by paving the way for others, became the regent of the afterlife. In the

only Rig Veda hymn dedicated solely to Yama, it is said that when he died he “found the path for

many” (bahubhyaḥ panthām anupaspaśanam).608 Elsewhere in other Vedic texts there is the

suggestion that Yama was a mortal who elected to die, and is thus a representative of the mortal

606
Vedic Mythology, pg. 171.
607
Mṛtyu: Concepts of Death in Indian Traditions, pg. 1.
608
10.14.1.
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condition.609 For this reason, in some instances death is already in Vedic times referred to as

“Yama‟s path” (pathā yamasya).610

Strictly speaking, in this sense Yama is an example of death, rather than its instigator or

overseer, and as such in Vedic times Yama is associated more with death as a state rather than as

a process. He is said to have a palace in which the pitṛs (literally, the “fathers”) reside after

death, and which can be one‟s abode too, if the requisite sacrifices and rituals are carried out.611

In the palace of Yama, hymns and music are constantly playing, ghee, milk and other foods are

plentiful, and the devotees of Yama want for nothing in his charge. 612

Somewhat obviously, perhaps, in early scholarship A.B. Keith considered the glories of

Yama‟s realm as a way to escape the frightful reality of death, and reinforce ritual practice via

the promise of such lavish rewards in addition to freedom from extinction. As true as that may

be, even in the Vedic period there are hints of a darker side to Yama‟s nature. For instance, in a

hymn in the Atharva Veda, the author declares “I ward off all the roaming messengers of Yama,”

who take one to the abode of the dead.613 These particular figures, the messengers of Yama

(yamadūta), take on great prominence in later tradition as a source of fear, and here in a very

early reference, we see misgivings about their nature, as well as the character of Yama.

Additionally, in the Brāhmaṇa literature there is the famous story of Bhṛgu, who travels to the

realm of the afterlife at his father‟s command and, during his sojourn there, sees all manner of

horrors, including a naked man, pitch black in color, with red eyes, carrying a club (musula),

609
For instance, see RV 10.13.4 and AV 6.28.3 and 18.3.13.
610
RV, 1.38.5.
611
For example, see RV 10.14.8 and 10.16, which call the pitṛs “Yama‟s subjects” (yamarājño).
612
See especially RV 10.135 and AV 18.2.37, 18.4.32.
613
8.2.11: yamadūtāmścarato „pa sedhāmi sarvān.
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who punishes those who shed the blood of Brahmins.614 Though identified as Krodha (“anger”

personified), in their analyses of this narrative both Bodewitz and Doniger (O‟Flaherty) consider

the mysterious being as a form of Yama.615 As such, the figure is an early example of what will

come to be the common, frightful appearance of Yama as the dark judge of the dead who

punishes wrongdoers and carries the living off to his realm.

Part of the reason behind that transition might lie in Yama‟s relationship to other figures

in the Vedic pantheon associated with death who were, already in that period, considered

frightful and pernicious to humans. Chief among these may be Mṛtyu who, as we will see, holds

a special place in the eventual Buddhist conceptualization of Māra. (Indeed, etymologically both

figures stem from the root “mṛ,” meaning “die.”). At points in the Rig Veda, and even more

frequently in the Atharva Veda, the hymn author pleads to be freed from the snare (pāśa), bonds,

or “foot-fetters” (paḍbīśa) of Mṛtyu.616 In a different tactic, another Atharva Veda hymn attempts

to avoid Mṛtyu by placation, offering “homage to Death, the Endmaker.”617 “Antaka,” the term I

have translated here as “Endmaker,” is one we will see again as a frequent appellation of Māra in

Buddhist literature, particularly in the Pāli canon.

Besides Mṛtyu, passages in the Vedas also describe the deities Varuṇa and Nirṛti as

possessing snares or fetters and the authors exhort those figures to release their bonds on

devotees.618 While Mṛtyu plainly represents death, in the Vedic period Varuṇa was also

associated with kingship, and hence his act of binding was primarily associated with punishing

614
This story is found in ŚB 11.6.1.1-13 and Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa 1.42-44.
615
See H.W. Bodewitz, Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa I, 1-65, pg. 109n. 24 and Doniger (O‟Flaherty), Tales of Sex and
Violence: Folklore, Sacrifice and Danger in the Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa, pg. 39.
616
For examples, see RV 7.59.12 and AV 8.1.4, 8.8.10, and 16.8.32.
617
8.1.1: antakāya mṛtyave namaḥ.
618
For Varuṇa‟s bonds, see RV 1.24.15 and AV 2.10. For Nirṛti, see RV 10.59.1-4 and AV 3.6.5.
 221

violators of law and order.619 This is why Varuṇa is said to have one thousand eyes

(sahasracakṣāḥ) – to maintain complete and total watch over all beings. Nirṛti, on the other hand,

is a more mysterious – and most likely female620 – figure primarily associated with disease and

destruction, placing her seemingly at odds with Varuṇa, yet she is described in similarly fearful

terms.

Above all of these points, the overarching ideology of sacrificial ritual serves to unite all

of these Vedic personalities. From the Rig Veda to later Brahmanical texts, sacrifice is the means

by which one overcomes both Mṛtyu and Nirṛti. For instance, in terms of the former, the Atharva

Veda advises the devotee to “from that path [death], make an armor of protection with

Brahmanical knowledge” (patha imaṃ tasmād rakṣanto brahmāsmai varma kṛṇmasi) that will

“release the fetters of death” (avamuñcan mṛtyupāśān).621 The Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa contains a

lengthy passage in which Prajāpati, the creator deity discussed previously in chapter three,

instructs the gods in a special sacrifice by which they can defeat Mṛtyu and Antaka and achieve

immortality.622 In a slightly different vein, the Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa suggests that only those who

do not offer sacrifice become targets for Nirṛti, giving this as an impetus for maintaining ritual

observances.623 While sacrifice keeps these malign forces at bay, it generally operates in a more

619
See Dumézil, Mitra-Varuṇa: an Essay on Two Indo-European Representations of Sovereignty, for a fuller
discussion of this aspect of Varuṇa‟s early character.
620
RV 7.37.7 and AV 6.63.1 both refer to Nirṛti as “devī.”
621
8.2.10 and 8.2.2, respectively.
622
ŚB 10.4.3.1-11. Prajāpati is in possession of this special knowledge through a correspondence, discussed in
chapter three, by which the creator and death, by virtue of both representing the Year (Time) have a distinct
relationship. Therefore Prajāpati is the perfect being to consult for knowledge of how to defeat Mṛtyu since, perhaps
somewhat paradoxically, as the creator deity he is in many ways most closely related to death. J. Bruce Long states
his understanding of the relationship in this way: “the person who perceives the mystical identification between
Prajāpati, Kāla [Time], and Mṛtyu and gives public demonstration to this knowledge by faithfully performing his
sacrificial duties will survive for a full term of life” (76). See “Death as Necessity and Gift in Hindu Mythology,” in
Religious Encounters with Death: Insights from the History and Anthropology of Religions. Ed. Frank Reynolds and
Earl E. Waugh.
623
4.2.5.3-4. See also ŚB 5.2.3.3, 11.3.3.1, 7.2.1.3-11.
 222

positive manner in relation to Yama, usually serving to gain Yama‟s favor. For example, gifts to

Yama are frequently said to result in “live a long life among the gods”624 and, together with the

pitṛs, Yama grants land to and for sacrificers.625

Over all, then, Yama is a largely benign figure whom Vedic authors advised one could

call upon for assurance of bliss in the next world as well as safety from the more insidious forces

associated with death. However, there are traces, as early as the later Brāhmaṇas, of a different

side to Yama, betraying a much closer connection to the darker powers. We have already seen a

hint in the black figure of the Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa, and in another verse in that text Yama‟s

relationship to sacrifice is described in a similar way as what is outlined above for Nirṛti.

According to that passage, since he is the one who “restrains” (yamayati, from the root “yam,”

making a play on the etymology of “Yama”) Yama is Mṛtyu and the one who conducts sacrifice

to him must know this fact in order to gain admission to Yama‟s realm.626 The Taittirīya

Brāhmaṇa casts Yama in an even more imposing light, saying that the sacrificer owes a debt to

Yama and, if it is not paid, the yamadūtas will drag him away by the neck.627 Perhaps, though

starting out as a beneficent figure presiding over a blissful afterlife realm, Yama‟s connection to

death gradually drew him into similar orbits with personalities such as Mṛtyu. In any case, during

the Vedic period, whether it is to assure a pleasant hereafter or avoid expiring in a horrific

manner, the recourse is sacrificial ritual, and the representation of Yama reflects this.

That situation changes in the very late Vedic/Upaniṣadic period in which the efficacy of

sacrificial ritual in general, and hence its ability to deal with the reality of death in particular, was

624
RV 10.14.14: sa no deveṣu āyamad dīrgham āyuḥ prajīvase. See also AV 4.34.3-4, 18.2.3, and ŚB 4.3.4.27.
625
ŚB 7.1.1.3-4.
626
Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa, 1.28.
627
Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa, 3.3.8.3-4.
 223

greatly questioned. As the Muṇdaka Upaniṣad states, for example, those who uphold salvation

through ritual hold onto unsteady boats and “go again and again to old age and death.” 628 Death,

in this case, as the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad puts it, is now equivalent to a hunger, devouring

beings over and over again to match their continual birth and destruction.629 In this text, it is also,

for perhaps the first time, called “evil” (pāpmā mṛtyuḥ).630 The increase in the power of death,

and the inverse decline in the stature of ritual, necessitated another solution to the problem of

mortality, which the Upaniṣadic tradition tends to locate in mystical, quasi-theistic knowledge.

The later Śveta Upaniṣad, for instance, is typical among these texts in advising that if one wishes

to escape the cycle of rebirth and transcend death he must realize the identity of all things

(including himself) with the imperishable ultimate reality, Brahman. 631

The transition from the Vedic anxiety about securing a good place in the afterlife to the

notion in the Upaniṣads of death as a power that continually consumes beings had definite

consequences on the representation of Yama. In fact, Bulcsu Siklós contends that Yama – who

he also argues completely absorbs other figures such as Mṛtyu and Antaka in the post-Upaniṣadic

period – “grows in significance and menace along with the doctrine of transmigration...”632 Just

628
1.2.7: jarāmṛtyuṃ te punarevāpi yanti.
629
1.2.1. See also Hermann Oldenberg, The Doctrine of the Upaniṣads and the Early Buddhism, pg. 70.
630
Ibid., 1.5.23.
631
1.7 and 6.15 state this point especially well.
632
“The Evolution of the Buddhist Yama,” pg. 174. Siklós‟s main point is sound, but I believe his suggestion that
Yama completely absorbs other figures of death is an overstatement. Yama certainly is the dominant figure of death
in epic and Purāṇic texts, but older figures originating from the Vedic period still occur sporadically, often as
lieutenants or subordinates of Yama, but occasionally also as independent, powerful figures. Kāla, for instance, is
referred to in the Mahābhārata as the one who (continuing the Bṛhadāraṇyaka metaphor) “cooks” (pacati), “burns”
(nirdhantaṃ) and destroys beings (1.1.88-89). A section of the late Śānti Parvan in the Mahābhārata contains a
lengthy story about Brahmā‟s creation of a goddess of death named Nirṛti who, in an apparent departure from her
Vedic predecessor, reacts with horror and remorse at the prospect of delivering beings into extinction and must be
convinced to perform this necessary function for the health of the cosmos (12.248.12-12.250.41). These episodes
show, in contrast to Siklós, that some of these older figures retained a certain degree of autonomy, especially in the
epic literature, where there can even at times be a certain degree of confusion over the identity of figures of death
and their precise relationship to one another (See The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, pg. 229).
 224

as death has grown in immensity, so has Yama, from a minor, only quasi-divine figure in Vedic

texts to an imposing authority in epic and later Purāṇic texts. Yama is now described with an

impressive string of epithets, for instance in a passage in the Mahābhārata where he is called

“the destroyer of all beings” (sarvabhūtavināśakṛt), “the unconceivable self” (acintyātmā), “the

king of Dharma” (dharmarājo), and perhaps most impressively, one who “shines like a second

sun, rising at the end of the world” (dvitīya iva mārtaṇḍo yugānte samupasthite).633 Elsewhere in

the Mahābhārata, during several of the battle sequences, rival warriors regularly threaten to send

one another into the yamadaṃṣṭrāntaraṃ - the “fangs of Yama,” once again bringing to mind the

Upaniṣadic image of death as a ferocious predator devouring all existence.634 Along these lines,

Lourens van den Bosch notes that in material depictions of Yama, both in medieval temple

carvings as well as contemporary illustrations, he is usually shown with very dark skin

(stemming potentially from the Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa episode) as well as very prominent teeth or

fangs.635 Building on these images of Yama as the destroyer of individual beings, Lynn Thomas

has investigated references in the Mahābhārata to the pralaya (the periodic destruction of the

universe) and concluded that the deity most often associated with that cataclysmic event in the

epic, either directly or indirectly, is Yama.636 In Thomas‟ view, this suggests a

microcosmic/macrocosmic relationship between the death of the individual and the death of the

universe in the epic,637 while for our purposes it shows the extent to which the figure of Yama

has grown from Vedic times.

633
3.42.10-11.
634
For example, see 7.85.18 for one instance of the phrase.
635
“Yama – the God on the Black Buffalo,” in Visible Religion, Vol. 1, pgs. 53-54.
636
“The Identity of the Destroyer in the Mahābhārata,” pgs. 255-272.
637
Ibid., pg. 268.
 225

Another important dimension of Yama‟s expanded character is hinted at in one of the

Mahābhārata epithets quoted above: Dharmarāja, “lord or king of Dharma.” In this capacity,

according to the Mahābhārata, Yama constantly observes the behavior of all humans, duly

administering rewards or punishment.638 He carries the daṇḍa, the club or staff associated with

judgment and punishment and similes in the Mahābhārata evoking the power or fearsomeness of

Yama‟s daṇḍa are as commonplace nearly as evocations of Indra‟s thunderbolt or Agni‟s fire. 639

Using that daṇḍa, we are told that Yama rewards and cherishes (anugṛhṇāti) the righteous

(dhārmika), yet grievously chastises the wicked (adhārmika).640 At one and the same time, as

Dharmarāja, Yama is supreme lord (parameśvara) of those who follow dharma, and restrainer

(saṃyaccan) of the “evil” (pāpakaḥ).641

This role clearly evokes the character of Varuṇa in the Vedas, who watched over the

world with a thousand unblinking eyes, observing and reacting to the behavior of the just and

unjust. Due to this, Kusum Merh considers Yama and Varuṇa as “duplicates”: both are royal,

uphold cosmic law, and bind violators of that law with snares (pāśas).642 Bodewitz, meanwhile,

attributes Yama‟s frightful transformation to a meshing with the figure of Varuṇa, who was

perceived in Vedic literature as a grim judge. 643 Sutherland largely agrees with that assessment,

arguing that Yama‟s role as Dharmarāja is the result of a conflation with Varuṇa, and the darker

visage the god takes on further comes from “guilt by association,” wherein the judge becomes

638
See 1.68.29-31.
639
For instance, see 5.185.5 or 6.90.21 as just two of many similar examples.
640
MB 12.68.45.
641
Ibid., 12.92.38. The word translated here as “restrainer” (saṃyaccan) comes from the root “yam” and again
suggests another play on Yama‟s name.
642
Yama, the Glorious Lord of the Otherworld, pgs. 79-80.
643
“The Dark and Deep Underworld in the Veda,” Journal of the American Oriental Society, pg. 222.
 226

partly associated with the injustice he punishes, and transforms from the impartial overseer to a

“grim avenger.”644

Though I agree to a large extent with the point of view of these scholars, I would also

emphasize the role possibly played by the shift in perceptions of death from Vedic to Upaniṣadic

tradition. As discussed above, with the advent of belief in rebirth, re-death emerges as an obvious

corollary and greatly enlarges the terror associated with the end of life: it will continue to

happen, again and again and again. Though Yama‟s connection to Varuṇa might explain the

epithet “Dharmarāja” or the use of pāśas, I would suggest that the Upaniṣadic fear of death is

also at work in the horrific depictions of Yama one finds in many post-epic, Purāṇic accounts. In

the Mārkaṇḍeya Purāṇa, for instance, at the time of death the unrighteous are said to see, “the

men of Yama come, the hard-souled, terrifying, foul-smelling ones who carry hammers in their

hands.”645 These awful beings bind the deceased with snares and carry them away to the realm of

Yama, where they see the dread god, “with very red eyes, looking like a mass of ground

collyrium, amidst Antaka, Kāla, and Mṛtyu.” 646 Yama has a gaping mouth with frightful fangs

(daṃṣṭrākarālavadanaṃ), brandishing the daṇḍa as well as a pāśa to drag this soul further along

its unfortunate journey.647

644
The Disguises of the Demon, pgs. 78-81. With a nod to American popular culture, it is difficult not to think of the
D.C. comic book character “Batman” in this context, who prowls the streets of the fictitious Gotham City punishing
crime. Indeed, Batman primary epithet is “the Dark Knight” and, perhaps analogous to the “thousand eyes” trope of
Varuṇa, the character is frequently depicted perched atop a skyscraper, watching for criminal activity. For a further
analysis of the mythic themes of Batman, see my forthcoming article (Summer 2010) in the Journal of Religion in
Popular Culture: “„I Think You and I Are Destined to Do This Forever‟: A Reading of the Batman/Joker Story
Cycle through the Combat Myth.”
645
10.60: vibhīṣaṇāḥ pūtigandhāḥ kūṭamudgarapāṇayaḥ |
āgacchanti durātmāno yamasya puruṣāstadā ||
646
Ibid., 10.78: gatamātro „tiraktākṣaṃ bhinnāñjanacaya prabham |
mṛtyukālāntakādīnāṃ madhye paśyati vai yamam ||
This is a prime example of the survival, but subordination, of the Vedic figures of Antaka, Kāla, and Mṛtyu.
647
Ibid., 10.79-80.
 227

This account of the poor soul dragged off by Yama‟s servants (the yamadūtas or

yamapuruṣas) into the realm of the dead for punishment is typical of a standard formula one

finds in many Purāṇas, such as the Śiva, Padma, and Garuda Purāṇas.648 The frightening

descriptions of Yama and his messengers and the torments they visit upon the unrighteous dead

are frequently identical. Luckily, though, other individuals who have been generous in their gifts

to Brahmins and the gods will not be caught by Yama and his followers, or will see them in a

much more pleasing and gentle visage.649 However, the Purāṇas also offer a reliable means of

escape for those neglectful of Brahmanical values, which is consistent with Hindu practice

during the Purāṇic period. In the Padma Purāṇa, we are told of the cruel King Suvarṇa who,

when his time of death arrives, sees a flower drop from the hair of a prostitute and exclaims,

“Nārāyaṇa!” As the yamadūtas approach, they are beaten back by Viṣṇu and his servants, who

have come at the exclamation of one of that god‟s epithets, “Nārāyaṇa.”650 Equally confident in

the power of bhakti to thwart death, the Mṛtyavaṣṭaka hymn in the Garuda Purāṇa seemingly

taunts Yama, declaring in its refrain that, as long as one believes in the power of Viṣṇu, “what

will death do?”651

To sum up the broad strokes of this lengthy but important survey of the changing faces of

Yama, from the Vedic to Purāṇic period we have seen that the representation of the figure

648
See Śiva Purāṇa Umāsaṃhitā 7.28-57, Padma Purāṇa 7.21.47-57 and 7.23.83-113, and Garuda Purāṇa 2.5.88-
92. The origin of the yamadūtas is interesting, stemming possibly from the Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa mention discussed
above. In Epic Mythology, E.W. Hopkins argues that the yamadūtas are rākṣas drafted into the service of Yama, but
the descriptions do not always match up (113). Though Yama is occasionally seen in the company of rākṣas, as well
as piśācas (for instance in the army he leads against Tāraka‟s general Grasana in the Skanda Purāṇa, 1.2.16.53-74),
I do not find the correspondence ultimately very convincing.
649
For instance, see Garuda Purāṇa, 2.30.17-28 and 2.31.1-43.
650
7.10.38-61. There are many other examples of this kind of accidental, yet efficacious bhakti. The sense seems to
be that if inadvertent devotion to Viṣṇu (or Śiva, etc.) is so potent, how much more powerful is single-minded
worship?
651
1.233.1-11: kinn mṛtyuḥ kariṣyati.
 228

closely tracks the particular values emphasized by prominent Brahmanical and Hindu traditions

of each time. During the Vedic period, Yama was a benign ruler of the land of pitṛs and closely

associated with ritual sacrifice, which was the means for achieving a timely passage into that

realm. The Upaniṣadic literature largely overturned those ideas and practices and, with the fear

of recurrent death, Yama became much more prominent and much more imposing. At the same

time, in epic and Purāṇic literature we find the god also as the Dharmarāja, who is frightful

primarily to those who have done wrong (in terms of Brahmanical values). Yet, though Yama

may be the judge of the dead, the Purāṇic tradition offers bhakti as an appellate court to which

even the unrighteous may plead their case for clemency. The representation of Yama, death more

generally, and the means for overcoming death, thus closely correspond at each interval with the

changing values and principles of the Hindu traditions to which they belong. In the next section,

we will view Māra from the same perspective and examine the severe contrasts which early

Indian Buddhist literature uses that figure to draw on the issue of human mortality.

Māra and the Buddhist Response to Death

Given the fact that both Yama and Māra represent death in their respective traditions, it

has been a natural move for scholars to look to the Vedic and Brāhmaṇa texts for predecessors to

Māra. James Boyd and Ernst Windisch both briefly remark that the figure of Mṛtyu is an obvious

antecedent of Māra, primarily due to the aforementioned etymological link.652 David

Kalupahana, taking a more abstract approach, likens Māra to Kāla since, by overseeing and

standing for the operation of saṃsāra, Māra is in some ways a personification of time.653 Others,

though, have argued that Māra and Yama are interchangeable, identical figures, or that Māra

652
See Boyd, Satan and Māra, pg. 74 and Windisch, Māra und Buddha, pgs. 185 and 195.
653
“The Buddhist Conception of Time and Temporality,” Philosophy East and West, pg. 182.
 229

operates in Buddhist traditions merely as a subcategory of Yama. 654 While it is true that, as

Wayman and Siklós have observed, Buddhist Tantric traditions in the later medieval period tend

to merge the functions and representations of the two figures, to the point even that Māra tends to

disappear, this cannot be said for the earlier Indian Buddhist literature, which clearly separates

the two deities.655 Though Yama and Māra obviously both stand for death, if we penetrate deeper

than this obvious surface similarity, we begin to perceive the complexity of the literary

borrowing, inversion, and thus ideological critique imbedded in these mythic construct. The

work of this section of the chapter will be to pursue the general contours and salient points of

those complexities.

The first point one encounters looking at the treatment of death in Buddhist literature,

which represents an immediate obstacle to labeling Māra the “Buddhist Yama,” is that Yama

appears as a separate figure in early Pāli and also later Buddhist Sanskrit texts. In some cases,

this Buddhist appropriation of Yama plays a very similar ideological role to what one finds in the

later Brāhmaṇa or even epic and Purāṇic texts. For example, the Dhammapada, in verses that are

clearly evocative of episodes in those Hindu texts, advises someone who is close to death that,

“now you are like a yellow leaf, and the servants of Yama have appeared for you.” 656 Elsewhere,

in the same chapter, the Dhammapada describes death as “Yama‟s presence.”657 More common,

however, is the association of Yama with the petaloka (Sanskrit, pretaloka), the realm of hungry

ghosts, which is also often referred to as “Yamaloka.” This realm (which is considered a separate

654
For arguments of the identity of the two figures, see Bhattacharyya, Indian Demonology, pgs. 11 and 67, and
Bhattacharji, The Indian Theogony, pg. 107.
655
See Wayman, “Studies in Yama and Māra,” Indo-Iranian Journal, pg. 125, and Siklós, “The Evolution of the
Buddhist Yama,” pg. 180.
656
18.1: paṇḍupalāso va dāni „si yamapurisā pi ca taṃ upaṭṭhitā. There are also references in the Petavatthu to the
“men of Yama,” for example, Yamapurisānaṃ santike (“in the presence of Yama‟s men”) (246).
657
Ibid., 18.3: yamassa santike.
 230

gaṭi, or separate rebirth destination for beings) is occupied by beings who have amassed large

stores of negative karma and must expiate this condition by spending a certain time as a

wandering, starving ghost. At various points in Buddhist texts, from Pāli to Sanskrit works,

Yama is described as the regent of this petaloka, such that references in this literature to

“Yama‟s realm” can be taken as allusions to the state of hungry ghosts. 658 As the relative

position of the petaloka in the Buddhist hierarchy of rebirth might suggest, there is a clear moral

connotation to Yama‟s realm, which these texts do not fail to communicate. According to the

Devatāsaṃyutta, for instance, those who are stingy in giving alms or obstruct the process of

donating to the sangha risk rebirth in one of the unfortunate realms, as an animal or in the hells

or Yamaloka.659 In this case we see an interesting appropriation and redeployment of Vedic

usage of Yama, and death in general. In those texts, hymn authors exhorted practitioners to

practice ritual sacrifice as a means to ward off disease or untimely death, and to secure a place in

the pitṛloka of Yama. Later epic and Purāṇic passages, emphasizing Yama as a punishing judge,

enumerate the grisly ordeals of those who neglect their gifts to Brahmins and devas. The brief

Devatāsaṃyutta reference immediately presents the same flavor, but advises donations to the

sangha as the ritual prophylactic in its particular context. What is also immediately apparent is

that in the Buddhist case (as well the Hindu, if one has not lived up to his or her religious

obligations) the realm of Yama is not a desirable destination. It is perhaps also even more

significant that, as I will discuss later, though there are instances in which Hindu texts describe

Yama and his realm in glowing terms, the same does not occur with the Yama conceived in

Buddhist writings, much less with Māra.

658
For example, see DhP 4.1-2, or at a later point on the chronological spectrum, MV II 324.
659
SN I 34: nirayaṃ tiracchānayoniṃ yamalokam uppajjare.
 231

The most detailed Buddhist account of Yama and the petaloka, including the

circumstances for getting in and out of that realm, occurs in the Petavatthu, a compilation of

discourses on and stories of hungry ghosts and other such beings. These stories discuss in detail

the misery of life as a peta and the usual transgressions, such as lack of generosity, which lead

one to become a Yamassaṭhāyino – a “guest of Yama,” i.e., a peta.660 Beyond this, some of the

narratives add a particularly Buddhist escape route to this state. In the Serinīpetavatthuvaṇṇanā,

for example, when a woman named Serinī becames a petī (Pāli feminine for “peta”), she

beseeches a member of the sangha to approach her mother and request that this still-living

relative make donations to the Buddhist community on her behalf. When this occurs, we are told

that the merit from the mother‟s donation releases Serinī from her awful state. 661 In some senses,

perhaps we could see this pathway out of petahood as analogous to the way bhakti is played as

kind of trump card over Yama in the Purāṇas. In both cases, a key ritual or concept to the

tradition is exalted as the means to escape the ghastly fate of (or closely associated with) death.

Over all, the close correspondence of terms (Hindu Sanskrit Yamapuruṣa versus Buddhist Pāli

Yamapurisa for Yama‟s servants, to give one example) and similar role of the figure of Yama in

each tradition strongly suggests a borrowing relationship between the two literatures. In each

case, though, the Buddhist authors have substituted merit-making for the sacrificial or

Brahmanical ritual.

The Buddhist adaptation of these tropes goes deeper in some cases, however, and shows

the ways in which the Brahmanical figures were inverted to aggrandize not just Buddhist

practices, but Buddhist figures and social hierarchies. A prime example can be found in the

660
Petavatthu,pg. 59.
661
Ibid., pgs. 201-204.
 232

Devadūta Sutta of the Majjhima Nikāya. At the start of the sutta, the Buddha, through his “divine

eye” (dibbena cakkhuna) describes the experience of those who commit violent or despicable

acts and are thus reborn in the hells. First, these offenders are brought before Yama (called rāja,

throughout, indicating the author(s)‟ knowledge of Yama‟s epic/Purāṇic role as Dharmarāja) and

he chastises them for being unmindful toward and ignorant of the various devadūtas (“divine

messengers”) that appear throughout the world. The reader then learns, as they are discussed in

succession, that the devadūtas are the infant, who signals the reality of birth, the elderly, who

signify the truth of aging, corpses, which betray the fact of mortality, and so forth. Then the

condemned is taken into the hells and put through various torments, such as immersion in boiling

cauldrons, which are quite similar to the tortures described in the Mahābhārata or even the later

Purānic passages discussed previously. At the end of the sutta, after the torture scene is done,

Yama declares that wrongdoers can expect just this sort of treatment, but also that he wishes

there were a way for him to be reborn as a human so that he could leave his own realm and hear

the dharma from the Tathāgata‟s own lips. Finally, the text ends with the Buddha‟s postscript to

his monks that this account was not something he heard from another samaṇa or Brahmin, but

that he saw these events himself.662

Of the significant aspects we can draw out from this sutta, we should first note that the

dūtas, which Hindu texts cast as the horrible figures who drag offenders to hell, have been

redefined as aspects of Buddhist teaching, approximating (but also expanding on) the famous

four sights that drove prince Siddhattha to grapple with the existence of dukkha and renounce

worldly life. Second, though the structure of the story and the role of Yama are clearly the Hindu

narrative framework for such tales, in this Buddhist narrative Yama makes an explicit declaration
662
MN III 178-187.
 233

of his subordinate status in relation to the Buddha. 663 In this text, the powerful Hindu god of the

dead is a functionary on the part of the dharma and a sounding-board for the preeminence of the

Buddha. In this way, we can see the text working on the character of Yama in an analogous way

to the Buddhist transformations of Brahmā and Indra (Sakka) that I explored in chapters three

and four, respectively. Finally, we are told that the Buddha, who has related the scene entirely

through his “divine eye,” which is “perfect and superhuman” (visuddhena

atikkantamānusakena), possesses a knowledge of the state of hell beings beyond any other

ascetic or Brahmin. Buddhist concepts, and the figure of the Buddha himself, are thus

aggrandized through the appropriation of a Hindu narrative frame and personality, namely Yama,

the god of death.

Māra and The Buddhist Conceptualization of Death

The preceding observations hint at the dynamics we will find when we look at the Māra

narratives as a critique of Brahmanical and Hindu views of death. Yet before proceeding to that

stage, it is useful to take a step back and gain some basic perspective on key Buddhist appraisals

of the phenomenon of death. As George Bond has explained, the Buddhist interpretation of death

is twofold. On the one hand, there is the long term fact of the end of one‟s life, yet on the other

hand, Buddhist traditions have also characterized the short term arising and passing away of the

aggregates which compose all “persons” as a kind of continuous death.664 Beyond this

663
On this point, the discussion in the Kathāvatthu on the reality of niryapālas (“hell guardians”) is also relevant. In
that section of that text, the discussants conclude that, while beings like Yama exist and roam the hells torturing
beings reborn there, these figures are really only the instruments through which karma is enacted (20.3, pgs. 596-
597). That conclusion is in some ways reminiscent of the story of Gautamī in the Mahābhārata, who refuses to kill a
poisonous snake that bit her son, arguing that death is the result of karma, and further violent action would only
stoke the fires of future negative rebirths (13.1.10-73). Here, in the same way, the figure of death is seen only as an
extension and subordinate of karma.
664
“Theravāda Buddhism‟s Meditations on Death and the Symbolism of Initiatory Death,” History of Religions, pg.
240.
 234

distinction, Buddhist traditions start on (and most likely greatly influenced) the Upaniṣadic

premise that death, in Bond‟s words, is “the fearful and disastrous culmination of an existence

already marred by sorrow and suffering, and this tragedy, death, is magnified by the surety of

rebirth and the repetition of suffering and death.”665 There are no exceptions to this rule, as

Buddhist texts such as the Anguttara Nikāya make clear:

There is the fact of age. „Not aging‟ is an unobtainable state

for anyone in this world, with its ascetics, Brahmins, devas,
Māra, and Brahmā. There is the fact of disease. „Not getting
sick‟ is an unobtainable state for anyone in this world, with its
ascetics, Brahmins, devas, Māra, and Brahmā. There is the fact
of death. „Not dying‟ is an unobtainable state for anyone in this
world, with its ascetics, Brahmins, devas, Māra, and Brahmā.666

Against the inescapable truth of life‟s frailty, then, even the gods are helpless, leaving

humans in an even more desperate condition. In the central narrative of Siddhattha‟s departure

all versions relate that it was his experience of the ugly reality of aging, sickness, and death that

pushed him to renounce his princely life in order to discover the dharma.667 Outside even

Siddhattha‟s experience, the Mahāpadāna Sutta, in its story of the life of the previous Buddha

Vipassī, demonstrates that the experience of the four sights, with death predominant among

them, is seminal in the career of every eventual Buddha‟s realization of the dharma. 668

With this background, we can start to appreciate the ways in which the figure of Māra

expresses a typically Buddhist perspective on death, while at the same time bearing the marks of

the conversation Buddhist literature carried on with Vedic and later Hindu traditions. First, many

of the terms used to refer to Māra in Buddhist texts stem directly from usage in Brahmanical

665
Ibid.
666
AN III 54 (3.48.2): jarādhammaṃ mā jīrī ti alabbhanīyaṃ ṭhānaṃ samaṇena vā brāhmaṇena vā devena vā
mārena vā brahmunā vā kenaci vā lokasmiṃ vyādhidhammaṃ mā vyādhīyī ti…maraṇadhammaṃ mā mīyī ti…
667
For just a few examples see BC, 1.70 and 3.60 or MV II 161.
668
See DN II 22-32 for the account of Vipassī‟s experience of the four sights.
 235

texts to connote deities associated with death. In Pāli works, it is standard to find the phrase

“pāpimā Māra” (“evil Māra”), which as we have seen is applied to describe death in both the

Brāhmaṇas as well as the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad. Even more definitive, however, is the

application of the epithet “Antaka,” a common synonym for death-dealing gods in Hindu texts

from the Vedas all the way to Purāṇic tradition. In the Mārasaṃyutta, the Buddha refers to Māra

with this epithet numerous times, such as when the god attempts to frighten him by taking the

form of an abnormally large and fierce elephant. In response, the unperturbed Buddha simply

says, “You are defeated, Antaka.”669 This exact phrase appears a number of times in the

Therīgāthā as well, as nuns proclaim their victory over ignorance, desire, and death.670

Elsewhere in the Mārasaṃyutta, there is an incident in which Māra claims that the Buddha‟s

Middle Path strays from pure asceticism and is not austere enough. The Buddha responds that

other, more extreme ascetic regimens are often aimed at immortality (amaram) and are thus

pointless (anattha). After affirming the threefold principles of the eightfold path (sīla, samādhi,

and pañña) as the only viable course of practice, the section ends with the same formula, “You

are defeated, Antaka.”671 Significantly, here a rival form of ascetic practice, namely arduous self-

denial aimed at realizing an immortal self, as was advanced in the philosophy of the Upaniṣads

and the orthopraxy of Brahmin ascetics, is articulated by Māra. Paradoxically, Māra (“death)

advances a path leading to amara (“immortality”), but, as many other Buddhist writings point

out (including the Anguttara Nikāya passage cited previously) the notion of amara is merely

illusion. Thus, as is characteristic of many of Māra‟s appearances in Buddhist texts, the god has

attempted to obscure the reality of human mortality with a false path. In this case, it is important

669
SN I 104: nihato tvaṃ asi antakā ti.
670
For example, see pgs. 129, 130, 137, 141, and 142.
671
Ibid., 103.
 236

to point out that the false path is identified with rival (Brahmanical) practice and the reference to

Vedic terminology through the epithet “Antaka” simultaneously calls attention to the inescapable

fact of death (“that which ends”) but also identifies Māra with the rival tradition.

Other usages of the term “Antaka” to refer to Māra do not necessarily translate to an

explicit sectarian comment, though they similarly tug and pull at the original meaning and

context of the term until it takes on a more Buddhist sense. For instance, to advance the values of

a renunciant‟s life, we are told that sons, fathers, and other familial ties cannot save one “seized

by Antaka” (antakenādhipannassa) and thus the wise should leave home and pursue the

Buddha‟s teaching.672 In another verse which evokes many of the themes discussed in chapter

five, the Dhammapada asserts that “Antaka puts under his sway those who cannot be satisfied in

desire, whose mind is attached and only picks flowers.” 673 In a characteristically Buddhist move,

using the figure of Antaka (again standing in for Māra)674 this verse collapses the categories of

desire (kāmesu) and death, which one does not find as a usage of Antaka in non-Buddhist

contexts. The commentarial tradition also employed and reworked the term “Antaka,” as

evidenced by Dhammapāla, who glosses the term in his commentary on the Mahāparinibbāna

Sutta of the Dīgha Nikāya as one who destroys the constituent elements and aggregates. 675

Finally, in the Mahāvastu, the Buddha relates to an audience of monks that when he achieved

awakening under the bodhi tree, he “defeated Māra with his mount and soldiers, and Antaka was

672
DhP 20.16-17.
673
Ibid., 4.5: pupphāni heva pacinantaṃ byāsattamanasaṃ naraṃ |
atittaṃ yeva kāmesu antako kurute vasaṃ ||
674
The commentary to this verse makes explicit that “Antaka” here refers to none other than Māra (pg. 135).
675
Dīghanikāya-Aṭṭhakathā-ṭīkā, II 193: virāg‟ ādiguṇānaṃ antakaraṇato antako.
 237

reduced to ashes.”676 Thus in effect, Māra, the destroyer and ender, has himself been destroyed

and ended by the Buddha‟s power, giving us another example of the playful use of this old Vedic

term.

A second obvious instance in which the characterization of Māra borrows from the

representation of Brahmanical figures of death involves the pāśa, or “snare,” sometimes also

called the mārabandhana, or “bonds of Māra.” We have already seen the pāsa as a key attribute

of the god of death throughout Vedic, epic, and Purāṇic traditions. Buddhist traditions frequently

characterize Māra as a binding, ensnaring deity, who also carries those implements. In the

Mārasaṃyutta alone there are several instances in which Māra challenges the Buddha‟s escape

from saṃsāra, asserting instead that the Awakened One is still bound by death and rebirth, by

the mārapāsa or mārabandhana.677 Conversely, the Dhammapada states that “those who restrain

the mind release Māra‟s bonds,” equating the escape from repeated death to mindful

awareness.678

Another Dhammapada verse aligns the concept of Māra‟s snares with other language

regularly associated with Yama. According to that text, if one recognizes the illusory nature of

the body, which is Māra‟s snare, “one cuts Māra‟s flowers and goes out of the sight of King

676
II 286: māro ca nihato sabalavāhano bhasmīkṛto antako. If we recall from chapter four, the Mahāvastu is also a
prime source for the application of the epither “Namuci” to Māra, meaning that even by the time of this later, more
Mahāyāna-flavored text, these types of comparisons with Brahmanical traditions were still occurring.
677
See SN I 105 and I 111 for two examples. In his commentary on the Saṃyutta Nikāya, Buddhaghoṣa glosses
“mārapasena” with “kilesapāsena” (“ the snare of defilements”), which means the impurities of the ignorant mind.
See Sāratha-ppakāsinī, pg. 171. This is in keeping with the commentarial tendency to highlight the defilements as a
main point of the Māra figure, but it also stands as another example of the redefinition of earlier Brahmanical mythic
tropes into exclusively Buddhist terms. Dhammapāla, on the other hand, portrays the snares of Māra as a kind of
anesthesia, promoting sloth and indifference to the suffering inherent in the world. See Dīghanikāya-Aṭṭhakathā-
ṭīkā, II 193: attano mārapasena pamatte bandhati.
678
3.5: ye cittaṃ saññamessanti mokkhanti mārabandhanā.
 238

Death.”679 Instead of “Dharmarāja,” Yama‟s immediately identifiable appellation that affiliates

the god of death with eternal law, Māra is here called “Maccurāja,” “King Death.” This title, a

fairly obvious play on Yama‟s grand epithet, does not connote stature or regality, but merely the

function of destruction. For instance, a verse in the Theragāthā describes that the dharma is the

means by which to escape Māra‟s realm and “gain release from the snares of King Death.”680

Another verse in the same text warns against complacency in the face of the power of Māra,

which is “the army of King Death” (“maccurājassa senaṃ”).681 Whenever the term occurs the

verse immediately enumerates the means to escape from Maccurāja‟s sight, such as conquering

hate and desire, recognizing worldly pleasures as ephemeral, and perfecting the virtues

(sampannāsīlām).682 Māra as a rāja in these instances may point to a dharma, but it is the

Buddhist dharma.

To summarize this section, we have seen that Buddhist texts borrow aspects of the Vedic,

Brahmanical, and even later Hindu portrayals of Yama and death and use them to put forward a

characteristically Buddhist interpretation of human mortality and its solution. The most pointed

of these critiques comes in the ways in which Māra builds on and adapts attributes of preceding

figures, such as Antaka, Mṛtyu, and Yama. Moving away from some of these broader and more

general points, in the next sections of the chapter I will consider the relationships between very

specific narratives and texts, starting with the Kaṭha Upaniṣad in comparison to the

representations of Māra.

679
DhP 4.3: chetvāna mārassa papupphakāni |
adassanaṃ maccurājassa gacche ||
680
pg. 31: asakkhiṃ maccurājassa ahaṃ pāsā pamuccituṃ.
681
Ibid., pg. 2.
682
See MV III 373, DhP 4.14, and 13.4.
 239

III. Dialogues with Death

The Kaṭha Upaniṣad and Buddhist Narratives of Māra

As many scholars have noted, there was most likely a tremendous degree of conversation

and overlap between the composition of the Upaniṣads and early Buddhist texts. 683 Patrick

Olivelle, an esteemed scholar of Upaniṣadic literature, believes the Kaṭha Upaniṣad was

composed during the last few centuries BCE, making it post-Buddhist, and exhibits early theistic

tendencies “whose later literature includes the Bhagavad Gītā and the Purāṇas.” 684 This text thus

sits in an intermediate position between the ancient Vedic tradition and the developing Hindu

theistic movements and, we will see, contains elements of both traditions as well as evidence of

potential debate with Buddhist doctrines. At the same time, the core narrative most likely stems

from a story originally found in the Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa, though as Olivelle points out, a definite

“Upaniṣadic twist” has been put on the action.685 In terms of its relation to Buddhist thought, at

times the ideas expressed in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad are so similar in content and spirit to those

writings, and given the chronological murkiness involved, in the course of my comparison I will

view these texts and traditions as potential contemporaries and parallel works rather than posit a

clear progression or influence of one text over another.

The story that we are concerned with begins as the young Brahmin Naciketas observes

his father making offerings to other Brahmins. He repeatedly asks his father, “to whom will you

give me?” until his father, annoyed at the questioning, angrily declares, “I give you to Death!”686

In a verse that seems to evoke the Vedic role of Yama as the first mortal to die, Naciketas then

683
See Oldenberg, The Doctrine of the Upaniṣads and the Early Buddhism; Patrick Olivelle, The Saṃnyāsa
Upaniṣads; Brian Black, The Character of the Self in Ancient India.
684
Introduction, Upaniṣads: a New Translation, pg. xxxvii.
685
Ibid., pg. 231. See Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa 3.11.8.1-8 for the root narrative
686
Kaṭha Upaniṣad, 1.1.4: mṛtyave tvā dadāmi.
 240

replies, “I go as first of many. I go among many.” 687 Despite this apparent fatalism to the

capricious decision on the part of his father, the young Brahmin also expresses a bit of

apprehension, and deepens the tension for the audience, when he further remarks, “What will

Yama do? What will he do to me now?”688 The answer is rather surprising, for Yama appears

only after Naciketas has already stayed in the god of death‟s realm for three full days and nights.

Ashamed at this lax treatment of a Brahmin guest, Yama offers Naciketas three boons. As we

might expect, Naciketas takes advantage of the first boon as an opportunity to assure his eventual

return to the land of the living, and as Yama grants this, he says that the father will be pleased to

see his son “released from the mouth of death.”689

Some interesting observations are possible even at this point. First, the god of death is

addressed alternately as “Yama” and “Mṛtyu,” showing the amalgamation of those two figures

by this point in time. Second, though death is portrayed to a certain degree as fearful – Naciketas

wonders about his fate in that realm and there is also the ominous reference to the “mouth of

death” –Yama acts as a gracious host and even freely grants Naciketas‟ request to leave. The

character of death in this narrative is thus already quite complex, demonstrating the text‟s

intermediate position in Hindu tradition.

For his second boon, Naciketas requests instruction in a special fire sacrifice that leads to

the heavenly state of amṛtatvaṃ (“immortality”).690 Yama instructs his guest in how to build the

appropriate altar and in the procedures of the sacrifice, which will allow him to “attain an endless

687
Ibid., 1.1.5: bahūnāmemi prathamo bahūnāmemi madhyamaḥ.
688
Ibid.: kiṃ svid yamasya kartavyaṃ yan mayā „dya kariṣyati.
689
Ibid., 1.1.11: tvāṃ dadṛśivān mṛtyumukhāt pramuktam.
690
Ibid., 1.1.13.
 241

world” (anantalokāptimatho) and even names the ritual after Naciketas.691 Furthermore, Yama

(who the text refers to at this point as “mahātmā” – the “great souled-one”) explains that

whoever performs this sacrifice “transcends birth and death” (tarati janma mṛtyū) and “attains

knowledge of Brahman and the god who should be praised” (brahmajajñaṃ devamīḍyaṃ

viditvā).692 Finally, the sacrificer who conducts this particular ritual “rejoices in the heavenly

realm, having surpassed sorrow, and casts off the snares of death.”693

Pausing again to draw additional observations, it becomes clear at this point in the text

that there is considerable conversation occurring with Buddhist (and possibly other renunciant)

traditions. First, while the importance of sacrificial ritual has obviously been carried over from

the Vedic tradition, the goals for that practice have been redefined in terms more reminiscent of

renunciant ascetic traditions, such as the eclipse of the round of rebirth and knowledge of the

ultimate reality (Brahman). On the other hand, immortality in a realm that sounds a great deal

like the Vedic pitṛloka (where there is no age, hunger, or thirst)694 is also a point of sizeable

emphasis. The text‟s stress on the path to amṛtam lends even more significance to our earlier

discussion of the Mārasaṃyutta episode of Māra‟s criticism of the Buddha‟s moderate

asceticism as not leading to immortality. If we recall, the Buddha responded that practices aimed

at immortality, clearly being advanced here in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, are “pointless” (anattha) and

summarily dismissed Māra with a terse, “You are defeated.” In this Upaniṣad, the god of death

(here Yama) is also an advocate of the pursuit of immortality, even lauding the “Naciketas ritual”

as capable of snapping the “snares of death” (mṛtyupāśān). In some ways this is an odd

691
Ibid., 1.1.14.
692
Ibid., 1.1.16-17.
693
Ibid., 1.1.18: sa mṛtyupāśān purataḥ praṇodya śokātigo modate svargaloke.
694
Ibid., 1.1.12.
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admission for the god of death to make, for he is essentially informing Naciketas (and the text‟s

audience) of a means to nullify his own power, but it is in keeping with the older Vedic character

of Yama as a benign benefactor of humans willing to conduct sacrifice. It is unimaginable, on the

other hand, that Māra would ever contribute to the weakening of his pāsas, let alone even reveal

their presence or nature. Indeed, in the Mārasaṃyutta Māra‟s “entreaty” that the Buddha should

practice asceticism leading to immortality is considered yet another trick on the part of a

deceitful god. From the comparative perspective, we can also appreciate how that episode

involving Māra is as much a Buddhist comment on Hindu sacrificial rituals as it is on the

character of Māra.

Up to this point, Naciketas has been getting along with Yama quite well, yet that

relationship appears to shift when the Brahmin formulates his third boon request, which asks for

the knowledge of whether or not a person exists after death. Yama resists, asking Naciketas to

choose a different boon, for this kind of knowledge eludes even the gods. The young Brahmin

responds in a very crafty manner, arguing that since there has been such doubt on the issue, how

could he ever find a better teacher on the matter than death himself? Yama‟s further attempts to

dissuade Naciketas from this request are especially intriguing in light of the events of what I

have called the “Māravijaya” myth cycle. Rather than pursue this boon, the god of death suggests

the Brahmin ask for more earthly or material prizes, such as numerous long-living sons and

grandsons, vast amounts of territory, and, in general, “enjoy the desires of desires” (kāmānāṃ tvā

kāmabhājaṃ).695 Specifically, Yama advises Naciketas to pursue “whatever desires are difficult

to obtain in the world of mortals. Ask for all those desires you choose,” 696 such as “beautiful

695
Ibid., 1.1.23.
696
Ibid., 1.1.25: ye ye kāmā durlabhā martyaloke sarvān kāmāṃśchandataḥ prārthayasva.
 243

nymphs” (rāmāḥ) with chariots and musical instruments the likes of which “are unobtainable by

mortals.”697 Naciketas will receive all these things, Yama assures, if he drops his inquiry about

the nature of death.698

The term used for “death” in the preceding instance, appearing for the first and only time

in the text, is “maraṇaṃ,” the primary Buddhist term for death. In almost all cases in

Brahmanical works, including the Kaṭha Upaniṣad up to and after that verse, one finds the term

“mṛtyu” for the general state of death. Furthering the Buddhistic flavor of this part of the text,

Naciketas replies to Yama, calling him “Antaka” – another rarity for the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, but as

we have seen, a frequent appellation of Māra in the Buddhist Pāli sources – and declares that

who, “having seen immortality and the ageless” (ajīryatām amṛtānām upetya) and experiencing

“age and mortality” (jīryanmartyaḥ), could delight in long life or desires?699

With a verse like that in mind, it is not difficult to see why Upaniṣadic scholar Hermann

Oldenberg felt he detected “a presentiment of Buddhistic greatness” in the story of Naciketas,

“who gives up happiness and glory without thinking, to wrest from god the highest good, the

knowledge that leads one beyond old age and death.”700 I believe Oldenberg is correct that there

is a relationship between the story of Yama and Naciketas in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, but I question

whether the narrative presages Buddhist thought or actually borrows from it. Besides the

circumstantial evidence of the use of “maraṇaṃ” and the reference to Yama as “Antaka” in a

context reminiscent of Pāli stories of Māra, we can point to numerous other similarities between

Yama‟s actions in the first chapter of the Kaṭha Upaniṣad and Buddhist narratives of Māra that

697
Ibid.: imā rāmāḥ sarathāḥ satūryā na hīdṛśā lambhanīyā manuṣyaiḥ.
698
Ibid.: naciketo maraṇaṃ mā „nuprākṣīḥ.
699
Ibid., 1.1.28.
700
The Doctrine of the Upaniṣads and the Early Buddhism, pg. 133.
 244

strongly suggest that, even if the Brahmanical authors were not borrowing from those stories,

they were at least embroiled in close conversation.

Taking the Māravijaya cycle as a first example, in previous chapters we have analyzed

several aspects of this collection of stories, which depicts Māra‟s attempts to impede Gotama‟s

realization of Buddhahood. Those frequently begin with a kind of temptation Māra offers the

Buddha, either personally or through others, in exchange for the sage to cease his meditation. In

the Padhāna Sutta of Suttanipāta, which we have considered as perhaps the earliest entry in the

cycle, Māra feigns concern for Gotama‟s health, telling the Buddha-to-be that he should give up

the rigors of asceticism and instead perform the agnihotra to make merit that will allow him to

acquire worldly riches.701 In later versions, such as Lalitavistara and Mahāvastu, Māra sends his

daughters to sway Gotama from his practice with promises of the pleasures he could experience

in the world, not unlike the minstrel nymphs Yama encourages Naciketas to acquire through his

boon.702 The Lalitavistara is especially evocative of the Kaṭha Upaniṣad account, with Māra‟s

daughters promising Gotama that if he abandons his quest for insight he “will become the most

excellent, powerful king and lord of the earth,” all the while playing their thousand tūryas, the

same term used in Kaṭha Upaniṣad for the nymphs‟ musical instruments.703

Besides these examples, in other texts Māra alludes to how the Buddha could acquire the

riches of the world, if only he used his power to do so. Just as Yama encourages Nackietas to use

his boon to ask for sons, grandsons, and territories, in Mārasaṃyutta Māra criticizes the

Buddhist path by asserting that it is sons, cattle, and possessions that bring joy to life, and by

701
3.2.2-4. It is interesting to read this episode against the first subchapter of Mārasaṃyutta, in which, as we saw
earlier, Māra criticizes the Buddha for not being austere enough!
702
The daughters of Māra appear in other texts, of course, such as Buddhacarita, Nidānakathā, and Mārasaṃyutta,
but in those cases Gotama is already awakened.
703
21.115: rāju bhaviṣyaseśvaravaraḥ kṣitipati balavān.
 245

renouncing these for the dharma, the Buddha has also given up the best parts of existence. Like

Naciketas, the Buddha devalues these attachments, saying that they only bring sorrow (soca).704

Later in the same text, in a section entitled “Rulership” (rajjaṃ), as the Buddha ponders the

question of whether a kingdom could ever be ruled with complete justice, Māra comes to the

Buddha and tries to encourage him to use his wisdom to create such a kingdom. Māra argues

that, along with ruling righteously, the Buddha is also capable of using his psychic powers to

transform the entire Himālayas into a mass of gold, thus connecting world domination and the

amassing of riches. In response, the Buddha replies, in words echoing Naciketas, “how could

someone pursue desires (kāmesu) who has seen the origin of pain and suffering?”705 In a similar

vein, the Mahāvastu contains a scene in which Māra supposedly appears to the previous Buddha

Dīpamkara just after his birth in order to tempt the newborn with the prospect of world

dominion. “You will become a wealthy, wheel-turning monarch over the four continents,” the

god of saṃsāra tells the infant.706 Māra‟s declaration plays on a key aspect of many stories of the

lives of Buddhas, namely that at birth they are predicted either to be world-conquerors or world-

saviors. Māra, obviously, would prefer the former and seeks to implant that thought as the

foremost option in the impressionable child‟s mind. Yet, though obviously at this tender age,

baby Dīpamkara does not hesitate to reply that he will instead become all-seeing, all-knowing,

and the most supreme of persons.707 In other words, he aspires to a state rivaling or surpassing

gods like Māra, rather than chase the petty dominions and possessions of the earthly, mortal

state. As this Mahāvastu example demonstrates, along with the other passages cited from earlier

704
SN I 108-109.
705
Ibid., I 116-117:yo dukkham addakkhi yato nidānaṃ |
kāmesu so jantu kathaṃ nameyya ||
706
MV I 220: caturdvīpomahākośo cakravartī bhaviṣyasi. Cf. MV II 22.
707
Ibid., I 220: sarvajño sarvadarśīca bhaviṣyaṃ puruṣottamaḥ.
 246

texts, one of the hallmarks of the representation of Māra throughout Buddhist literature is the

deity‟s concern to draw the Buddha away from his path and teaching with promises of earthly

desires. In this way, the Buddhist Māra and the Yama portrayed in the first canto of the Kaṭha

Upaniṣad similarly act to try to dissuade a human seeking knowledge beyond the mortal realm.

A second, perhaps more thematic, correlation between these two textual traditions comes

in the connection made between the god of death and music. On this point, both the Buddhist

Māra narratives and the Kaṭha Upaniṣad draw on a common Vedic foundation which associated

Mṛtyu with music, and the arts more generally. One of the most salient examples of that alliance

comes in the Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa, where Prajāpati and Mṛtyu engage in a contest. Prajāpati‟s

implements are the standard tools of sacrificial ritual, while Mṛtyu employs the lute, dance, and

song (vīṇāyāṃ gīyate yan nṛtyate).708 Prajāpati eventually defeats Mṛtyu and absorbs the musical

and artistic instruments into the sacrificial regimen, but as we can see from the Kaṭha Upaniṣad,

the association of the god of death with music and dance persists pass Vedic times. If we recall,

one of Yama‟s offers to Naciketas as a substitute boon was “beautiful nymphs with chariots and

musical instruments” (imā rāmāḥ sarathāḥ satūryā).709 In response, Naciketas tells Yama,

“Vehicles, songs and dances are yours and yours alone” (tavaiva vāhāstava nṛtyagīte).710 By this

interpretation, which extends back to the Vedas, music and dance are the devices of death, used

to distract and overcome the living.

Given this past history, it is no surprise that Māra and his daughters are frequently

associated with music. In Theragāthā, a verse attributed to the monk Anuruddha describes his

708
Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa, 2.69-70. Also see O‟Flaherty‟s analysis in Women, Androgynes, and Other Mythical
Beasts, pgs. 133-134.
709
Kaṭha Upaniṣad, 1.1.25.
710
Ibid., 1.1.26.
 247

life prior to joining the sangha, in which he surrounded himself with “song and dance”

(“naccagītehi”), meaning he “delighted in Māra‟s realm” (mārassa visaye rato). Additionally, in

the Padhāna Sutta and Mārasaṃyutta the god of saṃsāra is said to carry a vīṇā, which he drops,

in each case, precisely at the moment he realizes that the Buddha or his disciple has defeated

him.711 The same sense is found in the Lalitavistara, which tells that, as Māra‟s dreams show

premonitions of Gotama‟s awakening, the splendor and grandeur of his realm is surpassed and

all of his musical instruments lay smashed on the ground. 712 When looking at these same

passages, particularly those from the Pāli texts, Richard Gombrich sees an instance of comedy:

the supposedly great, superior god Māra is left sitting on the dirt with his lute broken. 713 I would

not wish to discount that aspect of the imagery, for as we have seen throughout this dissertation

Buddhist texts frequently used Māra as a satire against rival traditions. At the same time, we

need to be mindful of the Vedic antecedents of these images and the ways in which their

reproduction in the Pāli texts could serve as Buddhist appropriations and redefinitions of

Brahmanical ideas. Here, Māra‟s vīṇā and association with music clearly places him in the

lineage of Mṛtyu and the company of the Upaniṣadic Yama.

Indeed, Yama‟s association with music does not end in the Upaniṣadic period. Rather, in

the Mahābhārata, when Nārada gives Yudhiṣṭhira a tour of the divine abodes, we are told that

Yama‟s heavenly realm is incredibly radiant, “fulfills all desires” (sarvataḥ kāmacāriṇī) and

711
See Suttanipāta 3.2.25 and SN I 122. The Sārathappakāsinī commentary on the Mārasaṃyutta occurrence of
Māra‟s vīṇā describes the instrument as of the most beautiful color and grandeur (suvaṇṇa mahāvīṇaṃ) (184).
According to the Suttanipāta commentary (393) and a brief reference in Visuddhimagga (392), Māra‟s vīṇā is
somehow connected to a gandharva named “Pañcasikha” (“five crest”) who, depending on the source, lives among
the Mahābrahmās or Indra. The precise relationship between Māra and this gandharva (did they share the vīṇā or
did one acquire it from the other?) remains unclear.
712
Chapter 21, pg. 219. Some of the instruments mentioned include the vīṇā, but also others such as a śaṅkha (conch
shell).
713
See How Buddhism Began, pg. 80.
 248

“delights the mind” (manaśca praharṣiṇī).714 There is no grief, age, hunger, thirst, or anything

unpleasant there – in fact, “all desires, whether human or divine, are located there.”715 Further

delighting the lucky inhabitants of this realm are the “hundreds of great-souled gandharvas and

hosts of apsarases who sing, dance, laugh, and play music.”716 The portrayal of the glorious

atmosphere and multitudes of musical attendants closely match the details given of Māra‟s

realm, described in most detail in early Indian Mahāyāna texts, with its shining palaces, immense

riches, and, as we saw earlier, daughters of Māra who dance and play music as the Buddhist form

of apsarases.717 The linkage between death and music seems, therefore, to be a longer-lasting

trope in both traditions.

However, throngs of gandharvas and apsarases are a standard feature of divine realms in

later Hindu cosmology, appearing, for example, as a prominent part of Indra‟s realm, as we

discussed in chapter four. So in this way the Mahābhārata description of Yama‟s heaven is

somewhat cliché, and the similarity of Māra‟s realm to these heavenly abodes, besides linking

music, the arts, desire and death, is also a blanket condemnation of the glorious nature of Hindu

devalokas. This kind of consideration raises an important caveat. Namely, we cannot fail to take

note of the fact that the Kaṭha Upaniṣad and Mahābhārata come from different periods and

represent distinct Hindu traditions. The latter has a more fully developed theistic trajectory,

which aims at aggrandizing the devas by portraying their realms as lavishly as possible. For its

part, by the end of the first canto, the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, though advocating certain kinds of ritual

sacrifice in line with Brahmanical orthodoxy, also possesses a far more renunciant-flavored

714
2.8.3.
715
2.8.4-5: na śoko na jarā tasyāṃ kṣutpipāse na cāpriyam…sarve kāmāḥ sthitāstasyāṃ ye divyā ye ca mānuṣāḥ.
716
2.8.35: gandharvāśca mahātmānaḥ śataśaścāpsarogaṇāḥ |
vāditraṃ nṛttagītaṃ ca hāsyaṃ lāsyaṃ cac sarvaśaḥ ||
717
For descriptions of Māra‟s realm, see MV II 360 and LV 21, pg. 219.
 249

attitude toward the ultimate goal of such practices, as well as the value of worldly life in general.

Indeed, up to the point we have examined thus far, by attempting to sway Naciketas from his

requests for knowledge through offers of worldly pleasures, Yama plays a decidedly Māra-like

role in the text. Reading on, however, at the beginning of the second canto Yama‟s attitude

abruptly changes. Suddenly the god of death praises Naciketas for resisting his earlier overtures.

“Naciketas,” he says, “you have considered and rejected pleasing forms and desires. You have

not obtained wealth on the part of which many people descend into grief.”718 The young

Brahmin, Yama goes on to say, has earned the god‟s respect by being “an aspirant for

knowledge” (vidyābhīpsinaṃ) rather than a pursuer of various forms of pleasure who is “fooled

by the delusion of wealth” (vittamohena mūḍam).719 Most striking, in one line Yama even

declares that such a person, desirous of pleasure and wealth, and “who thinks there is no other

world, falls under my sway again and again.”720 Previously we have considered cases,

particularly in the Pāli literature, in which Māra boasts that through the extent of his powers of

death and desire he enslaves the world of beings and gods, bringing them into rebirth after

rebirth.721 In each of these situations, the Buddha dictates the limits of Māra‟s power, declares

his freedom, and the evil god disappears. In conspicuous contrast, Yama makes a very similar

claim about the extent of his power and those who are most susceptible to its delusions, yet he

praises Naciketas for aspiring beyond this state and goes on, in the most explicitly didactic and

718
Kaṭha Upaniṣad, 1.2.3: sa tvaṃ priyānpriya rūpāṃśca kāmān abhidhyāyan naciketo „tyasrākṣīḥ |
naitām sṛṅkāṃ vittamayīmavāpto yasyāṃ majjanti bahavo manuṣyāḥ ||
One term in this verse, “sṛṅkāṃ,” is a complete mystery. MacDonnell‟s A Practical Sanskrit Dictionary does not
have a citation, while Monier Monier-Williams lists only “of unknown meaning” for the word (pg. 1245). The verse
makes sense without the word, but the mystery remains.
719
Ibid., 1.2.5-6.
720
Ibid., 1.2.6: ayaṃ loko nāsti para iti mānī punaḥ punarvaśamāpadyate me.
721
For example, see SN I 133.
 250

theological section of the text, to instruct the Brahmin in the esoteric dimensions of the nature of

the immortal self/Brahman and the essence of the syllable oṃ.722

Given the known composite nature of the Kaṭha Upaniṣad and the sudden shift in

Yama‟s character, it is possible that the first and second cantos represent different traditions that

build on the earlier Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa tale of Naciketas. However, it is just as likely that this

shift in the representation of the god of death was also meant as an Upaniṣadic interpretation of

Brahmanical initiation, which here would mean an induction into the mysteries of esoteric

knowledge needed for union of one‟s immortal self with the equally immortal Brahman. Walter

Kaelber notes that the symbolism of the text has broad resonance with Brahmanical initiatory

practices, such as upanāyana and dīkṣa.723 In yet another article on the text, James Helfer views

Kaṭha Upaniṣad as the story of an individual undergoing an initiation which involves a death

(Naciketas‟ journey to Yama‟s realm), a transformation (his debate and instruction with Yama),

and finally a rebirth (the return to his father at the end of the narrative). 724

Employing this lens of initiation helps us accomplish several interpretive goals with the

text. First, we can appreciate how this Upaniṣadic narrative has adapted the trope of the

confrontation with a god of death to the end of imparting the characteristically Upaniṣadic

teaching of worldly denial and union with the ultimate reality of Brahman, which are the

fundamental aspects of Yama‟s teaching. The first canto would then be the test Naciketas must

pass in order to ascend to that level of knowledge. Second, that realization of the role Yama

plays, and the more minor teaching of the “Naciketas sacrifice” he gives along the away, point to

722
For example, see Kaṭha Upaniṣad, 1.2.15-18.
723
“The „Dramatic‟ Element in Brāhmaṇic Initiation: Symbols of Death, Danger, and Difficult Passage,” History of
Religions, pg. 56.
724
“The Initiatory Structure of the „Kaṭhopaniṣad,‟” History of Religions, pg. 355.
 251

the intermediate nature of the text in the development of Hindu traditions. In a nod to Vedic and

Brahmanical orthodoxy, sacrificial ritual and the importance of devas are still maintained (in that

Yama serves as Naciketas‟ teacher), but the emphasis still rests finally on the transformative

power of the knowledge of Brahman.

Finally, the lens of initiation enables some concluding analysis about the divergent

themes and representations of the figures of Yama and Māra in the respective texts. As George

Bond has pointed out, death meditation in Theravāda traditions fits the same general cross-

cultural pattern of initiation rituals: the aspirant separates from society, confronts death, acquires

wisdom, and then undergoes a symbolic rebirth into a new status. 725 In terms of Buddhist

narrative, the story of Siddhattha Gotama‟s renunciation and attainment of Buddhahood also

matches this pattern, and has served as the cultural paradigm for many Buddhists. After Gotama

left the palace (separation), he confronted death (both individually, through extreme asceticism,

and cosmologically, in the battle with Māra), gained insight (awakening), and achieved a new

status (Buddhahood). One could argue that this is simply the imposition of an external paradigm

onto the material rather than the expression of a meaning native to the authors of the narrative,

but there is evidence internal to the tradition that the Buddha‟s awakening might have been seen

as a kind of “death,” and his awakening thus a birth into a new state. For instance, Robert

DeCaroli has argued that the choice of Gayā as the site of Gotama‟s awakening was made in

light of the importance of that location for Brahmanical funerary ceremonies (śrāddha).726 As a

result, we might be able to interpret the choice of that site as the authors‟ means of suggesting to

725
“Theravāda Buddhism‟s Meditations on Death and the Symbolism of Initiatory Death,” History of Religions, pgs.
250-251.
726
See Haunting the Buddha, pgs. 109-115.
 252

an audience, who would most likely have understood this aspect of Gayā, that Gotama was

administering his own “funeral” prior to a new awakening.

In between those events, though, stands the intervention of Māra and the crucial

difference between the portrayal of that incident and Yama‟s behavior in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad.

Instead of the magnanimous deity who merely tests the aspirant to knowledge, besides Māra‟s

temptations of desire, in each version of the narrative (which I have gone through in detail in

chapter five), the god of saṃsāra expresses outrage that a human would attempt to achieve

knowledge and power beyond his own and calls up his monstrous army in an effort to kill

Gotama. While the Kaṭha Upaniṣad portrays Yama as a willing and valuable teacher, Buddhist

narratives show Māra as a tyrannical obstacle to be overcome. Noting key exceptions to the

comparison between the cross-cultural initiatory pattern and the Buddhist meditation exercises,

Bond writes that, “No spiritual beings or ancestral figures are necessary as mediators of the

supreme wisdom in Buddhism. It is not true for Buddhism, that, as Eliade says of primitive

religions, „the dead know more than the living‟ and therefore must instruct the living.” 727 From

the perspective of the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, though, this is precisely the case, for Naciketas requires

Yama‟s instruction. In that text, we find that devas still have much they can teach humans. On

the other hand, as symbolized by Māra, the narratives of the Māravijaya show gods not only to

be unnecessary for the realization of ultimate truths about existence, but that they are actually

one of the fundamental problems.

This comparison is further borne out by a few examples from the Mārasaṃyutta. In a

passage also cited in chapter three, Māra tries to convince the Buddha that “the life of a person is

727
“Theravāda Buddhism‟s Meditations on Death and the Symbolism of Initiatory Death,” History of Religions, pg.
254.
 253

long” (dīgham āyu manussānaṃ) and “death has not come” (natthi maccussa nāgamo), which

the Buddha quickly and curtly rejects.728 What is interesting in the context of comparison with

the Kaṭha Upaniṣad is that in the second canto, as Yama praises Naciketas, the god of death also

describes those who are not as astute and, by virtue of pursuit of health and wealth and not

believing in the “other world,” are caught again and again by death. 729 In other words, in some

sense Yama praises Naciketas for not falling into the very trap Māra sets for the Buddha. This

clearly demonstrates the very different roles of devas in both traditions.

Secondly, Māra, in seeming desperation to stop the spread of the dharma, asks the

Buddha, “If you have realized the tranquil path leading beyond death, go on that path entirely

alone. Why teach others?”730 The Buddha, who (as usual) is completely unvexed by this

question, replies simply that when people ask him about what lies beyond death, he tells them the

truth and instructs them in the dharma. By this response we can see that the Buddha is in the

same instructive position, relative to monks and other adherents to the dharma, which Yama

occupies for Naciketas. Having achieved that status and position, Gotama now offers the

teaching to the public at large, circumventing the initiatory tests and examinations given by

Yama, and the ordeals and perils offered by Māra.

Helfer, in his aforementioned study of the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, observes that the interaction

between Yama and Naciketas at the end of the first canto could “remind one of the Buddha‟s

temptations by Māra, but they would appear to be out of place.”731 Hopefully after the preceding

discussion, and our own analysis of the narratives through the symbolism of initiation, we can

728
SN I 108.
729
See Kaṭha Upaniṣad, 1.2.6 above.
730
SN I 123: sa ce maggam anubuddhaṃ khemam amatagāminaṃ |
pehi gaccha tvam ev‟ eko kim aññam anusāsasīti ||
731
“The Initiatory Structure of the „Kaṭhaopaniṣad,‟” History of Religions, pg. 363.
 254

see that this episode in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, taking into account what occurs in the second canto,

acts as a study in contrast to the figure of Māra and thus actually fits extremely well in the

narrative as a setup for the Upaniṣadic teaching of Brahman as ultimate reality. What we have is

not a literary device out of place, but an instance in which two traditions have employed the

same trope of a trial by the god of death and, due to differing worldviews and perspectives on the

question of human mortality, take that plot in divergent directions.

Escaping from Death – Bhakti and Parinibbāna

In this section, I will look at instances not of debating death, but defeating it and

overcoming the frailty of human mortality. Beginning first with key examples in Hindu texts, an

obvious instance to consider involves the story of Sāvitrī in the Mahābhārata, which remains

one of the most popular and well-known appearances of the god Yama in the current Hindu

imagination. As Dimock and van Buitenen point out in their overview of genres and characters

of Indian literature, Sāvitrī serves as a “prototype of the faithful wife” and, because of her

spousal devotion, “had the power to snatch her husband from the jaws of death.”732 The story

appears in the Vana Parvan (“Forest Book”) of the Mahābhārata, which ties together many

narratives set in the forest, and in the section of the narrative that concerns us, Sāvitrī and her

husband, Satyavan, are in the forest when the latter lays down to rest because of a headache.

Sāvitrī is immediately concerned since her husband has been prophesied to die at precisely this

moment. Indeed, her fears come to fruition as, soon after Satyavan lays down to rest, an

extraordinary yet frightful figure appears. On the one hand, he wore beautiful yellow robes, a

magnificent diadem on his head, and was as glorious to behold as the sun.733 At the same time,

732
The Literatures of India: an Introduction, pgs. 51 and 79.
733
MB 3.281.8.
 255

he was dark in color, had red eyes, bore a snare in his hand, and “stood next to Satyavan,

regarding him intently.”734 Explaining that he is Yama, god of death, the imposing figure

proceeds to draw out Satyavan‟s life force, bind it with his pāśa, and begins to leave for his

kingdom. Sāvitrī immediately follows and Yama tells her to turn back, for at her husband‟s death

her duty to him has ended. She disagrees, arguing that “wherever he is led, she will go, as the

eternal dharma demands.”735

This declaration of Sāvitrī‟s determination initiates a situation somewhat similar to what

is found in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad involving a dialogue with the god of death and the granting of

boons. Instead of attempting to obtain knowledge of esoteric dharma, however, as was

Naciketas‟ goal, Sāvitrī is determined to win back her spouse, and her means will be knowledge

of dharma. As she follows Yama, Sāvitrī expounds to him the meanings of sanātana dharma, of

the importance of adrahaṃ (“non-injury”) and dayāṃ (“compassion”), along the way

commending his essential role in the order of the cosmos as well as his fundamental fairness. 736

On the last point, she explains that he is called “Dharmarāja” because, “Lord, through equal

application of dharma, beings are made happy,” and it is Yama‟s position to accomplish this.737

After each point Sāvitrī makes about the nature of dharma, Yama is pleased and grants her a

boon, carefully exempting the life of Satyavan. She selects such rewards as the return of her

father‟s sight and the reestablishment of her father-in-law‟s kingdom. With the granting of each

734
Ibid., 3.281.9: śyāmāvadātaṃ raktākṣaṃ pāśahastaṃ bhayāvaham |
sthitaṃ satyavataḥ pārśve nirīkṣantaṃ tameva ca ||
Given the simultaneously dreadful and splendorous descriptions of Yama, Frederick Holck believes this passage is
an example of how the figure exemplifies Otto‟s concept of the mysterium tremendum. See Death in Eastern
Thought, pg. 67.
735
MB 3.281.20: yatra me nīyate bhartā svayaṃ va yatra gacchati |
mayāpi tatra gantavyameṣa dharmaḥ sanātanaḥ ||
736
Ibid., 3.281.23-39.
737
Ibid., 3.218.40: śamena dharmeṇa ca rañjitāḥ prajāstastaveheśvara dharmarājatā.
 256

boon, Yama insists she no longer follow him: “Go back, do not exhaust yourself” (nivarta

gacchasva na te śramo bhavet) which suggests the length of the journey to the realm of Yama

for the living, but also the hopelessness of her task to retrieve her husband. Undaunted by these

odds, Sāvitrī persists despite Yama‟s wishes to the contrary and continues to win boons through

her knowledge of the nature and duty of dharma. Finally, she very cleverly requests one hundred

sons from Satyavan. Technically avoiding the prohibition on the request for Satyavan‟s life, this

boon cannot be fulfilled while he is dead. Sāvitrī wastes no time in pointing out this inescapable

fact to Yama. “Let Satyavan live!” she cries. “I am as if dead without my husband. Without my

husband I cannot be happy and do not want heaven or prosperity. Without my husband, I do not

want to live. You granted my boon for one hundred sons, and bound and carried off my husband.

I ask for this boon: let Satyavan live! That is the only way your word will be true.” 738 Having

carefully set up Yama by winning boons via her knowledge of the inviolate and righteous nature

of dharma, as well as emphasizing the god of death‟s fundamental fairness and virtuous position

as Dharmarāja, Sāvitrī places him in a position where he must either forfeit Satyavan as his

prisoner or violate dharma by breaking his word. Apparently holding no grudge, the Dharmarāja

releases Satyavan from the pāśas “with a delighted soul” (dharmarājaḥ prahṛstātmā), suggesting

that to some extent he is actually pleased by Sāvitrī‟s devotion and dedication to saving her

husband.739Over all, this would seem the obvious message of the story: though in some ways

738
Ibid., 3.281.51-53: …jīvatu satyavānayaṃ yathā mṛtā hyevamahaṃ vinā patim…
na kāmaye bhartṛ vinā kṛtā sukhaṃ na kāmaye bhartṛ vinā kṛtā divam |
na kāmaye bhartṛ vinā kṛtā śriyaṃ na bhartṛ hīnā vyavasāmi jīvitum ||
varātisargaḥ śataputratā mama tvayaiva datto hriyate ca me patiḥ |
varaṃ vṛṇe jīvatu satyavānayaṃ tavaiva satyaṃ vacanaṃ bhaviṣyati ||
739
Ibid., 3.281.54.
 257

frightful, Yama is ultimately fair and just and the devotion (in concert with dharmic knowledge)

of a spouse can overcome even the god of death.

While Sāvitrī certainly outwits Yama, she does not humiliate him. There are stories in

later Purāṇas, however, which seem to delight in abusing the figure of death in an effort to

express the extraordinary powers of Śiva and Viṣṇu. In the Kūrma Purāṇa, for instance, the

Śaiva devotee Śveta sees “terrible death” (here “kālakaraṃ ghoraṃ”) approaching “with a spear

in its hand” (śūlahastiṃ) and immediately prostrates before the liṅga of Śiva to make an

offering.740 The “Endmaker” (kṛtāntaḥ) is not impressed: “as if laughing, he stood before [Śveta]

and said, „let‟s go, let‟s go.‟”741 Binding Śveta with his snares, Death is preparing to take his

prisoner when Śiva descends from the sky, demanding the release of his devotee (bhaktaṃ).

Angry at this interference, and “thinking highly of his own stature,” Death actually charges

Śiva.742 The confrontation is short-lived, for Śiva kicks Death (now called “Mṛtyu”)

“contemptuously with his left foot” and the “supremely frightful one died,” saving Śveta. 743 In

the Liṅga Purāṇa version of the story, Śiva arrives with his entire entourage of Umā, Nandin,

and the gaṇas, causing Death to drop dead at their mere sight, conferring upon Śiva the epithet,

“mṛtyujayaṃ” (“conqueror of death”).744

Not to be outdone, the Vaiṣṇava tradition demonstrates a similar effectiveness for

devotion toViṣṇu. The Bhāgavata Purāṇa, for example, contains the story of Ajāmila, a Brahmin

who neglects his ritual duties, makes money through nefarious means, and compromises his

purity through fathering children with a servant. The youngest of these children, though, is

740
2.35.15.
741
Ibid., 2.35.17: ehyehīti puraḥ sthitvā kṛtāntaḥ prahasanniva.
742
Ibid., 2.35.25: kālātmā ‘saumanyamānaḥ svabhāvam.
743
Ibid., 2.35.26-27: sāvajñaṃ vai vāmapādena mṛtyuṃ; mamāra so „tibhīṣano.
744
1.30.21,28.
 258

named “Nārāyaṇa,” one of the names of Viṣṇu, and, despite all his other bad qualities, Ajāmila

dotes on this son. One day, the lapsed Brahmin sees “three men, snares in hand, exceedingly

terrible, with crooked mouths and raised, bristled hair, coming to lead him away.” 745

Instinctively, and out of fright, Ajāmila calls out his son‟s name, “Nārāyaṇa!”, and Viṣṇu‟s

attendants appear and disperse the yamadūtas. In the introduction to this story, the text states its

intended meaning: those who offer devotion to Viṣṇu, even once in life, “do not see Yama and

his servants who bear snares, even in sleep, for their expiation has been accomplished.”746

This sense would seem to apply to both the foregoing Purāṇic examples, which

obviously express the effectiveness of bhakti, the primary emphasis of Hindu practice in this

period, at the expense of Yama and the position of the god of death, who is entirely humbled. In

combination with the story of Sāvitrī, these epic and Purāṇic narratives together work to assert

that devotion and correct practice, whether as a chaste wife or devotee of god, has the power to

overcome even the fact of death.

To be sure, the Buddha‟s relation to Māra contains some similarities to this Purāṇic

animosity toward death. A clear example comes in some of the epithets applied to the Buddha

(such as “mārabalahantā,” meaning “killer of Māra‟s forces,” or “māranighātī,” meaning

“Destroyer of Māra”),747 which carry a very similar sense to the death-vanquishing names given

to Viṣṇu or Śiva. The Buddha‟s conquest of Māra under the Bodhi tree, and in the narratives set

after that event, certainly stand as key moments in the expression of the power of the Buddhist

dharma: it is the only means to overcome the repeated rounds of death and rebirth, which Māra

745
Bhāgavata Purāṇa, 6.1.28: sa pāśahastāṃstrīn dṛṣṭvā puruṣān bhṛśadārūṇān |
vakratuṇḍānūrdhvaromṇa ātmānaṃ netumāgatān ||
746
Ibid., 6.1.19: na te yamaṃ pāśabhṛtaśca tadbhaṭān svapne ‘pi paśyanti hi cīrṇaniṣkṛtāḥ.
747
See, respectively, LV 21.80 and MV II 415.
 259

rules and represents. Yet, as was established in an earlier section of this chapter, the fact of

human mortality and impermanence operates in many ways as the first and founding premise of

Buddhism, meaning that, to a certain degree, though Māra, representing entrapment in endless

death, can be defeated, death as a fact of existence can never be overcome. In the remainder of

this section, I will discuss how two Buddhist narratives, the stories of Godhika in the

Mārasaṃyutta and the account of the Buddha‟s own death in the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta,

navigate this tension.

Beginning with the former, we are told of the disciple Godhika‟s attempts to maintain the

highest levels of meditative concentration, only to fall away each time. Finally, he determines to

kill himself while still at the highest jhana, thereby preventing further backsliding. Māra realizes

what is about to occur and appears before the Buddha, ironically addressing him as

“maraṇābhibhū,” meaning “one who has conquered death (Māra),” and pleads for him to stop

Godhika from carrying out his act. Unconcerned and seemingly unfazed, the Buddha replies,

“This is how the steadfast behave. They are not attached to life. Having removed craving with its

root, Godhika goes to final nirvāṇa.”748 Proceeding with his monks to find Godhika, the Buddha

and bhikkhus see a cloud of “smoke” (dhūmā) and “darkness” (timira) moving about in the sky.

As a point of comparison, the Sāratha-ppakāsinī commentary on Māra‟s appearance here

describes him as “like a dark rain cloud,” which matches the first description of Yama in the

Matsya Purāṇa version of the Sāvitrī.749 The Buddha tells his followers that this dark apparition

is Māra, searching in vain for Godhika‟s viññāṇaṃ (“consciousness,” or “life force”). Māra

appears again, this time to admit that he cannot find Godhika, and the Buddha simply states

748
SN I 121: evaṃ hi dhīrā kubbanti nāvakaṅkhanti jīvitaṃ |
samūlaṃ taṇham abbuyha godhiko parinibbuto ti ||
749
See Sārathappakāsinī, pg. 184, and Matsya Purāṇa, 210.2.
 260

(repeating part of what he said previously) that, “having conquered the army of death, having not

returned to repeated birth, having removed craving with its root, Godhika goes to final

nirvāṇa.”750 Māra, “afflicted with grief” (sokaparetassa), then disappeared.

In this story, like the Mahābhārata tale of Sāvitrī and the Purāṇic episodes of bhakti,

someone escapes from the clutches of death. However, in the case of Godhika, he neither asks

for nor requires outside intervention. Indeed, though the Buddha figures prominently and is the

one to address Māra at each point in the narrative, Godhika does not even call upon the Buddha‟s

assistance to attain final nirvāṇa and thus elude Māra‟s ensnaring grasp. He relies entirely on the

meditative teaching he has received and the disregard to attachments, even to life, that he has

cultivated to achieve final release. In this way, Godhika is even said, by the Buddha no less, to

have “conquered the army of death,” equaling Gotama‟s feat under the Bodhi tree, and he

accomplished this deed entirely on his own, with devotion only to the dharma.

The events of the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta are perhaps more ambiguous. Early in this text,

we are told that the Buddha is getting older and has in fact been quite ill, overcoming his

sickness only through sheer will (viriya) and the desire to offer some final discourses to his

followers.751 Later, during a conversation with one of his chief disciples, Ānanda, he hints that

one such as himself, who has mastered the “four psychic powers” (cattāro iddhipādā) can extend

his life to at least one hundred years, if only he is requested to do so. Ānanda, however, remains

oblivious to the Buddha‟s multiple hints of this fact because “his mind was taken over by

750
SN I 122: jetvāna maccuno senaṃ anāgantvā punabbhavaṃ |
samūlaṃ taṇham abbuyha godhiko parinibbuto ti ||
751
DN II 99.
 261

Māra.”752 Once Ānanda leaves, Māra appears, seemingly triumphant since he has prevented the

Buddha‟s disciple from ensuring the teacher‟s continued existence. The tone of Māra‟s speech to

the Buddha, though, is anything but exultant, as the god of saṃsāra proceeds to practically beg

the Buddha to pass into final nirvāṇa: “Go to final nirvāṇa now, dear lord. Go to final nirvāṇa

now, well-gone one. The time of final nirvāṇa is now, dear lord.”753 He then goes on to list each

of the conditions that the Buddha gave as prerequisites for his eventual death, such as the

establishment of an order of monks and nuns, a laity, and the spread of the dharma to other lands.

At the end of each stipulation, Māra notes that it has been fulfilled and again exhorts the Buddha

to go to final nirvāṇa, “because these are his own words.” 754 Thus, instead of celebrating a

moment of rare victory, in which he has finally overcome one of the Buddha‟s disciples and

prevented an extension of the Awakened One‟s life, Māra, the god of death, is portrayed as a

weak supplicant.755

At this point, the Buddha makes what would be a startling statement from a regular

individual. “Do not be concerned, evil Māra. The final nirvāṇa of the Tathāgata is not far off. In

three months the Tathāgata will go to final nirvāṇa.” 756 For one, though this hardly deviates from

their other interactions, the Buddha greatly condescends to Māra, telling the god of death “not to

concern himself” (appossukko). More significantly, the Buddha selects the timeframe for his own
752
Ibid., 103: yathā taṃ mārena pariyuṭṭhita citto. In other Buddhist texts Māra is chiefly only able to take over the
minds of non-Buddhists and in his commentary on the verse Dhammapāla attempts to resolve this inconsistency by
arguing that Ānanda was still susceptible to Māra‟s powerful influence because at this point he was still not
technically awakened. See Dīghāṭṭhakathāṭīkā, II 192.
753
Ibid., 104: parinibbātu dāni bhante bhagavā, parinibbātu sugato, parinibbāna-kālo dāni bhante bhagavato.
754
Ibid., 104-106: bhāsitā kho pan‟ esā bhante bhagavatā vācā.
755
Though, at least in the Divyāvadāna version of the story, at the Buddha‟s decision to die, Māra leaves as an
extremely happy supplicant: “Then evil Māra, having realized that the ascetic Gautama would achieve final nirvāṇa,
was highly thrilled and content and rejoiced with joy and pleasure before disappearing.” (atha mārasyapāpiyasa
etad abhavat parinirvāsyate vata śramaṇo gautama iti viditvā hṛṣtaḥ tuṣṭaḥ pramudita udagraḥ prītisaumanasya
jātaḥ tatraivāntarahitaḥ). See The Divyāvadāna, a Collection of Early Buddhist Legends, pg. 202.
756
DN II 106: appossukko tvaṃ pāpima hohi, na ciraṃ tathāgatassa parinibbānaṃ bhavissati, ito tiṇṇaṃ māsānaṃ
accayena tathāgato parinibbāyissatīti.
 262

death and, as we can tell from Māra‟s statements, had previously selected the conditions that

would need to be fulfilled before he deigned to pass into death.

For these reasons we might see this exchange as further proof of the Buddha‟s victory

over Māra, and death in general. At the same time, we must take into account the events

involving Ānanda. After all, there was an opportunity for the Buddha to further hold death at bay

and, though through no fault of his own, he was unable to do so. This would seem to indicate that

even one such as the Buddha cannot extend mortal life indefinitely and, despite his history of

routing Māra, he must eventually give in to the power of death. Based on the balance of these

issues in the text, I suggest the roles played by Ānanda and Māra and the Buddha‟s responses

constitute an attempt by the tradition to maintain the Buddha‟s superiority over Māra and death

in the face of the indisputable fact that Siddhattha Gotama, the person, died.

When we look at this text‟s description of the Buddha‟s passing, we get much the same

sense. On one hand, he passes in relative calm, showing the perfection of his self-restraint by

moving through the various levels of meditative concentration even as he dies. However, at the

moment of his death there is a tremendous earthquake, accompanied by the rumble of thunder.757

Thus the earth and sky seem to show their distress, and they are soon joined by younger

members of the sangha, who cry, collapse, and bemoan the passing of their teacher.758 Other

members of the assembled crowd react with equanimity, however, and the more accomplished

monk Anuruddha chastises the emotional members of the gathering, telling them to stop their

crying, for the Buddha himself told them “whatever is born, becomes, and is put together must

757
Ibid., 156.
758
Ibid., 157-158.
 263

decay. It cannot be otherwise.”759 This is true even in the case of the most learned, wise, and

powerful Buddha, and so his death thus becomes the ultimate example of the teaching he

espoused. However, one noticeable absence from the Buddha‟s death is Māra. Though he leaves

the mortal world like other humans and necessarily gives in to physical death, the Buddha has

triumphed over the cosmic death and rebirth that Māra represents.

In contrasting the Hindu texts surveyed in this section with the Buddhist Pāli texts

considered, we can easily appreciate that, while both show a triumph over death through the

means particular to each tradition, the Buddhist narratives, particularly the Mahāparinibbāna

Sutta, are simultaneously concerned with preserving the basic fact that death is inescapable and

unavoidable. This should not be a surprising fact, though, for as we discussed earlier, the misery

of death, both for the dying and bereaved (the latter demonstrated so poignantly in the behavior

of the Buddha‟s own disciples at his passing) is in many ways the raison d‟être for the Buddhist

tradition.

Conclusion

At the conclusion of this chapter there are only a few final remarks I wish to make. In the

preceding, I have compared and contrasted the Hindu and Buddhist perspectives on the

phenomenon of human mortality by studying the literary symbolism and potential relationships

between the figures of Yama and Māra. In some instances, such as Buddhist borrowing and

redefinition of certain key terms, we were able to draw rather explicit linkages between the

literatures. In other cases, though, the relationship was more implicit and stemmed most likely

from two religious communities responding to that most central of human dilemmas, the

inevitability of death. By comparing Yama and Māra, I have attempted to show how these two
759
Ibid., 158: yan taṃ jātaṃ bhūtaṃ saṃkhataṃ palokadhammaṃ tam vata mā palujjīti n‟ etaṃ ṭhānaṃ vijjati.
 264

traditions were responding to that central question and, along the way, how they potentially

borrowed from and responded to each other.

 265

Chapter 7:

Conclusion
 266

Final Thoughts

At dusk on a late summer evening eight years ago, I sat on my balcony reading an

English translation of the Saṃyutta Nikāya, browsing the text for ideas for the thesis I would

write during the master‟s program I was just starting. As a light fog rolled over the Ohio fields, I

came across a passage in which a being named “Māra” appeared and challenged the Buddha to

name one spot that was outside his sphere of control. I had only heard vaguely of this figure up

to that point and, as the sun continued to slip beneath the horizon and the fog thickened, a slight

chill went up my neck. I began to wonder who “Māra” was and if there might be further research

to do on the figure.

Māra has been my almost constant companion for the past eight years, from my master‟s

thesis work to this dissertation. In this conclusion, which represents the end of the latter phase of

that research, there are three primary goals I wish to accomplish. First, I want to briefly restate

the main themes of the preceding chapters and the contributions to scholarship that I have tried to

make. Second, I want to highlight the specific issues of “social imagination” and “interreligious

dialogue” that have been at the core of the entire work, both explicitly and implicitly. Third, I

will conclude with a discussion of possible directions future research on Māra could take and the

bearing this dissertation may have on those potential projects.

To summarize some of the fundamental aspects of this work, throughout the preceding I

have argued that Māra constitutes a Buddhist appropriation of Brahmanical themes and mythic

figures. Of the latter, I have focused especially on the Brahmanical/Hindu deities Brahmā, Indra,

Kāma, and Yama. While appropriating aspects of these themes and figures, Buddhist literature

simultaneously uses the Māra figure to invert these aspects, aggrandizing the Buddha and the
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dharma at the expense of Brahmanical cosmologies, practices, and social hierarchies. Yet, even

as the Buddhist use of Māra reinterprets these categories, it also redeploys and reproduces them,

maintaining a deep connection to their Brahmanical competitors. By revealing this social

dimension of the Māra mythology, I believe I have also demonstrated the deep ambivalence of

early Indian Buddhists toward the Indian (particularly Brahmanical) atmosphere in which they

practiced and spread the teachings of the Buddha. These insights can help us partially untangle

the thorny question of “audience” in terms of these Buddhist texts. Given the connection that this

dissertation has brought to light between Māra and Brahmanical tropes and figures, and the

degree to which we have seen that aspects of the symbol‟s representation make little sense

without prior knowledge of those Brahmanical elements, we are justified in concluding that the

audience for these texts included Brahmins as well as Buddhists, or at least Buddhists with

Brahmanical background and knowledge. While some esteemed scholars of Buddhist Studies

have expressed agnosticism regarding the audiences of Indian Buddhist texts, 760 I believe the

literary dialogical approach that I have taken in this dissertation helps bring us closer to a better

understanding of that issue.

Second, the dialogic literary approach also situates us to address the material explored in

this dissertation as an early example of what could be called “interreligious dialogue.” Early in

the process of developing this project, I hoped and intended to reconstruct concrete social

contexts for each of the texts I studied. Though certain broad social movements are certainly

observable and indisputable (such as the rise in urbanization and conflict between renunciants

and householders around the time the Buddha is thought to have lived), the murkiness of textual

760
Richard Gombrich, for instance, has suggested “we cannot know very much about the Buddha‟s interlocutors or
about what his audiences were thinking or taking for granted.” See “The Buddha‟s Book of Genesis?” Indo-Iranian
Journal, pg. 161.
 268

dating and the fact of the layering of texts soon proved this aim impossible. What I have

developed instead and pursued during the preceding chapters is the concept of social

imagination. Cross-cultural surveys have revealed that mythic narratives are frequently

etiological in nature, that is, explanations or justifications of how certain states or practices came

into being, whether at the macro level of cosmogony or the micro level of sociogony. Indeed,

relying as I have on the works of Bakhtin, Barthes, Doniger, and Liszka to explain my approach

to the myths discussed in this work, we can almost always observe a homology between the

creation of the universe and the structure of society, namely that the former is a device by which

to justify and naturalize a particular vision of the latter.

The words “particular vision” in the preceding are especially important, for obviously we

cannot read mythic narratives as actual historical accounts. To take an example from the

Mārasaṃyutta of the Saṃyutta Nikāya discussed in chapter three, it is certainly possible, and

even probable, that Brahmin ascetics with knotted hair, carrying udumbara staffs might have

approached bhikkhus and challenged their practice.761 The actual historicity of the account is not

the issue with which we should primarily be concerned, however. Rather, that within this

account the Brahmin is identified with Māra, making a mythic turn with the narrative, is the

significant fact for it reveals something about how the Buddhist authors might have perceived

their social interlocutors and competitors. Even if we cannot read myths for factual history does

not mean they are not important sources for learning about history. As one scholar has put it,

myths reveal “sentiments rather than events.” 762 How religious groups portray one another

through mythology, therefore, can be extremely informative as to how they may have attempted

761
See SN I 117 for the story.
762
Wendy Doniger, The Hindus: An Alternative History, pg. 23.
 269

to frame their interactions, especially in cases (such as ancient India) in which the historical

record is not always as complete as we would like it to be. This dissertation has been an attempt

to trace and uncover Buddhist sentiments about Brahmins (and also the reverse at times) as

communicated through the mythic vehicle of Māra and, from that, speculate about some of the

social dynamics that may have prevailed at the time. Given the amount of borrowing the

dissertation has revealed, we can speculate the Buddhist-Brahmanical relationship was

characterized by a lively level of exchange. At the same time, there was a definite degree of

ambivalence, for as we have seen, Buddhist and Brahmanical sources do not simply reproduce

the forms they borrow, but rather rework them into satires or other narrative structures meant to

advance their own favored perspective.

On that point, and in this context of thinking about what the present work might mean for

the issue of interreligious dialogue in general, it is also helpful to revisit what the dissertation

says about the usage of symbols of “evil.” While I have shown that Buddhist narratives of Māra

are often quite sharp in their critique of Brahmanical ideas, even to the point of demonization at

times, the tone is perhaps softer than what most Western audiences might recognize from

familiar religious rhetorics of evil and demonization. For example, we can point to Ronald

Reagan‟s condemnation of the former Soviet Union as an “Empire of Evil,” George W. Bush‟s

labeling of Iraq, Iran, and North Korea as an “Axis of Evil,” or from another quarter, the

Ayatollah Khomeini‟s charge that the United States was the “Great Satan.” These invocations of

“evil” suggest a totalizing approach to the group considered an adversary in each case. In the

case of the ancient Indian Buddhist deployment of Māra, we can observe a dramatically different

dynamic. Instead of using Māra as a blunt weapon of blanket condemnation in their

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interreligious dialogue with Brahmanical groups, the Buddhist texts we have examined employ

more complex strategies. First, there is a strategy we might call “opposition.” We have seen

these Buddhist texts use the symbol of evil Māra to divide Brahmin deities into structurally

opposed representations, as I discussed in chapters three and four regarding Brahmā and Indra,

respectively. On the one side, there is the reimagined Brahmā or Indra who adopts Buddhist

values, while on the other side, there is the still-recognizably Brahmanical Brahmā or Indra who

criticizes or contradicts Buddhist teachings. The primary dividing line between these

representations, I have shown, is their narrative relationship to the symbol of Māra.

Second, there is the strategy we might call “inversion.” One of the clearest examples of

this use of Māra appeared in the second half of chapter four, as we considered the Māravijaya

myth cycle in relation to epic narratives of Indra‟s conflict with ascetic challengers. While

adopting the structure of the Brahmanical narrative, the Buddhist story inverts the roles of

protagonist and antagonist: through the usage of Māra, the god becomes the villain overthrown

by the now heroic human. The strategy of inversion, I have argued, as this particular example

shows in a very clear way, is a way to flip the cosmological hierarchy of divine superiority over

humans, and thus interrogate the social hierarchy of Brahmanical supremacy.

Third, there is the related strategy of “reversal.” Instead of reordering the characters or

events of a narrative, this use of Māra appropriates a Brahmanical narrative and reveals that

concepts or characters are not really what they appear to be. A prominent example was covered

in chapter five with Aśvaghoṣa‟s “mortification” of Kāmadeva through the symbol of Māra in

Buddhacarita. Indeed, as I show in that chapter, Māra in the Buddhist tradition in general is
 271

geared toward a revelation that desire is in fact death and the apparatus for doing that work is

often the reversal of Brahmanical ideas or characters.

In the case of each of these strategies, we see that Buddhist narratives employ Māra to

criticize or redefine aspects of Brahmanical traditions to their favor. At the same time, though,

they do not issue wholesale condemnation of Brahmins or their practices. Rather, each strategy

also seems predicated on the belief that something is salvageable in Brahmanical thought, giving

the impression that Buddhists sought to establish a dialogue with their competitors, even perhaps

drawing them into a social relationship, even if the terms were dictated entirely from their

perspective. These categories of the strategic usage of “evil” Māra in early Indian Buddhist texts

may prove useful for those analyzing Buddhist interreligious dialogue in other cultural contexts,

as well as for those studying the idea of how social imagination can be traced through mythic

narratives in other cultural or religious regions.

Finally, I think it is useful to point out paths not taken in this dissertation, if only as a way

of demonstrating the expansive nature of the figure of Māra and the great potential the god‟s

mythology possesses for scholarly exploration. A logical extension of the investigation carried

out in this dissertation would look at Indian Buddhist traditions after 300 CE, particularly the

various Mahāyāna movements, and examine the treatment of the deity by those groups.

According to preliminary and cursory surveys I have conducted of those materials in an earlier

study,763 the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa and Śūraṃgamasamādhi Sūtras contain substantial episodes

dealing with Māra. Most significantly, in the case of both texts, Māra is interpreted through the

lens of particularly Mahāyāna concepts such as non-duality and upāya-kauśalya (“skillful

763
Michael Nichols, Malleable Māra: The Transformations of a Buddhist Symbol of Evil. Unpublished Master‟s
Thesis. Miami University, Oxford, OH. 2004. See chapter two of that work especially.
 272

means”) and the astonishing case is made that the god of saṃsāra is actually (or eventually will

become) a bodhisattva.764 While this treatment of Māra is obviously in stark contrast to earlier

Indian Buddhist traditions, such as I have surveyed in this dissertation, it is also worthy of note

that the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa and Śūraṃgamasamādhi Sūtras‟ suggestion that evil Māra is/will be

a bodhisattva also differs from earlier Mahāyāna treatments as well. In the

Aṣṭasahāsrikāprajñāpāramitā, which perhaps represents the earliest strata of Mahāyāna writings

and thought, Māra is instead portrayed as an entirely oppositional entity, persecuting and testing

the adherents of the Perfection of Wisdom, much as the god was portrayed in the non-Mahāyāna

texts examined in this dissertation. As a crucial difference, however, the

Aṣṭasahāsrikāprajñāpāramitā portrays not Brahmins as the potential agents of Māra, but other

Buddhists who are hostile to the Mahāyāna notions in the Perfection of Wisdom.765

This development alone demonstrates how the myth of Māra is sensitive to social context

and atmosphere, but it is certainly not the end of the (re)interpretations of the figure. To that list

we can also add American Buddhist Stephen Batchelor‟s Living with the Devil, a decidedly

psychoanalytic work that operates at length to associate Māra with the Western figure of Satan,

as well as internal mental urges and impulses. Māra has also appeared in feature films, including

the Disneyesque 2007 animated feature from Thailand, The Life of Buddha and Bernardo

Bertolucci‟s 1994 picture Little Buddha, starring Keanu Reeves as Siddhattha Gotama. Both

films portray the supposed events of the Māravijaya myth cycle in highly stylized form,

occasionally inserting new elements into the narrative. The Bertolucci film, for instance, after it

764
See The Holy Teaching of Vimalakīrti, trans. Robert Thurman, pg. 44; Śūraṃgamasamādhisūtra: the
Concentration of Heroic Progress, trans. Etienne Lamotte, pgs. 176-179.
765
For example, see The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, trans. Edward Conze, pgs. 167 and 170.
Stephen Kent hints at some of these dynamics but does not delve specifically into the significance of the use of Māra
in his article “A Sectarian Interpretation of the Rise of the Mahāyāna,” Religion.
 273

has portrayed the daughters of Māra dancing before Gotama and Māra‟s army as a marching

horde with flaming arrows, depicts Māra taking on Gotama‟s form and asking if the meditating

sage will become his god. Predictably, Gotama refuses this request and calls the earth to witness,

driving Māra away. To what, exactly, the earth should bear witness is difficult to know, for the

movie does not depict Māra‟s challenge to Gotama‟s merit, which precipates the earth‟s witness

in the traditional narratives. Strictly speaking, the movie‟s dialogue between Māra and Gotama

cannot be traced to any of the narrative versions of the Māravijaya to which we have access and

is thus, in that sense at least, an innovation on the story. At the same time, the interpretive move

the film has made is still consistent with certain aspects of the Buddhist myth. For example, we

saw in chapter four that at points in the Mahāvastu and Lalitavistara, Māra or his daughters ask

Gautama to use his store of merit to achieve rebirth as a god, a move which I traced to the notion

of Brahmanical classification in epic narratives like the Mahābhārata. Namely, according to

those schemes, if human challenging the gods could not be destroyed, he should be reclassified

as a god to preserve the cosmic hierarchy. Perhaps, then, we can see a resonance between a

twentieth century CE film interpretation and a narrative going back to as early as the third

century BCE.

To a great extent, the speculations in the foregoing paragraphs that extend the reasoning

of the dissertation to points beyond its bounds actually bring the argument full circle in two

important ways. First, it serves to highlight the notion of Buddhist appropriation and innovation

of cultural forms, practices, and concepts, whether it is in terms of the development of new forms

within the tradition (Mahāyāna), new geographic regions (Batchelor‟s American Buddhism), or a

new communication medium (film). My explication of the way early Buddhist narratives of
 274

Māra adapt and redefine Brahmanical stories and concepts is thus a microcosm of processes that

the Buddhist tradition has experienced and performed throughout its history, from India to Japan,

Tibet to the United States. It is also evidence, secondly, of the protean nature of mythic

narratives, which take on different forms according to cultural and historical circumstance. It is

in both these senses that we can deem Māra “malleable,” and perhaps explain the symbol‟s

longevity and enduring fascination. Indeed, these facts perhaps go some distance toward

explaining the ease with which a young graduate student in the Midwest United States, far

removed from the time and place of Māra‟s origination, could so easily be drawn into his grasp

simply by reading on his balcony one late summer evening.

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