Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
Julia Shaw
The Oxford Handbook of Buddhist Practice
Edited by Kevin Trainor and Paula Arai
Print Publication Date: Jul 2022 Subject: Religion, Buddhism
Online Publication Date: May 2022 DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190632922.013.10
Abstract and Keywords
This chapter explores archaeology’s contribution to scholarly understandings of Buddhist
attitudes toward the “natural” environment and the relevance of such material for global
discourse on the contemporary climate-change and biodiversity crises. It draws on evi
dence from central India for monastic engagement with food production, land and water
use in lowland zones, as well as attitudes toward, and engagement with, upland forested
areas, including the monastic occupation of prehistoric rock-shelters clustered around
hilltops that were developed into architectural monastery complexes during the late cen
turies BCE. Both sets of evidence need to be viewed together in order to address critical
ly text-based discourse on Buddhist environmental ethics with its predominant focus on
Buddhist attitudes toward the suffering of animals and the “beauty” of “nature,” over and
above human-centric variables, and to reassess art-historical discourse on monastic gar
dens as arenas for transcending and viewing “nature” from a distance. Such an approach
also helps to break down socially constructed polarizations between “peripheral” forests
and “productive” lowland agriculture that have long since shaped discourse on India’s re
ligious, political, and environmental history.
Keywords: Anthropocene, Ayurveda, Buddhism and nature, environmental humanities, garden studies, lowland-up
land interactions, monastic governmentality, religion and ecology, rock-shelters and caves, translocal deity
Introduction
THIS chapter explores archaeology’s contribution to scholarly understandings of early In
dian Buddhist attitudes toward the “natural” environment and the relevance of such ma
terial for global discourse on the contemporary climate-change and biodiversity crises.
There are two main foci of inquiry: (1) monastic engagement with food production, land
and water use in lowland agricultural zones, and (2) attitudes toward, and engagement
with, upland forests, including the monastic occupation of prehistoric rock-shelters clus
tered around hilltops that were developed into structural monastery complexes during
the late centuries BCE. Discourse on the related transition from peripatetic mendicancy
to sedentary monasticism has tended to focus more on economic linkages with urbanPage 1 of 22
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
based and agricultural society than with upland forests that are often cast as dangerous
places, removed from mainstream economic agency. I argue that both zones need to be
viewed together if we are to understand the socio-ecological variables of the transmission
of Buddhist monasticism, and the Buddhist literary and artistic motifs of “nature” in
“monastic gardens” which are commonly presented as arenas for transcending and view
ing “nature.” from a distance. I also explore discourse on the often-paradoxical position
that forests and mountainous caves occupy in the Buddhist worldview—at once places of
refuge and quiet meditation, sources of mystery and hidden treasures including jewels
and medico-culinary plants, but also locales of danger and fear. Archaeological correlates
of such views include scholarship on timber and non-timber forest products (NTFP) in
South Asian and trans-national trading networks, and diachronic landscape archaeology
data that illuminate the long-term entanglements between monastics and both upland
and lowland environments that supported the development of institutionalized monasti
cism.
The main case study here is the Sanchi Survey Project (SSP) in central India,
which involved the documentation of diachronic landscape data including hilltop
monastery complexes, “natural” caves (guha) and adapted rock-shelters (lena), habita
tional settlements, sculptures, temples, water resource structures, and land-use patterns.
Together with comparative case studies from other parts of South Asia,1 the evidence for
the sangha’s engagement with different types of socio-ecological environments in the
Sanchi area provides an empirical basis for reassessing scholarly views on the “ecologi
cal” credentials of early Buddhism,2 and their relevance for global discourse on the poten
tial for past human-environmental interactions and “worldviews” to shape current and fu
ture sustainability policy.3
(p. 214)
Archaeology, Religion-and-Ecology, and the En
vironmental Humanities
Discourse on Buddhist attitudes toward “nature” is characterized by a general lack of in
tegration between Buddhist studies and archaeology, which has been slow to engage with
religion-and-ecology discourse4 and the environmental humanities more broadly speak
ing.5 Despite archaeology’s long-standing interest in human-environment interactions, it
has tended to focus on technological rather than cultural drivers of and responses to envi
ronmental change.6 Hence, idealized assumptions regarding the “eco” credentials of ear
ly Indian religions have until recently seen little challenge from archaeology.7
Nevertheless, archaeology holds much potential for redressing such views, particularly
the notion of pre-colonial India’s untouched, and universally revered, upland forests rep
resenting the natural “other” of their “cultural” agro-urban lowland counterparts.8 In
Southeast Asia, for example, upland zones previously designated as “virgin” forests are
now known to have undergone extensive urban development in antiquity, and in India
woodland managing practices were central to Neolithic investment agriculture.9
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
However, such recognition of the economic value of forests should not undermine the rit
ually charged associations of such places.10
Similar dislocations characterize archaeology’s engagement with Anthropocene and cli
mate change studies, which have been more aligned with the environmental sciences
than with the humanities. Studies on the posited links between the weakening of the sum
mer monsoon in 4.1 Ky BP/2100 BCE, the transformation of Harappan urbanism in ca.
1900 BCE, and later changes in land use and food production11 generally overlook possi
ble intersections with cultural, religio-philosophical, or medical correlates of such
processes. Similarly, explanations for the “second” urbanization of the mid-first-millenni
um-BCE Gangetic valley have emphasized metallurgical innovation as a driver of agricul
tural expansion into previously inaccessible, forested areas. The archaeological testing of
less technologically deterministic models, especially as (p. 215) urban-based polities and
religious traditions spread westward from the third century BCE, has been further ham
pered by the mono-site-type focus of most pre-1990s settlement surveys, and
archaeobotany’s traditional focus on the earlier, Neolithic origins of crop agriculture.12
Buddhist “Landscapes” and Monastic Gardens
Unsurprisingly, therefore, archaeology has had little impact on discourse regarding Bud
dhist attitudes toward “nature,” which may be divided into two main camps: (1) the “ecoapologists,” who emphasize the “eco-dharmic” content of early Buddhist teachings,13 and
(2) the “eco-critics,” who argue that such claims have been distorted and misappropriat
ed by Western environmentalism.14 The former emphasize Buddhist preoccupations with
nonviolence (ahiṃsā) and the alleviation of suffering (dukkha) of animals, an expectation
of care toward the “natural” world, together with ideals of universal compassion as em
bodied in later, Mahayana traditions of Avalokiteshvara. Further, Arne Næss’s “Deep
Ecology” reputedly drew explicitly upon the largely Chinese interpretations of the doc
trine of pratītyasamutpāda.15 However, these posited direct linkages between Buddhist
teachings and modern environmentalist movements are generally dismissed by the ecocritics as anachronistic and historically inaccurate.16 Schmithausen, for example, argues
that early monastics were impressed less by the “beauty” of “nature” than by its negative
and “dangerous” aspects; and that they followed a form of “passive environmentalism”
that sought not to transform or “subjugate nature but to transcend it spiritually through
detachment.”17
Schmithausen’s emphasis on detachment from and transcendence of “nature” is echoed
by art-historical discourse on monastery gardens as ascetic inversions of courtly urban
ideals,18 whereby plant imagery depicted in late-centuries-BCE stupa-railing art repre
sents not “real” plants, but rather idealized utopias, or “dharma spaces,” that signal
monks’ transcendence of, rather than engagement with, “nature.”19 Accordingly, yakṣī
sculptures are recast as courtesans acting only mnemonically as symbols of monastics’
transcendence of worldly pleasures,20 while Schopen views gardens as places that al
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
lowed monastics to enjoy the “views” of the surrounding bucolic countryside from a “safe
distance.”21
A very different view, however, is painted by the SSP multi-type-site landscape data—in
cluding 35 hilltop monastery sites and 145 habitational settlements over an area of 750
square kilometers (Figure 12.1)—the suggestion being that by the second century BCE,
most hilltops had already been built over by extensive monastic complexes. They over
looked highly cultivated, hydraulically engineered, agrarian landscapes, interspersed by
fairly densely distributed, habitational sites.22 A key feature of such landscapes was a net
work of reservoirs built in the third to second century BCE, arguably to provide both up
stream and downstream irrigation in response to growing monastic (p. 216) populations
and the need for more sustainable exchange networks than were possible through tradi
tional mendicancy.23
This evidence attests to monastic communities that, far from being removed from “na
ture,” excelled in the control and harnessing of its resources. Moreover, the aforemen
tioned monastic gardens and related plant and animal representations symbolized the
sangha’s direct and skilful engagement with, rather than transcendence of economically
productive “natural” environments.
Figure 12.1. Map of landscape and archaeological
data from the Sanchi Survey Project.
Photo: Julia Shaw.
That the monastery had vested interests in lowland agrarian environments is supported
by textual and epigraphical evidence in Sri Lanka, where monastic landlordism was a key
instrument of lay patronage from the second century BCE.24 Recent survey and excava
tion work presents the idea of “theocratic” hydraulic landscapes in Anuradhapura’s hin
terland, with comparative studies in eastern India, Bihar, and the Northwest.25
Similarities between the relative configuration of monasteries, villages, and reservoirs in
Sri Lanka and central India justify the assumption of a comparable three-way exchange
system between landowners, monasteries, and the agricultural laity in both regions. Wa
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
ter control also plays a key role within monastic gardens themselves, as illustrated by os
tentatiously displayed water-harvesting and storage facilities at rock-cut monasteries in
Gujarat and the western Deccan that evidently doubled as (p. 217) outward displays of the
sangha’s ability to tame and harness natural resources in regions of climatic
uncertainty.26 While local populations previously depended on rainmaking cults for con
trolling the onset of the monsoon rains, they were now assured timely water supplies via
new technologies. Water shortage is a primary cause of dukkha, especially in regions
where ninety percent of annual rainfall occurs in two to three months, and the sangha’s
ability to alleviate such suffering was made explicit through ornamental water features
that dominate the landscaped monastic “gardens” of places such as Kanheri and Juna
gadh.
In my view, the eco-dharma debate, with its predominant focus on the non-injury of ani
mals, has been hampered by its lack of engagement with the evidence for an environmen
tally engaged sangha that reflects deeply rooted concerns with human suffering (dukkha),
its causes, and means of alleviation. Further, intersections between Buddhist environmen
tal worldviews, and medical, ritual, and bio-ecological constructions of human and envi
ronmental “care,” health, and well-being27 are relevant for scholarly and activist-oriented
enquiries into Buddhist “environmentalism,” especially given recognition within ecologi
cal public health discourse of the behavioral and religo-cultural correlates of planetary
and human health.28
Monasteries, Reservoirs, Lowland Rice Agricul
ture, and Rainmaking Cults: “Local” and
“Translocal” Landscapes and Representations
The Buddhist monuments at Sanchi overlook a hydraulic landscape that fits with the so
cially engaged model of “Buddhist economics” that sustained “non-producing” monks and
provided a practical means for alleviating human dukkha.29 A key argument is that the ir
rigation reservoirs here supported rice rather than wheat cultivation, the latter being cul
tivatable efficiently in the local clay-rich soils without irrigation.30 By contrast, the agrari
an base of the Gangetic valley which supported the “second urbanization” and the earli
est Buddhist communities of the mid-first millennium BCE had been rooted in rice cultiva
tion from at least 2000 BCE,31with paddy fields figuring prominently in texts as back
drops to Buddhist narratives or as metaphors for monastic discipline. The as-yet untested
hypothesis is that the westward spread of rice from this area accompanied the transmis
sion of both Buddhism and urban polities; extant archaeobotanical samples from South
India and the Deccan paint a confusing picture, with dates ranging from the late cen
turies BCE to the mid-first millennium CE. However, it is important to stress that sam
pling locations seem to have been chosen without due regard to discourse on monastic
governmentality and the socio-ecological realities depicted therein. Moreover, despite re
cent cautions against inferring irrigation facilities from evidence for rice,32 the (p. 218) ob
verse situation prevails at Sanchi, where there is irrigation but only a hypothetical pres
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
ence of rice. However, the high levels of manpower, financial investment, and stored wa
ter provisions indicated by the archaeo-hydrological evidence at Sanchi make it difficult
to envisage any associated crop other than rice.33
Further, pollen sequences from the reservoir deposits attest to a predominance of marsh
land plant species associated with water-logged, upstream rice-cropping environments.
The fact that aquatic species—lotus plants, fish, turtles, and snakes—also dominate
Sanchi’s railing art reinforces my earlier suggestion that such “garden” imagery symbol
izes not the sangha’s transcendence of “nature,” as suggested by others, but rather its di
rect engagement with the care and management of the kinds of hydraulic environments
attested by the SSP landscape data. Such imagery may also reflect “transportable” land
scape ideals from the paddy-dominated environments of the Gangetic valley Buddhist
“heartland,” in similar ways as “translocal” deities from that region, as discussed later,
accompanied the spread of Buddhism to new areas. Sanchi’s stupas and their “watery”
setting also conform with deeper Indic cosmogonic models such as Mount Meru rising
from primordial waters, a common motif at sacred sites across South and Southeast Asia.
Brancaccio argues that a similar superimposition of “transportable” Buddhist geogra
phies characterized the transmission of Buddhism to the western Deccan, where the nat
ural mountainous terrain of places such as Ajanta, Ellora, and Elephants was re-land
scaped according to textual ideals of “palatial abodes in mythical paradises”; the result
ing natural-cultural canvas is arguably as crucial to the “reading” of such sites as the
rock-cut temples and monasteries themselves.34
Of key relevance here are yakṣas and yakṣīs, which belong to a class of deity often de
scribed as “local” and susceptible to assimilation by “Pan Indian”—Buddhist or Sanskritic
—worldviews, and described in early Pali texts as “dangerous” spirits of specific places
that can distract forest monks from their meditational duties; like nāgas, they require hu
man propitiation to afford protection from the dangerous natural forces—rainfall, pesti
lence, and disease—that they control.35 However, most such stories are set in the
Gangetic valley, and distinguishing between their “translocal” and actual “local” status in
other areas is rarely straightforward. Cohen makes a distinction here between Ajanta’s
Cave-16-nāga shrine that he argues helped to “localize” the sangha by honoring “local”
rainmaking cults, and Hārītī, the child-eating “demoness” from Rajgir in the Gangetic val
ley, who acts rather as a “portable local deity,” symbolizing only in a generalized and “et
ic” sense the “local” convert.36 However, although the spatial correlation between nāga
shrines and water-bodies in the Sanchi area accords with nāgas’ reputed control over the
monsoon rains, because they postdate the establishment of Buddhism here by several
hundred years, I argue that many such nāgas should, like Hārītī, be seen as components
of a “transportable” Buddhist landscape, rather than as indicators of preexisting “local”
ritual-ecological realities.37
How do we get at the latter then, particularly those connected with upland, forest zones,
or with devolved, dissenting, or “non-governed” entities with which the latter are often
linked.38 While state-level expansion into forested areas, including the assimilation of re
gional cults, the settlement of Brahmins, and the establishment of temples, (p. 219) is cen
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
tral to “processural” models of “early-medieval” state development in the Deccan and
South India, earlier upland-lowland interactions of this kind remain poorly tested archae
ologically,39 while discourse on the international “spice-trade” has neglected NTFP-urbanrural trading networks within India itself.40 Other obstacles include Wittfogelian con
structions of the highly centralized state-level control of land and water resources.41
However, although inscriptions attest to the state-funded construction of many “Big
Dams,”42 their day-to-day governance was often overseen by village councils and reli
gious institutions, including, from the mid-first millennium CE, Hindu temples and
landowning deities.43
Further, although discourse on early Buddhist patronage stresses the role of urban
traders and merchants, the relationship between Buddhism and productive society is in
fact ambiguous. The sangha’s “middle-way” approach to asceticism and agro-urban cul
ture is often contrasted with the more extreme “anti-civilizational” stance of some Hindu
ascetic groups, including the rejection of hiṃsic cereal-based agriculture in favor of
small-scale horticulture.44 However, Benavides regards Buddhist monasticism as neither
a rejection nor affirmation of urban society, but rather a “commentary” on new attitudes
toward labor, consumption, wealth and purity, and pollution: while monks are prohibited
from engaging in labor, the lay donations (dāna) on which they depend comes from oth
ers’ polluting work. Through a reworking of Hindu purification rites, the donor is
cleansed of such pollution through gift-giving rituals that also disguise the sangha’s di
rect involvement in economic exchange, and thus make institutionalized monasticism pos
sible.
This system is reflected in late-centuries-BCE donative inscriptions recording forms of
collective patronage that fueled the “second propagation” of Buddhism in central India.45
However, those epigraphs recording single-identity grants of land, villages, and labor
don’t appear until the early to mid-first millennium CE46 and, according to Schopen, these
set the bar for dating the transition to fully sedentary monasticism.47 However, I have ar
gued that Schopen’s scheme overlooks crucial evidence for late-centuries-BCE rock-cut
monastery architecture in the Deccan, and contemporary structural “platformed” monas
teries, as well as associated forms of monastic-governmentality in central India.48 The lat
ter evidence based on the SSP landscape data, attesting as it does for the sangha’s en
gagement with agriculture, is of crucial relevance also for discourse on “Buddhist envi
ronmentalism,” and yet has remained absent from text-based discussions to date, with the
exception of Elverskog, who cites the SSP landscape data as case studies for contesting
the eco-dharma thesis.49 Although Elverskog cites related “anti-environmentalist” activi
ties, including the destruction of forests to make way for monasteries, the implication
that agriculture, by itself, is inherently incompatible with an “environmentally friendly”
sangha is problematic. Crucially, it ignores broader discourse on “sustainable” agricultur
al practices, and community-based responses to socio-ecological challenges of which, I
have argued, early forms of monastic governmentality are key examples; Elverskog’s po
sition also reinforces problematic canonical models of forest monasticism as the “origi
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
nal” ascetic path, set above “later” and “degenerate” forms of socially engaged monasti
cism.50
Forests, Rock-Shelters, and Hilltop Monas
teries: Human, Nonhuman, and “More-thanHuman” Entanglements
(p. 220)
Although lowland agricultural zones were central to the development of monastic-lay ex
change in the Sanchi area, the earliest monasteries were established only after periods of
pre-monumental engagement with forested upland environments. My argument is that
these regions and the medico-culinary resources that they support are crucial for under
standing the environmental correlates of socially engaged monasticism, especially given
the prominence of the forest motif in Buddhist art and literature, and theories regarding
the influence of Buddhism on the spread of Ayurvedic materia medica.51
Particularly instructive here is Falk’s study of royal forest rituals at yakṣa “thrones” in sa
cred groves (ārāma) demarcated from larger expanses of wild “forest” (jāṅgala),52 and
Trautmann’s argument that elephants, as symbols of both the “wilderness” and imperial
power, illustrated the synchronicity of urban and forest economies. Moreover, since ele
phants were captured in the wild before being trained, rulers were compelled to engage
themselves in forest conservation.53 Against such arguments it is fitting that the ele
phant, as a symbol in equal measure of the “wild” as well as urban sensibilities, figures so
prominently in early stupa railing art, given the sangha’s similarly dialectic relationship
to both urban and forest lifeways.
The majority of monasteries in the Sanchi area occur on hilltops which, with the excep
tion of the five Archaeological Survey of India protected “Bhilsa Topes” sites, are now
covered with fairly dense forest vegetation, a striking indicator of major socio-ecological
transformations following the decline of Buddhist monasticism in around the twelfth cen
tury CE. Habitational settlement density in the intervening valleys and lower hillsides is
also much lower today than attested to by historical patterns.54 The central Indian hills
support valuable plant, animal, and mineral resources, including building materials, semiprecious stones, and iron ores,55 while the distribution of prehistoric rock-shelters
throughout central India, with paintings and tool assemblages dating back in places such
as Bhimbetka to the Mesolithic, attest to the deep-historical linkages between hills and
hunter-gatherer lifeways.
Hills are also closely associated with place-bound deities such as yakṣas that we dis
cussed earlier. For example, the Āṭānāṭiya-sutta (Sutta 30) of the Dīghanikāya (III.194–
206), the great “protective text” that was popular for keeping problematic spirits away as
Buddhism spread along the Silk Roads, describes yakṣas providing a protective chant to
the Buddha dwelling on Vultures Peak in Rajgir.56 This text is really all about yakṣas.
Some are described as “good” and as keeping the precepts, but many are not and, since
they favor remote places like forests and mountains, can obstruct meditators. Similarly,
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
named yakṣa shrines (cetiya) connected with groves and (p. 221) trees57 feature promi
nently in hilltop festivals (gir-agga-samajjan), some of which are mentioned in Aśoka’s
edicts 1 and 9 as being prohibited for monks and nuns.58
The notion that the topography of Buddhist sites followed older cultic conventions has
long since informed archaeological assumptions regarding the prevalence of pre-Buddhist
ritual practices at early monastic sites,59 while the term cetiya, used in later Pali litera
ture to refer to stupas, has been described as a “deliberate” Buddhist “conversion of ter
minology.”60 Whether the sangha actively sought out such places due to their prior sacred
status, however, is difficult to determine, especially since yakṣa or nāga worship rarely
took on durable forms in these early periods; it is also possible that as a “non-producing”
entity, the sangha was restricted to settling non-agricultural spaces that were, according
to later texts such as the Arthaśāstra (verse 2.2.5), designated for use by peripatetic,
“property-renouncing” ascetical and scholarly communities.61
Interesting insights into such questions, however, are provided by the SSP settlement pat
terns: although there are increased settlement numbers in “interior” zones during the
main phase of Buddhist construction (second–first centuries BCE), older sedentary vil
lages from around 1000 BCE occur throughout the study area.62 Similarly, the occurrence
of rock-shelters, many containing prehistoric paintings and microlithic tools, at fourteen
of the hilltop monastic sites—including examples on the eastern edge of the northern sad
dle of Sanchi hill, and Nagauri hill to the south63—attests to much older occupation of
such places from at least the Chalcolithic period (2000 BCE). Similar correlations be
tween prehistoric rock-shelters and Buddhist sites are noted in other parts of the Indian
subcontinent.64
Such shelters may have been used by monastics as temporary residences before the con
struction of permanent monasteries, or as retreats at the edges of subsequently monu
mentalized complexes, in keeping with textual accounts of the special ritual or healing
properties of “natural” caves (guha), to which we will return later.65 Many such caves,
however, show direct evidence for adaptation into monastic dwellings. Although lacking
the characteristic “drip ledges” of the third-century-BCE-inscribed lenas of Sri Lanka—
rock-cut channels cut into their overhangs for diverting rainfall from the interior living
spaces, and occurring also in many of the Deccan rock-cut caves66—many include simple
additions such as external terraced platforms, interior “beds,” painted inscriptions and
Buddhist imagery, or have small stupas built around their entrances or summits. Such
places are thus closer to accepted definitions of modified cave dwellings (lena) than to
more “isolated,” unadapted caves (guha), although, as discussed later, the term lena
comes to be more closely associated with more extreme forms of adaptation, as typified
by the Deccan rock-cut caves. At Sanchi itself, three “monastic rock-shelter” clusters
were documented on the lower western and southern slope of the hill below the main stu
pa complex; others have small stupas at their entrances or on their overhanging element,
all features that mark them as “significant” locales.67 At Nagauri to the south, one of
many painted shelters clustered around the hill contains prehistoric paintings superim
posed by a later painted frieze of an enthroned “royal” couple seated before a procession
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
of horses and elephants with riders, and two yakṣa-type, spear-holding (p. 222) figures.
The narrative style recalls the first-century-CE carved gateway panels at Sanchi, but
Falk’s aforementioned work on royal forest rituals may also be relevant here.68
The richest collection of “monastic rock-shelters” in the study area occurs at Morel Khurd
to the east, a large stupa and monastery complex that forms one of five sites connected to
the Hemavata relics.69 Two such shelters stand immediately below a group of small stu
pas on the southern part of the hill. Although lacking external platforms, one contains a
painted śankhalipi inscription; the other contains a painted frieze of a cow, a horse, and a
camel with riders, which, as at Nagauri, echo the narrative style of the Sanchi gateway
panels.70 On the northeastern edge of the same hill is a larger group of ten shelters, sev
en of which have two-meter-high stone platforms and dividing walls at their entrances,
and some have raised sleeping areas inside. A large number of one- to two-meter-diame
ter stupas are arranged over their summits and adjoining plateau, which features a line of
sulfurous hot-air holes and outlines of stone structures within which the holes would have
been enclosed. These may correspond with the “hot baths” (jantaghara) that comprise
one of the ten structural components of a saṅgharama (Mahāvagga I, 30, 4; Cullavagga
VI, 1, 2).71 There are large openings inside the shelters that appear to be linked via faultlines with the hot-air holes, and that may correspond with early Buddhist textual ac
counts, discussed later, of mountain caves being converted into sweat (swedana) cham
bers, possibly influenced by Ayurvedic therapies described in the Caraka Saṃhitā (Sū
trasthāna 1, chapter 14). (Figure 12.2).
Figure 12.2. Monastic rock-shelter at Morel Khurd.
Photo: Julia Shaw.
An example of a more solitary “monastic rock-shelter” occurs on the western edge of Sat
dhara hill, another of the Hemavata relic-stupa sites, to the west of Sanchi. It contains
several painted details, including a Buddha image, two stupas, and a sixth–seventh-centu
ry-CE inscription of the Buddhist creed. Given the cave’s precarious cliff-side location,
there (p. 223) is no room for an outer terrace, but its scenic position, set apart from the
main stupas and monasteries, and overlooking the river Bes, is suggestive of a quiet med
itational retreat.72
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
To the north of Vidisha, at Ahmadpur, and forming part of a complex of fifty-eight prehis
toric painted shelters is another single shelter containing a five-line painted Brahmi in
scription datable to between the first century BCE and first century CE, in a highly local
ized, and only partially decipherable, Prakrit.73 Other paintings include a “tree-in-railing”
motif, and a yakṣa-type figure holding a spear, similar to the aforementioned example
from Nagauri, and numerous śankhalipi inscriptions that may be contemporary with a
Gupta-period stupa and temple complex on other parts of hill. One of the few decipher
able parts of the inscription mentions “vanehi soḍas-ehi 10 6 ca” (“with sixteen
[forests?]”) which, together with the absence of contemporary Buddhist architectural re
mains, is suggestive of a solitary forest retreat (āvasā).
Similar evidence occurs at other central Indian sites, such as Kharwai, Ghatla, and Bhim
betka in Raisen District,74 the latter containing a single-line Brāhmī inscription that de
scribes it as “Simhakasa lena” (“the cave-dwelling of Simhakasa”), and forming part of a
complex of painted shelters dating back to the Mesolithic period. By contrast, a large
group of “monastic rock-shelters” with external platforms and internal “beds” at the
Aśokan edict site of Pangurariya (Hoshangabad District) forms, as at Morel-khurd, part of
what is otherwise an extensive monastic complex.75 It is possible that some of these
“monastic shelters” provided transitional accommodation for monastics before the perma
nent hilltop monasteries had been completed, although this suggestion requires testing
through excavation and palynological investigations. As in Sri Lankan and Southeast
Asian two-tiered models of forest/urban monasticism, some such shelters were undoubt
edly used also in later periods following the construction of structural monasteries. More
over, they may have continued to hold special ritual significance in keeping with the medi
tational, healing, and magical reputation accorded to such places in Buddhist texts. The
evidence for this is strongest at Satdhara, while an eleventh-century-CE Mahayana cave
retreat near Raisen, to the south of Sanchi, illustrates the continued importance of such
places, even after the decline of sedentary monasticism.76
Of relevance here is Granoff’s study of textual references to remote mountain caves as
places for medical therapeutic practice, either by virtue of their perceived inherent heal
ing powers, or through their proximity to “alchemical jewels” and medicinal plants,77 and
of Buddhaghosa’s recommendations of certain caves in Sri Lanka as places for medita
tional retreat.78 In Mahayana texts of the second-to-third centuries CE, such caves fea
ture as portals into magical “bejeweled” worlds79 and, in post-Gupta Tantric texts, as lo
cales for esoteric spells and rituals.80 Granoff makes a clear-cut distinction between the
isolated, “wild” guha and the sophisticated rock-cut lena of the western Deccan sites.
However, such a setup overlooks more simply adapted caves such as the Sri Lankan lena,
and the aforementioned central Indian “monastic rock-shelters,” both of which may fit
somewhere between these two extremes. Moreover, Granoff’s emphasis on the purely
“magical” and ritual attributes of such places perpetuates socially constructed notions of
the economically disconnected forest, despite oblique reference to the “medicinal plants”
to which such locations afforded access. The latter of course (p. 224) fit well with archaeo
logical accounts of the importance of upland forests as sources of medico-culinary
“spices,”81 while textual references to the “Jewel Mountains” in which caves are set may
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
reflect geological as much as “magical” or “ritual” realities; for example, the hill-ranges
around Ajanta and other Deccan rock-cut sites are still important source areas for India’s
precious and semi-precious stones industry.
Further, the ambiguity surrounding the “wild” versus “cultivated” status of guhas/lenas in
Buddhist art and literature may reflect changing social mores and anxieties about “na
ture” as much as morphological reality. The oft-cited case study here is the Indasālagūha
at Rajgir, which, according to the Sakka pañha sutta, is where the Buddha, surrounded by
wild animals, provided teachings to Indra (Sakka). Artistic representations of this scene
from Gandhara, or late first-century-BCE Bharhut, show the cave in its “natural” forest
setting, but the later, first-century-CE depictions on Sanchi’s northern gateway frieze
present it as a rock-cut caitya, of the type with which we are familiar from the Deccan
sites.82 Rajgir’s mountainous terrain is shown, but in a “tamed and mannered” form that
arguably mirrors structural shifts from temporary monsoon retreats to permanent monas
teries or, as in the Deccan, the direct transformation of natural caves into artificially exca
vated cave-like structures.83 By the fifth century CE, Buddhaghosa describes the In
dasālagūha as having already been transformed from a guha into a rock-cut edifice (lena)
during the Buddha’s lifetime, which Brancaccio argues may reflect contemporary anxi
eties about an unadapted cave being used as the Buddha’s residence, or as a place of
worship.84 Obviously if the “artificial” status of the Indasālagūha can be thus exaggerated
to fit with changing social mores, the “wild” or “dangerous” element of such places was
no doubt equally susceptible to exaggeration. For example, Granoff discusses a Mahāvas
tu verse that recounts the adaptation of a remote Himalayan cave (guha) into a therapeu
tic sweat-chamber inspired by Ayurvedic practices.85 However, the previously discussed
“hot-air hole” at Morel Khurd that was evidently an integral part of the surrounding
“monastic rock-shelter” complex there demonstrates that such practices were not always
restricted to “remote” mountainous contexts divorced from socially engaged forms of
monasticism.
Another important point here is that most of the central Indian “monastic shelters” con
tain Chalcolithic paintings of everyday forest scenes, unusual “deities,” and wild animals
depicted in hunting, post-butchery, or hide-preparation scenes, often with their internal
organs and skeletal structure visible.86 This rich repertoire holds much scope for broad
ening scholarly understanding of interactions between Pan-Indian/Sanskritic and regional
cults and related iconographies, as well as the possible impact of prehistoric hunting
practices and related conventions of representation—and later Buddhist engagement with
such material—on the development of anatomical medical knowledge, which has hitherto
focused solely on the Classical Sanskrit tradition; this is of particular relevance given the
attested influence of Buddhist monastics on the spread of Ayurveda.87 It is also interest
ing to query whether later perceptions, including those of resident monastics, toward the
content and meanings of these prehistoric paintings influenced Buddhist textual and
artistic portrayals of the “magical” or “dangerous” properties of such places, even if some
of the aspects of forest life that the paintings (p. 225) depicted were no longer realities.
We may assume, however, that cave-dwelling monastics would have been as familiar with
those enduring elements of forest-based culture, such as for example, tree coppicing and
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
swidden agricultural practices that go back to at least 2500 BCE. as they were with low
land agriculture. Indeed, as today, there would have been considerable overlap between
the two; forests continue to provide crucial grazing, foraging, and hunting opportunities
for villagers, with products such as honey and medico-culinary plants and animals featur
ing prominently in urban-rural trading networks.
Future excavation is needed to test the degree to which non-ascetical occupation of such
rock-shelters persisted during early-historic periods, but extant settlement data suggest
that hilltops were not favored as places for village occupation during any period. Most
settlements are represented by denuded mudbrick mounds on the plains, with around 27
percent of total settlements surviving as poorly dated stone structural remains on the
lower slopes of hillsides.88
What is clear, however, is that through the construction of hilltop monastic complexes in
the late centuries BCE, monastics would have come to represent the principal occupants
of such zones. A notable feature here is that key monuments are sited on naturally forti
fied cliffs, vulnerable points are reinforced with imposing boundary walls, and monaster
ies follow towering, vertically oriented plans, raised on high platforms and approached by
internally set entrances.89 Such provisions would have ensured protection against floods
and potential threats from hostile humans, as well as wildlife, from tigers to insects.90
By contrast, the relatively exposed “monastic rock-shelters,” as well as the older monsoon
rain retreats out of which sedentary monasticism grew, would have ensured that monas
tics were fully familiar with such threats, and this too may have influenced later architec
tural traditions. Instructive in this regard is the “Bhaya-bherava Sutta” (“Discourse on
Fear and Dread”) of the Sutta Piṭaka, which describes the Buddha teaching forestdwelling ascetics meditation techniques for overcoming the fear of wild animals.91
Further, in the Commentary to the Dhammapada (verse 40), we have the story of the
“Five Hundred Bhikkhus” fleeing from their forest encampment after being spooked by
forest spirits (devatas) there.92 The latter hide in the trees but soon tire of their guests,
conjuring up ghostly apparitions and illnesses to scare them off. The monks seek refuge
with the Buddha, who advises them to return to the forest while chanting the MettāSutta. This brings about peace with the devatas, who descend from the trees, offering
their service and devotion to the monks. While this humorous “psychodrama [ … ] cap
tures the spirit of Buddhist meditation,”93 it also distills Buddhist attitudes toward the
“wild” as at once beautiful, frightening, and unpredictable, while illustrating the in
evitable disturbance to and control of “nature” that the movement of increasingly large
monastic communities into forested environments would have entailed.
The ambiguity surrounding the “human” versus “supranatural” status of the tree-dwellers
in this story is also significant, and recalls previously discussed debates surrounding the
courtesan/yakṣī identity of sculptures in early Buddhist art, whose precise relationship to
the plants from which they emerge is not always obvious. Sculptured (p. 226) śālabañjikās
(the “one that plucks śāla flowers”) on Sanchi’s first-century-CE Stupa 1 gateways, and
from sites in the Deccan,94 belong to a genre of “women standing beneath trees,” or
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
plucking flowers as in the Shravasti festival of the Āvadana Jātaka.95 There are also older
references in the Mahābhārata (Vanaparva III, 265, i-3a), to the puṣpa shākha dhāra
(“flowering branch holder”), or the “force” that “bends down the branch of the kadama
tree,” with names varying from devatā, yakṣī, dānavī, apsara, “a fair Daitya girl,” nāginī, to
rakṣasī (“night wanderer in the wood”). Although some such “forces” are bound to specif
ic trees, others have the power to move independently, as though it is the spirit of the tree
rather than the tree itself that “wills and acts,”96 while canonical prohibitions against de
stroying a sacred tree (cetiyarukkha) to make way for a monastery has been taken to sug
gest a belief in the “soul” of the tree. Given the ambiguity surrounding the human, nonhu
man, or “more-than-human” status of such beings, it is possible that the śālabañjikā
embodied all three: the courtesan, the forest-dwelling human, and the “natural” or
“supranatural” force of the tree. Moreover, the śālabañjikā’s anthropomorphized form im
plies a “natural” world that has already come under the influence of human control and
transformation, a process that is epitomized by the prominence of the garden motif, in
general, and the śāla tree, more specifically, in Buddhist art, the latter playing such a cen
tral role in woodland management practices such as coppicing and swidden from at least
the Neolithic period.97
Also instructive here is the tale of Aṅgulimāla, who features prominently in early Bud
dhist art and literature as the forest-dwelling bandit who is converted by the Buddha, but
who comes to represent more generally the wilderness as a place of danger that must be
“domesticated” by the sangha.98 Finally, the socio-ecological implications of the Vessan
tara Jātaka and two of the other Jātakas that feature on Sanchi’s first-century-CE
gateways, warrant further analysis in light of the broader landscape context provided by
the SSP data, given that they are all set in forests and involve various kinds of exploita
tion of natural/“wild” resources.
Conclusion
This chapter has explored the potential of archaeologically attested interactions between
monastic groups, and the environments, communities, and products of both upland forest
ed and lowland agricultural zones in central India, for interrogating textual and art-his
torical positions on Buddhist attitudes toward “nature,” and for illuminating potential
ecological motifs in early stories and narratives. An obvious irony is that the forests that
provided refuge for ascetic groups seeking to distance themselves from productive soci
ety were valuable sources of timber and medico-culinary products, but also of perceived
social “danger” and contagion. Further, the financial viability of physically but not social
ly removed monasticism depended on its economic interactions with surrounding vil
lagers and townspeople, and in particular its direct involvement with lowland crop-based
agriculture. Whether the latter, following Elverskog’s arguments, (p. 227) presents “proof”
of the sangha’s “anti-environmentalist” stance depends on definitions of both “environ
mentalism” and “sustainability.” However, monastic governmentality may be instructive
for modern environmental activism, if only by offering examples of community, ideologybased, models of land and water “care,” while the rejuvenation of the pre-modern hy
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
draulic structures upon which such systems relied continues to inform localized solutions
to the negative fallout of unsustainable agricultural practices introduced following the
ironically named “green revolution” of the 1970s.99
Hopefully three further points have also been demonstrated: (1) that a socially engaged
sangha that managed and cared for land and water resources both as an instrument of
patronage and as a means of tackling human suffering helps to diffuse the polarized de
bate between the “eco-apologists” and their critics, with its narrow focus on whether or
not monks were concerned with the suffering of animals or the “beauty” of “nature”; (2)
that landscape data from “beyond the monastery walls” help to challenge both
Schmithausen’s notion of a “passive” Buddhist environmentalism that sought to “tran
scend” nature through detachment, and related arguments that stress the purely “sym
bolic” function of early Buddhist garden imagery. My position is that such motifs are less
symbols of the sangha’s transcendence of nature than of its engagement with, on the one
hand, lowland hydraulic landscapes that reflected a mixture of local ecological-ritual real
ities and “translocal” ideals from the Gangetic valley and, on the other, its increasing in
cursion into upland forested zones; and finally (3) that the distribution of hilltop monas
teries, habitational settlements, and simply adapted “monastic rock-shelters” challenges
clear-cut polarizations between isolated, magical guhas, and fully transformed, rock-cut
lenas and related social constructions of the marginal and dangerous forest. What is clear
from the SSP data is that the sangha’s ability to straddle both of these socio-ecological
environments was crucial for the establishment and development of institutionalized
monasticism in the area.
further reading
Ali, Daud. “Gardens in Early Indian Court Life.” Studies in History 19, no. 2 (2003): 221–
52. https://doi.org/10.1177/025764300301900204
Ali, Daud, and E. Flatt, eds. Garden and Landscape Practices in Pre-Colonial India: Histo
ries from the Deccan. London: Routledge, 2012.
Brancaccio, Pia. “Aṅgulimāla or the Taming of the Forest.” East and West 49, no. 1/4
(1999): 105–118. http://www.jstor.org/stable/29757423
Brancaccio, Pia. “Representations of Indasalaguha: Rock-Cut Monasteries and the Shift
ing Attitudes Towards Buddhist Asceticism.” In South Asian Archaeology and Art 2012:
South Asian Religions and Visual Forms in their Archaeological Context, edited by V.
Lefèvre, A. Didier, and B. Mutin, 427–42. Tunhout: Brepols, 2016.
DeCaroli, Robert. “Snakes and Gutters: Nāga Imagery, Water Management, and Buddhist
Rainmaking Rituals in Early South Asia.” Archives of Asian Art 69, no. 1 (2019): 1–19.
https://doi.org/10.1215/00666637-7329873
Elverskog, Johan. The Buddha’s Footprint: An Environmental History of Asia. Philadel
phia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020.
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Subscriber: OUP-Reference Gratis Access; date: 22 June 2022
Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
Granoff, Phyllis. “What’s in a Name? Rethinking ‘Caves.’” In Living Rock: Bud
dhist, Hindu and Jain Cave Temples in Western Deccan, edited by P. Brancaccio, 18–29.
Mumbai: Marg Publication, 2013.
(p. 232)
Heirman, Ann. “How to Deal with Dangerous and Annoying Animals: A Vinaya
Perspective.” Religions 10, no. 2 (2019): 113. https://doi.org/10.3390/rel10020113
Hidas, Gergely. A Buddhist Ritual Manual on Agriculture: Vajratuṇḍasamayakalparāja –
Critical Edition and Translation. Berlin/Boston: Walter de Gruyter GmbH, 2019. https://
doi.org/10.1515/9783110621051-001
Morrison, Kathleen, D., S.B. Hecht, and C. Padoch, eds. The Social Lives of Forests: Past,
Present, and Future of Woodland Expansion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014.
Schmithausen, Lambert. “The Early Buddhist Tradition and Ecological Ethics.” Journal of
Buddhist Ethics 4, no. 1 (1997): 1–74.
Shaw, Julia. Buddhist Landscapes in Central India: Sanchi Hill and Archaeologies of Reli
gious and Social Change, c. 3rd Century BC to 5th Century AD. London: Routledge, 2007.
Shaw, Julia. “Religion, ‘Nature’ and Environmental Ethics in Ancient India: Archaeologies
of Human:Non-Human Suffering and Well-being in early Buddhist and Hindu Contexts.”
World Archaeology 48, no. 4 (2016): 517–543. https://doi.org/
10.1080/00438243.2016.1250671
Shaw, Julia. The Garden, the Field and the Forest: A Deep-Time Study of Nature and Soci
ety in South Asia, In Preparation.Trautmann, Thomas, R. Elephants and Kings: An Envi
ronmental History. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015.
Tucker, Mary, E., and D.R. Williams, eds. Buddhism and Ecology: The Interconnection of
Dharma and Deeds, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 1997.
Notes:
(1.) Julia Shaw, “Religion, ‘Nature’ and Environmental Ethics in Ancient India,” World Ar
chaeology 48 (2016): 517–43; Krista Gilliland, I. A. Simpson, et al., “The Dry Tank,” Jour
nal of Archaeological Sciences 40 (2013): 1012–28.
(2.) Julia Shaw, Buddhist Landscapes in Central India (London: Routledge, 2007).
(3.) Julia Shaw, “Environmentalism as Religio-Medical ‘Worldview,’ ” Current Swedish Ar
chaeology 26 (2019): 61–78.
(4.) M. E Tucker et al., eds., Routledge Handbook of Religion and Ecology (London: Rout
ledge, 2016); Mike Hulme, “Varieties of Religious Engagement with Climate Change,” in
Routledge Handbook, 239–48; Julia Shaw, “Archaeology, Climate Change and Environmen
tal Ethics,” World Archaeology 48 (2016): 453.
Page 16 of 22
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
(5.) Felix Riede, “Deep Pasts—Deep Futures,” Current Swedish Archaeology 26 (2019):
11–28.
(6.) Felix Riede, “Deep Pasts”; Shaw, “Religion,” 520–521.
(7.) Shaw, “Religion,” 521–22.
(8.) M. D. Morrison and M. T. Lycett, “Constructing Nature,” in The Social Lives of
Forests, ed. Susanna Hecht et al. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014), 148–60.
(9.) Damian Evans, “Airborne Laser Scanning as a Method for Exploring Long-Term SocioEcological Dynamics in Cambodia,” Journal of Archaeological Science 74 (2016): 164–75.
Eleanor Kingwell-Banham and Dorian Fuller, “Shifting Cultivators in South Asia: Expan
sion, Marginalisation and Specialisation over the Long Term,” Quaternary International
249 (2012): 84–95.
(10.) Shaw, “Archaeology,” 450.
(11.) Yama Dixit et al., “Abrupt Weakening of the Summer Monsoon in Northwest India
4100 Yr Ago,” Geology 42 (2014): 339–42.
(12.) Eleanor Kingwell-Banham et al., “Early Agriculture in South Asia,” in The Cam
bridge World History, ed. G. Barker and C. Goucher (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2015), 261–88.
(13.) C. R. Strain, “Engaged Buddhist Practice and Ecological Ethics,” Worldviews 20
(2016), 189–210; Shaw, “Religion,” 525–26.
(14.) Lambert Schmithausen, “The Early Buddhist Tradition and Ecological Ethics,” Jour
nal of Buddhist Ethics 4 (1997): 1–74.
(15.) Strain, “Engaged,” 197.
(16.) Schmithausen, “The Early,” 12–14.
(17.) Schmithausen, “The Early,” 2.
(18.) Daud Ali, “Gardens in Early Indian Court Life,” Studies in History 19 (2003): 221–52;
Gregory Schopen, “The Buddhist ‘Monastery’ and the Indian Garden,” Journal of the
American Oriental Society 126 (2006): 487–505.
(19.) R. L. Brown, “Nature as Utopian Space on the Early Stūpas of India,” in Buddhist
Stūpas In South Asia, ed. J. Hawkes and A. Shimada, 63–80 (New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 2009).
(20.) Akira Shimada, “The Use of Garden Imagery in Early Indian Buddhism,” in Garden
and Landscape Practices in Pre-Colonial India, ed. D. Ali and E. Flatt (London: Routledge,
2012), 18–38.
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
(21.) Schopen, “The Buddhist ‘Monastery,’ ” 498–505.
(22.) Shaw, Buddhist, 228–32
(23.) Shaw, Buddhist, 233–53; Julia Shaw, “Early Indian Buddhism, Water and Rice,” in
Water Technologies and Societies in the Past and Present, ed. Y. Zhuang and M. Altaweel,
223–55 (London: UCL Press, 2018).
(24.) R. A. L. H. Gunawardana, “Irrigation and Hydraulic Society in Early Medieval Cey
lon,” Past and Present 53 (1971): 3–27.
(25.) R. A. E. Coningham and P. Gunawardhana, Anuradhapura, Vol. 3: The Hinterland
(Oxford: BAR International Series, 2013); Shaw, “Early Indian,” 238.
(26.) Julia Shaw and J. V. Sutcliffe, “Water Management, Patronage Networks, and Reli
gious Change,” South Asian Studies 19 (2003): 94–95; Robert DeCaroli, “Snakes and Gut
ters,” Archives of Asian Art 69 (2019): 1–19.
(27.) Vitus Angermeier, “Untangling Multiple Topographical Systems,” eJournal of Indian
Medicine 9 (2017): 39-62; Francis Zimmermann, “May Godly Clouds Rain for You!” in Du
corps humain: Au carrefour de plusieurs savoirs en Inde, ed. E. Ciurtin (Paris: De Boc
card. Studia Asiatica, 2004), 371–84; Giuliano Giustarini, “Healthcare in Pali Buddhism,”
Journal of Religion and Health 57 (2018): 1224–36; Julia Shaw and Naomi Sykes, “New
Directions in the Archaeology of Medicine,” World Archaeology 50 (2019): 367–68; Shaw,
“Environmentalism,” 70–71.
(28.) Shaw, “Environmentalism,” 67–71.
(29.) Shaw, “Religion,” 519,
(30.) Shaw, “Early Indian,” 242.
(31.) Kingwell-Banham et al., “Early Agriculture.”
(32.) Kingwell-Banham, “Dry, Rainfed, or Irrigated?” Archaeological and Anthropological
Sciences 11 (2019): 6489.
(33.) Shaw, “Early Indian,” 242–47.
(34.) Pia Brancaccio, “Monumentality, Nature and World Heritage Monuments,” in De
colonising Heritage in South Asia, ed. H. P. Ray (New Delhi: Routledge, 2018), 112–13.
(35.) Robert DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); Julia
Shaw, “Nāga Sculptures in Sanchi’s Archaeological Landscape,” Artibus Asiae 64 (2004):
5–59.
(36.) R. S. Cohen, “Naga, Yaksini, Buddha: Local Deities and Local Buddhism at Ajanta,”
History of Religions 37 (1988): 340–60.
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
(37.) Shaw, “Nāga,” 18–19; cf. Jacob Dalton, “The Early Development of the Padmasamb
hava Legend in Tibet,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 124, no. 4: 759–72.
(38.) J. C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press,
2009); Peter Grave, “Beyond the Mandala,” World Archaeology 27 (1995): 243–65.
(39.) Derek Kennet et al, eds., Excavations at Paithan, Maharashra (Berlin: De Gruyter,
2020), 4.
(40.) Morrison and Lycett, “Constructing,” 158–60; Shaw and Sykes, “New,” 370; Eleanor
Kingwell-Banham et al., “Spice and Rice,” Antiquity 92 (2018): 1552–70.
(41.) Janice Stargardt, “Water for the State or Water for the People?” in Water Societies
and Technologies from the Past and Present, ed. Y. Zhuang and A. Altaweel (London: UCL
Press, 2018), 256–68.
(42.) K. D. Morrison, “Dharmic Projects, Imperial Reservoirs, and New Temples of India,”
Conservation and Society 8 (2010): 182–95.
(43.) G. D. Sontheimer, “Religious Endowments in India,” Zeitschrift für Vergleichende
Rechtswissenschaft 69 (1964): 45–100; M. D. Willis, The Archaeology of Hindu Ritual
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009).
(44.) Gregory Bailey and I. Mabbett, The Sociology of Early Buddhism (Cambridge: Cam
bridge University Press, 2003), 13; Patrick Olivelle, “The Beast and the Ascetic,” in As
cetics and Brahmins, ed. P. Olivelle (Florence: University of Florence Press, 2006), 94–96;
Francis Zimmermann, “May Godly,” 274.
(45.) G. Benavides, “Economy,” in Critical Terms for the Study of Buddhism, ed. D.S.
Lopez Jr. (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 77–102.
(46.) J. D. Hawkes and R. Abbas, “Copper Plates in Context,” Pratnatattva 22 (2016): 41–
71.
(47.) Gregory Schopen, “Doing Business for the Lord,” Journal of the American Oriental
Society 114 (1994): 527–54.
(48.) Julia Shaw, “Monasteries, Monasticism, and Patronage in Ancient India,” South
Asian Studies 27, no. 2 (2011): 111–30.
(49.) Johan Elverskog, “(Asian Studies + Anthropocene),4” The Journal of Asian Studies 73
(2014): 963–74.
(50.) Shaw, “Religion,” 529.
(51.) Kenneth Zysk, Asceticism and Healing in Ancient India (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsi
dass, 1998).
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
(52.) N. E. Falk, “Wilderness and Kingship in Ancient South Asia,” History of Religions 13
(1973): 1–15.
(53.) T. R. Trautmann, Elephants and Kings: An Environmental History (Chicago: Universi
ty of Chicago Press, 2015), 57. Cf. R. L. Brown, “Telling the Story in Art of the Monkey’s
Gift of Honey to the Buddha,” Bulletin of the Asia Institute 23 (2009): 43–52; Shaw, Bud
dhist, 133–34; Jātaka Stories, https://jatakastories.div.ed.ac.uk/stories-in-art/search/?
descriptors=elephant.
(54.) Shaw, Buddhist, 228–32, 250.
(55.) Shaw, Buddhist, 42–43.
(56.) Sam Van Schaik, Buddhist Magic (Boulder, CO: Shambhala, 2020), 43–44; Peter
Skilling, “The Rakṣā Literature of the Srāvakayana,” Journal of the Pali Text Society 16
(1992): 159, 168. Grateful thanks to Sarah Shaw for helpful discussion.
(57.) Lance Cousins, “Cetiya and Thupa: The Textual Sources,” in Relic and Relic Worship
in Early Buddhism, ed. J. Stargardt and M. Willis (London: British Museum Press, 2018),
22; A. K. Coomaraswamy, Yakṣas (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1931), II, 17.
(58.) Edmund Hardy, “Ueber den upsprung des samajja,” in Album Kern, ed. H. Kern (Lei
den: E. J. Brill, 1903), 61–66.
(59.) D. D. Kosambi, “At the Crossroads: Mother Goddess Cult Sites in Ancient India, Part
I,” The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland 1, no. 2 (1960):
17–31.
(60.) Cousins, “Cetiya,” 22–23.
(61.) Shaw, Buddhist, 142.
(62.) Shaw, Buddhist, 228–32, figure 13.6.
(63.) Shaw, Buddhist, 85–86, 136, figure 11.1.
(64.) L. M. Olivieri et al., “Archaeology and Settlement History in a Test Area of the Swat
Valley,” East and West 56 (2006): 73–150.
(65.) Shaw, Buddhist, 129–130, 135–136, figure 11.23.
(66.) Di Caroli, “Snakes,” 1–19.
(67.) Shaw, Buddhist, 86–87; plate 49.
(68.) Shaw, Buddhist, 110–11; cf Willis, The Archaeology, 197.
(69.) Shaw, Buddhist, 115–18; M. D. Willis et al., Buddhist Reliquaries from Ancient India
(London: British Museum Press, 2000).
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
(70.) Shaw, Buddhist, 117.
(71.) Shaw, Buddhist, 117.
(72.) Shaw, Buddhist, 113; R. C. Agrawal, “Stupas and Monasteries: A Recent Discovery
from Satdhara,” in South Asian Archaeology 1995, ed. R. Allchin and B. Allchin (Oxford:
IBH, 1997), 410–11, figures 9–10.
(73.) Shaw, Buddhist, 129–30.
(74.) Shaw, Buddhist, 36–37.
(75.) Shaw, Buddhist, 37, 117, pl. 52; Harry Falk, “The Preamble at Pāṅgurāriyā,” in Baud
dhavidyāsudhākaraḥ: Studies in Honour of Heinz Bechert, ed. H. Bechert et al. (SwisttalOdendorf: Indica et Tibetica, 1997), 107–21.
(76.) M. D. Willis, “Avalokiteśvara of the Six Syllables,” Bulletin of the Asia Institute 23
(2013): 221–29.
(77.) Phyllis Granoff, “What’s in a Name? Rethinking ‘Caves,’ ” in Living Rock, ed. P. Bran
caccio (Mumbai: Marg Publications), 23–24.
(78.) Granoff, “What’s,” 23.
(79.) Granoff, “What’s,” 27.
(80.) Granoff, “What’s,” 23.
(81.) Morrison and Lycett, “Constructing”; Kingwell-Banham et al., “Spice”; Shaw and
Sykes, “New,” 370.
(82.) Brancaccio, “Monumentality,” 113.
(83.) Pia Brancaccio, “Representations of Indasalaguha,” in South Asian Archaeology and
Art 2012, ed. V. Lefèvre et al. (Tunhout: Brepols, 2016), 427–42.
(84.) Granoff, “What’s,” 20.
(85.) Granoff, “What’s,” 23–24.
(86.) Erwin Neumayer, Prehistoric Rock Art of India (New Delhi: Oxford University Press,
2011).
(87.) K. G. Zysk, “The Evolution of Anatomical Knowledge in Ancient India,” Journal of the
American Oriental Society 106 (1986): 687–705.
(88.) Shaw, Buddhist, 215, figure 13.1.
(89.) Shaw, Buddhist, 110–45.
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Buddhism and the “Natural” Environment
(90.) Ann Heirman, “How to Deal with Dangerous and Annoying Animals: A Vinaya Per
spective,” Religions 10 (2019).
(91.) Bhikkhu Nāṇamoli and B. Bodhi, The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha
(Somerville, MA: Wisdom Publications, 1995), 102–7.
(92.) Sarah Shaw, The Spirit of Buddhist Meditation (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 2014), 370–82.
(93.) Shaw, The Spirit, 369.
(94.) Pia Brancaccio, The Buddhist Caves at Aurangabad (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 11.
(95.) Coomaraswamy, Yakṣas, II, 1–12.
(96.) Coomaraswamy, Yakṣas, II, 1–12, citing Milindapañha IV: 3, 20.
(97.) Cousins, “Cetiya,” 22; Lambert Schmithausen, “The Problem of the Sentience of
Plants in Earliest Buddhism,” Studia Philologica Buddhica Monograph Series 6 (Tokyo: In
ternational Institute for Buddhist Studies 1991), 26ff; Kingwell-Banham and Fuller, “Shift
ing,” 89–90.
(98.) Pia Brancaccio, “Aṅgulimāla or the Taming of The Forest,” East and West 49 (1999):
109, 117.
(99.) A. Agarwal and S. Narain, Dying Wisdom (New Delhi: Centre of Science and Environ
ment, 1997).
Julia Shaw
Julia Shaw is Associate Professor in South Asian Archaeology at University College
London, Institute of Archaeology. Current research interests include South Asian en
vironmental and socio-religious history; archaeology as environmental humanities;
religious and medico-environmental worldviews and disability studies; interfaces be
tween environmental archaeology, ecological public health, and global climatechange activism. She has been conducting archaeological fieldwork in India since
1998 and directs the Sanchi Survey Project. She is author of Buddhist Landscapes in
Central India (Routledge, 2007), articles on topics related to the archaeology of Bud
dhism, Hinduism, socio-ecological history, land and water governmentality, and land
scape survey archaeology and remote-sensing; and editor of four special volumes of
World Archaeology (Archaeologies of Water; Religious Change; Environmental Ethics,
and Medicine and Healthcare).
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