THE JĀTAKA OR STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS (Book -3) -2

THE JĀTAKA

OR

STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS

No. 259.

TIRĪṬA-VACCHA-JĀTAKA.

"When all alone," etc. This story the Master told whilst living at Jetavana, about the gift of a thousand garments, how the reverend Ānanda received five hundred garments from the women of the household of the king of Kosala, and five hundred from the king himself. The circumstances have been described above, in the Sigāla Birth, of the Second Book 

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Once on a time, while Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as the son of a brahmin in Kāsi. On his nameday they called him Master Tirīṭavaceha. In due time he grew up, and studied at Takkasilā. He married and settled down, but his parents' death so distressed him [315] that he became an ascetic, and lived in a woodland dwelling, feeding upon the roots and fruits of the forest.

Whilst he lived there, arose a disturbance on the frontiers of Benares. The king repaired thither, but was worsted in the fight; fearing for his life, he mounted an elephant, and fled away covertly through the forest. In the morning, Tirīṭavaceha had gone abroad to gather wild fruit, and meanwhile the king came upon his hut. "A hermit's hut!" quoth he; down he came from his elephant, weary with wind and sun, and athirst; he looked about for a waterpot, but none could he find. At the end of the covered walk he spied a well, but he could see no rope and bucket for the drawing of water. His thirst was too great to bear; he took off the girth which passed under the elephant's belly, made it fast on the edge, and let himself down into the well. But it was too short; so he tied on to the end of it his lower garment, and let himself down again. Still he could not reach the water. He could just touch it with his feet: he was very thirsty! "If I can but quench my thirst," thought he, "death itself will be sweet!" So down he dropped, and drank his fill; but he could not get up again, so he remained standing there in the well. And the elephant, so well trained was he, stood still, waiting for the king.
In the evening, the Bodhisatta returned, laden with wild fruits, and espied the elephant. "I suppose," thought he, "the king is come; but nothing is to be seen save the armed elephant. What's to do?" And he approached the elephant, which stood and waited for him. He went to the edge of the well, and saw the king at the bottom. "Fear nothing, O king!" he called out; then he placed a ladder, and helped the king out; he chafed the king's body, and anointed him with oil; after which he gave him of the fruits to eat [316], and loosed the elephant's armour. Two or three days the king rested there; then he went away, after making the Bodhisatta promise to pay him a visit.
The royal forces were encamped hard by the city; and when the king was perceived coming, they flocked around him.
After a month and half a month, the Bodhisatta returned to Benares, and settled in the park. Next day he came to the palace to ask for food. The king had opened a great window, and stood looking out into the courtyard; and so seeing the Bodhisatta, and recognising him, he descended and gave him greeting; he led him to a dais, and set him upon the throne under a white umbrella; his own food the king gave him to eat, and ate himself of it. Then he took him to the garden, and caused a covered walk and a dwelling to be made for him, and furnished him with all the necessaries of an ascetic; then giving him in charge of a gardener, he bade farewell, and departed. After this, the Bodhisatta took his food in the king's dwelling: great was the respect and honour paid to him.
But the courtiers could not endure it. "If a soldier," said they, "were to receive such honour, how would he behave!" They betook

them to the viceroy: "My lord, our king is making too much of an ascetic! What can he have seen in the man? You speak with the king about it." The viceroy consented, and they all went together before the king. And the viceroy greeted the king, and uttered the first stanza:

"There is no wit in him that I can see;
He is no kinsman, nor a friend of thee;
Why should this hermit with three bits of wood 1,
Tirīṭavaceha, have such splendid food?"

[317] The king listened. Then he said, addressing his son,
"My son, you remember how once I went to the marches, and how I was conquered in war, and came not back for a few days?"
"I remember," said be.
"This man saved my life," said the king; and he told him all that had happened. "Well, my son, now that this my preserver is with me, I cannot requite him for what he has done, not even were I to give him my kingdom." And he recited the two stanzas following:--

"When all alone, in a grim thirsty wood,
He, and no other, tried to do me good;
In my distress he lent a helping hand;
Half-dead he drew me up and made me stand.

"By his sole doing I returned again
Out of death's jaws back to the world of men.
To recompense such kindness is but fair;
Give a rich offering, nor stint his share."
[318] So spake the king, as though he were causing the moon to rise up in the sky; and as the virtue of the Bodhisatta was declared, so was declared his own virtue everywhere; and his takings increased, and the honour shown to him. After that neither his viceroy nor his courtiers nor any one else durst say anything against him to the king. The king abode in the Bodhisatta's admonition; and he gave alms and did good, and at the last went to swell the hosts of heaven. And the Bodhisatta, having cultivated the Perfections and the Attainments, became destined to the world of Brahma.

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Then the Master added, "Wise men of old gave help too;" and having thus concluded his discourse, he identified the Birth as follows: "Ānanda was the king, and I was the hermit."

Footnotes

218:2 No. 152, page 4, where however there is no word of this incident; it really occurs in No. 156, p. 17 of this volume.
220:1 To hang his waterpot upon.

No. 260.

DŪTA-JĀTAKA 1.

"O king, the Belly's messenger," etc. This story the Master told while staying at Jetavana, about a Brother who was addicted to covetousness. The circumstances will be given at large under the Kāka 2 Birth, in Book the Ninth. Here again the Master told the Brother, [319] "You were greedy before, Brother, as you are now; and in olden days for your greed you had your head cleft with a sword." Then he told an old-world story.

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Once on a time, when Brahmadatta was king over Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as his son. He grew up, and finished his education at Takkasilā. On his father's death, he inherited the kingdom, and he was very dainty in his eating; accordingly he earned the name of King Dainty. There was so much extravagance about his eating, that on one dish he spent an hundred thousand pieces. When he ate, he ate not within doors; but as he wished to confer merit 3 upon many people by showing them the costly array of his meals, he caused a pavilion adorned with jewels to be set up at the door, and at the time of eating, he had this decorated, and there he sat upon a royal dais made all of gold, under a white parasol with princesses all around him, and ate the food of an hundred delicate flavours from a dish which cost an hundred thousand pieces of money.
Now a certain greedy man saw the king's manner of eating, and desired to have a taste. Unable to master his craving, he girt up his loins tight, and ran up to the king, calling out loudly--"Messenger! messenger! O king"--with his hands held up. (At that time and in that nation, if a man called out "Messenger!" no one would stay him; and so it was that the multitude divided and gave him way to pass.)
The man ran up swiftly, and catching a piece of rice from the king's dish, he put it in his mouth. The swordsman drew his sword, to cleave the man's head. But the king stayed him. "Smite not," said he; then to the man, "fear nothing, eat on!" He washed his hands, and sat down.
  [320] After the meal, the king caused his own drinking water and betel nut to be given to the man, and then said--
"Now my man, you had tidings, you said. What are your tidings?"
"O king, I am a messenger from Lust and the Belly. Says Lust to me, Go! and sent me here as her messenger;" and with these words he spake the first two stanzas:--

"O king, the Belly's messenger you see:
O lord of chariots, do not angry be!
For Belly's sake men very far will go,
Even to ask a favour of a foe.

"O king, the Belly's messenger you see;
O lord of chariots, do not angry be!
The Belly holds beneath his puissant sway
All men upon the earth both night and day."
When this the king heard, he said, "That is true; Belly-messengers are these; urged by lust they go to and fro, and lust makes them go. How prettily this man has put it!" he was pleased with him, and uttered the third stanza:--

"Brahmin, a thousand red kine I present
To thee; thereto the bull, for complement.
One messenger may to another give;
For Belly's messengers are all that live."

So said the king; and continued, "I have heard something I never heard before, or thought of, said by this great man." And so pleased was he, that he showered honours upon him.

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[321] When the Master had ended this discourse, he declared the Truths and identified the Birth:--at the conclusion of the Truths the greedy Brother reached the Fruit of the Third Path, and many others entered the other Paths:--"The greedy man is the same in both stories, and I was King Dainty."

Footnotes

221:1 See Morris, Folk-lore Journal, iv. 54.
221:2 There is no such heading in Book IX. There is a Kaka-Jātaka in Book VI. no. 395, where the Introd. Story is not given, but said to be "the same as before."
221:3 The Talmud says that one should always run to meet the kings of Israel and even gentile kings.

No. 261.

PADUMA-JĀTAKA.

"Cut, and cut, and cut again," etc. This story the Master told at Jetavana, about some Brethren who made offering of garlands under Ānanda's tree. The circumstances will be given in the Kāliṅga-bodhi Birth 1. This was called
  Ānanda's tree, because Ānanda planted it. All India heard tell haw the Elder had planted this tree by the gate of Jetavana.
Some Brethren who lived in the country thought they would make offerings before Ānanda's tree. They journeyed to Jetavana, did their devoirs to the Master, and next day wended their way to Sāvatthi, to the Lotus Street; but not a garland could they get. So they told Ānanda, how they had wished to make an offering to the tree, but that not a garland was to be had in all the Lotus Street. The Elder promised to fetch some; so he went off to the Lotus Street, and returned with many handfuls of blue lotus, which he gave them. With these they made their offering to the tree.
When the Brethren got wind of this, they began discussing the Elder's merits in the Hall of Truth: "Friend, some brothers of little merit from the country could not get a single nosegay in the Lotus Bazaar; but the Elder went and fetched them some." The Master entered, and asked what they were talking of as they sat there; and they told him. Said he, [322] "Brethren, this is not the first time that the clever tongue has gained a garland for clever speaking; it was the same before." And he told them an old-world tale.

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Once on a time, when Brahmadatta reigned in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a rich merchant's son. In the town was a tank, in which the lotus flowered. A man who had lost his nose looked after the tank.
It happened one day that they proclaimed holiday in Benares; and the three sons of this rich man thought that they would put wreaths upon them, and go a merrymaking. "We'll flatter up the old lacknose fellow, and then we'll beg some flowers of him." So at the time when he used to pluck the lotus flowers, to the tank they went, and waited. And one of them uttered the first stanza:

"Cut, and cut, and cut again,
Hair and whiskers grow amain;
And your nose will grow like these,
Give me just one lotus, please!"

But the man was angry, and gave none. Then the second said the second stanza:

"In the autumn seeds are sown
Which ere long are fully grown;
May your nose sprout up like these.
Give me just one lotus, please!"

Again the man was angry, and gave no lotus. Then the third of them repeated the third stanza:

"Babbling fools! to think that they
Can get a lotus in this way.
Say they yes, or say they no,
Noses cut no more will grow.
See, I ask you honestly:
Give a lotus, air, to me!"

[323] On hearing this the lake keeper said, "The other two lied, but you have spoken the truth. You deserve to have some lotuses." So he gave him a great bunch of lotus, and went back to his lake.

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When the Master had ended this discourse, he identified the Birth: "The boy who got the lotus was I myself."

Footnotes

222:1 No. 479.

No. 262.

MUDU-PĀṆI-JĀTAKA.

"A soft hand," etc. This story the Master told at Jetavana, about a back-sliding Brother. They brought him to the Hall of Truth, and the Master asked him if he were really a backslider? He replied, yes, he was. Then said the Master, "O Brethren! It is impossible to keep women from going after their desires. In olden days, even wise men could not guard their own daughters; while they stood holding their fathers' hand, without their fathers' knowing, they went away wrong-doing with a paramour"; and he told them an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, while king Brahmadatta reigned in Benares, the Bodhisatta was horn as the son of his Queen Consort. Growing up, he was educated at Takkasilā, and on his father's death he became king in his stead, and reigned righteously.
There dwelt with him a daughter and a nephew, both together in his house. One day as he sat with his court, he said,
"When I am dead my nephew will be king, [324] and my daughter will be his chief queen."
Afterwards, when they were grown up, he was sitting again amidst his court; and he said to them,
"I will bring home some other man's daughter for my nephew, and my own daughter will I marry into another king's family. In this way I shall have many relations." The courtiers agreed. Then the king assigned to the nephew a house outside the palace, and forbade his coming to the palace.

But these two were in love with each other. Thought the youth, "How shall I get the king's daughter outside the house?--Ah, I have it." He gave a present to the nurse.
"What am I to do for this, master?" she asked.
"Well, mother, I want to get a chance of bringing the princess out of doors."
"I will talk it over with the princess," said she, "and then tell you." "Very good, mother," he replied.
To the princess she came. "Let me pick the insects out of your head," said she.
She sat the princess upon a low stool, and herself sitting on a higher one, she put the princess's head upon her lap, and in looking for the insects, she scratched the princess's head. The princess understood. She thought, "She has scratched me with my cousin the prince's nail, not her own.--Mother," asked she, "have you been with the prince?"
"Yes, my daughter."
"And what did he say?"
"He asked how he could find a way of getting you out of doors."
"If he is wise, he will know," said the princess; and she recited the first stanza, bidding the old woman learn it and repeat it to the prince:--

"A soft hand, and a well-trained elephant,
And a black rain-cloud, gives you what you want."

The woman learnt it, and returned to the prince.
"Well, mother, what did the princess say?" he asked.
"Nothing, [325] but only sent you this stanza," replied she; and she repeated it. The prince took it in, and dismissed her.
The prince understood exactly what was meant. He found a beautiful and soft-handed page lad, and prepared him. He bribed the keeper of a state elephant, and having trained the elephant to be impassive, he bided his time. Then, one fast-day of the dark fortnight, just after the middle watch, rain fell from a thick black cloud. "This is the day the princess meant," thought he; he mounted the elephant, and placed the lad of the soft hands on its back, and set out. Opposite the palace he fastened the elephant to the great wall of an open courtyard, and stood before a window getting drenched.
Now the king watched his daughter, and let her rest nowhere but upon a little bed, in his presence. She thought to herself, "To-day the prince will come!" and lay down without going to sleep.
"Father," said she, "I want to bathe."
"Come along, my daughter," said the king. Holding her hands, he led her to the window; he lifted her, and placed her on a lotus ornament outside it, holding her by one hand. As she bathed herself, she held out a

hand to the prince. He loosed off the bangles from her arm, and fastened them on the arm of his page boy; then he lifted the lad, and placed him upon the lotus beside the princess. [326] She took his hand, and placed it in her father's, who took it, and let go his daughter's hand. Then she loosed the ornaments from her other arm, and fastened them on the other hand of the lad, which she placed in her father's, and went away with the prince. The king thought the lad to be his own daughter; and when the bathing was over, he put him to sleep in the royal bedchamber, shut to the door, and set his seal on it; then setting a guard, he retired to his own chamber, and lay down to rest.
When the daylight came, he opened the door, and there he saw this lad. "What's this?" cried he. The lad told how she was fled along with the prince. The king was cast down. "Not even if one goes along and holds hands," thought the king, "can one guard a woman. Thus women it is impossible to guard;" and he uttered these other two stanzas:--

"Though soft of speech, like rivers hard to fill,
Insatiate, nought can satisfy their will:
Down, down they sink: a man should flee afar
From women, when he knows what kind they are.
  Whomso they serve for gold or for desire,
They burn him up like fuel in the fire 1."

[327] So saying, the great Being added, "I must support my nephew;" so with great honour he gave his daughter to this very man, and made him viceroy. And the nephew at his uncle's death became king himself.

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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, the backsliding Brother was firmly established in the Fruit of the First Path: "In those days, I was the king."

Footnotes

226:1 The following verses are given by the commentator:

"'Where women rule, the seeing lose their sight,
The strong grow weak, the mighty have no might.
Where women rule, virtue and wisdom fly:
Reckless the prisoners in durance lie.
Like highway robbers, all they steal away
From their poor victims, careless come what may--
Reflection, virtue, truth, and reasoning
Self-sacrifice, and goodness--everything.
As fire burns fuel, for each careless wight
They burn fame, glory, learning, wit, and might."

The word for fire is the archaic jātaveda, used already in no. 35. See note in vol. i. p. 90.

No. 263.

CULLA-PALOBHANA-JĀTAKA.

[328] "Not through the sea," etc. This story the Master told at Jetavana, also about a backsliding Brother. The Master had him brought into the Hall of Truth, and asked if it were true that he was a backslider. Yes, said he, it was. "Women," said the Master, "in olden days made even believing souls to sin." Then he told a story.

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Once on a time Brahmadatta, the king of Benares, was childless. He said to his queen, "Let us offer prayer for a son." They offered prayer. After a long time, the Bodhisatta came down from the world of Brahma, and was conceived by this queen. So soon as he was born, he was bathed, and given to a serving woman to nurse. As he took the breast, he cried. He was given to another; but while a woman held him, he would not be quiet. So he was given to a man servant; and as soon as the man took him, he was quiet. After that men used to carry him about. When they suckled him, they would milk the breast for him, or they gave him the breast from behind a screen. Even when he grew older, they could not show him a woman. The king caused to be made for him a separate place for sitting or what not, and a separate room for meditation, all by himself.
When the lad was sixteen years old, the king thought thus within himself. "Other son have I none, and this one enjoys no pleasures. He will not even wish for the kingdom. What's the good of such a son?"
And there was a certain dancing girl, clever at dance and song and music, young, able to gain ascendancy over any man she came across. She approached the king, and asked what he was thinking about; the king told her what it was. [329]
"Let be, my lord," said she: "I will allure him, I will make him love me."
"Well, if you can allure my son, who has never had any dealings whatsoever with women, he shall be king, and you shall be his chief queen!"
"Leave that to me, my lord," said she; "and don't be anxious." So she came to the people of the guard, and said, "At dawn of day I will go to the sleeping place of the prince, and outside the room where he meditates apart I will sing. If he is angry, you must tell me, and I will go away; but if he listens, speak my praises." This they agreed to do.

So in the morning time she took her stand in that place, and sang with a voice of honey, so that the music was as sweet as the song, and the song as sweet as the music. The prince lay listening. Next day, he commanded that she should stand near and sing. The next day, he commanded her to stand in the private chamber, and the next, in his own presence; and so by and bye desire arose in him; he went the way of the world, and knew the joy of love. "I will not let another have this woman," he resolved; and taking his sword, he ran amuck through the street, chasing the people. The king had him captured, and banished him from the city along with the girl.
Together they journeyed to the jungle, away down the Ganges. There, with the river on one side and the sea on the other, they made a hut, and there they lived. She sat indoors, and cooked the roots and bulbs; the Bodhisatta brought wild fruits from the forest.
One day, when he was away in search of fruits, a hermit from an island in the sea, who was going his rounds to get food, saw smoke as he passed through the air, and alighted beside this hut.
"Sit down until it is cooked," said the woman; then her woman's charms seduced his soul, and brought it down from his mystic trance, making a breach in his purity. And he, like a crow with broken wing, [330] unable to leave her, sat there the whole day till he saw the Bodhisatta coming, and then ran off quickly in the direction of the sea. "This must be an enemy," thought he, and drawing his sword set off in chase.
But the ascetic, making as though he would rise in the air. fell down into the sea. Then thought the Bodhisatta,
"Yon man is doubtless an ascetic who came hither through the air; and now that his trance is broken, he has fallen into the sea. I must go help him." And standing on the shore he uttered these verses:

"Not through the sea, but by your magic power,
You journeyed hither at an earlier hour;
Now by a woman's evil company
You have been made to plunge beneath the sea.

"Full of seductive wiles, deceitful all,
They tempt the most pure-hearted to his fall.
Down--down they sink: a man should flee afar
From women, when he knows what kind they are.
"Whomso they serve, for gold or for desire,
They burn him up like fuel in the fire 1."

When the ascetic heard these words which the Bodhisatta spake, he stood up in the midst of the sea, and resuming his interrupted trance, he rose through the air, and went away to his dwelling place. Thought the Bodhisatta, "Yon ascetic, with so great a burden, goes through the air like a fleck of cotton. [331] Why should not I like him cultivate the trance, and pass through the air!" So he returned to his hut, and led the woman among mankind again; then he told her to be gone, and himself went into the jungle, where he built him a hut in a pleasant spot, and became an ascetic; he prepared for the mystic trance, cultivated the Faculties and the Attainments, and became destined for the world of Brahma.

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When this discourse was ended, the Master declared the Truths: (now at the conclusion of the Truths the backsliding Brother became established in the Fruit of the First Path:) "At that time," said he, "I was myself the youth that had never had anything to do with women."

Footnotes

228:1 The Scholiast gives the following lines in his note:

Hallucination, sorrow, and disease,
Mirage, distress (and solid bonds are these),
The snare of death, deep-seated in the mind--

No. 264.

MAHĀ-PANĀDA-JĀTAKA 1.

"’Twas king Panāda," etc.--This story the Master told when he was settled on the bank of the Ganges, about the miraculous power of Elder Bhaddaji.
On one occasion, when the Master had passed the rains at Sāvatthi, he thought he would show kindness to a young gentleman named Bhaddaji. So with all the Brethren who were with him, he made his way to the city of Bhaddiya, and stayed three months in Jātiyā Grove, waiting until the young man should mature and perfect his knowledge. Now young Bhaddaji was a magnificent person, the only son of a rich merchant in Bhaddiya, with a fortune of eight hundred millions. He had three houses for the three seasons, in each of which he stayed four months; and after spending this period in one of them, he used to migrate with all his kith and kin to another in the greatest pomp. On these occasions all the town was a-flutter to see the young man's magnificence; and between these houses used to be erected seats in circles on circles and tiers above tiers.
When the Master had been there three months, he informed the townspeople that he intended to leave. Begging him to wait until the morrow, the townsfolk on the following day collected magnificent gifts for the Buddha and his attendant Brethren; and set up a pavilion in the midst of the town, decorating it and laying out seats; then they announced that the hour had come. The Master

with his company went and took their seats there. Everybody gave generously to them. After the meal was over, the Master in a voice sweet as honey returned thanks to them.
At this moment, young Bhaddaji was passing from one of his residences to another. [332] But that day not a soul came to see his splendour; only his own people were about him. So he asked his people how it was. Usually all the city was in aflutter to see him pass from house to house; circles on circles and tiers above tiers the seats were built; but just then there was nobody but his own followers! What could be the reason?
The reply was, "My lord, the Supreme Buddha has been spending three months near the town, and this day he leaves. He has just finished his meal, and is holding a discourse. All the town is there listening to his words."
"Oh, very well, we will go and hear him too," said the young man. So, in a blaze of ornaments, with his crowd of followers about him, he went and stood on the skirt of the crowd; as he heard the discourse, he threw off all his sins, and attained to high fruition and sainthood.
The Master, addressing the merchant of Bhaddiya, said, "Sir, your son, in all his splendour, while hearing my discourse has become a saint; this very day he should either embrace the religious life, or enter Nirvana."
"Sir," replied he, "I do not wish my son to enter Nirvana. Admit him to the religious order; this done, come with him to my house to-morrow."
The Blessed One accepted this invitation; he took the young gentleman to the monastery, admitted him to the brotherhood, and afterward to the lesser and greater orders. For a week the youth's parents showed generous hospitality to him.
After remaining these seven days, the Master went on alms-pilgrimage, taking the young man with him, and arrived at a village called Koṭi. The villagers of Koṭi gave generously to the Buddha and his followers. At the end of this meal, the Master began to express his thanks. While this was being done, the young gentleman went outside the village, and by a landing-place of the Ganges he sat down under a tree, and plunged in a trance, thinking that he would rise as soon as the Master should come. When the Elders of greatest age approached, he did not rise, but he rose as soon as the Master came. The unconverted folk were angry because he behaved as though he were a Brother of old standing, not rising up even when he saw the eldest Brethren approach.
The villagers constructed rafts. This done, [333] the Master asked where Bhaddaji was. "There he is, Sir." "Come, Bhaddaji, come aboard my raft." The Elder rose, and followed him to his raft. When they were in mid-river, the Master asked him a question.
"Bhaddaji, where is the palace you lived in when Great Panāda was king?" "Here, under the water," was the reply. The unconverted said one to the other, "Elder Bhaddaji is showing that he is a saint!" Then the Master bade him disperse the doubt of his fellow-students.
In a moment, the Elder, with a bow to his Master, moving by his mysterious power 1, took the whole pile of the palace on his finger, and rose in the air bearing the palace with him (it covered a space of twenty-five leagues); then he made a hole in it and showed himself to the present inhabitants of the palace below, and tossed the building above the water first one league, then two, then three. Then those who had been his kinsfolk in this former existence, who had now become fish or tortoises, water-snakes or frogs, because they loved the palace so much, and had come to life in the very same place, wriggled out of it when it rose up, and tumbled over and over into the water again. When the Master saw this, he said, "Bhaddaji, your relations are in trouble." At his Master's words the Elder let the palace go, and it sank to the place where it had been before.
The Master passed to the further side of the Ganges. Then they prepared

him a seat just on the river bank. On the seat prepared for the Buddha, he sat, like the sun fresh risen pouring forth his rays. Then the Brethren asked him when it was that Elder Bhaddaji had lived in that palace. The Master answered, "In the days of king Great Panāda," and went on to tell them an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, a certain Suruci was king of Mithilā, which is a town in the kingdom of Videha. He had a son, named Suruci likewise, and he again had a son, the Great Panāda. They obtained possession of that mansion. They obtained it by a deed done in a former existence. A father and son made a hut of leaves with canes and branches of the fig-tree, as a dwelling for a Paccekabuddha.

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The rest of the story will be told in the Suruci Birth, Book XIV. 1
[334] The Master, having finished telling this story, in his perfect wisdom uttered these stanzas here following:--

"’Twas king Panāda who this palace had,
  A thousand bowshots high, in breadth sixteen.
A thousand bowshots high, in banners clad;
  An hundred storeys, all of emerald green.

"Six thousand men of music to and fro
  In seven companies did dance withal:
As Bhaddaji has said, ’twas even so:
  I, Sakka, was your slave, at beck and call."
[335] At that moment the unconverted people became resolved of their doubt.
When the Master had ended this discourse, he identified the Birth:--"Bhaddaji was the Great Panāda, and I was Sakka."

Footnotes

229:1 Cp. Divyāvadāna, p. 57.
230:1 For an explanation of this phrase, aññaṁ vyākaroti, see Mahāvagga r. v. 19 with the translators' note (S. B. E., Vinaya Texts ii. p. 10).
231:1 No. 489.

No. 265.

KHURAPPA-JĀTAKA.

"When many a bow," etc.--This story the Master told in Jetavana, about a Brother who had lost all energy. The Master asked, was it true that this Brother had lost his energy. Yes, he replied. "Why," asked he, "have you slackened your energy, after embracing this doctrine of salvation? In days of yore, wise men were energetic even in matters which do not lead to salvation;" and so saying he told an old-world tale.

_____________________________

Once on a time, while Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into the family of a forester. When he grew up, he took the lead of a band of five hundred foresters, and lived in a village at the entrance to the forest. He used to hire himself out to guide men through it.

Now one day a man of Benares, a merchant's son, arrived at that village with a caravan of five hundred waggons. Sending for the Bodhisatta, he offered him a thousand pieces to be his guide through the forest. He agreed, and received the money from the merchant's hand; and as he took it, he mentally devoted his life to the merchant's service. Then he guided him into the forest.

In the midst of the forest, up rose five hundred robbers. As for the rest of the company, no sooner did they see these robbers, than they grovelled upon their belly: the head forester alone, shouting and leaping and dealing blows, put to flight all the five hundred robbers, and led the merchant across the wood in safety. Once across the forest, the merchant encamped his caravan; [336] he gave the chief forester choice meats of every kind, and himself having broken his fast, sat pleasantly by him, and talked with him thus: "Tell me," said he, "how it was that even when five hundred robbers, with arms in their hands, were spread all around, you felt not even any fear in your heart?" And he uttered the first stanza:

"When many a bow the shaft at speed let fly--
Hands grasping blades of tempered steel were nigh--
When Death had marshalled all his dread array--
Why, 'mid such terror, felt you no dismay?"

On hearing this the forester repeated the two verses following:

"When many a bow the shaft at speed let fly--
Hands grasping blades of tempered steel were nigh--
When Death had marshalled all his dread array--
I felt a great and mighty joy this day.

"And this my joy gave me the victory;
I was resolved to die, if need should be;
He must contemn his life, who would fulfil
Heroic deeds and be a hero still."

[337] Thus did he send forth his words like a shower of arrows; and having explained how he had done heroically through being free from the desire to live, he parted from the young merchant, and returned to his own village; where after giving alms and doing good he passed away to fare according to his deserts.

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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 the disheartened Brother attained to Sainthood:--"At that time I was the chief of the foresters."

No. 266.

VĀTAGGA-SINDHAVA-JĀTAKA.

"He for whose sake," etc.--This story the Master told at Jetavana, about a certain land-owner.

At Sāvatthi, we learn, a handsome woman saw this man, who was also handsome, and fell in love. The passion within her was like a fire burning her body through and through. She lost her senses, both of body and of mind; she cared nothing for food; she only lay down hugging the frame of the bedstead.

Her friends and handmaidens asked her what troubled her at heart that she lay hugging the bedstead; what was the matter, they wished to know. The first few times she answered nothing; but as they continued pressing her, she told them what it was.

"Don't worry," said they, "we'll bring him to you;" and they went and had a talk with the man. At first he refused, but by their much asking he at last consented. They got his promise to come at a certain hour on a fixed day, and told the woman.

She prepared her chamber, and dressed herself in her finery, and sat on the bed waiting until he came. He sat down beside her. Then a thought came into her mind. [338] "If I accept his addresses at once, and make myself cheap, my pride will be humbled. To let him have his will the very first day he comes would be out of place. I will be capricious to-day, and afterwards I will give way." So no sooner had he touched her, and begun to dally, she caught his hands, and spoke roughly to him, bidding him go away, as she did not want him. He shrank back angrily, and went off home.

When the women found out what she had done, and that the man had gone off, they reproached her. "Here you are," they said, "in love with somebody, and lie down refusing to take nourishment; we had great difficulty in persuading the man, but at last we bring him; and then you'll have nothing to say to him!" She told them why it was, and they went off; warning her that she would get talked about.

The man never even came to look at her again. When she found she had lost him, she would take no nourishment, and soon died. When the man heard of her death, he took a quantity of flowers, scents, and perfumes, and went to Jetavana, where he saluted the Master and sat on one side.

The Master asked him, "How is it, lay brother, that we never see you here?" He told him the whole story, adding that he had avoided waiting on the Buddha all this time for shame. Said the Master, "Layman, on this occasion the woman sent for you through her passion, and then would have nothing to do with you and sent you away angry; and just so in olden days, she fell in love with wise persons, sent for them, and when they came refused to have anything to do with them, and thus plagued them and sent them to the right-about." Then at his request the Master told an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta was a Sindh horse, and they called him Swift-as-the-Wind; and he was the king's horse of ceremony. The grooms used to take him to bathe in the Ganges. There a certain she-ass saw him, and fell in love.

  Trembling with passion, [339] she neither ate grass nor drank water; but pined away and became thin, until she was nothing but skin and bone. Then a foal of hers, seeing her pining away, said, "Why do you eat no grass, mother, and drink no water; and why do you pine away, and lie trembling in this place or that? What is the matter?" She would not say; but after he had asked again and again, she told him the matter. Then her foal comforted her, saying,

"Mother, do not be troubled; I will bring him to you."

So when Swift-as-the-Wind went down to bathe, the foal said, approaching him,

"Sir, my mother is in love with you: she takes no food, and she is pining away to death. Give her life!"

"Good, my lad, I will," said the horse. "When my bath is over, the grooms let me go awhile to exercise on the river bank. Do you bring your mother to that place."

So the foal fetched his mother, and turned her loose in the place; then he hid himself hard by.

The groom let Swift-as-the-Wind go for a run; he spied the she-ass, and came up to her.

Now when the horse came up and began to sniff at her, thought the ass to herself, "If I make myself cheap, and let him have his way as soon as he has come here, my honour and pride will perish. I must make as though I did not wish it." So she gave him a kick on the lower jaw, and scampered away. It broke his jaw, and half killed him. "What does she matter to me?" thought Swift-as-the-Wind; [340] he felt ashamed and made off.

Then the ass repented, and lay down on the spot in grief. And her son the foal came up, and asked her a question in the following lines:

"He for whose sake you thin and yellow grew,
  And would not eat a bite,
That dear beloved one is come to you;
  Why do you take to flight?"

Hearing her son's voice, the ass repeated the second verse:

"If at the very first, when by her side
  He stands, without delay
A woman yields, all humbled is her pride:
  Therefore I ran away."

In these words she explained the feminine nature to her son.

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The Master, in his perfect wisdom, repeated the third stanza:

"If she refuse a suitor nobly born
  Who by her side would stay,
As Kundalī mourned Windswift, she must mourn
  For many a long day."

When this discourse was ended, the Master declared the Truths and identified the Birth:--at the conclusion of the Truths, this land-owner entered on the Fruit of the First Path:--"This woman was the she-ass, and I was Swift-as-the-Wind."

No. 267.

KAKKATĀ-JĀTAKA 1.

"Gold-clawed creature," etc.--[341] This story the Master told while dwelling at Jetavana, about a certain woman.
We are told that a certain land-owner of Sāvatthi, with his wife, was on a journey into the country for the purpose of collecting debts, when he fell among robbers. Now the wife was very beautiful and charming. The robber chief was so taken by her that he purposed killing the husband to get her. But the woman was good and virtuous, a devoted wife. She fell at the robber's feet, crying, "My lord, if you kill my husband for love of me, I will take poison, or stop my breath, and kill myself too! With you I will not go. Do not kill my husband uselessly!" In this way she begged him off.
They both got back safe to Sāvatthi. Then it occurred to them as they passed the monastery in Jetavana, that they would visit it and salute the Master. So to the perfumed cell they went, and after salutation sat down on one side. The Master asked them where they had been. "To collect our debts," they replied. "Did your journey pass off without mishap?" he asked next. "We were captured by robbers on the way," said the husband, "and the chief wanted to murder me; but my wife here begged me off, and I owe my life to her." Then said the Master, "You are not the only one, layman, whose life she has saved. In days of yore she saved the lives of other wise men." And then at his request the Master told an old-world tale.

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Once on a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, there was a great lake in Himalaya, wherein was a great golden Crab. Because he lived there, the place was known as the Crab Tarn. The Crab was very large, as big round as a threshing floor; it would catch elephants, and kill

and eat them; and from fear of it [342] the elephants durst not go down and browse there.
Now the Bodhisatta was conceived by the mate of an elephant, the leader of a herd, living hard by this Crab Tarn. The mother, in order to be safe till her delivery, sought another place on a mountain, and there she was delivered of a son; who in due time grew to years of wisdom, and was great and mighty, and prospered, and he was like a purple mountain of collyrium.
He chose another elephant for his mate, and he resolved to catch this Crab. So with his mate and his mother, he sought out the elephant herd, and finding his father, proposed to go and catch the Crab.
"You will not be able to do that, my son," said he.
But he begged the father again and again to give him leave, until at last he said, "Well, you may try."
So the young Elephant collected all the elephants beside the Crab Tarn, and led them close by the lake. "Does the Crab catch them when they go down, or while they are feeding, or when they come up again?"
They replied, "When the beasts come up again."
"Well then," said he, "do you all go down to the lake and eat whatever you see, and come up first; I will follow last behind you." And so they did. Then the Crab, seeing the Bodhisatta coming up last, caught his feet tight in his claw, like a smith who seizes a lump of iron in a huge pair of tongs. The Bodhisatta's mate did not leave him, but stood there close by him. The Bodhisatta pulled at the Crab, but could not make him budge. Then the Crab pulled, and drew him towards himself. At this in deadly fear the Elephant roared and roared; hearing which all the other elephants, in deadly terror, ran off trumpeting, and dropping excrement. Even his mate could not stand, but began to make off. [343] Then to tell her how he was held a prisoner, he uttered the first stanza, hoping to stay her from her flight:

"Gold-clawed 1 creature with projecting eyes,
Tarn-bred, hairless, clad in bony shell,
He has caught me! hear my woful cries!--
Mate! don't leave me--for you love me well!"

Then his mate turned round, and repeated. the second stanza to his comfort:

"Leave you? never! never will I go--
Noble husband, with your years threescore.
All four quarters of the earth can show
None so dear as thou hast been of yore."

this s way she encouraged him; and saying, "Noble sir, now I will talk to the Crab a while to make him let you go," she addressed the Crab in the third stanza: [344]

"Of all the crabs that in the sea,
Ganges, or Nerbudda be,
You are best and chief, I know:
Hear me--let my husband go!"

As she spoke thus, the Crab's fancy was smitten with the sound of the female voice, and forgetting all fear he loosed his claws from the Elephant's leg, and suspected nothing of what he would do when he was set free. Then the Elephant lifted his foot, and stepped upon the Crab's back; and at once his eyes startled out. The Elephant shouted the joy-cry. Up ran the other elephants all, pulled the Crab along and set him upon the ground, and trampled him to mincemeat. His two claws broken from his body lay apart. And this Crab Tarn, being near the Ganges, when there was a flood in the Ganges, was filled with Ganges water; when the water subsided it ran from the lake into the Ganges. Then these two claws were lifted and floated along the Ganges. One of them reached the sea, the other was found by the ten royal brothers while playing in the water, and they took it and made of it the little drum called Ānaka. The Titans found that which reached the sea, and made it into the drum called Āḷambara. These afterwards being worsted in battle with Sakka, ran off and left it behind. Then Sakka caused it to be kept for his own use; and it is of this they say, "There is thunder like the Āḷambara cloud!

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When this discourse was ended, the Master declared the Truths, and identified the Birth:--at the conclusion of the Truths both husband and wife attained the 'Fruit of the First Path:--[345] "In those days, this lay sister was the she-elephant, and I myself was her mate."

Footnotes

235:1 f. Morris in Contemp. Rev. 1881, vol. 89, p. 742; Cunningham, Stupa of Bharhut, p1. xxv. 2.
236:1 Siṅgī means either 'horned' or 'gold,' and the scholiast gives both interpretations. As the word suggested both to the writer, I use a word which expresses both in English.

No. 268 

ĀRĀMA-DŪSA-JĀTAKA.

"Best of all," etc.--This story the Master told whilst dwelling in the country near Dakkhiṇāgiri, about a gardener's son.
After the rains, the Master left Jetavana, and went on alms-pilgrimage in the

district about Dakkhiṇāgiri. A layman invited the Buddha and his company, and made them sit down in his grounds till he gave them of rice and cakes, Then he said, "If any of the holy Fathers care to see over the grounds, they might go along with the gardener;" and he ordered the gardener to supply them with any fruit they might fancy.
By and bye they came upon a bare spot. "What is the reason," they asked "that this spot is bare and treeless?" "The reason is," answered the gardener, "that a certain gardener's son, who had to water the saplings, thought he had better give them water in proportion to the length of the roots; so he pulled them all up to see, and watered them accordingly. The result was that the place became bare."
The Brethren returned, and told this to their Master. Said he, "Not now only has the lad destroyed a plantation; he did just the same before;" and then he told them an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, when a king named Vissasena was reigning over Benares, proclamation was made of a holiday. The park keeper thought he would go and keep holiday; so calling the monkeys that lived in the park, he said:
"This park is a great blessing to you. I want to take a week's holiday. Will you water the saplings on the seventh day?" "Oh, yes," said they; he gave them the watering-skins, and went his way.
The monkeys drew water, and began to water the roots.
The eldest monkey cried out: "Wait, now! It's hard to get water always. We must husband it. Let us pull up the plants, [346] and notice the length of their roots; if they have long roots, they need plenty of water; but short ones need but a little." "True, true," they agreed; then some of them pulled up the plants; then others put them in again, and watered them.
The Bodhisatta at the time was a young gentleman living in Benares. Something or other took him to this park, and he saw what the monkeys were doing.
"Who bids you do that?" asked he.
"Our chief," they replied.
"If that is the wisdom of the chief, what must the rest of you be like!" said he; and to explain the matter, he uttered the first stanza:

"Best of all the troop is this:
What intelligence is his!
If he was chosen as the best,
What sort of creatures are the rest!"

Hearing this remark, the monkeys rejoined with the second stanza:

"Brahmin, you know not what you say
Blaming us in such a way!
If the root we do not know,
How can we tell the trees that grow?"

To which the Bodhisatta replied by the third, as follows:

"Monkeys, I have no blame for you,
Nor those who range the woodland through.
The monarch is a fool, to say
'Please tend my trees while I'm away.'"

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 [347] When this discourse was ended, the Master identified the Birth: "The lad who destroyed the park was the monkey chief, and I was the wise man."

Footnotes

237:1 This is the same story as No. 46 (vol. i. of the translation, p. 118): it is briefer, and the verses are not the same. See Folk-Lore Journal, iii. 251; Cunningham, Bharhut, v.v. 5.

No. 269.

SUJĀTA-JĀTAKA.

"Those who are dowered," etc.--This story the Master told while living in Jetavana about one Sujātā, a daughter-in-law of Anātha-piṇḍika, daughter of the great merchant Dhanañjaya, and youngest sister of Visākhā.
We are told that she entered the house of Anātha-piṇḍika full of haughtiness, thinking how great a family she had come from, and she was obstinate, violent, passionate, and cruel; refused to do her part towards her new father and mother, or her husband; and went about the house with harsh words and hard blows for everyone.
One day, the Master and five hundred brothers visited Anātha-piṇḍika's house, and took their seats. The great merchant sat beside the Blessed One, hearkening to his discourse. At the same time Sujātā happened to be scolding the servants.
The Master ceased speaking, and asked what that noise was. The merchant explained that it was his rude daughter-in-law; that she did not behave properly towards her husband or his parents, she gave no alms, and had no good points; faithless and unbelieving, she went about the house scolding day and night. The Master bade send for her.
The woman came, and after saluting the Master, she stood on one side. Then the Master addressed her thus:
"Sujātā, there are seven kinds of wife a man may have; of which sort are you?" She replied, "Sir, you speak too shortly for me to understand; please explain." "Well," said the Master, "listen attentively," and he uttered the following verses:

"One is bad-hearted, nor compassionates
The good; loves others, but her lord she hates.
Destroying all that her lord's wealth obtains 1,
This wife the title of Destroyer gains. p. 240

"Whate’er the husband gets for her by trade,
Or skilled profession, or the farmer's spade,
[348] She tries to filch a little out of it.
For such a wife the title Thief is fit.
"Careless of duty, lazy, passionate,
Greedy, foul-mouthed, and full of wrath and hate,
Tyrannical to all her underlings
All this the title High and Mighty brings.
"Who evermore compassionates the good,
Cares for her husband as a mother would,
Guards all the wealth her husband may obtain--
This wife the title Motherly will gain.
"She who respects her husband in the way
Young sisters reverence to elders pay,
Modest, obedient to her husband's will,
The Sisterly is this wife's title still.
"She whom her husband's sight will always please
As friend that friend after long absence sees,
High-bred and virtuous, giving up hen life
To him--this one is called the Friendly wife.
"Calm when abused, afraid of violence,
No passion, full of dogged patience,
True-hearted, bending to her husband's will,
Slave is the title given to her still."
[349] "These, Sujātā, are the seven wives a man may have. Three of these, the Destructive wife, the Dishonest wife, and Madam High and Mighty are reborn in hell; the other four in the Fifth Heaven.

"They who are called Destroyer in this life,
The High and Mighty, or the Thievish wife,
Being angry, wicked, disrespectful, go
Out of the body into hell below.

"They who are called the Friendly in this life,
Motherly, Sisterly, or Slavish wife,
By virtue and their long self-mastery
Pass into heaven when their bodies die."
Whilst the Master was explaining these seven kinds of wives, Sujātā attained to the Fruit of the First Path; and when the Master asked to which class she belonged, she answered, "I am a slave, Sir!" and respectfully saluting the Buddha, gained pardon of him.
Thus by one admonition the Master tamed the shrew; and after the meal, when he had declared their duties amidst the Brotherhood, he entered his scented chamber.
Now the Brethren gathered together in the Hall of Truth, and sang the Master's praises. "Friend, by a single admonition the Master has tamed a shrew, and raised her to Fruition of the First Path!" The Master entered, and asked what they were talking of as they sat together. They told him. Said he, "Brethren, this is not the first time that I have tamed Sujātā by a single admonition." And he proceeded to tell an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, while Brahmadatta reigned over Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as the son of his Queen Consort. When he grew up

he received his education at Takkasilā, and after the death of his father, became king and ruled in righteousness.
His mother was a passionate woman, cruel, harsh, shrewish, ill-tongued. The son wished to admonish his mother; but he felt he must not do anything so disrespectful; so he kept on the look-out for a chance of dropping a hint.
One day he went down into the grounds, and his mother went with him. [350] A blue jay screeched on the road. At this all the courtiers stopped their ears, crying--
"What a harsh voice, what a shriek!--don't make that noise!"
While the Bodhisatta was walking through the park with his mother, and a company of players, a cuckoo, perched amid the thick leaves of a sāl 1 tree, sang with a sweet note. All the bystanders were delighted at her voice; clasping their hands, and stretching them out, they besought leer--"Oh, what a soft voice, what a kind voice, what a gentle voice!--sing away, birdie, sing away!" and there they stood, stretching their necks, eagerly listening.
The Bodhisatta, noting these two things, thought that here was a chance to drop a hint to the queen-mother. "Mother," said he, "when they heard the jay's cry on the road, every body stopped their ears, and called out--Don't make that noise! don't make that noise! and stopped up their ears: for harsh sounds are liked by no body." And he repeated the following stanzas:

"Those who are dowered with a lovely-hue,
Though ne’er so fair and beautiful to view,
Yet if they have a voice all harsh to hear
Neither in this world nor the next are dear.

"There is a bird that you may often see;
Ill-favoured, black, and speckled though it be,
Yet its soft voice is pleasant to the ear:
How many creatures hold the cuckoo dear!
"Therefore your voice should gentle be and sweet,
Wise-speaking, not puffed up with self-conceit.
And such a voice--how sweet the sound of it!--
Explains the meaning of the Holy Writ 2."
When the Bodhisatta had thus admonished his mother with these three verses, he won her over to his. way of thinking; and ever afterwards sin followed a right course of living. And he having by one word made his mother a self-denying woman afterwards passed away to fare according to his deeds.

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[351] When the Master had ended this discourse, he thus identified the Birth: "Sujātā was the mother of the king of Benares, and I was the king himself."

Footnotes

239:1 It is not clear whether vadhena kītassa is 'the thing bought by his wealth,' or the 'person'; probably both.
241:1 Shorea Robusta.
241:2 The last stanza comes from Dhammapada, v. 363, not quoted word for word, but adapted to the context.

No. 270.

ULŪKA-JĀTAKA.

"The owl is King," etc.--This story the Master told while living at Jetavana, about a quarrel between Crows and Owls.

At the period in question, the Crows used to eat Owls during the day, and at night, the Owls flew about, nipping off the heads of the Crows as they slept, and thus killing them. There was a certain brother who lived in a cell on the outskirts of Jetavana. When the time came for sweeping, there used to be a quantity of crows' heads to throw away, which had dropt from the tree, enough to fill seven or eight potties. He told this to the brethren. In the Hall of Truth the Brethren began to talk about it. "Friend, Brother So-and-so finds over so many crows' heads to throw away every day in the place where he lives!" [352] The Master came in, and asked what they were talking about as they sat together. They told him. They went on to ask how long it was since the Crows and Owls fell a-quarrelling. The Master replied, "Since the time of the first age of the world;" and then he told them an old-world tale.

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Once upon a time, the people who lived in the first cycle of the world gathered together, and took for their king a certain man, handsome, auspicious, commanding, altogether perfect. The quadrupeds also gathered, and chose for king the Lion; and the fish in the ocean chose them a fish called Ānanda. Then all the birds in the Himalayas assembled upon a flat rock, crying,

"Among men there is a king, and among the beasts, and the fish have one too; but amongst us birds king there is none. We should not live in anarchy; we too should choose a king. Fix on some one fit to be set in the king's place!"

They searched about for such a bird, and chose the Owl; "Here is the bird we like," said they. And a bird made proclamation three times to all that there would be a vote taken on this matter. After patiently hearing this announcement twice, on the third time up rose a Crow, and cried out,

"Stay now! If that is what he looks like when he is being consecrated king, what will he look like when he is angry? If he only looks at us in anger, we shall be scattered like sesame seeds thrown on a hot

plate. I don't want to make this fellow king!" and enlarging upon this he uttered the first stanza:--[353]

"The owl is king, you say, o'er all bird-kind:
With your permission, may I speak my mind?"

The Birds repeated the second, granting him leave to speak:--

"You have our leave, Sir, so it be good and right:
For other birds are young, and wise, and bright."

Thus permitted, he repeated the third:--

"I like not (with all deference be it said)
To have the Owl anointed as our Head.
Look at his face! if this good humour be,
What will he do when he looks angrily?"

Then he flew up into the air, cawing out "I don't like it! I don't like it!" The Owl rose and pursued him. Thenceforward those two nursed enmity one towards another. And the birds chose a golden Goose for their king, and dispersed.

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 [354] When the Master had ended this discourse, he declared the Truths and identified the Birth:--"At that time, the wild Goose chosen for king was I myself."

No. 271.

UDAPĀNA-DŪSAKA-JĀTAKA.

"This well a forest-anchorite," etc.--This story the Master told whilst dwelling at Isipatana, about a Jackal that fouled a well.

We learn that a Jackal used to foul a well where the Brethren used to draw water, and then used to make off. One clay the novices pelted him with clods of earth, and made it uncomfortable for him. After that he never came to look at the place again.

The Brethren heard of this and began to discuss it in the Hall of Truth. "Friend, the jackal that used to foul our well has never come near it since the novices chased him away with clods!" The Master came in, and asked what they were talking about now as they sat together. They told him. Then he replied, "Brethren, this is not the first time that this jackal fouled a well. He did the sane before;" and then he told an old-world tale.

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Once on a time, in this place near Benares called Isipatana was that very well. At that time the Bodhisatta was born of a good family. When he grew up he embraced the religious life, and with a body of followers dwelt at Isipatana. A certain Jackal fouled the well as has been described, and took to his heels. One day, the ascetics surrounded him, and having caught him somehow, they led him before the Bodhisatta. He addressed the Jackal in the lines of the first stanza:--

"This well a forest-anchorite has made
Who long has lived a hermit in the glade.
And after all his trouble and his toil
Why did you try, my friend, the well to spoil?"

[355] On hearing this, the Jackal repeated the second stanza:--

"This is the law of all the Jackal race,
To foul when they have drunk in any place:
My sires and grandsires always did the same;
So there is no just reason for your blame."

Then the Bodhisatta replied with the third:

"If this is 'law' in jackal polity
I wonder what their 'lawlessness' can be!
I hope that I have seen the last of you,
Your actions, lawful and unlawful too."

Thus the Great Being admonished him, and said, "Do not go there again." Thenceforward he did not even pause to look at it.

When the Master had ended this discourse he declared the Truths and identified the Birth:--"The Jackal that fouled the well is the same in both cases; and I was the chief of the ascetic band."

 

Om Tat Sat
                                                        
(Continued...) 

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