Posted by J Foster on Jun 25, 2015 in Fieldwork in Nepal
I am tremendously cold right now. It’s partially the cloudy, drizzly, weather, which is always something of a treat in the Himalayas, and partially the long hike this morning. My guide and I left early to make our way all the way up to the Vishnu Chulo (Vishnu’s Kitchen), a small shrine/temple a few hundred meters further above Muktinath Temple on the far side of a ridge closer to the Thorong La Pass. Needless to say, it is quite windy and rather cold up there at this point. It was an interesting place though, entirely “natural” in its appearance in that the short, squat, cleaved-stone building housed a shrine that was made up of a large boulder altar with kum kum and tumeric smeared standing stones resting on top of it. Small incense wheels, flowers, and candles were placed variously around the standing stones and hundreds of white prayer cloths were hung from the wooden rafters only a few inches above my head. The overall effect was one of shrouded mystery, carefully picking my way through a dense thicket of Sanskrit cloths to get to the shrine tucked away against the far wall facing the high mountain winds. My guide mentioned to me that this mandir was made in such a fashion, as a “kitchen,” because Vishnu was very hungry; a reference, I think, to a common method of interacting with divine beings and Vedic deities. By that I mean food. Exchanging food with divinities (referred to as Prasadam in Hinduism), along with bathing (called Abisheka Puja), is generally considered one of the most basic responsibilities of any devotee and attributing hunger to divine entities is a reasonably standard method of organizing worship in South Asia.
But what fascinated me even more, actually, was the recurrence of carved or drawn spirals decorating stones and bridges all along our path. Now, the spiral has numerous important symbolic meanings in both Buddhism and Hinduism. Overall, it is a cosmological symbol that refers to the belief in Buddhism and some traditions of Hinduism that the universe moves in a clockwise direction (counter-clockwise if one is a Bon practitioner). This is one reason why pilgrims, nuns, and monks typically circumambulate temples and shrines in a clockwise direction. It may also represent a womb or the movement of a person from birth to death to rebirth (the karmic cycle, which is also represented by the swastika). But, it occurs to me that when you take a moment to look closer, and consider movement itself as a kind of sacred marker…..remind you of anything else?
One of the many spirals we encountered on our way to the Vishnu Chulo
Posted by J Foster on Jun 21, 2015 in Fieldwork in Nepal
If anyone had ever told my 12-year-old self that one day I would be fossil hunting in the high Himalayas while simultaneously conducting anthropological fieldwork in Nepal, I would probably have laughed myself sick. However, as it turns out, that is exactly what I have spent the last two days doing. More along the participant side of participant-observation, I have found that wandering the mountain sides and river banks looking for Shaligram stones is the perfect morning activity for meeting both Shaligram sellers and Hindu pilgrims, respectively. While I had never expected my childhood fascination with dinosaurs (I think I still have some small fossil collection buried in the basement somewhere) to come to fruition in this way, or at all really, such is the fluidity of anthropology. Also, the next time someone asks me if anthropology is where you dig up dinosaurs, I guess I will need to come up with a better answer than my usual reference to Indiana Jones.
In any case, ultimately, it is the links between these stones and those who scour the country-side in search of them that will form the basis for my research going forward. I say this because it is the mobility of both people and objects in both physical and sacred landscapes that are at the heart of the complex system of identities, boundaries, and meanings that make up Mustang District’s everyday lived world. In short, my fascination with religious co-participation has led me down a path where religious boundaries have become fluid and national and ethnic identities have begun to blend together because of shared sacred spaces all subsumed under the icon of an ancient ammonite fossil found no where else in the world. Time I got myself a pickaxe.
Broken ammonites are not considered Shaligram. A broken stone such as this one is unfortunately, “a blind eye.”
This particular bed of ammonites was revealed in a landslide after the April Gorkha Earthquake.
The fossil bed manages to produce only a single unbroken stone for the day.
Posted by J Foster on Jun 15, 2015 in Fieldwork in Nepal
Space and Movement. I can already see that these two concepts may well become the foundational framework for this project going forward. Space because religious co-participation in this region is highly contingent of the sharing of sacred places. Movement because it is through various types of motion (circumambulation, pilgrimage, travel of the sacred stones through the river, ritual movement through temple spaces, and returning home with sacred objects) that religious and national identities and boundaries are continuously negotiated. In short, this means that, at its heart, the blending of Hindu, Buddhist, and shamanic traditions in Mustang are largely brought about through the blending of various peoples in shared spaces that hold meanings at multiple levels. For example, the same object (say, a Shaligram Stone) means one thing to one person and another thing to another person, but what they agree on is the meaningful importance of the object, or the place, so in question. In additional to layers of economic exchange and the sharing of ethnic and national identities, this results in a kind of religious synthesis that produces traditions of worship that are both continuously exchanging characteristics and remaining linguistically and ontologically distinct from one another.
As one who is moving through these spaces herself, I had the opportunity yesterday, based on a local tip, to visit on the few mountain Shaligram beds. These black shale beds are used, primarily, by Buddhist stone sellers to mine sacred stones directly from the mountain-side rather than wait for stones to be found by stone hunter/wholesalers further down on the Kali-Gandaki river banks. The downfall here, while the shale beds produce many stones, is that Hindu pilgrims largely do not prefer these stones. Their sharp edges and broken chakras (shells) too often render them as “the blind eye” and are harder to sell because the deity represented within the stone cannot be accessed. This was even more strongly demonstrated when I was given access to the Shaligram Mandir at Muktinath by an elderly Shiva sadhu (holy man) tending the temple grounds. Each stone installed as a deity in this way is whole and without chip or blemish. This is typical of Shaligram Stones used in home worship and these are the stones Hindus come here to find.
Sadly, post-earthquake, there are few pilgrims visiting Muktinath this summer season, so I have not had as many opportunities as I would like to conduct interviews with Hindu pilgrims. My exchanges with local residents and with the sadhus and nuns minding the many temples and gompas scattered everywhere in this area have, however, been incredibly enlightening. For now, perhaps it is best that I get the lay of the land as those who live here know it, because tomorrow who knows how it may change.
The Shaligram Mandir at Muktinath.
The black shale Shaligram bed.
The Shaligram Mandir at Muktinath.
This was the day’s “haul” from the Shaligram bed.
Posted by J Foster on Jun 11, 2015 in Fieldwork in Nepal
At 4000 meters, the view is not the only thing that’s breath-taking.
It’s a pun I’ve heard a few times now, but it is more truth than humor. The village of Ranipauwa, where I’m slowly settling in for the next few weeks of fieldwork, is truly a fascinating place. Focused largely on the Hindu pilgrims that frequent Muktinath-Chumig Gyatsa temple (only a few hundred meters outside of the village), the main road of the village tends to include mostly guesthouses or dharamsalas (for poorer pilgrims), a few shops selling water and snacks, and some strategically placed permit checkposts lest you attempt to wander the area surreptitiously. As in Pokhara, there are also a few Shaligram sellers and also just as in Pokhara, they are all Buddhist. I suspect my interest in the kinds of religious syncretism and co-participation common to this region will soon be taking an economic turn. The number of stones sold is surprising, and many stone sellers explain that they have a specific supplier. By the sounds of it, as I suspected in Jomsom when I met a few stone hunters on the banks of the Kali-Gandaki, there are professional Shaligram hunters who scour the river beds for stones that they then sell to Buddhist shops all along the pilgrimage circuit. This is particularly interesting because the Skanda Purana specifically forbids the buying and selling of these stones and yet, I can’t help but conclude that the sheer volume of stones being sold must indicate the Hindu pilgrims are buying them. To Western trekkers, they would be little more than a cheap novelty, if they knew what they were at all.
My insistent questions have also revealed a few other interesting points of order. Firstly, that some Buddhist sellers are no longer content to wait for the relatively rare stones of the river beds to materialize and are now actively mining them from the mountain side. Secondly, these mined stones (which are clearly not rounded and many aren’t even black) are being met with some degree of resistance. Those who buy stones are obviously less interested in “mountain stones” than they are “river stones.” However, many sellers have commented that “the mountain has so many stones” and waiting for river stones is sometimes difficult. Lastly, the earthquake has been both a concern and a boon in this region in terms of stones. While very few tourists have made their way to Muktinath this season, the earthquake does not seem to have deterred many pilgrims, which is providing at least something of a windfall for the economy here. And while the earthquake did not cause significant damage to Ranipauwa, there are several areas where landslides and fault breaks have revealed new stone beds in the mountain side. Many people have already begun digging in these areas in search of new stones.
My hope now going forward is to try and get more time with the incoming pilgrims. Meeting the stone sellers is one thing, but I now need to know more about who they are selling to.
These raw “Golden Egg” type Shaligrams have been exposed by a recent landslide related to the earthquake.
Finally, a decent picture of the famous Thorong La Pass to Tibet.
The view taken from just outside Ranipauwa.
On our way up to Muktinath Temple.
Posted by J Foster on Jun 8, 2015 in Fieldwork in Nepal
“Khana khannu bhaiyo?” means “Have you eaten” and it is a common informal greeting in this region. How do I know? Because at last, my guide and I have arrived safely in Jomsom, Mustang District.
I wish I had words to describe this place to you in a way that could convey the motion your heart makes in your chest when you first behold the high Himalayas. Snow-capped peaks that cover the sky; the Himalayas are an incredible sight to behold. “Grandeur” seems like such a cliche and photos and inspirational quotes inadequate. The mountain flight to get here, however, was not something I highly recommend to those already leery of flying. A moderately bumpy 20 minutes of bounding and turning through mountain passes and valleys in the world’s tiniest commercial airplane finally lands you at 2700 meters but not without a fair degree of white-knuckling (at least, on my part). But in doing so, I have traded Pokhara’s humid 90 degree afternoons for a cool and clear 50 degrees in the day time, a fair westerly wind, and a pace of life far more suited to my explorer’s disposition. That, and my last night in Pokhara was a little rough. I finally figured out why I kept waking up covered in insect bites and, as it turned out, the bed was infested with fleas. I did manage to get a few hours of sleep after draping the mattress in towels and a blanket but at that point, there was little I could do. My arms and legs still look like I got into a fight with a toddler wielding a red magic marker but one of the benefits of altitude is that the bugs really thin out up here and I really couldn’t be happier. My choice to undertake fieldwork in a less…..tropical….setting has already proven the right choice. Cold I can do.
Not unexpectedly, internet is a little spotty, though. Connectivity is pretty limited in terms of times of day and access to Wifi signals, so I have no way to predict how often I will be able to post and update. I purchased a mobile modem in Pokhara much as I did in India a few years ago but if the signal just isn’t up to par, I might try out any one of the few scattered internet cafes I have already seen in the area. But for the moment, my current guesthouse has working Wifi.
Now, my guide and I rest up here for today to continue our acclimation and head for 4000m (to Muktinath) tomorrow afternoon. First by Jeep to Ranipauwa and then maybe we walk it….maybe I find myself a suitably horse.
My current base of operations. Well, for a day anyway.
Jomsom Airport. To wit, “flying low” is a very relative term in the Himalayas.
Jomsom – Surrounded by the peaks.
It says, “Welcome for Climbing.”
Posted by J Foster on Jun 7, 2015 in Cultural Anthropology
, Fieldwork in Nepal
Today I visited the shopkeepers of Pokhara, Nepal. Specifically, I concentrated on speaking with shopkeepers who sold Shaligram stones. For those of you who don’t know my work as well, it is important to understand that in Hindu Vaishnava theology, it is a karmic sin to place a monetary value on or exchange money for a Shaligram stone. Now, the bending of religious rules such as this one for the sake of making a living selling religious objects is not necessarily unheard of among merchants who are both faithful and business savvy, but in my past experiences, Hindu Vaishnavas who venerate these stones have always been particularly serious on this point. Therefore, one of my pressing questions in regards to the commonplace sale of stones in both India and Nepal had to do with who was selling them, who was buying them, and how the stones were making it from the high Himalayas where they are found into the tourist markets of Pokhara, Kathmandu, and beyond.
I won’t supply all the gritty details here (as such details constitute the raw data of my research and I do not have as clear an idea of what everything really means just yet) but suffice to say the stones are rather routinely sold (not by Hindus) and for roughly Rs 350 to upwards of Rs 1000 (about $3.50 to $10.00), are often bought (not by Hindus), and have a very concerning method of getting from point A to point B (involving intentional destruction of whole stones into smaller pieces). It is the last point that has me, currently, the most intrigued, as, for the moment, it would appear that shopkeepers who sell the stones are either unaware of (or claim to be unaware of) what these stones are in terms of religious significance or, are aware of their significance and are intentionally destroying them before placing them up for sale.
Needless to say, my notes runneth o’er.
Also, lastly, I leave for Jomsom/Muktinath with my Nepali guide early tomorrow morning. I don’t know what my internet accessibility situation is going to look like once I get there so….I’ll see you all when I see you, maybe sooner, maybe later.
Another broken Shaligram. Every stone, with a couple of rare exceptions, was sold in this manner.
A basket of stones for sale.
Another broken Shaligram. In fact, almost no shopkeeper sold undamaged stones.
Can you spot the Shaligram here? It’s hiding on the trinket shelf.
Broken Shaligram – A typical shop stone.
Raw Shaligram stones often appeared on shop shelves mixed with other minerals and semi-precious stones. This was the only shop I encountered selling whole stones.
Posted by J Foster on Jun 3, 2015 in Cultural Anthropology
, Fieldwork in Nepal
One of the truths of working in anthropology is that you never know what is going to be useful. Really. So in most cases, ethnographic fieldworkers often find themselves documenting everything they can (including the most inconsequential minutia) with the somewhat agnostic hope that God will sort it out later.
My first day in Kathmandu has already proven a fine example of this dilemma. Though the airline lost my baggage somewhere between New York and Abu Dhabi, and therefore left me without my field notebook, I’ve been able to jot notes here and there on my guesthouse receipts and a couple of business cards I picked up from a trekking agency office. So far this has included thoughts about the still obvious earthquake damage I’ve already encountered, the generally warm welcome of everyone I have met, and the reactions I have gotten from shop-keepers and service people when I converse with them in Hindi rather than English (confused then excited). Without meaning to, I think I may also have partially terrified the woman sweeping the guesthouse stairs this morning when I asked her how she was today (Aj aap kaisi hain?). But since then, every time she sees me walking past she is keen to talk to me right away, mostly for the novelty of it I think. The other good news is that, as it turns out, I am able to communicate more and understand much more than I thought I would initially. Though Hindi and Nepali have a great deal in common, they are not the same language, and I was concerned my previous language learning wouldn’t be as beneficial as I hoped. Clearly, I am quite pleased to be proven wrong in this case.
Even better I also had the foresight to pack my camera in my carry-on, so I haven’t been without the joys of looking like a true tourist as well. Other than that, I am left until tomorrow with my computer, a bottle of Tylenol, and a bag of Skittles I bought at the airport. At least I thought to wear comfortable clothes. Thankfully, a few hours wandering through the narrow streets of Thamel District (not far from my guesthouse) I was able to find the bare essentials necessary to see me through: a power converter to charge my computer and a bottle of shampoo. Seeing as I haven’t bathed in three days, I’m really looking forward to the latter.
So, speaking of which, I think I might just get to it while we’re all taking a mid-day heat rest.
Buddhist Stupa nearly destroyed by the Gorkha Earthquake.
Thamel District, Kathmandu
Thamel District, Kathmandu
Thamel District, Kathmandu
The building on the right was destroyed by the quake. The surviving building is on the left.
Posted by J Foster on May 31, 2015 in Cultural Anthropology
I leave for Kathmandu, Nepal early tomorrow morning. As is typical of travel from the U.S. to South Asia, I will be negotiating flights for roughly two days of travel time. Once there, it will be another week before I reach my fieldsite in Mustang District. As we ascend higher and higher into the Himalayas, we’ll be first stopping to acclimatize in Pokhara and then in Jomsom, before making the final leg by jeep to Muktinath.
Describing my fieldsite has always been a bit of a challenge for me. Muktinath is a complicated place, embedded in complicated space, and I have not yet found, I think, the best sequence with which to describe it. In other words, I’m often at a loss as to what aspect I should describe first since I continuously feel the need to explain why something is important before I can even tell someone what it is. Imagine the problem a bit like finding two old photographs, full of people you do not recognize, in a shoe box. While both photos are beautiful, one photo has a description written on the back of it including names, dates, and places that everyone seems to know. The other has nothing. In the meantime, I’m trying to describe an album full of photos with nothing written on them.
Good advice for future generations I suppose; document your photos, kids.
In that vein, as I set off to begin my fieldwork in Nepal, I think it’s high time I contextualized all of this a little. So, here is something of an explanation of Muktinath, Nepal:
Mustang District is located in Nepal’s Dhaulagiri Zone, along the western ridge of the Himalayan Annapurna mountain range. Founded as the Kingdom of Lo in AD 1440. Mustang is currently divided into upper (northern) and lower (southern) regions. These distinctions are both locally and nationally defined, and have tremendous economic, social, political, and cultural ramifications partially due to the fact that Upper Mustang is still restricted to foreign travel and Lower Mustang only opened to travelers in 1992. However, the internal divisions, dialects, and distinctions of Mustang’s populace are much more complex than this binary division might imply. For example, Mustang is also home to the Baragaon settlement area which is comprised of speakers of primarily Nepali-Tibetan dialects located in and around the Muktinath Valley, and the Lode Tshodun, the seven principalities of the kingdom of Lo, a Tibetan-speaking area of which the walled city of Lo Monthang is the capital.
The village of Kagbeni marks the division between upper and lower Mustang in that foreigners are not allowed to travel north beyond Kagbeni without special permits. The reasons behind these continued closures is politically complex. The entire region encompassed today by the Mustang District, and in particular the Kali-Gandaki River Valley, has been a locus of trans-Himalayan trade for centuries, particularly in the exchange of lowland grains for Tibetan salt. However, since its consolidation in 1789 during the Gorkhali conquests and until the Chinese occupation of Tibet in 1959, Mustang had maintained strong cultural and economic ties to the old kingdoms of Tibet, Bhutan, and West Bengal. Today, considered an important buffer region between Chinese-occupied Tibet, the Kathmandu Valley, and India, Mustang has maintained a certain degree of local autonomy but has continued to struggle economically in political isolation. In addition, and not surprisingly, given its historical, linguistic, and ethnic ties to Tibet, its position as the base of operations for the Tibetan resistance in the 1960s, as well as the large numbers of Tibetan refugees still living in the region, Mustang is quite often problematically characterized in both travel literature and in academic discourse as “the Lost Kingdom of Tibet.”
In light of Nepal’s long-standing struggles with inter-regional conflict, civil war, and political instability, the central government of Kathmandu has positioned itself as a culturally homogenizing force in the spirit of national unity. Since the unification of Nepal under the Sugauli Treaty of 1816, and the ratification of the civil code called the Muluki Ain, the central government has defined Nepaliness through three principal criteria: speaking Nepali, adopting the Daura Suruwal style of dress, and practicing Vaishnava Hinduism. (Vaishnavism or Vaishnava Dharma, is one of the major branches of Hinduism common in India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka. It is focused on the veneration of Vishnu as a supreme deity. Vaishnava traditions then comprise multiple variant forms of polymorphic monotheism and henotheism but all of which give primary importance to Vishnu and his ten incarnations.) Three categories of political belonging which are not exemplified by Mustang District in general, or the Muktinath Valley region specifically; who tend to speak a combination of Hindi, Nepali, and Tibetan, wear Himalayan styles of dress, and practice three historically and discursively separate religious traditions syncretically (Hinduism, Buddhism, and Bonpo/Bön). It is within this historical, political, and economic landscape that the Hindu-Buddhist pilgrimage site of Muktinath is situated.
Muktinath-Chumig Gyatsa (Mukinath being the Indian/Hindu name for the site, meaning “Lord of Salvation,” and Chumig Gyatsa being the Tibetan/Buddhist name for the site, meaning “Hundred Waters”) sits at 3750m above sea level just below the Thorong La mountain pass in Lower Mustang along the western slopes of the Damodar Himal, a northern extension of the Annapurna and Dhaulagiri mountain peaks. While the main draw of the temple site is the Mandir of Vishnu (Hindu Vaishnava), both the temple and the mountain pilgrimage route contain numerous important shrines to Shiva (Hindu Shaivite) as well as Buddhist stupas. As a sacred landscape, Muktinath is even more contentious.
Textual sources drawn from both Hindu and Buddhist traditions alternatively place “Muktinath” (or alternatively “Muktiksetra”) near the source of the Kali-Gandaki river (some 4000m higher up the mountain) or in the mythic region called Salagrama (an indigenous term for the area that will have special significance in a moment) which is variously placed in central Nepal, elsewhere in the Annapurna range, or near the Trisuli river in highland Tibet near the Chinese border. This ambiguity highlights our first contention at Muktinath. That being the contention of Muktinath’s “real” location which I argue is likely indicative of its religious position as a Buddhist-Hindu syncretic site and indicative of the problematic characterization of the primarily Nepali Hindu Annapurna pilgrimage circuit by tourist literatures as essentially “Buddhist/Tibetan.” These particular tensions often revolve around a historical record that documents Muktinath as having been a Hindu pilgrimage destination as far back as AD 300 before being incorporated into the Buddhist revival of pilgrimage sites in the area sometime in the late 8th century AD. These textual ambiguities are also unsettled in practice through the modern Buddhist understanding of the deity of Vishnu at Muktinath as also being that of an incarnation of the patron bodhisattva of the nation of Tibet, Avalokiteśvara. This is because the vast majority of pilgrims who visit the site are comprised mainly of Hindi or Nepali-speaking Vaishnavas (from primarily central Nepal or northern India) while the permanent residents of the nearby villages (such as the main pilgrimage stop, Ranipauwa) remain split between Nepali-speaking Pahari (“hill people”), the Tibeto-Burmese-speaking but ethnically Nepali Thakali peoples, and the Tibetan-speaking Bhotia of Baragaon who migrated not from Tibet, but from other regions of Nepal.
The issue of religious syncretism is also a primary one. Though I won’t go into depth here about the discursive problems of the term “religious syncretism,” (See my interview on “This Anthropological Life” for more in-depth discussion of this term) religious co-participation is one of Muktinath’s primary features. What does that mean? In general usage it means that the people of Muktinath simultaneously practice more than one religious tradition (Buddhism, Hinduism, and Bonpo/shamanism). However, I argue that these traditions and spiritual ontologies are not being reconciled into new hybrid forms, but are, instead, held in continuous contention. What is more, often times this contention is articulated in national terms. What I mean by this is that Hinduism is often coded as distinctly Indian, Buddhism as Tibetan, and Bonpo as Nepali.
So who goes there? – Pilgrims to Muktinath are primarily North Indian or Eastern Nepali Hindus, and somewhat fewer Buddhists from southern Tibet. Also, somewhat surprisingly, Muktinath is not run by either Buddhist monks or by Hindu brahmacharya as is typical of significant pilgrimage places similar to Muktinath. Rather it is run primarily by a resident order of Buddhist nuns of Nyingmapa/Lama Wangyal sect. This point is particularly interesting because neither Mahayana or Theravada Buddhism nor Vaishnava Hinduism allow women to maintain religious authority not are other pilgrimage sites similar in scale and prestige to Muktinath run in this way. Female practical authority, however, is known among practitioners of shamanism, including the local traditions of Bonpo.
This articulation with shamanism and Bön practices is important on a national scale because it situates Muktinath within the larger Hindu-Buddhist-shamanistic ritual system that is prevalent among Nepal’s hill communities and which may also reveal broader uses of religious syncretism for negotiating identity in the Himalayan regions. In this way, the complicated linkages of transnational religious and gendered identities and structures of power that continue to affect the ascetic women (Buddhist nuns) who live and work at Muktinath complicates the site’s religious and ritual positions vís-a-vís the local Nepali residents and the international and transnational pilgrims drawn to the temple site. This is important because I ask whether the nuns may represent a continuity of Bön practice, or, if their practical authority at Muktinath may demonstrate enough of a deviation from orthodox Hindu and Buddhist practices that possible religious claims to the site become problematic, or perhaps a little of both.
But the enduring and over-arching draw for pilgrims, domestic and transnational, actually lies a few hundred meters higher up the mountain at the source of the Kali-Gandaki river, the Damodar Kund, a lake which sits at roughly 8000m and whose ancient shale beds are the source of the sacred Shaligram Stones.
Since at least the 5th c. B.C.E., the veneration of sacred fossil ammonite stones has been a prevalent feature of both Hindu and Buddhist ritual practices throughout South Asia. Even today, Muktinath remains the sole geographic source for these stones, called Shaligram Shila, venerated as the naturally occurring manifestation of Sriman Narayan (Lord Vishnu) and his avatars. To Buddhist practitioners, these stones are often read as manifestations of various kinds of celestial beings or occasionally, as parts of the Buddha himself. Ritual and religious uses of the stones are widely varied, and include use in public shrines, in home worship, in festival events, and for exchange during major life events such as weddings and funerals. Shaligram stones are primarily found in along the river banks, and in the tributaries offshoot lakes, of the the Kali-Gandaki river. This particular association with rivers is especially important given the view in many South Asian religions that rivers often constitute a sacred bridge (tirtha) between the material and divine worlds. Thusly, the parallels between a stone that “travels” into the mortal world and pilgrims who “travel” into divine worlds through movement across landscapes is also symbolically significant.
In the discourses of science, Shaligram Stones are comprised of three species of fossil ammonites that originate in the shale beds of the Damodar Kund. They date specifically from the Early Oxfordian to the Late Tithonian age near the end of the Jurassic period some 165-140 million years ago. But this kind of discourse is largely absent from the religious discourse of pilgrimage and among the pilgrims themselves who journey to Muktinath to obtain the stones. Suffice to say, Shaligram Stones constitute a primary draw for religious pilgrims to the temple valley and accordingly have been one of the major sources of income (either by catering to the food and housing needs of pilgrims or by selling the stones directly) for residents of the region. Shaligrams then, and their significant draw in terms of pilgrimage, serve as a focus of national and international commerce within the region even though their exchange is positioned in religious terms. And it is here that I am just beginning.
See? I told you it was complicated.
Posted by J Foster on May 18, 2015 in Sculpting
As I prepare for several months of upcoming fieldwork, I’ve been working to finish up all those partial projects remaining around the house.
The fairies were one of them.
Mummy Fairies and Mummy Fairy Box
Mummy Fairies and Mummy Fairy Box
Down for the Count
Posted by J Foster on May 15, 2015 in Cultural Anthropology
, In the Media
As many of you already know, a second earthquake (7.3 magnitude) struck Nepal on May 12th. This one, with an epicenter much further north, primarily affected Mount Everest and the surrounding villages but still resulted in a death toll around 80. And I am still going.
For the moment, my fieldwork plans have not changed significantly from the first post-earthquake revision. My plane tickets are booked, my itinerary still valid (as far as I know), my visa approved and my passport returned from the embassy. This does not mean, of course, that tensions are not already running high. My family is concerned for my safety and my committee is already bandying about some possible alternative plans should Nepal prove to be too geographically unstable for this summer’s planned project. There is the possibility of additional intensive language training, perhaps a supplemental religion class, even a full-scale project redirection back to northern India where my original fieldwork was conducted in 2012. I have “a lot of balls in the air,” as they a say. A metaphor one of my more theatrically inclined undergraduate professors at UW-Madison used to favor at particularly stressful times of indecision. Right along with “herding cats.”
But if I can go, I will go.
Barring a third natural disaster between now, then, and afterwards I feel it still imperative that I get on the ground as soon as possible. The trekking company that I have booked my transportation through is already using their resources to move relief supplies into the western provinces and with any luck, I’ll be joining them. This is how anthropology can both “see” as well as “do,” or in more disciplinary jargon, “observe” as well as “participate.” I know that things will be complicated and difficult once I arrive, but this was never a vacation. And I know that many will still be without adequate food, shelter, and medical care. But I also know that ritual, pilgrimage, and religious renewal are already re-taking hold throughout the region as people struggle to not just preserve their lives, but to sustain the spirit that gave them breath in the first place.