Folklore in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Everyone Missed

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Anything goes in Indiana Jones’ sophomore outing:

Magic rocks.

Chilled monkey brains.

A guy pulling out another guy’s still-beating heart.

A divine mind-control potion.

A voodoo doll.

Does any of this stuff have a basis in Indian folklore or mythology?

Or, like those American alligators underneath the rope bridge, were the more fantastical elements of this 1984 prequel imported from abroad?

Let’s take a look.

Pssst. You can watch a video adaptation of this essay right here. Text continues below.

Nurhachi’s Ashes Explained: Who’s In That Urn?

As I explored in my previous essay/video, the first Indiana Jones movie took a mythical New Mexican city of gold and transported it to a cloud forest in Peru for its opening sequence. 

And it turns out Temple of Doom does something similar—and it involves the chilled monkey brains that appear later.

But first, we need to understand this: Who’s in that jade urn?

The reason Indy is in Shanghai—at Club Obi Wan, no less—is so he can deliver Nurhachi’s ashes to a Chinese crime lord, Lao Che, in exchange for a diamond. 

Now, Nurhachi (a.k.a. Nurhaci) was a real person. 

Born in 1559, he famously united a bunch of Jurchen tribes, founding the Later Jin dynasty in 1616. 

Nurhachi’s son rebranded the dynasty as the Great Qing and renamed the Jurchen the Manchu.

Hence, Lao Che’s claim that Nurhachi was the “First Emperor of Manchu Dynasty” is true. 

Nurhachi himself wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but looking back, that’s essentially what he was.

And I’d be remiss not to mention that Nurhachi’s familial clan, the Aisin-Gioro, claimed it was descended from a legendary 13th-century warrior, Bukūri Yongšon, who was born of a heavenly virgin, Fekulen, who became pregnant with Bukūri after eating a piece of red fruit that was dropped by a magpie.

It’s a great bit of mythology—that the Aisin-Gioro straight-up stole from another Manchu tribe, the Hurha.

To be fair, Nurhachi’s clan was in need of a PR glow-up, as they had once been subservient to China’s previous rulers, the Ming dynasty, a fact they desperately wanted to hide. 

That’s why Nurhachi’s son, Hong Taiji, came up with that new name for their culture (Manchu) in the first place:

He wanted to create some separation from their Ming-ruled, Jurchen past. 

But that’s not all Hong Taiji did.

He also hid the original editions of history books that tied the Jurchens/Manchus to the Ming dynasty.

And he kicked all of the Ming chefs out of the palace kitchen, replacing them with Manchu chefs. 

So, there was a complete menu reset here—Unc would have been pissed.

And if you’re wondering where the heck I’m going with this…

I’m going to a feast.

Monkey Brains Are on the Menu at the Manchu–Han Imperial Feast

Legend has it that Hong Taiji’s grandson, Kangxi Emperor, came up with the Manchu-Han Imperial Feast as a way to settle tensions between the Manchu and Han peoples. 

The menu was extravagant, boasting thirty-two delicacies: some from the land, some from the sea, and some from the mountains. 

And it is on this mountain menu, nestled between bear paws and ape lips (no, seriously), that we find… monkey brains.

As noted by Buddhist studies scholar Holly Gayley in the Journal of Buddhist Ethics, one the most infamous examples of the “excesses of exotic Chinese banquet dishes,” was “eating live monkey brains right out of the skull.”

As far as I can tell, this is the best-documented example of a culture eating—or at least preparing—monkey brains.

Granted, some scholars argue the original “thiry-two delicacies” menu originated as a joke. Or folklore. (Jokelore?)

Regardless, there’s no strong historical evidence linking monkey brains to cuisine in Northern India, which is where Temple of Doom is set.

So it’s possible writers Willard Huyck and Gloria Katz pulled the old Indiana Jones swaperooski here—taking the extravagant, monkey brain-infused menu they learned about while researching the Manchu dynasty and applying it to the fictional Pankot Palace.

You know, either that or it’s an orientalist caricature. 

India’s government actually refused to let producer George Lucas and director Steven Spielberg film on location in Northern India over objections to how Indian culture was depicted in the script.

So they moved the production to Sri Lanka, trading Amer Fort (located outside Jaipur, India), which was going to be their Pankot Palace, for sets and matte paintings.

Of course, the whole reason Indy ends up at Pankot Palace is because…

Temple of Doom’s Magic Rocks Explained: Shiva Lingas or Something More?

The Sivalinga (a.k.a. Shiva linga) is a sacred stone that gets stolen from its shrine in the village of Mayapore, resulting in dry wells, a sandy river, crops getting swallowed up by the earth, and animals turning to dust.

Oh, and their fields get set on fire and all of their children are abducted.

So the villagers pray to Shiva to help them recover the stone, and who should fall from the sky but the renowned recoverer of lost sacred items, Indiana Jones. 

And the singer/actress, Willie Scott.

And an orphan boy, Short Round.

The latter of whom asks Indy:

“Dr. Jones, did they make the plane crash to get you here?”

To which Indy replies:

“No, Shorty, it’s just a ghost story. Don’t worry about it.”

The thing is though: the sivalinga is real.

Granted, it’s not always made of stone.

Shiva lingas or lingams are representations of the Hindu deity Shiva, and, in addition to rock, can be made from wood, metal, clay, and even precious stones. 

They’re characterized by their phallic shape, which makes sense given that they were originally constructed to commemorate that time Shiva got his erect penis lopped off by the holy Hindu sages known as rishis. 

I’ll let Hinduism scholars Constance A. Jones and James D. Ryan, authors of the Encyclopedia of Hinduism, take it from here:

“Instead of falling, Shiva’s penis took off at lightning speed and fearsome energy and began rocketing around the universe causing endless destruction.

“The frightened rishis went to the gods to see how they could save the universe from destruction.

“The gods called upon the devi or goddess to offer her yoni as a safe place for the Shiva lingam to rest; thus it is that every Shiva lingam rests on a representation of the vagina of the goddess.”

Get your mind out of the gutter for a second and recognize what this means:

There is a mythical basis for the village of Mayapore being destroyed once its Shiva linga is removed from its designated yoni.

The Thuggee cult, when they stole the stone, symbolically unleashed Shiva’s rocket-penis in the process.

It’s also noteworthy that Pankot’s Prime Minister, Chattar Lal, brings up the time the Sultan of Madagascar threatened to chop off one of Indy’s body parts, with Indy suggesting that it was his own linga, if you will, that was in danger.

What Are Those Three Lines on the Sivalinga? The Tripundra Conundrum

As for those three lines—no they’re not veins. 

They form a tripundra, which is more commonly seen as a forehead decoration. 

But the pattern does also appear on some Shiva lingas. 

As for what those three lines represent…

They could be will, knowledge, and action—Shiva’s signature powers.

Which are also represented by Shiva’s trident. 

Others see in the lines the divine Hindu triad of Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer and transformer.

No, not that kind of transform—

Yet another school of thought holds that the first line represents the earth, the second the atmosphere, and the third, Svarga or heaven.

And this is the interpretation Indy goes with when he asks / archeologist-splains to the villagers of Mayapore:

“Was the stone very smooth like a rock from a sacred river?…With three lines across it, representing the three levels of the universe.”

So again, this is an accurate (if not limited) description of what a Shiva linga represents in Hindu culture. 

And can I just say:

We’re off to a pretty good start here. 

Are the Sankara Stones in Temple of Doom Real?

For Temple of Doom, widely considered to be the goofiest and pulpiest film in the original trilogy, it gets a lot of stuff right…in the beginning.

Because then that kid shows up with that torn piece of exposition—

I mean Sanskrit manuscript. 

And here’s where things start to…

Go off the rails.

Because the idea that the deity Shiva gave five stones to a holy fella named Shankara atop Mount Kalisa so he could battle evil with them…is made up.

It actually sounds more like the biblical backstory of Raiders of the Lost Ark, in which the Judeo-Christian God gives stone tablets to a holy fella named Moses atop Mount Sinai, than Hindu mythology.

Now, Hindu tradition does have a figure named Shankara, Adi Shankara, who is remembered as one of India’s foremost philosophers and religious thinkers. 

He’s believed to have traveled all over the Indian subcontinent in the 8th century CE, crushing opponents in theological debates. 

Such stories aren’t necessarily historical; they belong to hagiographies recorded centuries later.

Regardless,  nowhere in that literature does Shankara make a pilgrimage to a mountain called Kalisa—because that isn’t a real place.

He does, however, go to Mount Kailash, which is a real mountain on the Tibetan plateau near where India, China, and Nepal meet.

And it is atop Mount Kailash where the god Shiva gifts Shankara not five magic rocks with diamonds in their centers that glow when they’re near each other and are capable of fiery destruction…

…buuut a manuscript.

A manuscript with a hundred verses detailing the many facets of the goddess.

Which makes more sense:

Adi Shankara was a scholar, not a warrior. Why would Shiva give him explosive glowy rocks?

It’s also interesting (to me anyway) that in his teachings, Shankara doesn’t mention Shiva lingas—the special rocks meant to represent Shiva’s power.

But he does specifically mention salagramas—special rocks associated with the god Vishnu. 

This according to South Asian studies scholar Jacqueline Suthren Hirst.

All this to stay: the Sankara Stones in the movie don’t really have anything to do with the legendary Hindu figure Shankara.

Did Thuggee Cults Really Rip People’s Hearts Out?

As for the Thuggee heart rip ritual we see in the film:

It’s complicated.

While there are seemingly historical groups that bore the name Thuggee in India, these were roving bands of robbers who infamously strangled their victims.

So that scene when the Thuggee assassin sneaks up behind Indy?

Accurate.

But portraying the Thuggee as a clandestine cult that performs ritual human sacrifices in an underground temple?

Less accurate. 

True, the first time the British officially documented the Thuggee in Northern Indiana was in 1809, when the magistrate James Law’s assistant described them as…

“…a set of people denominated ‘Tugs’ who have from time immemorial carried on their abominable and lamentable practices, as from the nature of their proceedings I do not conceive it possible to prevent immediately their covert, and secret deeds; But this evil is even now gradually lessening…”

Then in 1818, Law’s successor Thomas Perry’s assistant asserted that the Thuggee “worshipped and sacrificed a kid to obtain the auspicious protection of their deity.”

I guess the assistants did all the writing back then.

And I’m assuming the “kid” here is in reference to a young goat but you never know.

It’s also true that when the Chinese monk Hiouen Thsang (Xuanzang) journeyed to India in the seventh century CE, he recorded that some bandits by the Ganges River nearly sacrificed him to their goddess.

And later a temple was pointed out to him, now identified with one near Bhagalpur, where human sacrifices were allegedly performed.

But, and this is a big but, Hiouen Thsang’s accounts were only interpreted as Thuggee activity retroactively—by British colonizers in the 1800s.

And as colonial India historian Kim A. Wagner pointed out:

“[B]y that rationale all accounts of banditry and human sacrifice in ancient India would have to be taken as referring to the thugs of the nineteenth century.”

The fact is: Thuggee phenomenon wasn’t ancient. Nor was it religious—at least not originally (we’ll get into it).

There’s even a school of thought that holds the Thuggee never actually existed in large numbers; and that they were, for the most part, a 19th-century colonial fabrication.

A false threat to which the British empire could point to justify passing more restrictive laws.

Regardless, there is no iteration of the Thuggee in history or folklore where they pull still-beating hearts out of people’s chests.

That imagery is much more closely associated with Aztec tradition. 

To quote the 16th-century Spanish Jesuit missionary José de Acosta:

“The usual method of sacrifice was to open the victim’s chest, pull out his heart while he was still alive, and then knock the man down, rolling him down the temple steps, which were awash with blood.”

Lovely.

We’re not done with the Thuggee yet though. 

Because the other big trick they have up their billowy onscreen sleeves is the Blood of Kali.

Did the Thuggee Really Poison People with the Blood of Kali?

The Thuggee high priest Mola Ram forces Indy to drink this mystical concoction, which puts our protagonist into that dreaded, drugged-out state known as the Black Sleep of the Kali Ma.

“We become like them. We’lll be alive, but like a nightmare. You drink blood, you not wake up from nightmare.”

Certainly there’s no mythical basis for–

Oh wait, there could be.

In 1816, the writer Dr. Richard C. Sherwood noted that the Thuggee believed Kali to be their tutelary or guardian deity. 

Then between 1836 and 1848, the Thuggee and Dacoity Suppression Acts specifically targeted child-traffickers and bandits who nonlethally poisoned their marks.

The implication being that the Thuggee regularly partook in such activities—just like what we see in the mines.

As for how the Thuggee and their non-lethal poison became associated with the goddess Kali, Wagner has got us covered:

“The myth of the divine origins of thuggee was based on a well-known story from the Devi-mahatmaya, according to which Kali fought the demon Raktabija, along with a group of goddesses called Matrkas.

“In the original story Kali licked up the blood and swallowed the multiplying demons who emerged from it, and this seems to have become strangulation in the thug’s version, where they had also taken the role of the Matrkas.”’

Let me back up a second.

Kali is a Hindu goddess of time, death, and destruction. 

And depictions of her sometimes show her stepping on the corpse of…Shiva. 

Shiva, of course, is presented in the film as the tutelary god of the villagers, and, by extension, the god of our protagonists. 

Kali, meanwhile, is presented as the tutelary goddess of the Thuggee.

And I think this was a smart writing decision, putting one deity in the “good guys” corner and one deity in the “bad guys” corner. 

And having those deities be Shiva and Kali makes sense—folklorically speaking.

What’s the Deal with the Voodoo Doll in Temple of Doom?

Overall, Temple of Doom would have scored pretty well on the folklorical accuracy scale…if not for that little jerk the Maharajah and his voodoo doll.

This one’s just…

Look, I get it, anything goes. That’s the mantra of the film.

But voodoo has absolutely no connection to Northern Indiana or Hinduism whatsoever. 

There was even a scene cut from the film where Indy acknowledges this.

To quote the script:

“‘I am interested in the occult. And this is a kryta…’”

“Indiana picks up a small clay figurine and examines it.

“‘It’s like the voodoo dolls of West Africa. The kryta represents your enemy — and gives you complete power over him.’”

Bull. Sh*t.

The made-up word Indy uses here, kryta, was likely derived from Kritya, which is the name of a goddess / demon from the Vedic literature who is associated with “black magic.”

But certainly not Voodoo. 

Because the modern version of voodoo dolls we’re all familiar with—where you make them look like people you don’t like and stick pins in them so the actual people feel the pain…

Those didn’t really appear until the 19th century in New Orleans.

Yes, Indy’s partially right that the dolls originated in West Africa.

But the real history of voodoo dolls is more complex.

The short version: 

African spiritual traditions became crosspollinated with European folk objects known as poppets, which were small dolls or effigies that could be used to hurt people or help people (in a practice known as sympathetic magic).

But again, and I can’t stress this enough, there is zero connection between voodoo dolls and India. 

Folklorical Accuracy Score for Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom

And for that reason, if I were to score the folklorical accuracy of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, I’d have to give it a C+.

We might have been in B- territory before, but the whole voodoo thing put me…over the edge.

But what do you think?

Let me know what grade you would give Temple of Doom in the comments below.

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Thanks for reading.

Fan of folk horror?

You might be interested in my short film Samhain, available over on the Irish Myths channel.

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