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This chapters and the next turn to the eleventh‐century Vīracōliyam and its commentary, both of which construct a technology or theoretical vision of a multilingual literary culture that is claimed for Buddhism. It is argued in this chapter that the Vīracōliyam self‐consciously combines Tamil and Sanskrit grammar and poetic theory in unprecedented ways, for the first time formalizing a relationship between two literary languages that had existed side by side for many centuries. In raising Tamil to the level of a translocal prestige language of learning, the Vīracōliyam traces the origin of this Tamil‐Sanskrit literary language to the teachings of a great Buddha‐to‐be, Avalokiteśvara, thereby carving out a place for Buddhism in the Tamil religious and literary landscape of competing sectarian communities. Named for its heroic royal Cōla (also Chola) dynasty patron, the Vīracōliyam, like the Maṇimēkalai before it, also participates in wider currents within the Buddhist literary world, as South Indian Theravāda monks writing in Pāli in the tenth to the twelfth centuries increasingly identify themselves and the monasteries in which they write as tied to a ‘Coḷiya’ order.

In this chapter, Kim Iryŏp reflects on the importance of prayer and chanting in Buddhist practice. According to Iryŏp, we pray to Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva because we believe that she can make happen what we cannot accomplish. We do so because we do not believe what we cannot see with our own eyes. The difficulty or ease with which our wish is fulfilled depends on the fundamental quality of our existence, which we call karma. Iryŏp explains how a prayer should be done and urges us to go beyond the wishful mind, continue to practice the samādhi of chanting, and become one with the universe. This, she says, is the only way for the life of the all-capable self to finally begin.

This concluding chapter summarizes key points in the preceding discussions and presents some final thoughts. It argues that from the time the Qing emperors began enforcing their sovereignty over Tibet in the early part of the eighteenth century right until the end of the nineteenth century, none of the Dalai Lamas exercised any political power of his own. But in their efforts to attain social and political stability, the Qing emperors had fashioned the Dalai Lama into the sacred head of the Ganden Podrang government, and thus inadvertently helped promote the image of Tibet as a country guided by the incarnations of the bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara. After more than two centuries, when the institution of the Dalai Lama was occupied once again by charismatic personalities, this image had become such a strong force in Tibetan politics that it could no longer be controlled by the new Chinese governments.

This chapter describes sea travel by Buddhist monks, such as Hyecho’s journey from China to India, stopping in Sumatra and its kingdom of Śrīvijaya along the way. Because of their close association with the merchant class, Buddhist monks traveled widely, with many stories told about adventures at sea and miraculous rescues from shipwrecks and sea monsters. Several of those stories, from both India and China, are recounted here. The chapter includes two works of art, a statue of the Medicine Buddha (Bhaiṣajyaguru) and sculpted head of the Buddha from Java.

This chapter contains Mr. B.'s letter to Kim Iryŏp. Mr. B. remembers the days when he and Iryŏp met; they were adults who had already experienced married life, but very pure and passionate in their love for each other. While Iryŏp has become a religious woman who has transcended the secular world, Mr. B. says he is just an ordinary man occupied with secular affairs. In his letter Mr. B. tells his story to Iryŏp after their separation, claiming that he has been practicing chanting aloud, calling out the name Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva, the mother of great compassion. He also asks for her forgiveness and wants to vent his secular feelings for her.

This chapter covers three main works of Öndör Gegeen Zanabazar (1635–1723), who was the first head of Mongolian Buddhism. All three prayers translated in this chapter were composed in the Tibetan language. The first of them remains the most important prayer in the daily practice of Mongolian Buddhists, thus being the main prayer of Mongolian Buddhism in general, in which the texts of different Tibetan Buddhist traditions and lineages are otherwise used. The second translated prayer is a food offering text, often used in tantric rituals, and the third prayer is connected to a mantra recitation and the sādhana (“method of realization”) of Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara. It contains a profound tantric doctrinal meaning and is closely related to the soyombo writing system created by Öndör Gegeen Zanabazar himself.

Chapter 2 examines lineages in Tibetan society and the Buddhist tradition and explains how they influenced the development of Tibet’s reincarnation lineages. It begins by explaining the role of family lineages in thirteenth-century Tibet, describing how lineages helped form identities, created links between people, and served as a mechanism for inheritance. It then examines the three main forms of Buddhist lineages—monastic, Mahāyāna, and Tantric—and shows how these lineages were often intermingled with Tibetan family lineages and inheritance practices. The chapter ends by outlining how lineages associated with manifestation, particularly lineages associated with Avalokiteśvara, underpinned claims by Tibetans to be the manifestation of this bodhisattva and other celestial beings. This chapter also explains how the Karmapas’ reincarnation lineage, traditions, and institutions were presented not as a break from other lineages but as an extension of them, and it highlights the close relationship between lineages and specific places.

Chapter 3 describes the various communities within which the traditions and institutions of reincarnation lineages developed. It begins by examining a subtle but influential shift in the discourse around reincarnation that occurred during Rangjung Dorje’s lifetime from “manifestation” to “rebirth.” The focus on reincarnates being born again enabled a more ordered succession between members of a reincarnation lineage and evoked familial lines. Belief and support for rebirth were tied closely with the process of recognition; reincarnates themselves, their predecessor’s students, authoritative gurus, and political elites all sanctioned the recognition of one being as the rebirth of another. As this chapter explains, this recognition underpinned the community support that maintained reincarnates’ traditions and institutions. These communities ranged from local Tibetan monasteries and villages to larger political entities like the Mongol empire. Eventually, imperial support for the Karmapa reincarnates conferred an otherwise unattainable intensity of prestige on the Karmapa reincarnation lineage.

In the Mongolian Buddhist world, powerful, fierce Buddhist deities such as Jamsran (lCam sring), Hayagrīva, and Vajrapāṇi are seen as paragons of courage, physical and mental strength and virtue and are greatly admired. The chapter investigates a connection between the war god Jamsran and Hayagrīva, the lord of horses, who traditionally stood at a junction of the religio-cultural, political, and economic realms in Mongolia. Their popularity among the Mongols came from being modeled into recognizable yet otherworldly beings who resemble celebrated Mongolian heroes and who can protect the Mongolian people, land, and horses from adversaries, demons of obstacles, and diseases. Since a Mongolian hero cannot fulfill his destiny without his fast steed and his inner wind horse, and his horse must have its own divine protector. In some cases this is yet another emanation of the hero’s own protector.