Tag: india

Serpents Guardians: Gold, Secrets, and Esoteric Knowledge

mim

A recent conversation led me down an interesting rabbit hole involving snakes, hidden treasure, and religious mythology.

I was told about the famous Sree Padmanabhaswamy Temple in Kerala, India, one of the wealthiest temples in the world. The temple is said to contain underground vaults filled with immense quantities of gold, jewels, and priceless artifacts accumulated over centuries.

One vault in particular, known as Vault B, has become the center of extraordinary legends. According to local traditions, the vault is protected by divine serpents called Nagas. Some believe the door is sealed through a mystical process known as Nagabandham, a serpent binding that can only be undone through the correct sacred mantra. Stories claim that previous attempts to enter the vault were thwarted by swarms of snakes or supernatural forces.

One important distinction should be made. The immense wealth of the Sree Padmanabhaswamy Temple is well documented. Inventories conducted in recent years did indeed reveal vast wealth. Reports of snakes inhabiting areas beneath and around the temple are unsurprising in Kerala’s tropical environment. The claim that divine serpent beings guard Vault B, however, belongs to the realm of local belief rather than established historical fact. Yet whether actual divine snakes ever protected the vault is not really the point. What matters is the symbolism. Why are serpents so often imagined as guardians of hidden treasure and restricted access?

The story immediately reminded me of a well-known tradition within Mahayana Buddhism. According to Buddhist legend, certain advanced teachings of the Buddha were hidden away and entrusted to the Nagas, divine serpent beings who preserved them beneath the waters until humanity was ready to receive them. Centuries later, the philosopher Nagarjuna is said to have recovered these teachings from the realm of the Nagas, revealing what became an important portion of the Mahayana sutra corpus.

Here we find the same pattern. The serpent stands between ordinary people and something valuable. Whether the treasure is gold or wisdom, access is restricted and guarded by serpents.

The motif also appears at another temple in Kerala, the Mannarasala Sree Nagaraja Temple. This is one of the most famous centers of serpent worship in India. Thousands of serpent images cover the grounds, and the Nagas are revered as powerful spiritual beings associated with fertility, protection, and prosperity.

To many Westerners, the idea of worshipping snakes sounds strange, even heretical. Yet serpent veneration is remarkably widespread throughout human history. In ancient Egypt, the cobra symbolized royal power. In Greece, serpents were associated with healing and divine wisdom. In Mesoamerica, the feathered serpent was a major deity. In Hindu traditions, Nagas appear as guardians of rivers, treasures, temples, and sacred knowledge.

From Hidden Treasure to Hidden Revelation

The serpent motif becomes even more interesting when viewed through the lens of esoteric traditions. In many forms of Tantra, practitioners are told that the highest teachings are secret. They are said to be too powerful, too dangerous, or too profound for ordinary people. Access requires initiation and a proper guru capable of imparting an authentic transmission. The disciple must also be deemed worthy to receive it.

The tantric teachings of Tibetan Buddhism are among the most advanced and esoteric in the Buddhist world, but Vajrayana Buddhism incorporates the Mahayana corpus as well. According to traditional accounts both the Mahayana and Vajrayana texts appear centuries after the Buddha’s death.

The Mahayana story of the Nagas preserving hidden sutras raises obvious questions. How can anyone verify that teachings supposedly hidden by supernatural beings for centuries actually originated with the Buddha? The narrative places the evidence beyond examination. There is a circular logic to it: the teachings are authentic because they were hidden, and they were hidden because they were authentic.

Revelation alone, however, is not evidence of authenticity. A hidden teaching is not necessarily profound, and a secret lineage is not necessarily legitimate. Once knowledge is declared inaccessible to outsiders or protected by supernatural forces, verification becomes difficult and trust in the gatekeepers takes its place.

From a Christian perspective, the symbolism becomes even more striking. Throughout the Bible, the serpent is rarely a guardian of divine truth. It is the serpent in Eden who introduces hidden knowledge and promises secret wisdom that God has supposedly withheld. The pattern is familiar: access to a higher truth is offered through an alternative source, apart from the revelation God has openly given.

This stands in sharp contrast to Christianity itself. The Gospel was not hidden in underground vaults, guarded by serpents, or reserved for a spiritual elite. Christ taught publicly. His apostles preached openly. The faith was handed down through public witness, not secret initiations. While Christianity contains mysteries that challenge human understanding, it does not claim that salvation depends upon access to concealed doctrines available only to a select few.

Seen through this lens, traditions that portray serpents as guardians of occult wisdom raise an important question. If truth requires secret initiations, hidden transmissions, or teachings protected from scrutiny, how can its claims be tested? For Christians, the measure of a teaching is not its secrecy, antiquity, or mystical origin story. It is whether it conforms to the revelation God has given through Scripture and Sacred Tradition. The recurring image of serpents guarding hidden knowledge may therefore serve as more than a mythological motif. It can also be seen as a warning about the perennial temptation to seek secret wisdom apart from the truth God has already revealed. In that sense, the serpent remains what it was in Eden: a symbol not of divine revelation but of spiritual deception, enticing humanity with promises of hidden knowledge while leading it away from God and into error.

An Encounter with Kali

mim

The descent into Bengal began with a vision. As our plane banked low over the hazy sprawl of Calcutta, I sat in meditation, quietly preparing for a long journey north to Sikkim for a series of tantric empowerments. Then, quite suddenly, a naked dakini appeared before me, dancing and beckoning. She seemed to be greeting me to Calcutta. I knew, or thought I knew, that it was Kali.

We stayed in a modest Baptist guesthouse chosen for its safety and low price, a short walk from Mother Teresa’s compound. It was late October, and the air was warm and humid. Calcutta felt down at heel, yet intellectual and dignified. My companions, all Tibetan Buddhist practitioners, decided to visit Mother Teresa’s place to pay homage. I hung back. They were sincere in their devotion to that famous nun, but something in me pulled in another direction. Although I had been raised Catholic, I felt a faint aversion to anything connected with the Catholic Church. I regarded the religion as problematic at that time. Still, seeing how genuinely excited my friends were, I encouraged them to go.

The next day I hired a taxi and arranged for us to cross the city to the Dakshineswar Kali Temple, the same temple where Ramakrishna had worshipped and experienced his visions of the Divine Mother and became enlightened. “We really must make the effort to see it,” I told the others, although I wasn’t sure why. The journey took nearly an hour through dusty streets and chaotic traffic. I had read that Kali was the patron goddess of Bengal, and that Dakshineswar was one of her most important shrines. The closer we came, the stronger the pull felt.

At the temple, a long line of Indian devotees wound through the courtyard, each waiting to glimpse the goddess and receive her blessing. We appeared to be the only Westerners there. I knew very little about the history of the temple at that point. All I knew was that I had always been intrigued by Ramakrishna among all the Hindu mystics and had always wanted to visit his temple and pay my respects.

The Temple and Its History

The Dakshineswar Kali Temple was founded in the mid-nineteenth century by Rani Rashmoni, a wealthy zamindar who, according to legend, dreamt that the goddess Kali commanded her to build a temple on the banks of the Hooghly River rather than journey by boat to Varanasi¹. Rashmoni had been preparing for the pilgrimage for months and had spent a small fortune, but on the night before her departure, Kali appeared in a dream and told her she need not travel at all. Instead, the goddess instructed her to raise a temple and enshrine an image that Kali herself would inhabit, blessing all who came to worship. The temple was completed in 1855 and the complex stands on land said to resemble a tortoise, a form considered especially auspicious in Shakta-Tantra cosmology².

Architecturally, the main temple is built in the navaratna (nine-spired) style typical of Bengal, raised on a high platform overlooking the river³. Surrounding the sanctum are twelve identical Shiva shrines aligned along the Hooghly’s edge, a small Radha-Krishna temple, and bathing ghats for pilgrims⁴.

Inside the sanctum resides Bhavatarini, a fierce aspect of Kali known as “Saviour of the Universe,” depicted with one foot on Shiva’s chest⁵. The mystic Ramakrishna served as the temple’s priest and carried out years of intense spiritual practice within its grounds, transforming the site into one of India’s holiest centers of Shakti worship⁶. The atmosphere is thick with incense, bells, flowers, and the hum of a thousand mantras. Once inside the gate you feel the city’s chaos fall away.

As we stood in line, something unexpected happened. An Indian guard suddenly appeared, motioned to me and a Buddhist friend, and beckoned us forward. Without explanation, we were led past the waiting crowd directly to the inner sanctum. The goddess stood before us, draped in red and gold, eyes alive in the flicker of ghee lamps. When I received prasad, it tasted sweet and delicious, and I felt a surge of a deep, penetrating love. It was so overwhelming that I began to cry.

As a Tibetan Buddhist, I had always regarded Hindu deities as somehow inferior and secondary to the Tibetan ones who were the representations of the ultimate truth. My practice had centered on Vajrayogini and Chakrasamvara, not on Kali. Yet there, when the experience of divine love engulfed me in the Dakshineswar temple, I felt an unmistakable recognition.

Years later, after surviving the catastrophic unraveling of my own tantric path due to the betrayal by male Buddhist teachers, the exposure of their sexual abuses, and the psychic annihilation that followed, I began to study the origins of tantra in earnest. Through the research of Alexis Sanderson and others, I learned what my experience at Dakshineswar had already shown me: that the yoginī tantras of Tibetan Buddhism arose from the same crucible of medieval Hindu Śaiva and Śākta practice⁷. Vajrayoginī, the red goddess of my own initiations, was in essence a Buddhized form of Kali. The goddess in both traditions can give blessings and boons, but she can become, in an instant, a terrifying and destructive demon with her own set of intentions and cosmic laws.

That insight came at great cost. The deeper I studied, the more clearly I saw that tantra, in both Hindu and Buddhist forms, was inseparable from forces of domination, secrecy, and power. The same ecstatic current that once inspired devotion also lurked behind manipulation and abuse. In the West, these darker currents were long dismissed or hidden, until the many scandals of 2017 tore the veil away.

My visit to Kali’s temple remains a paradox. In that moment I felt only grace: the raw, overwhelming presence of the divine feminine. But in hindsight, I experienced Kali as both mother and destroyer, blessing and devourer. She welcomed me to Calcutta with open arms, but in time, in her Buddhist form as Vajrayogini, she stripped me of everything I held dear in order to completely destroy my body, mind, and soul. By the grace of the highest divinity, the eternal Christian God, I survived and am still alive to tell the tale.

Notes

  1. Dakshineswar Kali Temple, Wikipedia, last modified 2025.
  2. Ibid.
  3. Ibid.
  4. Ibid.; see also Dakshineswar Kali Temple official site, Places in Dakshineshwar (dakshineswarkalitemple.org).
  5. Dakshineswar Kali Temple, Britannica.
  6. Ibid.; Ramakrishna’s association documented in Swami Nikhilananda, The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna (New York: Ramakrishna-Vivekananda Center, 1942).
  7. Alexis Sanderson, “The Śaiva Age: The Rise and Dominance of Śaivism during the Early Medieval Period,” in Genesis and Development of Tantrism, ed. Shingo Einoo (Tokyo: Institute of Oriental Culture, University of Tokyo, 2009), 41–350.

Worldly Protectors and Demons in Tibetan Tantric Buddhism: Symbolic Forms or Tools for Harm?

mim

Tibetan Buddhism is often portrayed as a peaceful, meditative tradition centered on compassion and enlightenment. However, this masks a complex esoteric system that includes the worship and manipulation of worldly protectors (Chökyong) and wrathful spirits. While some of these entities are invoked for protection and blessings, they can also be weaponized against perceived enemies. In this article, we explore the darker side of tantric practices involving these beings and how they can be used to harm others.

Worldly Protectors: Not Always Benevolent

Worldly protectors (Tib. Chökyong) are not enlightened beings but rather powerful spirits, often local deities or ancient demons that were subdued and bound by tantric masters into serving the Buddhist dharma. Unlike fully enlightened protectors, who “alledgedly” operate beyond mundane entanglements, worldly protectors still possess emotions, grudges, and the capacity for harm. Their allegiance to particular sects or lineages makes them especially useful for those seeking to gain favor or exert power.

Beyond protectors, Tibetan tantric Buddhism includes rituals explicitly designed to summon harmful spirits to attack enemies. These practices often involve wrathful deities and demons, coercing them into carrying out curses, sickness, or even death.

Gyalpo spirits are mischievous and vengeful entities, often former monks or rulers who became wandering ghosts. These spirits can be bound through ritual to inflict misfortune, financial ruin, or insanity on an intended victim. Their influence is particularly feared in tantric monasteries.

Mamo spirits are wild, untamed female entities that exist in liminal spaces between worlds. These spirits are associated with plagues, natural disasters, and personal calamities. Invoking them requires blood offerings and precise tantric rituals to direct their chaotic energy toward an enemy. (These days the blood offerings have probably been replaced by symbolic blood offerings like red tormas–offering cakes made of barley flour and butter and painted red). The risk, however, is that Mamos are unpredictable and can turn against the summoner if not properly controlled.

Wrathful Drupchods in Tibetan Monasteries

In Tibetan monasteries in India and Nepal, large-scale tantric rituals known as drupchods are performed to invoke wrathful deities such as Vajrakilaya and Mahakala. These elaborate ceremonies involve extensive mantra recitations, fire offerings (homa), and ritual dances aimed at subjugating negative forces. While officially framed as purification rituals, they also contain elements of esoteric warfare.

The practice of using effigies (linga) in Tibetan Buddhist rituals, particularly during drupchods invoking wrathful deities like Vajrakilaya and Mahakala, is well-documented in esoteric Buddhist literature. These effigies are crafted to represent specific enemies, both spiritual and human, and are often imbued with personal or symbolic elements to establish a metaphysical link to the intended target. The ritual destruction, burning, or expulsion of these effigies is believed to direct the wrathful energy of the deity towards those perceived as threats.​

Scholarly research highlights the significance of these practices. For instance, Haoran Hou’s study on The Ritual Use of Human Effigies in the Esoteric Buddhist Literature from Karakhoto, discusses how liṅga effigies were utilized for purposes such as inflicting harm, healing, and exorcism. These rituals, originating in India, traversed through Tibet and extended into regions like the Tangut Empire and the Yuan Dynasty. The study provides translations and annotations of ritual texts, illustrating the methods of making and using liṅga effigies for harming humans and other purposes, while exploring their transmission across Eastern Central Asia between the 11th and 14th centuries.

Additionally, contemporary practices continue to reflect these ancient traditions. At the Palpung Sherabling monastery in Baijnath, India, monks perform the cham dance on the eve of the Tibetan New Year, invoking the wrathful deity Mahakala. This ritual involves monks dressed in vibrant robes and menacing masks enacting sacred dances, accompanied by drums, cymbals, and horns. A significant aspect of this ceremony is the creation and subsequent burning of a large mask-like representation of Mahakala, made from barley flour and butter. This act symbolizes purification and the elimination of negative forces, aligning with the traditional use of effigies to target and dispel obstacles or perceived threats. ​

These sources underscore the ritualistic use of effigies in Tibetan Buddhist ceremonies, highlighting their role in both historical and contemporary contexts to symbolically address and neutralize adversarial forces.​

How These Forces Are Used in Power Struggles

While many Tibetan Buddhists are unaware of these esoteric practices, high-ranking lamas and tantric practitioners have long used them to settle disputes, intimidate rivals, punish samaya breakers, and maintain control. Whether through secret rituals, oracles, or direct curses, these entities serve as supernatural enforcers in an unseen war for power within the tradition.

Historically, factions within Tibetan Buddhism have accused each other of using protectors and demons for political advantage. Even the exile of the Dalai Lama from Tibet involved a struggle over a protector propitiation. In modern times, stories persist of lamas employing such methods against those who leave or criticize the lama or the tradition.

Breaking Free from the Grip of These Forces

For those who have problems in Tibetan Buddhism and experience its darker aspects, the lingering influence of these protectors and spirits can be overwhelming. The key to breaking free lies in renouncing, breaking ties, forgiving those who harmed you, and refusing to participate in any aspect of Tibetan Buddhism. If one needs protection it is necessary to embrace a spiritual path that does not require servitude to wrathful entities. I find solace in Christian prayer and deliverance, a system that offers freedom from demons, witchcraft, and pagan practices.

Conclusion

While Tibetan Buddhism outwardly promotes compassion and enlightenment, its esoteric layers reveal a different story, one where worldly protectors and demons can be weaponized against others. These beings, bound by oaths and rituals, operate in a liminal realm and can be used for both defense and destruction. Understanding their dual nature is crucial for anyone seeking to navigate or escape the hidden dangers of tantric practice.

References:

Hou, Haoran. The Ritual Use of Human Effigies in Esoteric Buddhist Literature from Karakhoto. BuddhistRoad Paper Series 2.3. Ruhr-Universität Bochum, 2023.

Cuevas, Bryan J. Illustrations of Human Effigies in Tibetan Ritual Texts: With Remarks on Specific Anatomical Figures and Their Possible Iconographic Source. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 21, no. 1 (2011): 73–97.

Dreyfus, Georges. The Shugden Affair: Origins of a Controversy. Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, 1998.

Nebesky-Wojkowitz, René de. Oracles and Demons of Tibet: The Cult and Iconography of the Tibetan Protective Deities. The Hague: Mouton, 1956.

Lopez, Donald S. Prisoners of Shangri-La: Tibetan Buddhism and the West. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998.

Samuel, Geoffrey. Civilized Shamans: Buddhism in Tibetan Societies. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993.

Kapstein, Matthew. The Tibetans. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006.

Goldstein, Melvyn C. A History of Modern Tibet: The Demise of the Lamaist State. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989.