The Janmamaraṇavicāra or “Reflection on Life and Death” is a unique work in the history of Śaiva literature. Little, however, is known of the text’s author, Bhaṭṭa Vāmadeva. One can be certain of next to nothing as regards his personal and material circumstances, nor is he known to have written anything else. What can be registered is that Vāmadeva very likely was the disciple of the famed Śaiva exegete, Yogarāja, who himself was the grand-student, via Kṣemarāja, of the great Śaiva polymath, Abhinavagupta. We sat down with Dr. Nemec to find out more about this fascinating project.

Why is this text important and unique?

In a nutshell, the Janmamaraṇavicāra offers a concise and clear exploration of the nature of life and death, explaining existence from the highest levels of consciousness-awareness to the physical universe and the transmigrating individual who experiences birth and death. The pages of this text offer a précis of non-dual Śaiva theology, including models of the universe through the differing levels of reality (the tattvas, the bhuvanas and the śaktis, icchā, jñāna, kriyā). Bhațța Vāmadeva then takes a detailed look at the human body, quoting from medical Ayurvedic literature, and synchronises Śaivite thought with Indian medicine; a mutual juxtaposition of medicine and theology. He describes how the Self, or soul, of every individual being is not only Śiva himself, but is embodied in human form and this self-as-Śiva does not die when the body dies. He cites an eclectic selection of textual sources, some now lost, to illuminate this duality of the human condition. Finally, through poetic verses, Bhațța Vāmadeva shows that death and life, while diametrically opposed, form a unity of existence as Śiva.

Who was Bhațța Vāmadeva?

Very little is known about his personal circumstances, but he is thought to have been a disciple of Yogarāja, a famed exponent of Śaivite philosophy who was himself a grand-student via Kṣemarāja of the great Śaivite polymath Abhinavagupta. Bhațța Vāmadeva lived and worked in the Kashmir Valley sometime around 1050-1100 CE, and the royally conferred title ‘Bhațța’ indicates he would have been connected to the ruling groups of the day. His eloquent style of Sanskrit prose and poetic composition also indicate high status and education.

What drew your interest to such an obscure piece of Śaiva literature?


That very fact! This is an important text written by someone who’s never been studied and is largely unknown, even among scholars. As far as the history of Śaivism goes, he arrived somewhat late in the day, in the late 11th century, albeit in the line of Abhinavagupta. We know that because he quotes from a lot of Śaivite texts. But the other reason is because of the nature of the work itself: It’s a reflection on the fundamental question of birth and death—what it means to be born and what it means to pass away. I was really drawn to that.

How would you characterize his literary approach?

He does two things. The first thing is to offer an overview of Śaivism. The text is only about 30 pages long; and about half of it is comprised of quotations. That's unusual in and of itself. The second thing he does is make a subtle argument about the double nature of reality. First, it's the way it looks right now. But there is also this hidden thing behind it that it's the unity of all of existence as Śiva. And if you can see that, you realize that things that look like opposites—like two different things—are actually one thing. And that one thing is that birth and dying, existence in the body, and existence as an unchanging self, an Ātman, are one and the same.

How does he make that subtle argument?

One way is in the structure of the book itself. He opens the work with a poem and ends it with poetic verse, beautifully written in ornate poetic meters. The beauty of the language strikes you in the heart. But then the middle of the text is citations of śastra, of technical works that are not poetic at all. They're really didactic. He also cites a lot of medical works, including general knowledge of Āyurveda, that are not Śaiva in particular. So, in short, first he talks about the beauty and wonder of language in a poetic manner. And then he cites things that are decidedly not poetic. And I realized—and I think I'm right about this—that what he's suggesting is that if you look at it in the right way, you'll realize that it's all the same thing, opposites are one and the same.


Can you give us an example?

Sure. On the one hand, he literally describes how blood flows through the body. But if you have the right vision, if you have the vision of Śiva, as it were, you see that the physical heart can be identified with the metaphorical heart of Śiva. In other words, the plain didactic language can be identified with this poetic language that gives you an insight. That kind of combination is quite rare in the history of the tradition. It would be like if you went to a talk in an ashram and the beginning started the way you might expect, talking about Śiva and non-dualism, and then the second half of the talk was all about 21st century medical research. And then somehow by the end, you realize that those two discussions are one discussion.



How can a book be under the radar for a millennium before its importance is realized?

Well, the text isn't quoted that much in the tradition itself, because it came so late. Most of the authors we're most familiar with came before Bhaṭṭa Vāmadeva. It’s also quite short, and maybe, for that reason, it looks kind of insignificant. That being said, it somehow got copied and preserved in manuscript transmission by devout people for nearly a thousand years. So there's got to be something to it. I read it, and I found it quite fascinating. We don't know much about this author, but he did something new and interesting. He reflected on Śaivism and what it could mean for life. You know, what do you do when somebody dies? I think that there's a solace in this text. It's trying to offer comfort around death and dying and a pathway beyond individual human birth in a Śaiva way.

You’ve just returned from Kashmir. Can you tell us about the trip?

I had located two copies of the Janmamaraṇavicāra in Śrinagar. I think one of them is the one used by the editor who published it in 1919, Mukundram Shastry, and the other one is a little bit different, but it's useful to compare them. I spent time in the Oriental Research Library in Śrinagar. It's the central library funded by the government of Jammu and Kashmir. The librarians were wonderful. I got to see the documents firsthand, and I received digital images of the manuscripts in question.

What else did you do?

I visited a pretty early temple, maybe 6th century, in Śrinagar that they call the Śankaracharya temple, because they think Śankara went there. I also went to two 9th century temple ruins—Avantiswara (dedicated to Śiva) and Avantiswami (dedicated to Vishnu)—both funded by Avantivarman, founder of Kashmir’s Utpala dynasty. Avantivarman was a good king. There are not too many of those in the history of Kashmir, according to the historian Kalhana. He presented himself as a Śaiva his whole life, and then at the end of his life he revealed that he’d secretly been a Vaishnava all along. I also went to the 8th century Martand Sun temple, dedicated to Surya, the chief solar deity in Hinduism. Finally, I went to some of the Mughal gardens, which are from the later part of the Islamic period of the valley. One of them was built in the 17th century by Dara Shikoh, who was deeply mystical himself. He followed Sufism but kind of had a syncretic view of Hinduism and Islam. It’s a beautiful garden, you know, maybe 1000 or 1500 feet up, with a view of the mountains on one side and the view of the Dal Lake on the other. To actually see these sites with my own eyes was really inspiring. Visiting the Kashmir Valley felt very much like the living context for the text itself.

Why is the work of Muktabodha so important?


First, they're funding this and other translations and bringing into print renderings of works in the Kashmir Series of Texts and Studies, many of which haven’t been published before. That's absolutely vital because it's sponsoring new scholarship in the history of Indian ideas—Śaivism in particular—and that's really vital.

At the same time, it’s also preserving “old” scholarship, right?

Precisely. Much of what we know of the history of both Śaivism in particular and of Indian religions in general is preserved only in writing. And that writing exists in hand-written and copied sources, which are numerous but fragile—they tend to fall apart over time due to the climate. It is still the case today that the majority of what was written—and thought and experienced and imagined—in Indian cultural history has not been printed in mass-produced books. These manuscripts are our only bridge to much of the past—the culture, learning, and insight that Indian traditions have to offer. This kind of preservation of material culture is therefore an act of recovery and of discovery, and we would be really impoverished in our knowledge of Indian ideas without it.

The Muktabodha Translation Series is published by the State University of New York Press, an outstanding academic publishing house with a long tradition of offering titles in Indian Religions and, in particular, in Śaivism in Kashmir (and beyond). Dr. Hamsa Stainton, a distinguished scholar of Indology at McGill University, serves as Editor-in-Chief for the Series.