THE JĀTAKA OR STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS (Book -5) -2

THE JĀTAKA

OR

STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS

No. 516.

MAHĀKAPI-JĀTAKA.

"A king of Kāsi," etc.—This story was told by the Master, when dwelling in the Bamboo Grove, about Devadatta's hurling a stone at him. [68] So when the Brethren blamed Devadatta for having suborned archers to shoot the Buddha and afterwards hurled a stone at him, the Master said, "Not now only, but formerly also, Devadatta flung a stone at me," and so saying he related a story of the past.

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Once upon a time when Brahmadatta reigned in Benares, a Brahmin husbandman in a village of Kāsi, after ploughing his fields, loosened his oxen and began to work with a spade. The oxen, while cropping leaves in a clump of trees, little by little escaped into the forest. The man, discovering that it was late, laid aside his spade to look for his oxen, and not finding them he was overcome with grief and wandered about the forest, seeking them, till he had entered the Himalaya region. There having lost his bearings he roamed about for seven days fasting, but seeing a tiṇḍuka tree he climbed up it to eat the fruit. Slipping off the tree he fell sixty cubits into a hell-like abyss, where he passed ten days. At that time the Bodhisatta was living in the shape of a monkey, and while eating wild fruits he caught sight of the man, and after practising with a stone he hauled the fellow out. While the monkey was asleep, the man split his head open with a stone. The Great Being, becoming aware of his action, sprang up and perched on a branch of the tree and cried, "Ho! Sirrah, you walk on the ground; I will just point out to you the way from the top of the tree and then will be off." So he rescued the fellow from the forest, set him on the right road and then himself disappeared in the mountainous region. The man, because he had sinned against the Great Being, became a leper, and even in this world appeared as a preta in human form. For seven years he was overwhelmed with pain, and in his wanderings to and fro he found his way into the Migācira park in Benares, and spreading a plantain leaf in the enclosure he lay down, half maddened by his sufferings. At that moment the king of Benares came to the park and as he walked about he saw the man and asked him, "Who are you, and what have you done to bring this suffering upon you?" And he told the king the whole story at length.

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The Master, to make the matter clear, said:

A king of Kāsi who, they say,
O’er great Benares once held sway,
With courtier friends the road to ch
Unto Migācira drew near.

[69] A brahmin there the king did see
—A walking skeleton was he—
His skin was white with leprous blood
And rough like gnarléd ebon wood 1.
Astonied at the piteous sight
Of this sore troubled, luckless wight,
"Alas! poor wretch," he cried, "declare
What name ’mongst ogres thou dost bear."

"Thy hands and feet are white as snow,
Thy head is whiter still, I trow,
Thy frame with leprous spots o’ergrown,
Disease has marked thee for its own.

"Thy back like spindles in a row
A long unequal curve doth show;
Thy joints are as black knots; I ween,
Thy like before was never seen.
"Whence cam’st thou then, so travel-worn,
Mere skin and bones, a wretch forlorn,
By heat of blazing sun opprest,
By thirst and hunger sore distrest?
"With frame so marred, an awful sight,
Scarce fit to look upon the light,
Thy very mother—no, not she
Would care her wretched son to see.
"What sinful deed was thine, I pray,
Or wrongfully whom didst thou slay?
What the offence I fain would know,
Reduced thee to this state of woe?"

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Then the brahmin said:

I'll tell thee, Sir, and tell thee true
E’en as a good man aye should do:
For one that never speaketh lies
Is praised in this world by the wise.

[70] Once in a lonely wood I took my way,
Seeking my kine that late had gone astray;
Through pathless tracts of jungle, fitting home
For the wild elephant, I heedless roam.
Lost in the maze of this vast wilderness,
From thirst and hunger suffering sore distress,
For seven long days I wander thro’ the wood
Where the fell tiger rears his savage brood.
E’en rankest poison I was fain to eat
When lo! a lovely tree my gaze doth meet;
O’er a sheer precipice it pendent swung,
And fragrant fruit from all its branches hung.
Whate’er had fallen to the wind's cold touch
I greedily devoured and relished much,
Then, still unsated, I climbed up the tree,
"That way," methought, "lies full satiety."
I ne’er had tasted such ripe fruit before,
And stretching forth my hand to gather more,
The branch, on which my body rested, broke,
As though clean severed by the woodman's stroke.
With broken bough head over heels I went,
With nought to check me in my swift descent
Over the side of rocky precipice,
Without escape from bottomless abyss.

The depth of water in the pool beneath
Saved me from being rudely crushed to death,
So there, poor luckless wight, without a ray
Of hope to cheer me, ten long nights I lay.

At length a monkey came—long-tailed was he
And made his home in some rock cavity
And as he stept from bough to bough, the brute
Did ever pluck and eat the dainty fruit.
But when my thin and pallid form he spied,
Touched with compassion for my woes, he cried,
"Alas! poor wretch, whom I see lying there
Thus overwhelmed with anguish and despair,
If man or goblin, who thou art, declare."
Then with due reverence I made reply;
"A man and doomed without escape am I:
But this I say, "All blessings light on thee,
If thou canst find a way of saving me."
The monkey stepping on the height above
Carried a heavy stone, his strength to prove,
And when by practice he was perfect grown,
The mighty one his purpose thus made known.
"Climb thou, good sir, upon my back and cast
Thy arms about my neck and hold me fast;
Then will I with all speed deliver thee
From the stone walls of thy captivity.'
I hearkened gladly, well remembering
The counsels of the glorious monkey-king,
And, climbing on his back, my arms I cast
Round the wise creature's neck and held him fast.
The monkey then,—so brave and strong was he—
Exhausted by the effort though he be,
From rocky fastness soon uplifteth me.
And having haled me out, the hero cried,
"I'm weary: stand as guard, Sir, by my side,
While I anon in peaceful sleep abide.
"Lion and tiger, panther eke and bear,
[71] If they should ever take me unaware,
Would kill me straight. To watch shall be thy care."
While, as I watched, he took a moment's rest,
An ugly thought was harboured in my breast.
"Monkeys and such like deer are good to eat;
What if I kill him and my hunger cheat?
The beast if slain would furnish savoury meat.
"When sated, here no longer will I stay
But well provisioned for full many a day
Out from this forest I will find a way."
Taking a stone his skull I well nigh broke,
But a lame hand put forth a feeble stroke.
The monkey quickly bounded up a tree,
And all bestained with blood regarded me
From far, with tearful eyes, reproachfully.

"God bless thee, act not thus, I pray, good sir,
For otherwise thy fate, I dare aver,
Will long all others from such deeds deter.

"Alas! for shame. What a return is this
For having saved thee from that dread abyss!
"Rescued from death thou playedst a treacherous part
And evil hast devised with evil heart.
"Vile wretch, beware lest sharpest agony
Springing from evil deed bring death to thee,
E’en as its fruit destroys the bamboo tree 1.
"I trust thee not, for thou wouldst work me ill:
Walk well in front that I may see thee still.
"From ravening beast escaped, thou mayst regain
The haunts of men: the path that stretches plain
Before thine eyes, follow as thou art fain."
At this the monkey dried his tears, and sped
Up to a mountain tarn, and bathed his head
From stain of blood—by me alas! ’twas shed—
There too, with burning pains through him accursed,
I dragged my tortured frame, to quench my thirst,
But when to that blood-stainéd lake I came,
The crimson flood appeared one mass of flame.
[72] Each liquid drop from it that did bedew
My body, straight into a pustule grew,
Like a cleft vilva-fruit, in size and hue.
The sores discharging yield a loathsome smell,
And whereso’er I fain would gladly dwell
In town and country-side, all fly pell mell.
Scattered by odours foul, the while they ply
Their sticks and stones, and "Come not thou too nigh
To us, poor wretch,’ all men and women cry.
Such is the pain for seven long years I bear;
According to his deeds each man doth fare.
May good be with you all that here I see:
Betray ye not your friends. How vile is he
That sins against a friend with treachery.
All who on earth to friends have proved untrue,
As lepers here their sin must ever rue,
And when the body fails, in Hell are born anew.
[74] And while the man was speaking with the king, even as he spoke, the earth opened its mouth, and at that very moment the man disappeared and was reborn in Hell. The king, when the man was swallowed up in the earth, came forth from the park and entered the city.

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The Master here ending his lesson said, "Not only now, Brethren, but formerly too, Devadatta flung a stone at me," and he identified the Birth: "At that time the treacherous friend was Devadatta, I myself was the monkey-king."

Footnotes

38:1 Bauhinia Variegata.
41:1 The bamboo dies off after bearing fruit.

No. 517.

[75] DAKARAKKHASA-JĀTAKA.

All of this will be set forth in the Mahāummagga Birth 1.

No. 518.

PAṆḌARA-JĀTAKA.

"No man that lets," etc.—This was a story told by the Master, whilst sojourning at Jetavana, as to how Devadatta told a lie, and how the earth opened and swallowed him up. At that time, when Devadatta was being blamed by the Brethren, the Master said, "Not now only, Brethren, but of old too Devadatta told a lie and was swallowed up by the earth," and so saying he told a story of the past.

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Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was king in Benares, five hundred trading folk took ship and set sail, and on the seventh day when they were out of sight of land, they were wrecked in mid ocean and all save one man became food for fishes. This one by favour of the wind reached the port of Karambiya, and landing naked and destitute he went about the place, begging alms. The people thought, "Here is an ascetic, happy and contented with little," and they showed him every hospitality. But he said, "I have enough to live upon," and when they offered him under and upper garments, he would have none of them. They said, "No ascetic can go beyond this in the way of contentment," and being the more exceedingly pleased with him, they built him a hermitage for a dwelling-place, and he went by the name of the Karambiya ascetic. While he was living here, he met with great honour and gain, and both a snake-king and a garuḍa-king came to pay their respects to him, and the name of the former was Paṇḍara. Now one day the garuḍa-king came to the ascetic and after saluting him took his seat on one side and said, "Sir, our people,

when they attack snakes, many of them perish. We do not know the right way to seize snakes. There is said to be some mystery in the matter. You could, perhaps, wheedle them [76] out of the secret." "All right," said the ascetic, and when the garuḍa-king had taken his leave and departed, as soon as ever the snake-king arrived and with a respectful salutation had taken his seat, he asked him, saying, "King-snake, the garuḍas say that in seizing you, many of them are killed. In attacking you, how can they seize you securely?" "Sir," he replied, "this is our secret; if I were to tell it, I should bring about the destruction of all my kinsfolk." "What do you really suspect me of telling some one else? I'll tell no one. I only ask to satisfy my own curiosity. You may trust and tell me without the slightest fear." The snake-king promised to tell him and took his leave. The next day the ascetic again asked him, and then too he did not tell him. But on the third day when the snake-king had come and taken his seat, the ascetic said, "To-day is the third day since I asked you. Why do you not tell me?" "I am afraid, Sir, you might tell some one else." "I'll not say a word to a creature: tell me without any fear." Then the snake made him promise to tell no one, and said, "Sir, we make ourselves heavy by swallowing very big stones and lie down, and when the garuḍas come, we open our mouths wide, and show our teeth and fall upon them. They come on and seize us by the head, and while they strive to lift us up, heavy as we are, from the ground, the water streams from them, and they drop down dead in the midst of it. In this way a number of garuḍas perish. When they attack us, why in the world do they seize us by the head? If the foolish creatures should seize us by the tail and hold us head downwards, they could force us to disgorge the stones we have swallowed, and so, making us a light weight, they could carry us off with them." Thus did the snake reveal his secret to this wicked fellow. Then, when the snake had gone away, up came the garuḍa-king, and saluting the Karambiya ascetic he asked, "Well! Sir, have you learned his secret from the snake-king?" [77] "Yes, Sir," he said, and told him everything just as it was told him. On hearing it, the garuḍa said, "The snake-king has made a great mistake. He ought not to have told another how to destroy his kinsfolk. Well, to-day I must first of all raise a garuḍa 1 wind and seize him." So, raising a wind, he seized Paṇḍara the snake-king by the tail and held him head downmost; and having thus made him disgorge the stones he had swallowed, he flew up into the air with him. Paṇḍaraka, as he was suspended head downwards in the air, sorely lamenting cried, "I have brought sorrow upon me," and he repeated these stanzas:

The man that lets his secret thought be known,
Random of speech, to indiscretion prone,
    Poor fool, at once is overcome by fear,
As I king-snake am by a bird o’erthrown.

The man who in his folly could betray
The thought that he should hide from light of day,
    By his rash speech is overcome by fear,
As I king-snake fall to this bird a prey.
No comrade ought thy inmost thoughts to share,
The best of friends ofttimes most foolish are,
And if too wise, of treachery beware.
I trusted him alas! for was not he
A holy man, of strict austerity?
    My secret I revealed; the deed is done
And now I weep for very misery.
Into my confidence the wretch did creep,
Nor could I any secret from him keep:
    From him the danger that I dread has come,
And now for very misery I weep.
[78] Judging his friend as faithful to the core
And moved by fear, or the strong love he bore,
    To some vile wretch his secret one betrays
And is o’erthrown, poor fool, to rise no more.
Whoso proclaims in evil company
The secret thought that still should hidden lie,
    ’Mongst men is counted as a poison-snake:
"From such an one, pray, keep aloof," they cry.
Fair women, silken robes and sandal wood,
Garlands and perfumes, even drink and food,
    Yea all desires—if only thou, O bird,
Come to our aid—shall be by us eschewed.
[79] Thus did Paṇḍaraka, suspended in the air head downwards, utter his lament in eight stanzas. The garuḍa, hearing the sound of his lamentation, reproved him and said, "King-snake, after divulging your secret to the ascetic, wherefore do you now lament?" And he uttered this stanza:

Of us three creatures living here, pray name
The one that rightly should incur the blame.
    Nor priest nor bird, but foolish deed of thine,
O snake, hath brought thee to this depth of shame.

On hearing this Paṇḍaraka repeated another stanza:

The priest, methought, must be a friend to me,
A holy man, of strict austerity:
[80]     My secret I betrayed: the deed is done,
And now I weep for very misery.

Then the garuḍa repeated four stanzas:

All creatures born into this world must die;
Yet Wisdom's ways her children justify:
    By knowledge, justice, self-restraint and truth
A man at length achieves his purpose high.

Parents are kind all other kin above,
No third there is to show us equal love,
    Not e’en to them betray thy secret thought,
Lest peradventure they should traitors prove.

Parents and kin of every degree,
Allies and comrades all may friendly be:
    To none of them entrust thy hidden thought,
Or thou wilt later rue their treachery.
A wife may youthful be and good and fair,
Own troops of friends, and children's love may share:
    Not e’en to her entrust thy hidden thought,
Or of her treachery thou must beware.
[81] Then follow these stanzas:

His secret no man should disclose, but guard like treasure-trove:
Disclosure of a secret thing no wise man would approve.

Wise men to woman or a foe their secrets ne’er betray;
Trust not the slaves of appetite; creatures of impulse they.
Whoso reveals his secret thought to one not overwise,
Fears the betrayal of his trust and at his mercy lies.
All such as know the secret thing that thou shouldst rather hide,
Threaten thy peace of mind; to none that secret thing confide.
By day to thine own self alone the secret dare to name,
But venture not at dead of night that secret to proclaim;
For close at hand, be sure, there stand men ready to betray
The slightest word they may have heard: so trust them not, I pray.
These five stanzas will appear in the Problem of the Five Sages in the Ummagga Birth.
Then follow these stanzas:

As some huge city fenced on every side
With moat, of iron wrought, has long defied
    [82] All entrance of a foe to Fairy Land,
So e’en are they that do their counsels hide.

Who by rash speech to secrets give no clue,
But ever steadfast to themselves are true,
    From them all enemies do keep aloof,
As men flee far when deadly snakes pursue.
When the Truth had been thus proclaimed by the garuḍa, Paṇḍaraka said:

A tonsured, nude ascetic left his home
And seeking alms did through the country roam:
To him my secret I alas! did tell,
And straight from happiness and virtue fell.

What line of conduct should a priest pursue,
What vows take on him, and what faults eschew?
How free himself from his besetting sin,
And at the last a heavenly mansion win?

[83] The garuḍa said:

By patience, self-restraint, long-suffering,
By calumny and ire abandoning,
Thus may a priest get rid of every sin,
And at the last a heavenly mansion win.

Paṇḍaraka, on hearing the garuḍa-king thus declare the Truth, begged for his life and repeated this stanza:

As mother gazing on her baby boy
Is thrilled in every limb with holy joy,
So upon me, O king of birds, bestow
That pity mothers to their children show.

Then the garuḍa in granting him his life repeated another stanza:

O snake, to-day from death I set thee free;
Of kinds of children there are only three,
[84] Pupil, adopted child and true-born son:
Of these rejoice that thou art surely one.

So saying, he alighted from the air and placed the snake upon the ground.

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The Master, to make the matter clear, repeated two stanzas:

The bird, so saying, straight released his foe
And gently bore him to the earth below;
"Set free to-day, go, safe from danger dwell
In water or on land. I'll guard thee well.

As a skilled leech to men with sickness curst,
Or a cool tank to those that are athirst,
As house that shelters from a chilling frost,
So I a refuge prove to thee, when lost."

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And saying, "Be off," he let him go. And the snake disappeared in the abode of the nāgas. But the bird, returning to the dwelling-place of the garuḍas, said, "The snake Paṇḍaraka has won my confidence under oath and has been let loose by me. I will now put him to the test, to see what his feelings are towards me," and repairing to the abode of the nāgas, he raised a garuḍa wind. On seeing him the snake-king thought the garuḍa-king must have come to seize him, so he assumed a form that stretched to a thousand fathoms and making himself heavy by swallowing stones and sand [85] he lay down, keeping his tail beneath him and raising the hood upon his head, as if minded to bite the garuḍa-king. On seeing this the garuḍa repeated another stanza:

O snake, thou madest peace with thine old enemy;
But now thou showst thy fangs. Whence comes this fear to thee?

On hearing this the snake-king repeated three stanzas:

Ever suspect a foe, nor trust thy friend as staunch;
Security breeds fear, to kill thee root and branch.

What! trust the man with whom one quarrelled long ago!
Nay, stand upon thy guard. No one can love his foe.
Inspire a trust in all, but put thy trust in none,
Thyself suspected not, be to suspicion prone.
He that is truly wise ought every nerve to strain
That his true nature ne’er may be to others plain.
Thus did they talk one with another, and becoming reconciled and friendly they repaired together to the hermitage of the ascetic.

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The Master, to make the matter clear, said,

The godlike graceful pair of them now see,
Breathing an air of holy purity;
[86] Like steeds well matched neath equal yoke they ran,
To seek the dwelling of that saintly man.

With regard to this the Master uttered another stanza:

Then to the ascetic straight king-snake did go,
And thus Paṇḍaraka addressed his foe,
"Know that to-day, all danger past, I'm free,
But ’tis not due to love of thine for me."

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Then the ascetic repeated another stanza:

To that bird-king, I solemnly declare,
I greater love than e’er to thee did bear,
Moved by affection for that royal bird,
I of set purpose, not through folly, erred.

On hearing this, the snake-king repeated two stanzas:

The man that looks at this world and the next,
Ne’er finds himself with love or hatred vext,
’Neath garb of self-restraint thou fain wouldst hide
But lawless acts that holy garb belied.

[87] Thou, seeming noble, art with meanness stained,
And, as ascetic clad, art unrestrained;
By nature with ignoble thoughts accurst,
Thou in all kinds of sinful act art versed.
So to reprove him, he uttered this stanza, reviling him:

Informer, traitor, that wouldst slay
    A guileless friend, be thy head riven
By this my Act of Truth, I pray,
    Piecemeal, all into fragments seven.

So before the very eyes of the snake-king, the head of the ascetic was split into seven pieces, and at the very spot where he was sitting the ground was cleft asunder. And, disappearing into the Earth, he was re-born in the Avīci hell, and the snake-king and the garuḍa-king returned each to his own abode.

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The Master, to make clear the fact that he had been swallowed up by the earth, repeated the last stanza:

Therefore I say, friends ne’er should treacherous be;
Than a false friend worse man is none to see.
Buried in earth the venomous creature lies,
And at the snake-king's word the ascetic dies.

[88] The Master here ended his discourse and said, "Not now only, Brethren, but of old too, Devadatta told a lie and was swallowed up by the earth," and he identified the Birth: "At that time the ascetic was Devadatta, the snake-king Sāriputta, and the garuḍa-king was myself."

Footnotes

42:1 Vol. vi. p. 329, Jātaka, No. 546.
43:1 The wind agitated by the wings of Garuḍa. Cf. Nāgānanda, Boyd's English version, p. 59: "Garuḍa was in the habit of devouring one snake daily, catching it up from hell, whilst the ocean was cleft asunder from top to bottom by the wind of his wings."

No. 519.

SAMBULA-JĀTAKA.

"Tied to the spot," etc. This story the Master, while dwelling at Jetavana, told of queen Mallikā. The introductory story is related at length in the Kummāsapiṇḍa 1 Birth. Now by the efficacy of a gift of three portions of sour gruel to the Tathāgata, she that very day rose to the position of chief queen, and being possessed of faithful servants and endued with the five feminine charms, full of knowledge, and a disciple of the Buddha, she showed herself a devoted wife. Her devotion was blazed abroad throughout the city. So one day a discussion was started in the Hall of Truth, how that queen Mallikā was a faithful and devoted wife. The Master, on his coming there, asked the Brethren what was the topic they were discussing as they sat together, and on hearing what it was he said, "Not now only, but formerly too, Brethren, she was a devoted wife"; and so saying, he told a story of the past.

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Once upon a time king Brahmadatta had a son named Sotthisena, and when he had come of age the king set him up as viceroy. His chief consort, Sambulā by name, was extremely beautiful, and gifted with so radiant a form that she appeared like a lamp-flame shining in

a sheltered spot. By and bye leprosy showed itself in Sotthisena and the physicians failed to cure it. When the sore discharged, he became so loathsome that in his depression he cried, "What good is my kingdom to me? I shall perish without a friend in the wilderness." And, bidding them tell the king, he left his harem and departed. Sambulā, though he made many attempts to stop her, refused to return, and saying, "I will watch over you, my lord, in the forest," went forth from the city with him. On entering the forest, he built a hut of leaves and took up his abode in a shady and well-watered spot, where wild fruit abounded. How then did the royal lady watch over him? Why she rose up early in the morning, swept out his hermitage, set some water for him to drink, [89] furnished him with a tooth-stick and water to wash his mouth, and when his mouth was cleansed, she ground various simples and anointed his sores, and gave him luscious fruits to eat; when he had rinsed his mouth and washed his hands, she saluted him and said, "Be earnest in well-doing, my lord." Then taking a basket, a spade and a hook, she went into the forest to gather wild fruit, and she brought and set it on one side, and fetching water in a jar, she with various powders and clay washed Sotthisena and again offered him wild fruit. And when he had finished his meal, she brought him scented water and herself partook of the fruit. Then she arranged a board with a coverlet, and as he lay down on it, she bathed his feet, and after dressing and cleaning his head and back and feet, she came and lay down by the side of the bed. In this way did she watch over her lord. One day, as she was bringing fruit from the forest, she espied a mountain cave, and putting down the basket from her head, she stood on the edge of the cave, and, stepping down to bathe, she rubbed her body all over with yellow dye and took a bath. After washing herself, she climbed up again and put on her bark garment and stood on the edge of the pool. And the whole forest was lighted up with the radiance that was shed from her person. At that moment a goblin, going forth to find his prey, caught sight of her, and falling in love with her, he repeated a couple of stanzas:

Tied to the spot and trembling as in fear,
Who in this rocky cave is standing here?
Tell us, I pray, O slender-waisted dame,
Who may thy kinsmen be, and what thy name.

Who art thou, lady, ever fair and bright,
And what thy birth that thou canst flood with light
This grove, fit home of every beast of prey?
An ogre I to thee due homage pay.
[90] On hearing what he said, she replied in three stanzas:

Prince Sotthisena, know full well, is heir to Kāsi throne,
And I, this prince's wedded wife, as Sambulā am known.

Videha's royal son is sick and in the forest lies;
Alone I tend him, mad with pain, or else he surely dies.

This savoury bit of venison I picked up in the wood,
And bear it to my lord to-day, now faint for want of food.
This is followed by stanzas spoken alternately by the goblin and the lady:

What good is this sick lord of thine, O Sambulā, to thee?
No wife, but nurse is what he craves. I will thy husband be.

With sorrow worn, a wretch forlorn, no beauty can I claim,
If thou art fain a bride to gain, go woo some fairer dame.
Four hundred wives have I to grace my home on yonder hill;
O lady, deign o’er them to reign, and each fond wish fulfil.
Fair maid so bright with golden light, whate’er is dear to thee
Is mine to give, so come and live a life of joy with me.
[91] But if denied to me as bride, thou art my lawful prey,
And wilt be good to serve as food to break my fast to-day.
(That ogre grim with his seven tufts inspiring dread alarm,
Found helpless Sambulā astray and seized her by the arm.
Thus held by him, that ogre grim, her lustful, cruel foe,
She still deplored her absent lord, nor e’er forgot his woe.)
No grief to me that I should be this hateful ogre's prey,
But that the love of my dear lord from me should fall away.
No gods are here, but absent far they flee,
Nor any guardians of the world I see,
To check the course of outrage and suppress
All acts of unrestrained licentiousness.
[92] Then was the abode of Sakka shaken by the efficacy of her virtue, and his throne of yellow marble showed signs of heat. Sakka, on reflection, discovered the cause, and, taking his thunderbolt, he came with all speed, and, standing above the goblin, spoke another stanza:

’Mongst women folk the chief in fame,
She's wise and perfect, bright as flame,
Shouldst thou eat her, thy skull be riven.
O goblin, into fragments seven.
So harm her not; let her go free,
For a devoted wife is she.

On hearing this the goblin let Sambulā go. Sakka thought: "This goblin will be guilty of the same thing again," and so he bound him with celestial chains and let him loose on the third mountain from thence, that he might not return; and, after earnestly exhorting the royal lady, he departed to his own abode. And the princess, after sunset, by the light of the moon reached the hermitage.

---

To explain the matter, the Master repeated eight stanzas:

Escaped from ogre, to her hut she fled,
As bird returning finds its fledglings dead,
Or cow, robbed of her calf, laments an empty shed.

Thus Sambulā, of royal fame, made moan,
Wild-eyed and helpless, in the wood, alone.
Hail, priests and brahmins, righteous sages too,
Deserted, I for refuge fly to you.
All hail, ye lions and ye tigers fell,
And other beasts that in the woodland dwell.
All hail, ye grasses, herbs and plants that creep,
All hail, ye forests green and mountains steep.
All hail to Night, bedecked with stars on high,
Dark as blue lotus of the deepest dye.
[93] All hail to Ganges: mother of rivers she,
Known amongst men as famed Bhāgīrathī.
Hail, Himavat, of all the mountains king,
Huge rocky pile, o’ertopping everything.

---

Regarding her, as she uttered this lamentation, Sotthisena thought, "She is overdoing her lamentation: I do not quite know what it all means. If she were acting thus for love of me, her heart would be broken. I will put her to the test." And he went and sat at the door of his hut. She, still lamenting, came to the door, and, making a low obeisance, she said, "Where has my lord been?" "Lady," he said, "on other days you have never come at this hour; to-day you are very late," [94] and in the form of a question he spoke this stanza:

Illustrious lady, why so late to-day?
What favoured lover led to this delay?

Then she made answer, "My lord, I was returning with my fruit when I beheld a goblin, and he fell in love with me, and seizing me by the hand, he cried: "Unless you obey my words, I will eat you alive." And at that moment, sorrowing for you only, I uttered this lament; and she repeated this stanza:

Seized by my foe, I, full of woe, these words to him did say;
"No grief to me that I should be a hateful ogre's prey,
But that the love of my dear lord from me should fall away."

Then she told him the rest of the story, saying, "So when I was seized by this goblin, and was unable to make him let me go, I acted so as to excite the attention of the god. Then Sakka came, thunderbolt in hand, and, standing in the air, he threatened the goblin and made him release me. And he bound him with magic chains and deposited him on

the third mountain range from here, and so departed. Thus was I saved by means of Sakka." Sotthisena, on hearing this, replied: "Well, lady, it may be so. With womenkind it is hard to discover the truth. In the Himalaya region dwell many foresters, ascetics and magicians. Who shall believe you?" And so saying, he repeated a stanza:

You jades are ever by far too clever,
Truth among such is a great rarity,
Ways of the sex are enough to perplex,
E’en as the course of a fish in the sea.

On hearing his words, she said: "My lord, though you do not believe me, by virtue of the truth I speak, I will heal you." So, filling a pot of water and performing an Act of Truth, she poured the water on his head and spoke this stanza:

[95] May Truth for aye my shelter be,
As I love no man more than thee,
And by this Act of Truth, I pray,
May thy disease be healed to-day.

When she had thus performed an Act of Truth, no sooner was the water sprinkled over Sotthisena than the leprosy straightway left him, as it were copper rust washed in some acid. After staying a few days there, they departed from the forest, and, coming to Benares, entered the park. The king, being apprised of their arrival, went to the park, and there and then bade the royal umbrella to be raised over Sotthisena, and ordered that Sambulā, by sprinkling, should be raised to the position of chief queen. Then conducting them into the city, he himself adopted the ascetic life and took up his abode in the park, but he still constantly took his meals in the palace. And Sotthisena merely conferred on Sambulā the rank of chief consort, but no honour was paid her, and he ignored her very existence and took his pleasure with other women. Sambulā, through jealousy of her rivals, grew thin and pale of countenance, and her veins stood out upon her body. One day when her father-in-law, the ascetic, came to have a meal, to get rid of her grief she came to him when he had finished eating, and saluting him, sat down on one side. On seeing her in this languid condition, he repeated a stanza:

Seven hundred elephants by night and day
Are guarding thee, all ready for the fray,
Hundreds of archers shielding thee from harm;
Whence come the foes to fill thee with alarm?

[96] On hearing his words she said, "Your son, my lord, is no longer the same to me"; and she repeated five stanzas:

Fair as a lotus are the maids he loves,
Their swan-like voice his deepest passion moves,
And as he listens to their measured strain,
In his affections I no longer reign.

In human shape but like to nymphs divine,
Adorned with ornaments of gold they shine,
Of perfect form the noble maidens lie
In graceful pose, to charm the royal eye.

If I once more might wander in the wood,
To glean a portion for his daily food,
Once more I should a husband's love regain,
And quit the court in forest realms to reign.
A woman may in softest robes be drest,
And be with food in rich abundance blest,
Fair though she be, yet if an unloved wife,
Best fix a rope and put an end to life.
Yea the poor wretch on bed of straw 1 that lies,
If she find favour in her husband's eyes,
Enjoys a happiness unknown to one,
Rich in all else, but poor in love alone.
[97] When she had thus explained to the ascetic the cause of her thus pining away, he summoned the king and said, "Dear Sotthisena, when you were crushed by the disease of leprosy and hid yourself in the forest, she went with you and ministered to your wants, and by the power of truth healed your sickness, and now after she has been the means of your being established on the throne, you do not even know the place of her sitting and uprising; this is very wrong of you. An act of treachery to a friend like this is a sin," and reproving his son, he repeated this stanza:

A loving wife is ever hard to find,
As is a man that to his wife is kind:
Thy wife was virtuous and loving too;
Do thou, O king, to Sambulā be true.

[98] After he had thus reproved his son, he got up and went away. The king, when his father was gone, called for Sambulā and said, "My dear, forgive the wrong I have done you this long time. Henceforth I confer on you all power," and he repeated the final stanza:

Shouldst thou, with wealth in great abundance blest,
Still pine away, by jealousy opprest,
I and these maidens, creatures of thy hand,
Will be obedient to thy command.

Thenceforth the pair lived happily together and after a life of charity and good works they departed to fare according to their deeds. The ascetic, after entering upon ecstatic meditation, passed to the heaven of Brahma.

---

The Master here ended his lesson and saying, "Not now only, but formerly too, Mallikā was a devoted wife," he identified the Birth: "At that time Sambulā Was Mallikā, Sotthisena was the king of Kosala, and the ascetic father was myself."

Footnotes

48:1 Vol. iii. No. 415, p. 245, English version.
53:1 Reading kaṭadutiyā.

No. 520.

GAṆḌATINDU-JĀTAKA.

"Zeal is the way," etc. This story the Master, dwelling at Jetavana, told concerning the admonition of a king. This admonition of a king has already been related in full 1.

---

Once upon a time in the kingdom of Kampilla, in a city of the Northern Pañcālas, a king called Pañcāla, being established in evil courses and reckless, ruled his kingdom unrighteously. So all his ministers likewise became unrighteous. His subjects being oppressed by taxation took their wives and families and wandered in the forest like wild beasts. Where once stood villages, there now were none, [99] and the people through the fear of the king's men by day did not venture to dwell in their houses, but fencing them about with thorn branches, as soon as the day broke, they disappeared into the forest. By day they were plundered by the king's men and by night by robbers. At that time the Bodhisatta came to life in the form of a divinity of a tinduka tree outside the city, and every year received from the king an offering worth a thousand pieces of money, and he thought, "This is a roi fainéant; his whole kingdom is going to ruin; besides me there is no one that can set the king in the right way, and he is a benefactor to me and every year honours me with an offering of a thousand pieces. I will admonish him." So in the night he entered into the royal chamber, and taking up his position at the bed's head he stood poised in the air, emitting a bright light. The king, when he saw him thus shining like the newly-risen sun, asked him who he was and wherefore he had come. On hearing his words he said, "Great king, I am the divinity of the tinduka tree, and I come to give you good advice." "What advice have you to give me?" said the king. "Sire," said the Great Being, "you are careless in your rule, and so all your kingdom is going to ruin, as if it were the prey of hirelings. Kings that are careless in their rule are not masters of all their realm, but in this world they meet with destruction and in the world to come they are re-born in hell, and when they are careless both those within their domain and those outside it are careless too, and therefore a king ought to

be exceedingly careful," and so saying, to inculcate a moral lesson, he repeated these stanzas:

Zeal is the way to Nirvāna, but sloth leads to death, it is said;
While vigilant souls never die, the careless are even as dead.

From pride as its root cometh sloth: from sloth cometh loss and decay:
Decay is the parent of sin. All sloth, O great king, put away.
Brave souls by their sloth many times of wealth and of realm have been shorn,
And so village lords may become like the waif, without home, all forlorn.
[100] When a prince in his rule groweth slack, untrue to his name and his fame,
Should his wealth all at once disappear, of that prince it is counted as shame.
Thou art slack out of season, O king, from the right thou hast wandered away,
Thy realm that so flourished of old to robbers doth now fall a prey.
No son shall inherit thy realm, with its treasures of gold and of corn,
Thy realm to the spoiler a prey and thou of thy wealth liest shorn.
The prince that is stript of his realm, with its stores and its wealth manifold,
His friends and his kith and his kin esteem him no more as of old.
His guards and his charioteers, his horse and his footmen so bold,
As they see him of all dispossest, regard him no more as of old.
The fool of disorderly life is by evil advice led astray,
Soon stript is the fool of his fame, as the snake its old skin casts away.
But the man who arising betimes unwearied and orderly is,
His oxen and kine thrive apace, and riches increasing are his.
Great king, ever open thine ears, and list to what people may say,
That seeing and hearing the truth, thou mayst win to good fortune thy way.
[101] Thus did the Great Being admonish the king in eleven stanzas, and "Go," said he, "without delay and foster thy kingdom, and destroy it not," and so departed to his own abode. And the king hearkened to his words and, being much moved, on the morrow he handed over his kingdom to his ministers, and accompanied by his chaplain he left the city betimes by the eastern gate [102] and went a furlong's distance. There an old man, a native of the village, carried branches of thorn from the forest and putting them all round his house closed the door, and with his wife and children betook himself to the forest. At eventide when the king's men had departed, he returned to his house, and by the door his foot was pierced with a thorn point, and sitting cross-legged and extracting the thorn he cursed the king in the following stanza:

Struck by an arrow in the fray,
    So may Pañcāla mourn,
As I have cause to grieve to-day,
    Thus wounded by a thorn.

This imprecation on the king came about by the power of the Bodhisatta, and it was as one possessed by the Bodhisatta that he cursed him. In this light is his action to be regarded. Now at this

juncture the king and his chaplain stood before him in disguise. So the chaplain hearing his words uttered another stanza:

Thou art old, my good sir, and thy sight is too dim
    To discern things aright, I'll be sworn;
As for king Brahmadatta, what is it to him,
    That thy foot has been pierced by a thorn

On hearing this the old man repeated three stanzas:

’Tis due to Brahmadatta, sure, that I am racked with pain,
Just as defenceless folk are oft by their oppressors slain.

By night to thieves a prey are we, to publicans by day,
Lewd folks abound within the realm, when evil kings bear sway.
Distrest by such a fear as this, men to the forest flee,
And round their dwellings scatter thorns, for their security.
[103] On hearing this the king addressing his chaplain said, "Master, the old man speaks truly: it is our fault. Come, let us return and rule the kingdom righteously." Then the Bodhisatta, taking possession of the body of the chaplain, stood before him and said, "Great king, let us investigate the matter." And passing from that village to another one they listened to the words spoken by an old woman. She was, it is said, a poor woman and had two grown up daughters under her care, whom she would not allow to enter the forest. But she herself brought fire-wood and leaves of trees and ministered to her daughters. One day she climbed up a bush to gather leaves and falling rolled upon the ground, and she cursed the king, threatening him with death, and uttered this stanza:

Oh! when will Brahmadatta die, for long as he shall reign,
Our daughters live unwedded and for husbands sigh in vain?

Then the priest checking her spoke this stanza:

Evil and profitless withal these words of thine, O jade,
Whence shall the king find in his realm a husband for each maid?

[104] The old woman on hearing this repeated two stanzas:

Not evil are these words of mine, nor spoken all in vain,
So long as thy defenceless folk are by oppressors slain.

By night to thieves a prey are we, to publicans by day,
Lewd folks abound within the realm, when evil kings bear sway,
When times are bad, poor maids are sad, for husbands none have they.
Hearing her words they thought, "She speaks to the point," and going farther on they listened to what a ploughman was saying. As he was ploughing, they say, his ox called Sāliya was laid low, being struck by the ploughshare, and its owner cursed the king and repeated this stanza:

So may Pañcāla fall to earth by spear-thrust of his foe,
As Sāliya by ploughshare hurt, poor wretch, here lieth low.

Then the priest, to check him, spoke this stanza:

With Brahmadatta thou art wroth, though no good cause is shown,
And while thou dost revile the king, the guilt is all thine own.

Hearing this the ploughman replied in three stanzas:

With Brahmadatta I am wroth, and rightly I maintain;
Defenceless folk are ever thus by their oppressor slain.

By night to thieves a prey are we &c.
[105] The slave had twice 1 to cook the food and brought it late to me;
While all agape for her, my ox was wounded fatally.
Going on still further they stayed in a certain village. Next day early in the morning a vicious cow kicked a milkman and upset him, milk and all. The man cursed Brahmadatta and repeated this stanza:

By stroke of sword Pañcāla's lord shall fall amidst the fray,
As I'm laid low by kick of cow, milk-pail and all, to-day.

The brahmin in a stanza said:

A cow, say, kicks against the pricks, or pail of milk upsets—
What's this to Brahmadatta that all this abuse he gets?

On hearing this the milkman repeated three stanzas:

Pañcāla's king, O brahmin, is to blame, for in his reign
Defenceless folk are seen to be by their oppressors slain.

By night &c.
A wild and savage cow that we had never milked before
We milked to-day: demands for milk grow ever more and more.
[106] They said, "He speaks the truth," and going forth from that village they climbed into the highway and started towards the city. And in a certain village tax-collectors killed a young dappled calf and stripped off its skin to make a sword-sheath, and the mother of the calf was so grieved for the loss of her young one that she neither ate grass nor drank water but roamed to and fro, lamenting. On seeing her the village boys cursed the king and spoke this stanza:

So let Pañcāla pine away and childless weep in vain,
As this poor cow distracted seeks the calf that men have slain.

Then the priest spoke another stanza:

When from its herd some beast escapes, and roars to ease its pain,
Herein what cause hast thou of Brahmadatta to complain?

Then the village boys repeated two stanzas:

King Brahmadatta's sin in this, brahmin, to me is plain,
Defenceless folk are ever thus by their oppressors slain.

By night to thieves a prey are we, to publicans by day,
Lewd folks abound within the realm, when evil kings bear sway.
Why should a tender calf be killed, just for a sheath, I pray?
"You speak truth," they said and departed. Then, going on their way, in a certain dry tank crows were striking frogs with their beaks and

devouring them. When they reached this spot, the Bodhisatta by the exercise of his power cursed the king by the mouth of a frog, saying,
[107]

So may Pañcāla killed in fight be eaten, sons and all,
As woodland frog to village crows a prey this day I fall.

Hearing this the priest conversing with the frog repeated this stanza:

Kings cannot, frog, as you must know,
Guard every creature here below,
In this no wicked king is he,
That crows eat living things like thee.

On hearing this the frog repeated two stanzas:

The priest with words too flattering
Thus wickedly deceives the king;
The king, though people are oppressed,
Deems the priest's policy the best.

If blest with all prosperity
This realm should glad and peaceful be,
Crows richest offerings 1 might enjoy,
Nor need aught living to destroy.
[108] On hearing this the king and the priest thought, "All creatures, including the frog that lives in the forest, curse us," and going thence to the city they ruled their kingdom righteously, and abiding in the admonition of the Great Being they devoted themselves to charity and other good works.

---

The Master here ended his discourse to the king of Kosala in these words, "A king, Sire, must forsake evil courses, and rule his kingdom righteously," and he identified the Birth: "At that time the divinity of the tinduka tree was myself."

Footnotes

54:1 No. 334, vol. iii. Rājovāda-Jātaka. No. 521, vol. v.
57:1 The scholiast explains that the royal tax-gatherers had eaten the food first cooked by the slave for her master.
58:1 A crow was called balipuṭṭho, "nourished by oblations."

BOOK XVII. CATTĀLĪSANIPĀTA.

No. 521.

TESAKUṆA-JĀTAKA.

[109] "’Tis this I ask," etc. This story the Master, while dwelling at Jetavana, told by way of admonition to the king of Kosala. Now this king came to hear the preaching of the law and the Master addressed him in the following terms: "A king, Sire, ought to rule his kingdom righteously, for whenever kings are unrighteous, then also are his officers unrighteous." And admonishing him in the right way as related in the Catukkanipāta (4th Book) he pointed out the suffering and the blessing involved in following or abstaining from evil courses, and expounded in detail the misery resulting from sensual pleasures, comparing them to dreams and the like, saying, "In the case of these men,

No bribe can move relentless death, no kindness mollify,
No one in fight can vanquish death. For all are doomed to die.

And when they depart to another world, except their own virtuous action they have no other sure refuge, so that they must inevitably forsake low associations, and for their reputation's sake they must not be careless, but be earnest and exercise rule in righteousness, even as kings of old, before Buddha arose, abiding in the admonition of the wise, ruled righteously and departing attained to the heavenly city," and at the request of the king he told a story of the past.

---

Once upon a time Brahmadatta ruled in Benares and had no heir, and his prayer for a son or daughter was not answered. Now one day he went with a large escort to his park and after amusing himself a part of the day in the grounds [110] he had a couch spread for him at the foot of the royal sāl tree, and after a short nap he awoke and, looking up to the sāl tree, he beheld a bird's nest in it, and at the sight of it a desire to possess it sprang up in his heart, and summoning one of his attendants he said, "Climb the tree and see if there is anything in the nest or not." The man climbed up and finding three eggs in it told the king. "Then mind you do not breathe over them," he said, and, spreading some cotton in a casket, he told the man to come down gently, and place the eggs in it. When they had been brought down, he took up the casket and asked his courtiers to what bird these eggs belonged. They answered, "We do not know: hunters will know." The king sent for the hunters and asked them. "Sire," said they, "one is an owl's egg, another is a maynah bird's, and the third is a parrot's." "Pray are there eggs of three different birds in

one nest?" "Yes, Sire, when there is nothing to fear, what is carefully deposited does not perish." The king being pleased said, "They shall be my children," and committing the three eggs to the charge of three courtiers, he said, "These shall be my children. Do you carefully watch over them and when the young birds come out of the shell, let me know." They took good care of them. First of all the owl's egg was hatched, and the courtier sent for a hunter and said, "Find out the sex of the young bird, whether it is a cock or a hen bird," and when he had examined it and declared it to be a cock bird, the courtier went to the king and said, "Sire, a son is born to you." The king was delighted and bestowed much wealth on him and saying, [111] "Watch carefully over him and call his name Vessantara," he sent him away. He did as he was told. Then a few days afterwards the egg of the maynah bird was hatched, and the second courtier likewise, after getting the huntsman to examine it, and hearing it was a hen bird, went to the king and announced to him the birth of a daughter. The king was delighted, and gave to him also much treasure and saying, "Watch carefully over my daughter and call her name Kuṇḍalinī," he sent him away. He also did what he was told. Then after a few days the parrot's egg was hatched and the third courtier, when told by the huntsman who examined it that it was a cock bird, went and announced to the king the birth of a son. The king was delighted and paying him liberally said, "Hold a festival in honour of my son with great pomp, and call his name Jambuka," and then sent him away. He too did as he was told. And these three birds grew up in the houses of the three courtiers with all the ceremony due to royalty. The king speaks of them habitually, as "my son" and "my daughter." His courtiers made merry, one with another, saying, "Look at what the king does: he goes about speaking of birds as his son and his daughter." The king thought, "These courtiers do not know the extent of my children's wisdom. I will make it evident to them." So he sent one of his ministers to Vessantara to say, "Your father wishes to ask you a question. When shall he come and ask it?" The minister came and bowing to Vessantara delivered the message. Vessantara sent for the courtier who looked after him and said, "My father," they tell me, "wants to ask me a question. When he comes, we must shew him all respect," and he asked "When is he to come?" The courtier said, "Let him come on the seventh day from this." Vessantara on hearing this said, "Let my father come on the seventh day from this," and with these words he sent the minister away. He went and told the king. On the seventh day the king ordered a drum to be beaten through the city and went to the house where his son lived. Vessantara treated the king with great respect and had great respect paid even to the slaves and hired servants. The king, after partaking of food in the house of Vessantara, and enjoying great distinction, returned to his

own dwelling-place. Then he had a big pavilion erected in the palace-yard, and, having made proclamation by beating a drum through the city, he sat in his magnificent pavilion surrounded by a great retinue [112] and sent word to a courtier to conduct Vessantara to him. The courtier brought Vessantara on a golden stool. The bird sat on his father's lap and played with his father, and then went and sat on the stool. Then the king in the midst of the crowd of people questioned him as to the duty of a king and spoke the first stanza:

’Tis this I ask Vessantara—dear bird, mayst thou be blest
To one that's fain o’er men to reign, what course of life is best?

Vessantara, without answering the question directly, reproved the king for his carelessness and spoke the second stanza:

Kaṁsa my sire, of Kāsi lord, so careless long ago,
Urged me his son, though full of zeal, still greater zeal to show.

Rebuking the king in this stanza and saying, "Sire, a king ought to rule his kingdom righteously, abiding in the three truths," and telling of a king's duty he spoke these stanzas:

First of all should a king put away all falsehood and anger and scorn;
Let him do what a king has to do, or else to his vow be forsworn.

By passion and sin led astray, should he err in the past, it is plain
He will live to repent of the deed, and will learn not to do it again.
When a prince in his rule groweth slack, untrue to his name and his fame,
Should his wealth all at once disappear, of that prince it is counted as shame.
’Twas thus that Good Fortune and Luck, when I asked, made reply unto me,
"In a man energetic and bold we delight, if from jealousy free.”
[113] Ill Luck, ever wrecking good fortune, delighteth in men of ill deeds,
The hard-hearted creatures in whom a spirit of jealousy breeds.
To all, O great king, be a friend, so that all may thy safety insure,
Ill Luck put away, but to Luck that is good be a dwelling secure.
The man that is lucky and bold, O thou that o’er Kāsi dost reign,
His foes will destroy root and branch, and to greatness will surely attain.
Great Sakka all courage in man ever watches with vigilant eyes,
For courage as virtue he holds and in it true goodness espies.
Gandharvas, gods, angels and men, one and all, emulate such a king,
And spirits appearing stand by, of his zeal and his vigour to sing.
Be zealous to do what is right, nor, however reviled, yield to sin,
Be earnest in efforts for good—no sluggard can bliss ever win.
Herein is the text of thy duty, to teach thee the way thou shouldst go:
’Tis enough to win bliss for a friend or to work grievous ill for a foe.
[115] Thus did the bird Vessantara in a single stanza rebuke the carelessness of the king, and then in telling the duty of a king in eleven stanzas answered his question with all the charm of a Buddha. The hearts of the multitude were filled with wonder and amazement and innumerable shouts of applause were raised. The king was transported with joy and addressing his courtiers asked them what was to be done for his son, for

having spoken thus. "He should be made a general in the army, Sire." "Well, I give him the post of general," and he appointed Vessantara to the vacant post. Thenceforth placed in this position he carried out his father's wishes. Here ends the story of Vessantara's question.
[116] Again the king after some days, just as before, sent a message to Kuṇḍalinī, and on the seventh day he paid her a visit and returning home again he seated himself in the centre of a pavilion and ordered Kuṇḍalinī to be brought to him, and when she was seated on a golden stool, he questioned her as to the duty of a king and spoke this stanza:

Kuṇḍalinī, of royal birth, couldst thou resolve my quest,
To one that's fain o’er men to reign, what course of life is best?

When the king thus asked her as to the duties of a king, she said, "I suppose, Sir, you are putting me to the test, thinking "What will a woman be able to tell me?" so I will tell you, putting all your duty as a king into just two maxims," and she repeated these stanzas:

The matter, my friend, is set forth in a couple of maxims quite plain—
To keep whatsoever one has, and whatever one has not to gain.

Take as counsellors men that are wise, thy interests clearly to see,
Not given to riot and waste, from gambling and drunkenness free.
Such an one as can guard thee aright and thy treasure with all proper zeal,
As a charioteer guides his car, he with skill steers the realm's common weal.
Keep ever thy folk well in hand; and duly take stock of thy pelf,
Ne’er trust to another a loan or deposit, but act for thyself.
What is done or undone to thy profit and loss it is well thou shouldst know,
Ever blame the blame-worthy and favour on them that deserve it bestow.
[117] Thou thyself, O great king, shouldst instruct thy people in every good way,
Lest thy realm and thy substance should fall to unrighteous officials a prey.
See that nothing is done by thyself or by others with overmuch speed,
For the fool that so acts without doubt will live to repent of the deed.
To wrath one should never give way, for should it due bounds overflow,
It will lead to the ruin of kings and the proudest of houses lay low.
Be sure that thou never as king thy people mislead to their cost,
Lest all men and women alike in an ocean of trouble be lost.
When a king from all fear is set free, and the pleasures of sense are his aim,
Should his riches and all disappear, to that king it is counted as shame.
Herein is a text of thy duty, to teach thee the way thou shouldst go,
Be an adept in every good work, to excess and to riot a foe,
Study virtue, for vice ever leads to a state full of suffering and woe.
[120] Thus did Kuṇḍalinī also teach the king his duty in eleven stanzas. The king was delighted and addressing his courtiers asked them, saying, "What is to be given to my daughter as a reward for her having spoken thus?" "The office of treasurer, Sire." "Well then, I grant her the post of treasurer," and he appointed Kuṇḍalinī to the vacant post. Thenceforth she held the office and acted for the king. Here ends the story of the question of Kuṇḍalinī.

Again the king after the lapse of a few days, just as before, sent a messenger to the wise Jambuka, and going there on the seventh day and being magnificently entertained he returned home and in the same manner took his seat in the centre of a pavilion. A courtier placed the wise Jambuka on a stool bound with gold, and came bearing the stool on his head. The wise bird sitting on his father's lap and playing with him at length took his seat on the golden stool. Then the king, asking him a question, spoke this stanza:

We've questioned both thy brother prince, and also fair Kuṇḍalinī;
Now, Jambuka, do thou in turn the highest power declare to me.

Thus did the king, in asking a question of the Great Being, not ask him in the way in which he had asked the others, but asked him in a special way. Then the wise bird said to him, "Well, Sire, listen attentively, and I will tell you all," and like a man placing a purse containing a thousand pieces of money into an outstretched hand, he began his exposition of a king's duty:

Amidst the great ones of the earth a fivefold power we see;
Of these the power of limbs is, sure, the last in its degree,
And power of wealth, O mighty lord, the next is said to be.

The power of counsel third in rank of these, O king, I name;
The power of caste without a doubt is reckoned fourth in fame,
And all of these a man that's wise most certainly will claim.
[121] Of all these powers that one is best, as power of learning known,
By strength of this a man is wise and makes success his own.
Should richest realm fall to the lot of some poor stupid wight,
Another will by violence seize it in his despite.
However noble be the prince, whose lot it is to rule,
He is hard put to live at all, if he should prove a fool.
’Tis wisdom tests reports of deeds and makes men's fame to grow,
Who is with wisdom gifted still finds pleasure e’en in woe.
None that are heedless in their ways to wisdom can attain,
But must consult the wise and just, or ignorant remain.
Who early rising shall betimes unweariedly give heed
To duty's varied calls, in life is certain to succeed.
No one that's bent on hurtful things or acts in listless mood
In aught that he may undertake will come to any good.
But one that will unweariedly a rightful course pursue,
Is sure to reach perfection in whatever he may do.
To safeguard one's store is to gain more and more,
And these are the things I would have thee to mind;
For the fool by ill deeds, like a house built of reeds,
Collapses and leaves rack and ruin behind.
[123] Thus did the Bodhisatta in all these points sing the praises of the five powers, and exalting the power of wisdom, like to one striking the orb of the moon with his words, he admonished the king in eleven stanzas:

Unto thy parents, warrior king, do righteously; and so
By following a righteous life to heaven thou, sire, shalt go 1.

[124] After uttering ten stanzas about the way of righteousness, still further admonishing the king he spoke the concluding stanza:

Herein is the text of thy duty, to teach thee the way thou shouldst go:
Follow wisdom and ever be happy, the Truth in its fulness to know.

Thus did the Great Being, as though he were letting down the heavenly Ganges, teach the Law with all the charm of a Buddha. And the multitude paid him great honour and raised innumerable shouts of applause. The king was delighted and addressing his councillors asked, [125] "How ought my son, wise Jambuka, with a beak like the fresh fruit of the rose-apple, to be rewarded for having spoken thus?" "With the post of commander-in-chief, Sire." "Then I offer him this post," he said, and appointed him to the vacant office, and thenceforth in the position of commander-in-chief he carried out the orders of his father. Great honour was paid to the three birds, and all three of them gave instruction in temporal and spiritual matters. The king, abiding in the admonition of the Great Being, by almsgiving and other good works became destined to heaven. The councillors after performing the king's obsequies, speaking to the birds said, "My lord, Jambu, the king ordered the royal umbrella to be raised over you." The Great Being said, "I have no need of the kingdom, do you exercise rule with all vigilance," and after establishing the people in the moral law, he said "Execute justice," and he had righteous judgment inscribed on a golden plate and disappeared in the forest. And his admonition continued in force forty thousand years.

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The Master by means of his admonition of the king taught this lesson and identified the Birth: "At that time the king was Ānanda, Kuṇḍalinī was Uppalavaṇṇā, Vessantara was Sāriputta, the bird Jambu was myself."

 

Om Tat Sat
                                                        
(Continued...) 

(My humble salutations to Sreeman Professor E B Cowell ji, H T Francis ji  and Robert Alexandri Neil for the collection)