THE JĀTAKA OR STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS (Book -2) -6

THE JĀTAKA

OR

STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS

No. 211 

SOMADATTA-JĀTAKA.

"All the year long never ceasing," etc.--This story the Master told while dwelling at Jetavana, about Elder Lāḷudāyī, or Udāyī the Simpleton.
This man, we learn, was unable to get out a single sound in the presence of two or three people. He was so very nervous, that he said one thing when he meant another. It happened that the Brethren were speaking of this as they sat together in the Hall of Truth. [165] The Master came in, and asked what they were talking of as they sat there together. They told him. He answered, "Brethren, this is not the first time that Lāḷudāyī has been a very nervous man. It was just the same before." And he told an old-world tale.

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Once on a time, while Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into a certain brahmin family in the kingdom of Kāsi. When he came of age, he went to study at Takkasilā. On returning he found his family poor; and he bade his parents farewell and set out to Benares, saying to himself, "I will set up my fallen family again!"
At Benares he became the king's attendant; and he grew very dear to the king and became a favourite.
Now his father lived by ploughing the land, hut he had only one pair of oxen; and one of them died. He came before the Bodhisatta, and said to him, "Son, one of my oxen is dead, and the ploughing does not go on. Ask the king to give you one ox!"
"No, Father," answered he, "I have but just now seen the king; I ought not to ask him for oxen now:--you ask him."
"My son," said his father, "you do not know how bashful I am. If there are two or three people present I cannot get a word out. If I go to ask the king for an ox, I shall end by giving him this one!"
"Father," said the Bodhisatta, "what must be, must be. I cannot ask the king; but I will train you to do it." So he led his father to a cemetery where there were clumps of sweet grass; and tying up tufts of it, he scattered them here and there, and named them one by one, pointing them out to his father: "That is the King, that is the Viceroy, this is the Chief Captain. Now, Father, when you come before the king, you must first say--'Long live the king!' and then repeat this verse, to ask for an ox;" and this is the verse he taught him:

"I had two oxen to my plough, with which my work was done,
But one is dead! O mighty prince, please give me another one!"

[166] For the space of a whole year the man learnt this couplet; and then he said to his son--"Dear Somadatta, I have learnt the lines! Now I can say it before any man! Take me to the king."
So the Bodhisatta, taking a suitable present, led his father into the king's presence. "Long live the king!" cried the brahmin, offering his present.
"Who is this brahmin, Somadatta?" the king asked.
"Great king, it is my father," he answered.
"Why has he come here?" asked the king. Then the brahmin repeated his couplet, to ask for the ox:--

"I had two oxen to my plough, with which my work was done,
But one is dead! O mighty prince, please take the other one!"

The king saw that there was some mistake. "Somadatta," said he, smiling, "you have plenty of oxen at home, I suppose?"
"If so, great king, they are your gift!"
At this answer the king was pleased. He gave the man, for a brahmin's offering, sixteen oxen, with fine caparison, and a village to live in, and sent him away with great honour. The brahmin ascended a car drawn by Sindh horses, pure white, and went to his dwelling in great pomp.
As the Bodhisatta sat beside his father in the chariot, said he, "Father, I taught you the whole year long, and yet when the moment came you gave your ox to the king!" and he uttered the first stanza:--

"All the year long never ceasing with unwearied diligence
Where the sweet grass grows in clusters day by day he practised it:
When he came amid the courtiers all at once he changed the sense;
Practice truly nought availeth if a man has little wit."

[167] When he heard this, the brahmin uttered the second stanza:

"He that asks, dear Somadatta, takes his chance between the two--
May get more, or may get nothing: when you ask, ’tis ever so."

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When the Master by this story had shown how Simpleton Udāyī had been just as bashful before as he was then, he identified the Birth:--" Lāḷudāyī was the father of Somadatta, and I was Somadatta myself."

Footnotes

115:1 Fausbøll, Five Jātakas, p. 31; Comm. on Dhammapada verse 152 (p. 317 of F.'s edition).

No. 212.

UCCHIṬṬHA-BHATTA-JĀTAKA.

"Hot at top," etc. This is a story told by the Master while at Jetavana, about one who hankered after a lost wife. The Brother in question was asked by the Master if he really was lovesick. Yes, he said, so he was. "For whom?" was the next question. "For my late wife." "Brother," the Master said, "this same woman in former days was wicked, and made you eat the leavings of her paramour." Then he told this story of the past.

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Once upon a time, while Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as one of a family of poor acrobats, that lived by begging. So when he grew up, he was needy and squalid, and by begging he lived.

There was at the time, in a certain village of Kāsi, a brahmin whose wife was bad and wicked, and did wrong. [168] And it befel that the husband went abroad one day upon some matter, and her lover watching his time went to visit the house. After she had received him, he said, "I will eat a bit before I go." So she made ready the food, and served up rice hot with sauce and curry, and gave it him, bidding him eat: she herself stood at the door, watching for the brahmin's coming. And while the lover was eating, the Bodhisatta stood waiting for a morsel.

At that moment the brahmin set his face for home. And his wife saw him drawing nigh, and ran in quickly--"Up, my man is coming!" and she made her lover go down into the store-room. The husband came in; she gave him a seat, and water for washing the hands; and upon the cold rice that was left by the other she turned out some hot rice, and set it before him. He put his hand into the rice, and felt that it was hot above and cold below. "This must be some one else's leavings," thought he; and so he asked the woman about it in the words of the first stanza:

"Hot at top, and cold at bottom, not alike it seems to be:
I would ask you for the reason: come, my lady, answer me!"

Again and again he asked, but she, fearing lest her deed should be discovered, held her peace, Then a thought came into our tumbler's mind. "The man down in the store-room must be a lover, and this is the master of the house: the wife says nothing, for fear that her deed be made manifest. Soho! I will declare the whole matter, and show the brahmin that a man is hidden in his larder!" [169] And he told him the whole

matter: how that when he had gone out from his house, another had come in, and had done evil; how he had eaten the first rice, and the wife had stood by the door to watch the road; and how the other man had been hidden in the store-room. And in so saying, he repeated the second stanza:

"I am a tumbler, Sir: I came on begging here intent;
He that you seek is hiding in the store-room, where he went!"

By his top-knot he haled the man out of the store-room, and bade him take care not to do the like again; and then he went away. The brahmin rebuked and beat them both, and gave them such a lesson that they were not likely to do the same again. Afterwards he passed away to fare according to his deserts.

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When the Master had ended his discourse, he declared the Truths, and identified the Birth:--at the conclusion of the Truths the lovesick Brother reached the Fruit of the First Path:--"Your late wife was then the brahmin's lady; you, the lovesick Brother, were the brahmin himself; and I was the tumbler."

No. 213.

BHARU-JĀTAKA.

"The king of Bharu," etc. This story the Master told while staying at Jetavana, about the king of Kosala.
Now we read that magnificent presents were made to the Blessed One and his company, and they were held in great respect, as it is written: 'At that time the Blessed One was honoured and revered, respected, reverenced, highly esteemed, and received rich presents--robes, food, lodgement, drugs and medicines, and provisions; and the Brotherhood was honoured, etc. (as before); but the pilgrims of heterodox schools were not honoured, etc. (as before) 1." Well, the sectaries, finding that honour and gifts diminished, convened a secret meeting for deliberation. "Since the appearance of the Priest Gotama," they said, [170] "honour and gifts come no more to us, but he has got the best of both. What can be the reason of his good fortune?" Then one of them spoke as follows. "Priest Gotama has the best and chiefest place in all India to live in, and that is the reason of his success." Then the others said, "If this is the reason, we will make a rival settlement above Jetavana, and then we shall receive presents." This was the conclusion they came to.

"But," thought they, "if we make our settlement unknown to the king, the Brethren will prevent us. If he accepts a present, he will not be disinclined to break up their settlement. So we had best bribe him to give us a place for ours."
So by the intervention of his courtiers, they offered an hundred thousand pieces to the king, with this message; "Great King, we want to make a rival settlement in Jetavana. If the Brethren tell you they won't permit it, please do not give them any answer." To this the king agreed, because he wanted the bribe.
After thus conciliating the king, the schismatics got an architect and put the work in hand. There was a good deal of noise about it.
"What is all this great noise and tumult, Ānanda?" the Master asked. "The noise," said he, "is some sectaries who are having a new settlement built." "That is not a fit place," he rejoined, "for them to settle. These sectaries are fond of noise; there's no living with them." Then he called the Brotherhood together, and bade them go inform the king, and have the building put a stop to.
The Brethren went and stood by the palace door. The king, as soon as he heard of their coming, knew they must be come about stopping the new settlement. But he had been bribed, and so he ordered his attendants to say the king was not at home. The Brethren went back and told the Master. The Master guessed that a bribe had been given, and sent his two chief disciples 1. But the king, as soon as he heard of their coming, gave the same order as before; and they too returned and told the Master. The Master said, "Doubtless the king is not able to stay at home to-day; he must be out."
Next forenoon, he dressed himself, took his bowl and robe, and with five hundred brethren walked to the door of the palace. The king heard them come; he descended from the upper story, and took from the Buddha his alms-bowl. Then he gave rice and gruel to him and his followers, and with a salutation sat down on one side.
The Master began an exposition for the king's behoof, in these words. "Great King, other kings in by-gone days have taken bribes, and then by making virtuous people quarrel together have been dispossessed of their kingdom, and been utterly destroyed." And then, at his request, the Master told an old-world tale.

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[171] Once upon a time, king Bharu was reigning over the kingdom of Bharu. At the same time the Bodhisatta was Teacher of a troop of monks. He was an ascetic who had acquired the Five Supernatural Faculties and the Eight Attainments; and he dwelt a long time in the region of Himalaya.
He came down from Himalaya to buy salt and seasoning, followed by five hundred ascetics; and they came by stages to the city of Bharu. He went a-begging through the city; and then coming forth from it, he sat down by the northern gate, at the root of a banyan tree all covered with twigs and branches. There he made a meal, and there he took up his abode.
Now when that band of hermits had dwelt there by the space of half a moon, there came another Teacher with another five hundred, who went seeking alms about the city, and then came out and sat beneath just such

another banyan tree by the south gate, and ate, and dwelt there. And the two bands abode there so long as they would, and then returned again to Himalaya.
When they had gone, the tree by the south gate withered away. Next time, they who had dwelt under it came first, and perceiving that their tree was withered, they first went on their rounds throughout the city, seeking alms, and then passing out by the northern gate, they ate and abode under the banyan tree that was by that gate. And the other band, coming afterwards, went their rounds in the city, and then made ready their meal and would have dwelt by their own tree. "This is not your tree, ’tis ours!" they cried; and they began to quarrel about the tree. The quarrel waxed great: these said--"Take not the place where we dwelt aforetime!" and those--"This time are we first come; do not you take it!" So crying aloud each that they were the owners of it, they all went to the king's palace.
The king ordained that they who had first dwelt there should hold it. [172] Then the others thought--"We will not allow ourselves to say that we have been beaten by these!" They looked about then with divine vision 1, and observing the body of a chariot fit for an emperor to use, they took it and offered it as a gift to the king, begging him to give them too possession of the tree. He took their gift, and ordained that both should dwell under the tree; and so they were there all masters together. Then the other hermits fetched the jewelled wheels of the same chariot, and offered them to the king, praying him, "O mighty king, make its to possess the tree alone!" And the king did so. Then the ascetics repented, and said: "To think that we, who have overcome the love of riches and the lust of the flesh, and have renounced the world, should fall to quarrelling by reason of a tree, and offer bribes for it! This is no seemly thing." And they went away in all haste till they came to Himalaya. And all the spirits that dwelt in the realm of Bharu with one miner were angry with the king, and they brought up the sea, and for the space of three hundred leagues they made the kingdom of Bharu as though it were not. And so for the sake of the king of Bharu alone, all the inhabitants of the kingdom perished thus.

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When the Teacher had ended this tale, in his perfect wisdom, he uttered the following stanzas:--

"The king of Bharu, as old stories say,
Made holy hermits quarrel on a day:
For the which sin it fell that he fell dead,
And with him all his kingdom perished.

"Wherefore the wise do not approve at all
When that desire into the heart doth fall.
He that is free from guile, whose heart is pure,
All that he says is ever true and sure 1."

[173] When the Master had ended this story, he added, "Great King, one should not be under the power of desire. Two religious persons ought not to quarrel together." Then he identified the Birth:--"In those days, I was the leader of the sages."
When the king had entertained the Buddha, and he had departed, the king sent some men and had the rival settlement destroyed, and the sectaries became homeless.

Footnotes

118:1 This appears to be a regular formula; the Sanskrit equivalent occurs in Divyāvadāna, p. 91.
119:1 Sāriputta and Moggallāna.
120:1 One of the Abhiññās or Supernatural Faculties; see above.

No. 214.

PUṆṆA-NADĪ-JĀTAKA.

"That which can drink," etc.--This story the Master told while staying at Jetavana, about perfect wisdom.
On one occasion, the Brethren were gathered in the Hall of Truth, talking of the Buddha's wisdom. "Friend, the Supreme Buddha's wisdom is great, and wide, cutting, and quick, sharp, penetrating, and full of resource." The Master came in, and asked what they talked of as they sat there together. They told him. "Not now only," said he, "is the Buddha wise and resourceful; he was so in days of yore." And then he told them a story.

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Once on a time, while Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta came into the world as the son of the court chaplain. When he grew up, he studied at Takkasilā; and at his father's death he received the office of chaplain, and he was the king's counsellor in things human and divine.
Afterwards the king opened his ear to breedbates, and in anger bade the Bodhisatta dwell before his face no more, and sent him away from Benares. So he took his wife and family with him, and abode in a certain village of Kāsi. Afterward the king remembered his goodness, and said to himself:

"It is not meet that I should send a messenger to fetch my teacher. I will compose a verse of poetry, [174] and write it upon a leaf; I will cause crow's flesh to be cooked; and after I have tied up letter and meat in a white cloth, I will seal it with the king's seal, and send it to him. If he is wise, when he has read the letter and seen that it is crow's-meat, he will come; if not, then he will not come." And so he wrote on the leaf this stanza:

"That which can drink when rivers are in flood;
    That which the corn will cover out of sight;
That which forebodes a traveller on the road--
    O wise one, eat! my riddle read aright 1."

This verse did the king write upon a leaf, and sent it to the Bodhisatta. He read the letter, and thinking--"The king wishes to see me"--he repeated the second verse:--[175]

"The king does not forget to send me crow:
    Geese, herons, peacocks,--other birds there are:
If he gives one, he'll give the rest, I know;
    If he sent none at all ’twere worser far 2."

Then he caused his vehicle to be made ready, and went, and looked upon the king. And the king, being pleased, set him again in the place of the king's chaplain.

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This discourse ended, the Master identified the Birth:--"Ānanda was the king in those days, and I was his chaplain."

Footnotes

121:1 In commenting upon this line, the Scholiast says: "And those who at that time spoke the truth, blaming king Bharu for taking a bribe, found standing room upon a thousand islands which are yet to he seen to-day about the island of Nāḷikera."
122:1 Kākapeyya, both in Skr. and in Pali, is proverbial for rivers at the flood. For Skr. see Pāṇini, 2. 1. 33, where some comm. say 'deep,' some 'shallow.' The scholiast here says: "They call rivers K. when a crow standing on the bank can stretch out its neck and drink." Buddhaghosha, quoted by Rh. D. in note to Buddhist Suttas, S. B. E., p. 178, says the same.--Kākaguyha is corn tall enough to hide a crow; see Pāṇ. 3. 2. 5 and the Kāçikā's comment, with the scholiast's note here.--In the dictionary of Vacaspati, vol. 2, p. 1846, col. 1, it is said "When the crow cries Khare Khare, a traveller is coming." The schol. here says: "If people wish to know whether an absent friend is coming back, they say--Caw, crow, if so-and-so is coming! and if the crows caw, they know that he will come."--This verse riddles on these three proverbs and beliefs. [For part of this note I am indebted to Prof. Cowell.]
122:2 I am not sure of the meaning of these obscure lines, but this is the best I can make of it. The schol. says "When he gets crow's flesh he remembers to send me some; surely he will remember when he gets geese, etc." The phrase--"Geese, herons, peacocks," is a reminiscence of the verse quoted in No. 202, above.

No. 215 1.

KACCHAPA-JĀTAKA.

"The Tortoise needs must speak," etc.--This is a story told by the Master while staying in Jetavana, about Kokālika. The circumstances which gave rise to it will be set forth under the Mahātakkāri Birth 2. Here again the Master said: "This is not the only time, Brethren, that Kokālika has been ruined by talking; it was the same before." And then he told the story as follows.

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Once on a time Brahmadatta was king of Benares, and the Bodhisatta, being born to one of the king's court, grew up, and became the king's adviser in all things human and divine. But this king was very talkative; and when he talked there was no chance for any other to get in a word. [176] And the Bodhisatta, wishing to put a stop to his much talking, kept watching for an opportunity.
Now there dwelt a Tortoise in a certain pond in the region of Himalaya.
Two young wild Geese, searching for food, struck up an acquaintance with him; and by and bye they grew close friends together. One day these two said to him: "Friend Tortoise, we have a lovely home in Himalaya, on a plateau of Mount Cittakūta, in a cave of gold! Will you come with us?"
"Why," said he, "how can I get there?"
"Oh, we will take you, if only you can keep your mouth shut, and say not a word to any body."
"Yes, I can do that," says he; "take me along!"
So they made the Tortoise hold a stick between his teeth; and themselves taking hold so of the two ends, they sprang up into the air.
The village children saw this, and exclaimed--"There are two geese carrying a tortoise by a stick!"
(By this time the geese flying swiftly had arrived at the space above the palace of the king, at Benares.) The Tortoise wanted to cry out--
  "Well, and if my friends do carry me, what is that to you, you caitiffs?"--and he let go the stick from between his teeth, and falling into the open courtyard he split in two. What an uproar there was! "A tortoise has fallen in the courtyard, and broken in two!" they cried. The king, with the Bodhisatta, and all his court, came up to the place, and seeing the tortoise asked the Bodhisatta a question. "Wise Sir, what made this creature fall?'
"Now's my time!" thought he. "For a long while I have been wishing to admonish the king, and I have gone about seeking my opportunity. No doubt the truth is this: the tortoise and the geese became friendly; the geese must have meant to carry him to Himalaya, and so made him hold a stick between his teeth, and then lifted him into the air; then he must have heard some remark, and wanted to reply; and not being able to keep his month shut he must have let himself go; [177] and so he must have fallen from the sky and thus come by his death." So thought he; and addressed the king: "O king, they that have too much tongue, that set no limit to their speaking, ever come to such misfortune as this;" and he uttered the following verses:--

"The Tortoise needs must speak aloud,
    Although between his teeth
A stick he bit: yet, spite of it,
    He spoke--and fell beneath.

"And now, O mighty master, mark it well.
    See thou speak wisely, see thou speak in season.
To death the Tortoise fell:
    He talked too much: that was the reason."
"He is speaking of me!" the king thought to himself; and asked the Bodhisatta if it was so.
"Be it you, O great king, or be it another," replied he, "whosoever talks beyond measure comes by some misery of this kind;" and so he made the thing manifest. And thenceforward the king abstained from talking, and became a man of few words.

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[178] This discourse ended, the Master identified the Birth:--"Kokālika was the tortoise then, the two famous Elders were the two wild geese, Ānanda was the king, and I was his wise adviser."

Footnotes

123:1 Fausbøll, Five Jātakas, p. 41; Dhammapada, p. 418; cp. Benfey's Pantschatantra, i. p. 239; Babrius, ed. Lewis, i. 122; Phaedrus, ed. Orelli, 55, 128; Rhys Davids, Buddhist Birth Stories, viii.; Jacobs, Indian Fairy Tales, pp. 100 and 245.
123:2 Takkāriya-jātaka, No. 481.

No. 216.

MACCHA-JĀTAKA.

"’Tis not the fire," etc.---This story the Master told during a stay in Jetavana, about one who hankered after a former wife. The Master asked this Brother, "Is it true, Brother, what I hear, that you are lovesick?" "Yes, Sir." "For whom?" "For my late wife." Then the Master said to him: "This wife, Brother, has been the mischief to you. Long ago by her means you came near being spitted and roasted for food, but wise men saved your life." Then he told a tale of the past.

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Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta was his chaplain. Some fishermen drew out a Fish which had got caught in their net, and cast it upon hot sand, saying, "We will cook it in the embers, and eat." So they sharpened a spit. And the Fish fell a-weeping over his mate, and said these two verses:

"’Tis not the fire that burns me, nor the spit that hurts me sore;
But the thought my mate may call me a faithless paramour.

"’Tis the flame of love that burns me, and fills my heart with pain;
Not death is the due of loving; O fishers, free me again!"

[179] At that moment the Bodhisatta approached the river bank; and hearing the Fish's lament, he went up to the fishermen and made them set the Fish at liberty.

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This discourse ended, the Master declared the Truths and identified the Birth:--at the conclusion of the Truths the lovesick Brother reached the Fruit of the First Path:--"The wife was in those days the fish's mate, the lovesick Brother was the fish, and I myself was the chaplain."

No. 217.

SEGGU-JĀTAKA.

"All the world's on pleasure bent," etc.--This story the Master told, while dwelling at Jetavana, about a greengrocer who was a lay-brother.
The circumstances have been already given in the First Book 1. Here again the Master asked him where he had been so long; and he replied, "My daughter, Sir, is always smiling. After testing her, I gave her in marriage to a young gentleman. As this had to be done, I had no opportunity of paying you a visit." To this the Master answered, "Not now only is your daughter virtuous, but virtuous she was in days of yore; and as you have tested her now, so you tested her in those days." And at the man's request he told an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta was a tree-spirit.
This same pious greengrocer took it into his head to test his daughter. He led her into the woods, [180] and seized her by the hand, making as though he had conceived a passion for her. And as she cried out in woe, he addressed her in the words of the first stanza:--

"All the world's on pleasure bent;
Ah, my baby innocent!
Now I've caught you, pray don't cry;
As the town does, so do I."

When she heard it, she answered, "Dear Father, I ant a maid, and I know not the ways of sin:" and weeping she uttered the second stanza:--

"He that should keep me safe from all distress,
The same betrays me in my loneliness;
My father, who should be my sure defence,
Here in the forest offers violence."

And the greengrocer, after testing his daughter thus, took her home, and gave her in marriage to a young man. Afterwards he passed away according to his deeds.

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When the Master had ended this discourse, he declared the Truths and identified the Birth:--at the end of the Truths the greengrocer entered on the Fruit of the First Path:--"In those days, father and daughter were the snore as now, and the tree-spirit that saw it all was I myself."

Footnotes

126:1 No. 102, Paṇṇika-Jātaka, where recurs the second stanza.

No. 218.

KŪṬA-VĀṆIJA-JĀTAKA.

"Well planned indeed!" etc.--[181] This story the Master told while staying in Jetavana, about a dishonest trader.
There were two traders of Sāvatthi, one pious and the other a cheat. These two joined partnership, and loaded five hundred waggons full of wares, journeying from east to west for trade; and returned to Sāvatthi with large profits.
The pious trader suggested to his partner that they should divide their stock. The rogue thought to himself, "This fellow has been roughing it for ever so long with bad food and lodging. Now he's at home again, he'll eat all sorts of dainties and die of a surfeit. Then I shall have all the stock for myself." What he said was, "Neither the stars nor the day are favourable; to-morrow or the next day we'll see about it;" so he kept putting it oft: However, the pious trader pressed him, and the division was made. Then he went with scents and garlands to visit the Master; and after a respectful obeisance, he sat on one side. The Master asked when he had returned. "Just a fortnight ago, Sir," said he. "Then why have you delayed to visit the Buddha?" The trader explained. Then the Master said, "It is not only now that your partner is a rogue; he was just the same before;" and at his request told him an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, while Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta came into this world as the son of one in the king's court. When he grew up he was made a Lord Justice.
At that time, two traders, one from a village and one of the town, were friends together. The villager deposited with the townsman five hundred ploughshares. The other sold these, and kept the price, and in the place where they were he scattered mouse clung. By and by came the villager, and asked for his ploughshare 1. "The mice have eaten them up 2!" said the cheat, and pointed out the mouse clung to him.

"Well, well, so be it," replied the other: "what can be done with things which the mice have eaten?
Now at the time of bathing he took the other trader's son, and set him in a friend's house, in an inner chamber, bidding them not suffer him to go out any whither. [182] And having washed himself he went to his friend's house.
"Where is my son?" asked the cheat.
"Dear friend," he replied, "I took him with me and left him on the river side; and when I was gone down into the water, there came a hawk, and seized your son in his extended claws, and flew up into the air. I beat the water, shouted, struggled--but could not make him let go."
"Lies!" cried the rogue. "No hawk could carry off a boy"
"Let be, dear friend: if things happen that should not, how can I help it? Your son has been carried off by a hawk, as I say."
The other reviled him. "Ah, you scoundrel! you murderer! Now I will go to the judge, and have you dragged before him!" And he departed. The villager said, "As you please," and went to the court of justice. The rogue addressed the Bodhisatta thus
"My lord, this fellow took my son with him to bathe, and when I asked where he was, he answered, that a hawk had carried him off. Judge my cause!"
"Tell the truth," said the Bodhisatta, asking the other.
"Indeed, my lord," he answered, "I took him with me, and a falcon has carried him off."
"But where in the world are there hawks which carry off boys?"
"My lord," he answered, "I have a question to ask you. If hawks cannot carry off boys into the air, can mice eat iron ploughshares?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"My lord, I deposited in this man's house five hundred ploughshares. The man told me that the mice had devoured them, and showed me the droppings of the mice that had done it. My lord, if mice eat ploughshares, then hawks carry off boys: but if mice cannot do this, neither will hawks carry the boy off. This man says the mice ate my ploughshares. Give sentence whether they are eaten or no. [183] Judge my cause!"
"He must have meant," thought the Bodhisatta, "to fight the trickster with his own weapons.--Well devised!" said he, and then he uttered these two verses:--

"Well planned indeed! The biter bit,
The trickster tricked--a pretty hit!
If mice eat ploughshares, hawks can fly
With boys away into the sky! p. 129

"A rogue out-rogued with tit for tat!
Give back the plough, and after that
Perhaps the man who lost the plough
May give your son back to you now!" 1
[184] Thus he that had lost his son received him again, and he received his ploughshare that had lost it; and afterwards both passed away to fare according to their deeds.

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When this discourse was ended, the Master identified the Birth:--"The cheat in both cases was the same, and so was the clever man; I myself was the Lord Chief Justice."

Footnotes

127:1 Here, in the last sentence but one, and in the verses the singular phālaṁ is used. It is possible this may be a collective, but more likely that it harks back to a simpler and older version, where only one is spoken of. Readers cannot fail to have marked the fondness of the Jātaka editor for round numbers, especially five hundred.
127:2 Things gnawed by mice or rats were unlucky; cp. vol. 1. p. 372 (Pāli), Tevijja-Sutta Mahāsīlaṁ i (trans. in S. B. E., Buddhist Suttas, p. 196). The man here goes further than he need; if the mice had but nibbled the ploughshares perhaps he might throw them away.--We may also have a reference to an old proverb, found both in Greek and Latin: "where mice eat iron" meant "nowhere." Herondas 3. 76 οὑδ᾽ ὅκου χώρης οἱ μῦς ὁμοίως τὸν σίδηρον τρώγουσιν. Seneca, Apocolocyntosis chap. 7 (to Claudius in heaven) venisti huc ubi mures ferrum rodunt.
129:1 A like repartee is found in North Ind. N. and O. iii. 214 (The Judgement of the Jackal); Swynnerton, Ind. Nights Entertainments, p. 142 (The Traveller and the Oilman); and a story of an oilman in Stumme's Tunische Märchen, vol. ii.

No. 219 2.

GARAHITA-JĀTAKA.

"The gold is mine," etc.--This story the Master told at Jetavana, about a brother who was downcast and discontent.
This man could not concentrate his mind on any single object, but his life was all full of discontent; and this was told to the Master. When asked by the Master if he really were discontented, he said yes; asked why, he replied t! at it was through his passions. "O Brother!" said the Master, "this passion has been despised even by the lower animals; and can you, a priest of such a doctrine, yield to discontent arising from the passion that even brutes despise?" Then he told him an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta reigned over Benares, the Bodhisatta came into the world as a Monkey, in the region of Himalaya. A. woodranger caught him, brought him home and gave him to the king. For a long time he dwelt with the king, serving him faithfully, and he learnt a great deal about the manners of the world of men. The king was

pleased at his faithfulness. He sent for the woodranger, and bade him set the monkey free in the very place where he had been caught; and so he did.
All the monkey tribe gathered together upon the face of a huge rock, to see the Bodhisatta now that he had come back to them; and they spoke pleasantly to him.
"Sir, where have you been living this long time?"
"In the king's palace at Benares."
"Then how did you get free?"
"The king made me his pet monkey, and being pleased with my tricks, he let me go."
The monkeys went on--"You must know the manner of living in the world of men: [185] tell us about it too--we want to hear!"
"Don't ask me the manner of men's living," quoth the Bodhisatta. "Do tell--we want to hear!" they said again.
"Mankind," said he, "both princes and Brahmans, cry out--'Mine! mine!' They know not of the impermanence, by which the things that be are not. Hear now the way of these blind fools;" and he spoke these verses:

"'The gold is mine, the precious gold!' so cry they, night and day:
These foolish folk cast never a look upon the holy way.

"There are two masters in the house; one has no beard to wear,
But has long breasts, ears pierced with holes, and goes with plaited hair;
His price is told in countless gold; he plagues all people there."
[186] On hearing this, all the monkeys cried out--"Stop, stop! we have heard what it is not meet to hear!" and with both hands they stopped their ears tight. And they liked not the place, because they said, "In this place we heard a thing not seemly;" so they went elsewhere. And this rock went by the name of Garahitapiṭṭhi Rock, or the Rock of Blaming.

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When the Master had ended this discourse, he declared the Truths and identified the Birth:--at the conclusion of the Truths this Brother reached the Fruit of the First Path:--"The Buddha's present followers were that troop of monkeys, and their chief was I myself."

Footnotes

129:2 Folk-Lore Journal, iii. 253.

No. 220 

DHAMMADDHAJA-JĀTAKA.

"You look as though," etc.--This was told by the Master while staying at the Bamboo Grove, about attempts to murder him. On this occasion, as before, the Master said, "This is not the first time Devadatta has tried to murder me and has not even frightened me. He did the same before." And he told this story.

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Once upon a time reigned at Benares a king named Yasapāṇi, the Glorious. His chief captain was named Kāḷaka, or Blackie. At that time the Bodhisatta was his chaplain, and had the name of Dhammaddhaja, the Banner of the Faith. There was also a man Chattapāṇi, maker of ornaments to the king. The king was a good king. But his chief captain swallowed bribes in the judging of causes; he was a backbiter; he took bribes, and defrauded the rightful owners.
On a day, one who had lost his suit was departing from the court, weeping and stretching out his arms, [187] when he fell in with the Bodhisatta as he was going to pay his service to the king. Falling at his feet, the man cried out, telling how he had been worsted in his cause: "Although such as you, my lord, instruct the king in the things of this world and the next, the Commander-in-Chief takes bribes, and defrauds rightful owners!"
The Bodhisatta pitied him. "Come, my good fellow," says he, "I will judge your cause for you!" and he proceeded to the court-house. A great company gathered together. The Bodhisatta reversed the sentence, and gave judgement for him that had the right. The spectators applauded. The sound was great. The king heard it, and asked--"What sound is this I hear?"
"My lord king," they answered, "it is a cause wrongly judged that has been judged aright by the wise Dhammaddhaja; that is why there is this shout of applause."
The king was pleased and sent for the Bodhisatta. "They tell me," he began, "that you have judged a cause?"
"Yes, great king, I have judged that which Kāḷaka did not judge aright."

"Be you judge from this day," said the king; "it will be a joy for my ears, and prosperity for the world!" He was unwilling, but the king begged him--"In mercy to all creatures, sit you in judgement!" and so the king won his consent.
From that time Kāḷaka received no presents; and losing his gains he spoke calumny of the Bodhisatta before the king, saying, "O mighty King, the wise Dhammaddhaja covets your kingdom!" But the king would not believe; and bade him say not so.
"If you do not believe me," said Kāḷaka, "look out of the window at the time of his coming. Then you will see that he has got the whole city into his own hands."
The king saw the crowd of those that were about him in his judgement hall. "There is his retinue," thought he. He gave way. "What are we to do, Captain?" he asked.
"My lord, he must be put to death." [188]
"How can we put him to death without having found him out in some great wickedness?"
"There is a way," said the other.
"What way?"
"Tell him to do what is impossible, and if he cannot, put him to death for that."
"But what is impossible to him?"
"My lord king," replied he, "it takes two years or twice two for a garden with good soil to bear fruit, being planted and tended. Send you for him, and say--'We want a garden to disport ourselves in to-morrow. Make us a garden!' This he will not be able to do; and we will slay him for that fault."
The king addressed himself to the Bodhisatta. "Wise Sir, we have sported long enough in our old garden; now we crave to sport in a new. Make us a garden! If you cannot make it, you must die."
The Bodhisatta reasoned, "It must be that Kāḷaka has set the king against me, because he gets no presents.--If I can," he said to the king, "O mighty king, I will see to it." And he went home. After a good meal he lay upon his bed, thinking. Sakka's palace grew hot 1. Sakka reflecting perceived the Bodhisatta's difficulty. He made haste to him, entered his chamber, and asked him--"Wise Sir, what think you on'?"--poised the while in mid-air.
"Who are you?" asked the Bodhisatta.

"I am Sakka."
"The king bids me make a garden: that is what I am thinking upon."
"Wise Sir, do not trouble: I will make you a garden like the groves of Nandana and Cittalatā! In what place shall I make it?"
"In such and such a place," he told him. Sakka made it, and returned to the city of the gods.
Next day, the Bodhisatta beheld the garden there in very truth, and sought the king's presence. "O king, the garden is ready: go to your sport!"
The king came to the place, and beheld a garden girt with a fence of eighteen cubits, vermilion tinted, having gates and ponds, [189] beautiful with all manner of trees laden heavy with flowers and fruit! "The sage has done my bidding," said he to Kāḷaka: "now what are we to do?"
"O mighty King!" replied he, "if he can make a garden in one night, can he not seize upon your kingdom?"
"Well, what are we to do?"
"We will make him perform another impossible thing."
"What is that?" asked the king.
"We will bid him make a lake possessed of the seven precious jewels!"
The king agreed, and thus addressed the Bodhisatta:
"Teacher, you have made a park. Make now a lake to match it, with the seven precious jewels. If, you cannot make it, you shall not live!"
"Very good, great King," answered the Bodhisatta, "I will make it if I can."
Then Sakka made a lake of great splendour, having an hundred landing-places, a thousand inlets, covered over with lotus plants of five different colours, like the lake in Nandana.
Next clay, the Bodhisatta beheld this also, and told the king: "See, the lake is made!" And the king saw it, and asked of Kāḷaka what was to be done.
"Bid him, my lord, make a house to suit it," said he.
"Make a house, Teacher," said the king to the Bodhisatta, "all of ivory, to suit with the park and the lake: if you do not make it, you must die!"
Then Sakka made him a house likewise. The Bodhisatta beheld it next day, and told the king. When the king had seen it, he asked Kāḷaka again, what was to do. Kāḷaka told him to bid the Bodhisatta make a jewel to suit the house. The king said to him, "Wise Sir, make a jewel to suit with this ivory house; I will go about looking at it by the light of the jewel: if you cannot make one, you must die! "Then Sakka

made him a jewel too. Next day the Bodhisatta beheld it, and told the king. [190] When the king had seen it, he again asked Kāḷaka what was to be done.
"Mighty king!" answered he, "I think there is some sprite who does each thing that the Brahmin Dhammaddhaja wishes. Now bid him make something which even a divinity cannot make. Not even a deity can make a man with all four virtues 1; therefore bid him make a keeper with these four." So the king said, "Teacher, you have made a park, a lake, and a palace, and a jewel to give light. Now make me a keeper with four virtues, to watch the park; if you cannot, you must die."
"So be it," answered he, "if it is possible, I will see to it." He went home, had a good meal, and lay down. When he awoke in the morning, he sat upon his bed, and thought thus. "What the great king Sakka can make by his power, that he has made. He cannot make a park-keeper with four virtues'. This being so, it is better to die forlorn in the woods, than to die at the hand of other men." So saying no word to any man, he went down from his dwelling and passed out of the city by the chief gate, and entered the woods, where he sat him down beneath a tree and reflected upon the religion of the good. Sakka perceived it; and in the fashion of a forester he approached the Bodhisatta, saying,
"Brahmin, you are young and tender: why sit you here in this wood, as though you had never seen pain before?" As he asked it, he repeated the first stanza:--

"You look as though your life must happy be;
Yet to the wild woods you would homeless go,
Like some poor wretch whose life was misery,
And pine beneath this tree in lonely woe."

[191] To this the Bodhisatta made answer in the second stanza:--

"I look as though my life must happy be;
Yet to the wild woods I would homeless go,
Like some poor wretch whose life was misery,
And pine beneath this tree in lonely woe,
Pondering the truth that all the saints do know."

Then Sakka said, "If so, then why, Brahmin, are you sitting here?"
"The king," he made answer, "requires a park-keeper with four good qualities; such an one cannot be found; so I thought--Why perish by the hand of man? I will off to the woods, and die a lonely death. So here I came, and here I. sit."
Then the other replied, "Brahmin, I am Sakka, king of the gods. By

me was your park made, and those other things. A park-keeper possessed of four virtues cannot be made; but in your country there is one Chattapāṇi, who makes ornaments for the head, and he is such a man. If a park-keeper is wanted, go and make this workman the keeper." With these words Sakka departed to his city divine, after consoling him and bidding him fear no more.
[192] The Bodhisatta went home, and having broken his fast, he
repaired to the palace gates, and there in that spot he saw Chattapāṇi. He took him by the hand, and asked him--"Is it true, as I hear, Chattapāṇi, that you are endowed with the four virtues?"
"Who told you so?" asked the other.
"Sakka, king of the gods."
"Why did he tell you?" He recounted all, and told the reason. The other said,
"Yes, I am endowed with the four virtues." The Bodhisatta taking him by the hand led him into the king's presence. "Here, mighty monarch, is Chattapāṇi, endowed with four virtues. If there is need of a keeper for the park, make him keeper."
"Is it true, as I hear," the king asked him, "that you have four virtues?"
"Yes, mighty king."
"What are they? "he asked.

"I envy not, and drink no wine;
No strong desire, no wrath is mine,"

said he.
"Why, Chattapāṇi," cried the king, "did you say you have no envy?"
"Yes, O king, I have no envy."
"What are the things you do not envy?"
"Listen, my lord!" said he; and then he told how he felt no envy in the following lines 1:--

"A chaplain once in bonds I threw--
Which thing a woman made me do:
He built me up in holy lore;
Since when I never envied more."

[193] Then the king said, "Dear Chattapāṇi, why do you abstain from strong drink?" And the other answered in the following verse 1--
p. 137

"Once I was drunken, and I ate
My own son's flesh upon my plate;
Then, touched with sorrow and with pain,
Swore never to touch drink again."

[194] Then the king said, "But what, dear sir, makes you indifferent, without love?" The man explained it in these words 1:--

"King Kitavāsa was my name;
A mighty king was I;
My boy the Buddha's basin broke
And so he had to die."

[195] Said the king then, "What was it, good friend, that made you to be without anger?" And the other made the matter clear in these lines:

"As Araka, for seven years
I practised charity;
And then for seven ages dwelt
In Brahma's heaven on high."

When Chattapāṇi had thus explained his four attributes, the king made a sign to his attendants. And in an instant all the court, [196] priests and laymen and all, rose up, and cried out upon Kāḷaka--"Fie, bribe-swallowing thief and scoundrel! You couldn't get your bribes, and so you would murder the wise man by speaking ill of him!" They seized him by hand and foot, and bundled him out of the palace; and catching up whatever

they could get hold of, this a stone, and this a staff, they broke his head and did him to death: and dragging him by the feet they cast him upon a dunghill.
Thenceforward the king ruled in righteousness, until he passed away according to his deserts.

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This discourse ended, the Master identified the Birth:--"Devadatta was the Commander Kāḷaka, Sāriputta was the artisan Chattapāṇi, and I was Dhammaddhaja."

Footnotes

131:1 Here we have the "Hero's Tasks" in a new form.
132:1 This was supposed to happen when a good man was in straits. Some modern superstitions, turning upon the pity of a god for creatures in pain, may be seen in North Ind. N. and Q. iii. 285. As this: "Hot oil is poured into a dog's ear and the pain makes him yell. It is believed that his yells are heard by Raja Indra, who in pity stops the rain."
134:1 Caturcaṅga-samannāgataṁ; it is an odd coincidence that the Pythagoreans called the perfect man τετράγωνος, 'four-square' (see the poem of Simonides, in Plat. Prot. 339 B).
135:1 The following is the commentary on these lines. The story is that of No. 120, where the first stanza of those which follow, is given. "This is the meaning. In former days, I was a king of Benares like this, and for a woman's sake I imprisoned a chaplain.

The free are bound, when folly has her say;
When wisdom speaks, the bond go free away.

Just as in the Birth now spoken of, this Chattapāṇi became king. The queen intrigued with sixty-four of the slaves. She tempted the Bodhisatta, and when he would not consent she tried to ruin him by speaking calumny of him; then the king threw him into prison. The Bodhisatta was brought before him bound, and explained the real state of the case. Then he was set free himself; and then he got the king to release all those slaves who had been imprisoned, and advised him to forgive both p. 136 the queen and them. All the rest is to be understood exactly as explained above. It was in reference to this he said

"A chaplain once in bonds I threw--
Which thing a woman made me do:
He built me up in holy lore;
Since when I never envied more."

But then I thought, 'I have avoided sixteen thousand women, and I cannot satisfy this one in the way of passion. Such is the anger of women, hard to satisfy. It is like being angry, saying, 'Why is it dirty?' when a worn garment is dirty; it is like being angry, saying, 'Why does it become like this?' when after s meal some passes into the draught. I made a resolve that henceforth no envy should arise in me by way of passion, lest I should fail to become a saint. From that time I have been free from envy. This is the point of saying, 'Since when I never envied more.'"
136:1 The scholiast tells the following story to illustrate this verse.--"I was once," says the speaker, "a king of Benares; I could not live without strong drink and meat. Now in that city animals might not be slaughtered on the Sabbath (uposathadivasesu); so the cook had prepared some meat for my Sabbath meal the day before (the 13th of the lunar fortnight). This, being badly kept, the dogs ate. The cook durst not come before the king on the Sabbath to serve his rich and varied repast in the upper chamber without meat, so he asked the queen's advice. "My lady, to-day I have no meat; and without it I dare not offer a meal to him, what am I to do?" Said she, "The king is very fond of my son. As he fondles him, he hardly knows whether he exists or not. [194] I will dress my son up, and give him into the king's hands, and while he plays with him you shall serve his dinner; he will not notice." So she dressed up her darling son, and put him into the king's hands. As he was playing with the lad, the cook served the dinner. The king, mad with drink, and seeing no meat upon the dish, asked where the meat was. The answer was that no meat was to be had that day because there was no killing on the Sabbath. "Meat is hard to get for me, is it?" he said; and then he wrung his dear son's neck as he sat in his arms, and killed him; threw him down before the cook, and told him to look sharp and cook it. The cook obeyed, and the king ate his own son's flesh. For dread of the king not a soul durst weep or wail or say a word. The king ate, and went to sleep. Next morning, having slept off his intoxication, he asked for his son. Then the queen fell weeping at his feet, and said, "Oh, sir, yesterday you killed your son and ate his flesh!" The king wept and wailed for grief, and thought, "This is because of drinking strong drink!" Then, seeing the mischief of drinking, I made a resolution that lest I should never become a saint, I would never touch this deadly liquor; taking dust, and rubbing it upon my mouth. From that time I have drunk no strong drink. This is the point of the lines, "Once I was drunken."
137:1 The scholiast tells this story: "The meaning is, Once upon a time I was a king named Kitavāsa, and a son was born to me. The fortune-tellers said that the boy would perish of lack of water. So he was named Duṭṭhakumāra. When he grew up, he was viceroy. The king kept his son close to him, before or behind; and to break the prophecy had tanks made at the four city gates and here and there inside the city; he made halls in the squares and crossways, and set water jars in them. One day the young man, dressed finely, went to the park by himself. On his way he saw a Pacceka-Buddha in the road, and many people spoke to him, praised him, did obeisance before him. [195] 'What!' thought the prince, 'when such as I am passing by, do people show all this respect to yonder shavepate?' Angry, he dismounted from the elephant, and asked the Buddha if he had received his food. 'Yes,' was the reply. The prince took it from him, cast it on the ground, rice and bowl together, and crushed it to dust under his feet. 'The man is lost, verily!' said the Buddha, and looked into his face. 'I am Prince Duṭṭha, son of king Kitavāsa!' said the prince--'what harm will you do me, by looking angrily at me and opening your eyes?' The Buddha, having lost his food, rose up in the air and went off to a cave at the foot of Nanda, in Northern Himalaya. At that very moment the prince's evil-doing began to bear fruit, and he cried--'I burn! I burn!' His body burst into flame, and he fell down in the road where he was; all the water that there was near disappeared, the conduits dried up, then and there he perished, and passed into hell. The king heard it, and was overcome with grief. Then he thought--'This grief is come upon me because my son was dear to me. If I had had no affection, I had had no pain. From this time forward I resolve that I will fix my affection on nothing, animate or inanimate.'"

No. 221.

KĀSĀVA-JĀTAKA.

"If any man," etc.--This story the Master told while staying at Jetavana, about Devadatta.
It was occasioned by something that happened at Rājagaha. At one period the Captain of the Faith was living with five hundred brethren at the Bamboo Grove. And Devadatta, with a body of men wicked like himself, lived at Gayāsīsa.
At that time the citizens of Rājagaha used to club together for the purpose of almsgiving. A trader, who had come there on business, brought a magnificent perfumed yellow robe, asking that he might become one of them, and give this garment as his contribution. The townspeople brought plenty of gifts. All that was contributed by those who had clubbed together consisted of ready money. There was this garment left. The crowd which had come together said, "Here is this beautiful perfumed robe left over. Who shall have it--Elder Sāriputta, or Devadatta?" Some were in favour of Sāriputta; others said, "Elder Sāriputta will stay here a few days, [197] and then go travelling at his own sweet will; but Devadatta always lives near our city; he is our refuge in good fortune or ill. Devadatta shall have it!" They made a division, and those who voted for Devadatta were in the majority. So to Devadatta they gave it. He had it cut in strips, and sewn together, and coloured like gold, and so he wore it upon him.
At the same time, thirty Brethren went from Sāvatthi to salute the Master. After greetings had been exchanged, they told him all this affair, adding, "And so, sir, Devadatta wears this mark of the saint, which suits him ill enough." "Brethren," said the Master, "this is not the first time that Devadatta has put on the garb of a saint, a most unsuitable dress. He slid the same before." And then he told them an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta came into this world as an Elephant in the Himalaya region.
  Lord of a herd that numbered eighty thousand wild elephants, he dwelt in the forest land.
A poor man that lived in Benares, seeing the workers of ivory in the ivory bazaar making bangles and all manner of ivory trinkets, he asked them would they buy an elephant's tusks, if he should get them. To which they answered, Yes.
So he took a weapon, and clothing himself in a yellow robe, he put on the guise of a Pacceka-Buddha 1, with a covering band about his head. Taking his stand in the path of the elephants, he slew one of them with his weapon, and sold the tusks of it in Benares; and in this manner he made a living. After this he began always to slay the very last elephant in the Bodhisatta's troop. Day by day the elephants grew fewer and fewer. Then they went and asked the Bodhisatta how it was that their numbers dwindled. He perceived the reason. "Some man," thought he, "stands in the place where the elephants go, having made himself like a Pacceka-Buddha in appearance. Now can it be he that slays the elephants? I will find him out." So one day he sent the others on before him [198] and he followed after. The man saw the Bodhisatta, and made a rush at him with his weapon. The Bodhisatta turned and stood. "I will beat him to the earth, and kill him!" thought he: and stretched out his trunk,--when he saw the yellow robes which the man wore. "I ought to pay respect to those sacred robes!" said he. So drawing back his trunk, he cried--"O man! Is not that dress, the flag of sainthood, unsuitable to you? Why do you wear it?" and he repeated these lines:

"If any man, yet full of sin, should dare
To don the yellow robe, in whom no care
    For temperance is found, or love of truth,
He is not worthy such a robe to wear.

He who has speed out sin, who everywhere
Is firm in virtue, and whose chiefest care
    Is to control his passions, and be true,
He well deserves the yellow robe to wear."
[199] With these words, the Bodhisatta rebuked the man, and bade him never come there again, else he should die for it. Thus he drove him away.

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After this discourse was ended, the Master identified the Birth:--"Devadatta was the man who killed the elephants, and the head of the herd was I."

Footnotes

139:1 One who has attained the knowledge needful for attaining Nirvana, but does not preach it to men.

No. 222.

CŪLA-NANDIYA-JĀTAKA 1.

"I call to mind," etc.--This story the Master told whilst dwelling in the Bamboo Grove, about Devadatta.
One day the brethren fell a-talking in the Hall of Truth: "Friend, that man Devadatta is harsh, cruel, and tyrannical, full of baneful devices against the Supreme Buddha. He flung a stone 2, he even used the aid of Nāḷāgiri 3; pity and compassion there is none in him for the Tathāgata."
The Master came in, and asked what they were talking about as they sat there. They told him. Then he said, "This is not the first time, Brethren, that Devadatta has been harsh, cruel, merciless. He was so before." And he told them an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta became a Monkey named Nandiya, or Jolly; and dwelt in the Himalaya region; and his youngest brother bore the name of Jollikin. They two headed a band of eighty thousand monkeys, and they had a blind mother in their home to care for.
They left their mother in her lair in the bushes, and went amongst the trees to find sweet wild fruit of all kinds, which they sent back home to her. The messengers did not deliver it; and, tormented with hunger, she became nothing but skin and bone. Said the Bodhisatta to her,
"Mother, we send you plenty of sweet fruits: then what makes you so thin?"
"My son, I never get it!" [200]
The Bodhisatta pondered. "While I look after my herd, my mother will perish! I will leave the herd, and look after my mother alone." So calling his brother, "Brother," said he, "do you tend the herd, and I will care for our mother."
"Nay, brother," replied he, "what care I for ruling a herd? I too will care for only our mother!" So the two of them were of one mind, and leaving the herd, they brought their mother down out of Himalaya, and took up their abode in a banyan tree of the border-land, where they took care of her.

Now a certain Brahmin, who lived at Takkasilā, had received his education from a famous teacher, and afterward he took leave of him, saying that he would depart. This teacher had the power of divining from the signs on a man's body; and thus he perceived that his pupil was harsh, cruel, and violent. "My son," said he, "you are harsh, and cruel, and violent. Such persons do not prosper at all seasons alike; they come to dire woe and dire destruction. Be not harsh, nor do what you will afterwards repent." With this counsel, he let him go.
The youth took leave of his teacher, and went his way to Benares. There he married and settled down; and not being able to earn a livelihood by any other of his arts, he determined to live by his bow. So he set to work as a huntsman; and left Benares to earn his living. Dwelling in a border village, he would range the woods girt with bow and quiver, and lived by sale of the flesh of all manner of beasts which he slew.
One day, as he was returning homewards after having caught nothing at all in the forest, he observed a banyan tree standing on the verge of an open glade. "Perhaps," thought he, "there may be something here." And he turned his face towards the banyan tree. Now the two brothers had just fed their mother with fruits, and were sitting behind her in the tree, when they saw the man coming. "Even if he sees our mother," said they, "what will he do?" and they hid amongst the branches. Then this cruel man, as he came up to the tree and saw the mother monkey weak with age, and blind, thought to himself, "Why should I return empty-handed? I will shoot this she-monkey first!" [201] and lifted up his bow to shoot her. This the Bodhisatta saw, and said to his brother, "Jollikin, my dear, this man wants to shoot our mother! I will save her life. When I am dead, do you take care of her." So saying, down he came out of the tree, and called out,
"O man, don't shoot my mother! she is blind, and weak for age. I will save her life; don't kill her, but kill me instead!" and when the other had promised, he sat down in a place within bowshot. The hunter pitilessly shot the Bodhisatta; when he dropped, the man prepared his bow to shoot the mother monkey. Jollikin saw this, and thought to himself, "Yon hunter wants to shoot my mother. Even if she only lives a day, she will have received the gift of life; I will give my life for hers." Accordingly, down he came from the tree, and said,
"O man, don't shoot my mother! I give my life for hers. Shoot me--take both us brothers, and spare our mother's life!" The hunter consented, and Jollikin squatted down within bowshot. The hunter shot this one too, and killed him--"It will do for my children at home," thought he--and he shot the mother too; hung them all three on his carrying pole, and set his face homewards. At that moment a thunderbolt fell upon the

house of this wicked man, and burnt up his wife and two children with the house: nothing was left but the roof and the bamboo uprights.
A man met him at the entering in of the village, and told him of it. Sorrow for his wife and children overcame him: down on the spot he dropped his pole with the game, and his bow, threw off his garments, and naked he went homewards, wailing with hands outstretched. Then the bamboo uprights broke, and fell upon his head, and crushed it. The earth yawned, flame rose from hell. As he was being swallowed up in the earth, he thought upon his master's warning: [202] "Then this was the teaching that the Brahmin Pārāsariya gave me!" and lamenting he uttered these stanzas:

"I call to mind my teacher's words: so this was what he meant!
Be careful you should nothing do of which you might repent.

"Whatever a man does, the same he in himself will find;
The good man, good; and evil he that evil has designed;
And so our deeds are all like seeds, and bring forth fruit in kind."

_____________________________

Lamenting thus, he went down into the earth, and came to life in the depths of hell.
When the Master had ended this discourse, by which he showed how in other days, as then, Devadatta had been harsh, cruel, and merciless, he identified the Birth in these words: "In those days Devadatta was the hunter, Sāriputta was the famous teacher, Ānanda was Jollikin, the noble Lady Gotamī was the mother, and I was the monkey Jolly."

Footnotes

140:1 Questions of Milinda, iv. 4. 24 (trans. in S. B. E., xxxv. 287).
140:2 For the stone-throwing see Cullavagga vii. 3. 9; Hardy, Manual, p. 320.
140:3 A fierce elephant, let loose at Devadatta's request to kill the Buddha. See Cullavagga vii. 3. 11 f. (Vinaya Texts, S. B. E., iii. 247 f.); Milinda, iv. 4. 44 (where he is called Dhanapālaka, as supra vol. i. 57); Hardy, Manual, p. 320.

 

Om Tat Sat
                                                        
(Continued...) 

(My humble salutations to Sreeman Professor E B Cowell ji and also Sreeman W H D Rouse for the collection)