THE JĀTAKA OR STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS (Book -4) -7

THE JĀTAKA

OR

STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS

BOOK XIV.—PAKIṆṆAKA-NIPĀTA.

No. 484.

SĀLIKEDĀRA-JĀTAKA.

[276] "The crop of rice," etc.—This was a story the Master told while dwelling at Jetavana, about a Brother who supported his mother. The occasion will be explained in the Sāma Birth 1. Then the Master sent for this Brother, and asked him, "Is what I hear true, Brother, that you support lay folks?" "It is true, Sir." "Who are they?" "My mother and father, Sir." Said the Master, "Well done, Brother! Wise men of old, even when embodied as the lower animals, having been born as parrots even, when their parents grew old laid them in a nest and fed them with food which they brought in their own beaks." So saying, he told a story of the past.

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Once upon a time, a king named King Magadha reigned in Rājagaha. At that time there stood a brahmin village, named Sālindiya, towards the north-east as you go out of the city. In this north-eastern district was property belonging to Magadha. There was a brahmin who lived in Sālindiya, whose name was Kosiyagotta 2, and he held an estate of one thousand acres 3, where he grew rice. When the crop was standing, he made a stout fence, and gave the land in charge to his own men, to one fifty acres, to another sixty, and so he distributed among them some five hundred acres of his estate. [277] The other five hundred he delivered to a hired man for a wage, and the man made a hut there and dwelt there day and night. Now to the north-east of this estate was a certain great wood of silk-cotton trees 4, growing upon the flat top of a hill, and in this wood lived a great number of parrots.

At that time the Bodhisatta was born among this flock of parrots, as the son of the king of the parrots. He grew up handsome and strong, big his body was as the nave of a cart-wheel. His father now grown old said to him, "I am able no longer to go far afield; do you take care of this flock," and committed the lordship of it to his son. From the next day onwards he refused to permit his parents to go foraging; but with the whole flock away he flew to the Himalaya hills, and after eating his fill of the clumps of rice that grew wild there, on his return brought food sufficient for his mother and father, and fed them with it.
One day the parrots asked him a question. "Formerly," they said, "the rice was ripe by this time on the Magadha farm; is it grown now or not?" "Go and see," he replied, and then sent two parrots to find out. The parrots departed, and alighted in the Magadha lands, in that part which was guarded by the hired man; rice they ate, and one head of rice they took back with them to their wood, and dropt it before the Great Being's feet, saying, "Such is the rice which grows there." He went next day to the farm, and alighted, with all his flock. The man ran this way and that, trying to drive off the birds, but drive them away he could not. The rest of the parrots ate, and departed with empty beaks; but the parrot king gathered together a quantity of rice, and brought it back to his parents. Next day the parrots ate the rice there again, and so afterwards. Then the man began to think, [278] "If these creatures go on eating for another few days, there will not be a bit left. The brahmin will have a price put on the rice, and fine me in the sum. I will go tell him." Taking a handful of rice, and a gift with it, he went to see the brahmin, and greeted him, and stood on one side. "Well, my good man," said the master, "is there a good crop of rice?" "Yes, brahmin, there is," he replied, and repeated two stanzas:

"The crop of rice is very nice, but I would have you know,
The parrots are devouring it, I cannot make them go.

"There is one bird, of all the herd the finest, who first feeds,
Then takes a bundle in his beak to meet his future needs."
When the brahmin heard this, he conceived an affection for the parrot king. "My man," quoth he, "do you know how to set a snare?" "Yes, I know." The master then addressed him in this stanza:

"Then set a snare of horse's hair that captured he may be;
And see thou take the bird alive and bring him here to me."

The farm watchman was much pleased that no price had been put upon the rice, and no debt spoken of. He went straight and made a snare of horsehair. Then he found out when they were like to descend that day; and spying out the place where the parrot king alighted, next day very early in the morning he made a cage about the size of a water-pot, and set

the snare, and sat down in his hut looking for the parrots to come. The parrot king came amidst all his flock; and he being by no means greedy, [279] came down in the same place as yesterday, with his foot right in the noose. When he found his foot fast he thought, "Now if I cry out the cry of the captured, my kinsfolk will be so terrified, they will fly away foodless. I must endure until they have finished their food." When at last he perceived that they had taken their fill, being in fear of his life, he thrice cried the cry of the captured. All the birds flew off. Then the king of the parrots said, "All these my kith and kin, and not one to look back at me! What sin have I done?" And upbraiding them he uttered a stanza:

"They ate, they drank, and now away they hasten every one,
I only caught within a snare: what evil have I done?"

The watchman heard the cry of the parrot king, and the sound of the other parrots flying through the air. "What is that?" thought he. Up he got from his hut, and went to the place of his snare, and there he saw the king of the parrots. "The very bird I set the snare for is caught!" he cried, in high delight. He took the parrot out of the snare, and tied both his feet together, and making his way to Sālindiya village, he delivered the bird to the brahmin. The brahmin in his strong affection for the Great Being, caught hold of him tight in both hands, and seating him on his hip, bespoke him in these two stanzas:

"The bellies of all others are outbellied far by you:
First a full meal, then off you fly with a good beak-full too

"Have you a granary there to fill? or do you hate me sore?
I ask it you, come tell me true—where do you put your store?
On hearing this, the parrot king answered, repeating in a human voice sweet as honey the seventh stanza:
[280]

"I hate thee not, O Kosiya! no granary I own;
Once in my wood I pay a debt, and also grant a loan,
And there I store a treasure up: so be my answer known."

Then the brahmin asked him:

"What is that loan the which you grant? what is the debt you pay?
Tell me the treasure you store up, and then fly free away."

To this request of the brahmin the parrot king made reply, explaining his intent in four stanzas:

"My callow chicks, my tender brood, whose wings are still ungrown,
Who shall support me by and bye: to them I grant the loan.

"Then my old ancient parents, who far from youth's bounds are set,
With that within my beak I bring, to them I pay my debt.
"And other birds of helpless wing, and weak full many more,
To these I give in charity: this sages call my store.
"This is that loan the which I grant, this is the debt I pay,
And this the treasure I store up: now I have said my say."

The brahmin was pleased when he heard this pious discourse from the Great Being; and he repeated two stanzas:

"What noble principles of life! how blessed is this bird!
From many men who live on earth such rules are never heard.

[281] "Eat, eat your fill whereas you will, with all your kindred too;
And, parrot! let us meet-again: I love the sight of you."
With these words, he looked upon the Great Being with a soft heart, as though it were his liefest son; and loosing the bonds from his feet, he rubbed them with oil an hundred times refined, and seated him on a seat of honour, and gave him to eat sweetened corn upon a golden dish, and gave him sugar-water to drink. After this the king of the parrots warned the brahmin to be careful, reciting this stanza:

"O Kosiya! within thy dwelling here
I had both food and drink and friendship dear.
Give thou to those whose burden is laid down,
Support thy parents when they old are grown."

The brahmin then delighted in heart uttered his ecstasy in this stanza:

"Surely Luck's goddess came herself to-day
    When I set eyes upon this peerless bird!
I will do kindly deeds and never stay,
    Now that the parrot's sweet voice I have heard."

But the Great Being refused to accept the thousand acres which the brahmin offered him, but took only eight acres. The brahmin set up boundary stones, and made over this property to him; and then, raising his hands to his head in reverence, he said, "Go in peace, my lord, and console your weeping parents," and then let him go. Much pleased, he took a head of rice, and carried it to his parents, and dropt it before them, saying, "Arise now, my dear parents!" They arose at his word, with blubbered faces. [282] Then flocks of parrots began together, asking," How did you get free, my lord?" He told them the whole story from beginning to end. And Kosiya followed 1 the advice of the king of the parrots, and distributed much alms to the righteous men, and ascetics, and brahmins.

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The last stanza was repeated by the Master explaining this:

"This Kosiya with joy and great delight
    Common and plentiful made drink and food:
With food and drink he satisfied aright
    Brahmins and holy men, himself all good."

When the Master had ended this discourse, he said, "Thus, Brethren, to support one's parents is the traditional way of the wise and good." Then, having declared the Truths, he identified the Birth:—(now at the conclusion of the Truths that Brother became established in the fruit of the First Path:)—"At that time the Buddha's followers were the flock of parrots, two of the king's family were the father and mother, Channa was the watchman, Ānanda the brahmin, and I was myself the king of the parrots."

Footnotes

175:1 No. 540; vol. vi. 68 of the Pali text.
175:2 One of the "Kausika (owl) or Viçvāmitra clan."
175:3 karīsa.
175:4 simbali: Bombax Heptaphyllum.
178:1 Reading katvā for datvā, which contradicts the context.

No. 485.

CANDA-KINNARA-JĀTAKA.

"’Tis passing away," etc. This is a story which the Master told, while dwelling in the banyan grove hard by Kapilapura about Rāhula's mother when she was in the palace.
This Birth must be told beginning from the Distant Epoch of the Buddha's existence 1. But the story of the Epochs, as far as the lion's roar of Kassapa 2 of Uruvelā, in Laṭṭhivana 3, the Bamboo Forest, has been told before in the Apaṇṇaka Birth 4. Beginning from that point you will read in the Vessantara Birth 5 the continuation of it as far as to the coming to Kapilavatthu. The Master, seated in his father's house, during the meal, recounted the Mahādhammapāla Birth 6; and after the meal was done he said,—"I will praise the noble qualities of Rāhula's mother in her own house, by telling the Canda-Kinnara Birth." Then handing his bowl to the king, with the two Chief Disciples he passed over to the house of Rāhula's mother. At that time there were forty thousand dancing girls who lived in her presence, and of them a thousand and ninety were maidens of the warrior caste. When the lady heard of the Tathāgata's coming she bade all these put on yellow robes, and they did so. [283] The Master came and took his seat in a place which was assigned him. Then all the women cried out with one voice, and there was a great sound of lamentation. Rāhula's mother having wept and so put away her grief, welcomed the Master, and sat down, with the deep reverence due to a king. Then the king began the tale of her goodness: "Listen to me, Sir; she heard that you wore yellow robes, and so she robed her in yellow; that garlands and such things are to be given up, and lo she has given up garlands and sits upon the ground. When you entered upon the religious life she became a widow; and refused the gifts that other kings sent her. So faithful is her heart to you." Thus he told of her goodness in many different ways. The Master said, "It is no marvel, great king! that now in my last existence the lady should love me, and should be of faithful heart and led by me alone. So also, even when born as an animal, she was faithful and mine alone." Then at the king's request he told a story of the past.

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Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was king in Benares the Great Being was born in the region of the Himalaya as a fairy 7. His wife was

named Candā 1. These two dwelt together on a silver mountain named Canda-pabbata, or the Mountain of the Moon. At that time the king of Benares had committed his government to his ministers, and all alone dressed in two yellow robes, and armed with the five weapons 2, he proceeded to the Himalayas.
Whilst eating his venison he remembered where was a little stream, and began to climb the hill. Now the fairies that live on the Mountain of the Moon in the rainy season remain on the mountain, and come down only in the hot weather. At that time this fairy Canda, with his mate, came down and wandered about, anointing himself with perfumes, eating the pollen of flowers, clothing himself in flower-gauze for inner and outer garments, swinging in the creepers to amuse himself, singing songs in a honey-voice. He too came to this stream; and at one halting-place he went down into it with his wife, scattering flowers about and playing in the water. Then they put on again their garments of flowers, and on a sandy spot white as a silver plate they spread a couch of flowers, and lay there. [284] Picking up a piece of bamboo, the male fairy began to play upon it, and sang with a honey-voice; while his mate waving her soft hands danced hard by and sang withal. The king caught the sound, and treading softly that his footsteps might not be heard, he approached, and stood watching the fairies in a secret place. He immediately fell in love with the female fairy. "I will shoot the husband," thought he, "and kill him, and I will live here with the wife." Then he shot the fairy Canda, who lamenting in his pain uttered four stanzas:

"’Tis passing away, methinks, and my blood is flowing, flowing,
I am losing my hold on life, O Candā! my breath is going!

"’Tis sinking, I am in pain, my heart is burning, burning:
But ’tis for thy sorrow, Candā, the heart within me is yearning.
"As grass, as a tree I perish, as a waterless river I dry:
But ’tis for thy sorrow, Candā, my heart within me is yearning.
"As rain on a lake at the mountain foot are the tears that fall from my eye:
But ’tis for thy sorrow, Canda, my heart within me is yearning."
Thus did the Great Being lament in four stanzas; and lying upon his couch of flowers, he lost consciousness, and turned away. The king stood where he was. But the other fairy did not know that the Great Being was wounded, not even when he uttered his lament, being intoxicated with her own delight. [285] Seeing him lie there turned away and lifeless, she began to wonder what could be the matter with her lord. As she examined him she saw the blood oozing from the mouth of the wound, and being unable to bear the great pain of sorrow for her beloved husband, she

cried out with a loud voice. "The fairy must be dead," thought the king, and he came out and showed himself. When Candā beheld him she thought, "This must be the brigand who has slain my dear husband!" and trembling she took to flight. Standing upon the hill-top she denounced the king in five stanzas:

"Yon evil prince—ah, woe is me!—my husband dear did wound,
Who there beneath a woodland tree now lies upon the ground.

"O prince! the woe that wrings my heart may thy own mother pay,
The woe that wrings my heart to see my fairy dead this day!
"Yea, prince! the woe that wrings my heart may thy own wife repay,
The woe that wrings my heart to see my fairy dead this day!
"And may thy mother mourn her lord, and may she mourn her son,
Who on my lord most innocent for lust this deed hast done.
"And may thy wife look on and see the loss of lord and son,
For thou upon my harmless lord for lust this deed hast done."
When she had thus made her moan in these five stanzas, standing upon the mountain top the king comforted her by another stanza:

"Weep not nor grieve: the woodland dark has blinded you, I ween:
A royal house shall honour thee, and thou shalt be my queen."

[286] "What is this word thou hast said?" cried Candā, when she heard it; and loud as a lion's roar she declaimed the next stanza:

"No! I will surely slay myself! thine I will never be,
Who slew my husband innocent and all for lust for me."

When he heard this his passion left him, and he recited another stanza:

"Live if thou wilt, O timid one! to Himalaya go:
Creatures that feed on shrub and tree 1 the woodland love, I know."

With these words he departed indifferent. Candā so soon as she knew him gone came up and, embracing the Great Being took him up to the hill-top, and laid him on the flat land there: placing his head on her lap, she made her moan in twelve stanzas:

"Here in the hills and mountain caves, in many a glen and grot,
What shall I do, O fairy mine! now that I see thee not?

"The wild beasts range, the leaves are spread on many a lovely spot:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now that I see thee not?
"The wild beasts range, sweet flowers are spread on many a lovely spot:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now that I see thee not?
[287] "Clear run the rivers down the hills, with flowers all overgrown:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now thou hast left me lone?
"Blue are the Himalaya hills, most fair they are to see:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now I behold not thee?

"Gold tips the Himalaya hills, most fair they are to see:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now I behold not thee?"

The Himalaya hills glow red, most fair they are to see:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now I behold not thee?
"Sharp are the Himalaya peaks, they are most fair to see:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now I behold not thee?
"White gleam the Himalaya peaks, they are most fair to see:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now I behold not thee?
"The Himalaya rainbow-hued, most fair it is to see:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now I behold not thee?
"Hill Fragrant 1 is to goblins dear; plants cover every spot
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now that I see thee not?
"The fairies love the Fragrant Hill, plants cover every spot:
What shall I do, O fairy mine, now that I see thee not?"
So did she make her moan; and putting the hand of the Great Being on her breast she felt that it still was warm. "Canda lives yet!" she thought: "I will taunt the gods 2 until I bring him to life again!" Then she cried aloud, taunting them, "Are there none who govern the world? [288] are they on a journey? or peradventure they are dead, and therefore save not my dear husband!" By the power of her pain Sakka's throne became hot. Pondering he perceived the cause; in the form of a brahmin he approached, and from a water-pot took water and sprinkled the Great Being with it. On the instant the poison ceased to act, his colour returned, he knew not so much as the place where the wound had been: the Great Being stood up quite well. Candā seeing her well-beloved husband to be whole, in joy fell at the feet of Sakka,, and sang his praise in the following stanza:

"Praise, holy brahmin! who didst give unto a hapless wife
Her well-loved husband, sprinkling him with the elixir of life!"

Sakka then gave this advice: "From this time forth go not down from the Mountain of the Moon among the paths of men, but abide here." Twice he repeated this, and then returned to his own place. And Candā said to her husband, "Why stay here in danger, my lord? come, let us go to the Mountain of the Moon," reciting the last stanza:

"To the mountain let us go,
Where the lovely rivers flow,
    Rivers all o’ergrown with flowers:
There for ever, while the breeze
Whispers in a thousand trees,
    Charm with talk the happy hours."

When the Master had ended this discourse, he said: "Not now only, but long ago as now, she was devoted and faithful of heart to me." Then he identified the Birth: "At that time Anuruddha was the king, Rāhula's mother was Candā, and I myself was the fairy."

Footnotes

179:1 The existence of the Buddha is divided into three periods: the Distant Epoch (dūrenidānaṁ), the Middle (avidūre°) and the Near (santike°). The Distant Epoch extends "from the time when he fell at the feet of Dīpaṅkara to his birth in the city of the Tusita gods" (Jat. i. p. 47, Pali text): the Middle Epoch from that time until he obtained Buddhahood (Jat. i. 76); the Near Epoch, until his death.—See Rhys David's Buddhist Birth Stories, pp. 2, 58; Warren, Buddhism in Translations, pp. 38, 82.
179:2 One of three brahmin brothers living at Uruvelā, converted by the Buddha.
179:3 Near Rājagaha: Jat. i. 84 (Pali).
179:4 No. 1. The Nidāna-Kathā is the Introduction to this Collection, not translated in this edition, but translated in Rhys David's Buddhist Birth Stories.
179:5 No. 547, vol. vi. p. 479.
179:6 No. 447, vol. iv. p. 50, Pali (p. 32 above).
179:7 Kinnara.
180:1 Cando m. means the Moon. The tale seems to contain a nature myth.
180:2 Sword, spear, bow, battle-axe, shield.
181:1 Two are named, Corypha Taliera and Tabernaemontana Coronaria.
182:1 Gandha-mādana.
182:2 Ujjhānakammaṁ katvā, i.e. by "provoking" Sakka to help. The reader will be struck with the resemblance of Elijah's taunts, 1 Kings xviii. 27: "Cry aloud, for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth and must be awaked."

No. 486.

MAHĀ-UKKUSA-JĀTAKA.

"The country churls," etc.—This story the Master told while dwelling at Jetavana, about Mitta-gandhaka, a lay Brother. [289] This man, they say, the offspring of a decayed family at Sāvatthi, sent a companion to offer marriage to a young gentlewoman. The question was asked, "Has he friend or comrade who can dispose of any matter that needs looking to?" Reply was made, "No, there was none." "Then he must make some friends first," they said to him. The man followed this advice, and struck up a friendship with the four gatekeepers. After this he made friends by degrees with the town warders, the astrologers, the nobles of the court, even with the commander-in-chief and the viceroy; and by association with them he became the king's friend, and after that a friend of the eighty chief Elders, and through Elder Ānanda, with the Tathāgata himself. Then the Master established his family in the Refuges and the Virtues, the king gave him high place, and he was known as Mitta-gandhaka, the "man of many friends 1." The king bestowed a great house upon him, and caused his nuptial feast to be celebrated, and a world of people from the king downwards sent him gifts. Then his wife received a present sent by the king, and the viceroy's present sent by the viceroy, and the present of the commander-in-chief, and so forth, having all the people of the city bound to her. On the seventh day, with great ceremony the Dasabala was invited by the newly married pair, great gifts were bestowed on the Buddha and his company to the number of five hundred; at the end of the feast they received the Master's thanks and were both established in the fruit of the First Path.
In the Hall of Truth all were talking about it. "Brethren, the layman Mitta-gandhaka followed his wife's advice, and by her means became a friend to every one, and received great honour at the king's hand; and having become friends with the Master both husband and wife were established in the fruit of the First Path." The Master entering asked what they talked of. They told him. He said, "This is not the first time, Brethren, that this man has received great honour by reason of this woman. In days long gone by, when he was an animal, by her advice he made many friends, and was set free from anxiety on a son's behalf." So saying he told a story of the past.

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Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, certain men of the marches used to make a settlement, wheresoever they could best find their food, dwelling in the forest, and killing for meat for themselves and their families the game which abounded there. [290] Not far from their village was a large natural lake, and upon its southward shore lived a Hawk, on the west a she-hawk; on the north a Lion, king of the beasts; on the east an Osprey, king of the birds; in the middle dwelt a Tortoise on. a small island. The Hawk asked the she-hawk to become his wife. She asked him, "Have you any friend?" "No, madam," he replied. "We must have some one who can defend us against any danger or trouble that may arise, and you must find some friends." "Whom shall
  I make friends with?" "Why, with king Osprey who lives on the eastern shore, and with the Lion on the north, and with the Tortoise who dwells in the middle of this lake." He took her advice and did so. Then the two lived together (it should be said that on a little islet in the same lake grew a kadamba tree, surrounded by the water on all sides) in a nest which they made.
Afterwards there were given to them two sons. One day, while the wings of the younglings were yet callow, some of the country folk went foraging through the woods all day and found nothing. Not wishing to return home empty-handed, they went down to the lake to catch a fish or a tortoise. They got on the island, and lay down beneath the kadamba tree; and there being tormented by the bites of gnats and mosquitoes, to drive these away, they kindled a fire by rubbing sticks together, and made a smoke. The smoke rising annoyed the birds, and the young ones uttered a cry. "’Tis the cry of birds!" said the country folk. "Up, make up the fire: we cannot lie here hungry, but before we lie down we will have a meal of fowls' flesh." They made the fire blaze, and built it up. But the mother bird hearing the sound, thought, "These men wish to eat our young ones. We made friends to save us from that danger. I will send my mate to the great Osprey." [291] Then she said, "Go, my husband, tell the Osprey of the danger which threatens our young," repeating this stanza:

"The country churls build fires upon the isle,
To eat my young ones in a little while:
O Hawk! to friend and comrade give the word,
My children's danger tell to every bird!"

The cock-bird flew at all speed to the place, and gave a cry to announce his arrival. Leave given, he came near to the Osprey, and made his greeting. "Why have you come?" asked the Osprey. Then the cock repeated the second stanza:

"O wingèd fowl! chiefest of birds art thou:
So, Osprey king, I seek thy shelter now.
Some country-folk a-hunting now are fain
To eat my young: be thou my joy again!"

"Fear not," said the Osprey to the Hawk, and consoling him he repeated the third stanza:

"In season, out of season, wise men make
Both friends and comrades for protection's sake:
For thee, O Hawk! I will perform this deed;
The good must help each other at their need."

[292] Then he went on to ask, "Have the churls climbed up the tree, my friend?" "They are not climbing yet; they are just piling wood on the fire." "Then you had better go quickly and comfort my

friend your mate, and say I am coming." He did so. The Osprey went also, and from a place near to the kadamba tree he watched for the men to climb, sitting upon a tree-top. Just as one of the boors who was climbing the tree had come near to the nest, the Osprey dived into the lake, and from wings and beak sprinkled water over the burning brands, so that they were put out. Down came the men, and made another fire to cook the bird and its young; when they climbed again, once more the Osprey demolished the fire. So whenever a fire was made, the bird put it out, and midnight came. The bird was much distressed: the skin under his stomach had become quite thin, his eyes were blood-shot. Seeing him, the hen-bird said to her mate, "My lord, the Osprey is tired out; go and tell the Tortoise, that he may have a rest." When he heard this, the bird approaching the Osprey, addressed him in a stanza:

"Good help the good: the necessary deed
Thou hast in pity done for us at need.
Our young are safe, thou living: have a care
Of thy own self, nor all thy strength outwear."

On hearing these words, loud as a lion's roar he repeated the fifth stanza:

"While I am keeping guard about this tree,
I care not if I lose my life for thee:
So use the good: thus friend will do for friend:
Yea, even if he perish at the end."

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[293] But the sixth stanza was repeated by the Master, in his Perfect Wisdom, as he praised the bird's goodness:

"The egg-born bird that flies the air did a most painful work,
The Osprey, guarding well the chicks before the midnight murk."

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Then the Hawk said, "Rest awhile, friend Osprey," and then away to the Tortoise, whom he aroused. "What is your errand, friend?" asked the Tortoise.—"Such and such a danger has come upon us, and the royal Osprey has been labouring hard ever since the first watch, and is very weary; that is why I have come to you." With these words he repeated the seventh stanza:

"Even they who fall through sin or evil deed
May rise again if they get help in need.
My young in danger, straight I fly to thee:
O dweller in the lake, come, succour me!"

On hearing this the Tortoise repeated another stanza:

"The good man to a man who is his friend,
Both food and goods, even life itself, will lend.
For thee, O Hawk! I will perform this deed:
The good must help each other at their need."

His son, who lay not far off, hearing the words of his father thought, "I would not have my father troubled, but I will do my father's part," and therefore he repeated the ninth stanza:

"Here at thy ease remain, O father mine,
And I thy son will do this task of thine.
[294] A son should serve a father, so ’tis best;
I'll save the Hawk his young ones in the nest."

The father Tortoise addressed his son in a stanza:

"So do the good, my son, and it is true
That son for father service ought to do.
Yet they may leave the Hawk's young brood alone,
Perchance, if they see me so fully grown."

With these words the Tortoise sent the Hawk away, adding, "Fear not, my friend, but go you before and I will come presently after." He dived into the water, collected some mud, and went to the island, quenched the flame, and lay still. Then the countrymen cried, "Why should we trouble about the young hawks? Let us roll over this cursed 1 Tortoise, and kill him! He will be enough for all." So they plucked some creepers and got some strings, but when they had made them fast in this place or that, and torn their clothes to strips for the purpose, they could not roll the Tortoise over. The Tortoise lugged them along with him and plunged in deep water. The men were so eager to get him that in they fell after: splashed about, and scrambled out with a belly-full of water. "Just look," said they: "half the night one Osprey kept putting out our fire, and now this Tortoise has made us fall into the water, and swallow it, to our great discomfort. Well, we will light another fire, and at sunrise we will eat those young hawks." Then they began to make a fire. The hen-bird heard the noise they were making, and said, "My husband, sooner or later these men will devour our young and depart: you go and tell our friend the Lion." [295] At once he went to the Lion, who asked him why he came at such an unseasonable hour. The bird told him all from the beginning, and repeated the eleventh stanza:

"Mightiest of all the beasts, both beasts and men
    Fly to the strongest when beset with fear.
My young ones are in danger; help me then:
    Thou art our king, and therefore I am here."

This said, the Lion repeated a stanza:
"Yes, I will do this service, Hawk, for thee:
    Come, let us go and slay this gang of foes!
    Surely the prudent, he who wisdom knows,
Protector of a friend must try to be."
Having thus spoken, he dismissed him, saying, "Now go, and comfort your young ones." Then he went forward, churning up the crystal water.
  When the churls perceived him approaching, they were frightened to death: "The Osprey," they cried, "put out our fire-brands; the Tortoise made us lose the clothes we had on: but now we are done for. This Lion will destroy us at once." They ran this way and that: when the Lion came to the foot of the tree, nothing could he see. [296] Then the Osprey, the Hawk, and the Tortoise came up, and accosted him. He told them the profitableness of friendship, and said, "From this time forth be careful never to break the bonds of friendship." With this advice he departed: and they also went each to his own place. The hen-hawk looking upon her young, thought—"Ah, through friends have my young been given back to me!" and as she rejoiced, she spoke to her mate, and recited six stanzas declaring the effect of friendship:

"Get friends, a houseful of them without fail,
    Get a great friend: a blessing he'll be found 1:
Vain strike the arrows on a coat of mail.
    And we rejoice, our younglings safe and sound.

"By their own comrade's help, the friend who stayed to take their part,
One chirps, the fledglings chirp reply, with notes that charm the heart.
"The wise asks help at friend's or comrade's hand,
    Lives happy with his goods and brood of kind:
So I, my mate, and young, together stand,
    Because our friend to pity was inclined.
"A man needs king and warriors for protection:
And these are his whose friendship is perfection:
Thou cravest happiness: he is famed and strong;
He surely prospers to whom friends belong.
"Even by the poor and weak, O Hawk, good friends must needs be found:
See now by kindness we and ours each one are safe and sound.
"The bird who wins a hero strong to play a friendly part,
As thou and I are happy, Hawk, is happy in his heart."
[297] So she declared the quality of friendship in six stanzas. And all this company of friends lived all their lives long without breaking the bond of friendship, and then passed away according to their deeds.

---

The Master, having ended this discourse, said, "This is not the first time, Brethren, that he won to bliss by his wife's means; it was the same before." With these words, he identified the Birth: "At that time the married pair were the pair of Hawks, Rāhula was the young Tortoise, Moggallāna was the old Tortoise, Sāriputta the Osprey, and I was myself the Lion.

Footnotes

183:1 Literally "binder of friends."
186:1 Reading kāla-.
187:1 Reading sukhāgamāya.

No. 487.

UDDĀLAKA-JĀTAKA. 1

"With uncleansed teeth," etc.—This story the Master told, while dwelling in Jetavana, about a dishonest man. This man, even though dedicate to the faith that leads to salvation, notwithstanding to gain life's necessaries fulfilled the threefold practice of knavery. The Brethren brought to light all the evil parts in the man as they conversed together in the Hall of Truth: "Such a one, Brethren, after he had dedicated himself to this great faith of Buddha which leads to salvation, yet lives in deceit!" The Master came in, and would know what they talked of there. They told him. Said he, "This is not now the first time; he was deceitful before," and so saying he told a story of the past.

---

[293] Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king in Benares, the Bodhisatta was chaplain, and a wise, learned man was he. On a certain day, he went into his park to disport him, and seeing a beauteous light-skirts fell in love with her, and took up his abode with her. He got her with child, and when she perceived it she said to him: "Sir, I am with child; when he is born, and I am to name him, I will give him his grandfather's name." But he thought, "It can never be that the name of a noble family should be given to a slave-girl's bastard." Then he said to her, "My dear, this tree here is called Uddāla 2, and you may name the child Uddālaka because he was conceived here." Then he gave her a seal-ring, and said, "If it be a girl use this to help bring her up; but if a boy, bring him to me when he grows up."
In due time she brought forth a son, and named him Uddālaka. When he grew up, he asked his mother, "Mother, who is my father?"—"The chaplain, my boy."—"If that is so, I will learn the holy books." So receiving the ring from his mother, and a teacher's fee, he journeyed to Takkasilā and learnt there of a world-renowned teacher. In the course of his studies he saw a company of ascetics. "These must surely have the perfect knowledge," thought he, "I will learn of them." Accordingly he renounced the world, so eager he was for knowledge, and did menial service for them, begging them in return to teach him their own wisdom. So they taught him all they knew; but among the whole five hundred of them not one there was outdid him in knowledge, he was the wisest of them all. Then they gathered together and appointed him to be their teacher. He

said to them, "Venerable sirs, you always live in the woodland eating of fruits and roots; why do you not go in the paths of men?" "Sir," they said, "men are willing to give us gifts, but they make us show gratitude by declaring the law, they ask us questions: for fear of this we go not ever among them." He answered, "Sirs, if you have me, let a universal monarch ask questions, leave me to settle them, and fear nothing." So he went on pilgrimage with them, seeking alms, and at last came to Benares, [299] and stayed in the king's park. Next day, in company with them all, he sought alms in a village before the city gate. The folk gave them alms in plenty. On the day following the ascetics traversed the city, the folk gave them alms in plenty. The ascetic Uddālaka gave thanks, and blest them, and answered questions. The people were edified, and gave all they had need of in great abundance. The whole city buzzed with the news, "A wise teacher is come, a holy ascetic," and the king got wind of it." Where do they live?" asked the king. They told him, "In the park." "Good," quoth he, "this day I will go and see them." A man went and told it to Uddālaka, saying, "The king is to come and see you to-day." He called the company together, and said, "Sirs, the king is coming: win favour in the eyes of the great for one day, it is enough for a lifetime." "What must we do, teacher?" they asked. Then he said, "Some of you must be at the swinging penance 1, some squat on the ground 2, some lie upon beds of spikes, some practise the penance of the five fires 3, others go down into the water, others again recite holy verses in this place or that." They did as he bade. Himself with wise men eight or ten sat upon a prepared seat with a head-rest disputing, a fair volume beside him laid upon a beautiful standish, and listeners all around. At that moment the king with his chaplain and a great company came into the park, and when he saw them all deep in their sham austerities, he was pleased and thought, "They are free from all fear of evil states hereafter." Approaching Uddālaka, he greeted him graciously and sat down on one side; then in the delight of his heart began speaking to the chaplain, and recited the first stanza 4:

"With uncleansed teeth, and goatskin garb and hair
All matted, muttering holy words in peace:
Surely no human means to good they spare,
Surely they know the Truth, have won Release."

[300] Hearing this, the chaplain replied, "The king is pleased where he should not be pleased, and I must not be silent." Then he repeated the second stanza:

"A learned sage may do ill deeds, O king:
    A learned sage may fail to follow right.
A thousand Vedas will not safety bring,
    Failing just works, or save from evil plight."

Uddālaka, when he heard these words thought to himself, "The king was pleased with the ascetics, be they what you will; but this man comes a clap over the snout of the ox when he goes too fast, drops dirt in the dish all ready to eat: I must talk to him." So he addressed to him the third stanza:

"A thousand Vedas will not safety bring
    Failing just works, or save from evil plight:
The Vedas then, must be a useless thing:
    True doctrine is—control yourself, do right."

[301] At this the chaplain recited the fourth stanza:

"Not so: the Vedas are no useless thing:
    Though works with self-control, true doctrine is.
To study well the Vedas fame will bring,
    But by right conduct we attain to bliss."

Now thought Uddālaka, "It will never do to be on ill terms with this man. If I tell him I am his son, he needs must love me; I will tell him I am his son." Then he recited the fifth stanza:

"Parents and kinsmen claim one's care;
A second self our parents are:
I'm Uddālaka, a shoot,
Noble brahmin, from thy root."

"Are you indeed Uddālaka?" he asked. "Yes," said the other. Then he said, "I gave your mother a token, where is it?" He said, "Here it is, brahmin," and handed him the ring. The brahmin knew the ring again, and said, "Without doubt you are a brahmin; but do you know the duties of a brahmin?" He enquired concerning these duties in the words of the sixth stanza:
[302]

"What makes the brahmin? how can he be perfect? tell me this:
What is a righteous man, and how wins he Nirvana's bliss?"

Uddālaka explained it in the seventh stanza:

"The world renounced, with fire, he worship pays,
    Pours water, lifts the sacrificial pole:
As one who does his duty men him praise,
    And such a brahmin wins him peace of soul."

The chaplain listened to his account of the brahmin's duties, but found fault with it, reciting the eighth stanza as follows:

"Not sprinkling makes the brahmin pure, perfection is not this,
Nor peace nor kindness thus he wins nor yet Nirvana's bliss."

Hereupon Uddālaka asked, "If this does not make the brahmin, then what does?" reciting the ninth stanza:

"What makes the brahmin? how can he be perfect? tell me this:
What is a righteous man? and how wins he Nirvana's bliss?"

[303] The chaplain answered by reciting another stanza:

"He has no field, no goods, no wish, no kin,
    Careless of life, no lusts, no evil ways:
Even such a brahmin peace of soul shall win,
    So as one true to duty men him praise."

After this Uddālaka recited a stanza:

"Khattiya, Brahmin, Vessa, Sudda, and Caṇḍāla, Pukkusa 1,
All these can be compassionate, can win Nirvana's bliss:
Who among all the saints is there who worse or better is?"

Then the brahmin recited a stanza, to show that there is no higher or lower from the moment sainthood is won:

"Khattiya, Brahmin, Vessa, Sudda, and Caṇḍāla, Pukkusa,
All these can be compassionate, can win Nirvana's bliss:
None among all the saints is found who worse or better is."

But Uddālaka found fault with this, reciting a couple of stanzas:

"Khattiya, Brahmin, Vessa, Sudda, and Caṇḍāla, Pukkusa,
All these can virtuous be, and all attain Nirvana's bliss:
None among all the saints is found who worse or better is.
You are a brahmin, then, for nought: vain is your rank, I wis."

[304] Here the chaplain recited two stanzas more, with a similitude:

"With canvas dyed in many a tint pavilions may be made:
The roof, a many-coloured dome: one colour is the shade.

"Even so, when men are purified, so is it here on earth:
The good perceive that they are saints, and never ask their birth."
Now Uddālaka could not say nay to this, and so he sat silent. Then the brahmin said to the king, "All these are knaves, O king, all India will come to ruin through knavery. Persuade Uddālaka to renounce his asceticism, and to be chaplain under me; let the rest leave their asceticism, give them shield and spear and make them your men." The king consented, and did so, and they all entered the service of the king.

---

When the Master had ended this discourse, he said, "This is not the first time, Brethren, that the man was a knave." Then he identified the Birth: "At that time the dishonest Brother was Uddālaka, Ānanda was the king, and I was the chaplain."

Footnotes

188:1 Translated and discussed in Fick, Sociale Gliederung zu Buddhas Zeit, p. 13 foll. Compare No. 377 (iii. 153 of this translation).
188:2 Cassia Fistula.
189:1 See Journ. P. T. S. 1884, p. 95. Fick translates "sollen sich wie Fledermäuse benehmen," and compares the "hen-saint" and "cow saint," Oldenberg's Buddha, p. 68.
189:2 As though they had remained so for years, after the manner of some modern fakeers.
189:3 One to each point of the compass, and the sun above.
189:4 The first four stanzas are repeated from iii. 236-7, in this translation iii. 155.
191:1 Compare above, p. 127, and note the order of the first two. Cf. iii. 194.

No. 488.

BHISA-JĀTAKA.

"May horse and kine," etc. This story the Master told whilst dwelling in Jetavana, about a backsliding Brother. The circumstances will appear under the Kusa Birth 1. [305] Here again the Master asked—"Is it true, Brother, that you have backslidden?" "Yes, Sir, it is true." "For what cause?" "For sin's sake, Sir." "Brother why do you backslide, after embracing such a faith as this which leads to salvation; and all for sin's sake? In days of yore, before the Buddha arose, wise men who took to the religious life, even they who were outside the pale, made an oath, and renounced a suggested idea connected with temptations or desires!" So saying, he told a story of the past.

---

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as the son of a great brahmin magnifico who owned a fortune of eighty crores of money. The name they gave him was my lord Mahā-Kañcana, the Greater Lord of Gold. At the time when he could but just go upon his feet, another son was born to the brahmin, and they called him my lord Upa-Kañcana, the Lesser Lord of Gold. Thus in succession seven sons came, and youngest of all came a daughter, whom they named Kañcana-devī, the Lady of Gold.
Mahā-Kañcana, when he grew up, studied at Takkasilā all the arts and sciences, and returned home. Then his parents desired to establish him in a household of his own. "We will fetch you," said they, "a girl from a family to be a fit match for you, and then you shall have your own household." But he said, "Mother and father, I want no household. To me the three kinds of existence 2 are terrible as fires, beset with chains like a prison-house, loathsome as a dunghill. Never have I known of the deed of kind, not so much as in a dream. You have other sons, bid them be heads of families and leave me alone." Though they begged him again and again, sent his friends to him and besought him by their lips, yet he would none of it. Then his friends asked him, "What do you wish, my good friend, that you care nothing for the enjoying of love and desire?" He told them how he had renounced all the world. When the parents understood this, they made the like proposal to the other sons, but none of them would hear of it; nor yet again did the Lady Kañcanā. By and bye the parents died. The wise Mahā-Kañcana did the obsequies for his parents; with the treasure of eighty crores he distributed

alms munificently to beggars and wayfaring men; then taking with him his six brothers, his sister, a servant man and handmaiden, and one companion, [306] he made the great retirement and retired into the region of Himalaya. There in a delightsome spot near a lotus-lake they built them an hermitage, and lived a holy life eating of the fruits and roots of the forest. When they went into the forest, they went one by one, and if ever one of them saw a fruit or a leaf he would call the rest: there telling all they had seen and heard, they picked up what there was—it seemed like a village market. But the teacher, the ascetic Mahā-Kañcana, thought to himself: "We have cast aside a fortune of eighty crores and taken up the religious life, and to go about greedily seeking for wild fruits is not seemly. From henceforth I will bring the wild fruits by myself." Returning then to the hermitage, in the evening he gathered all together and told them his thought. "You remain here," said he, "and practise the life of the recluse, I will fetch fruit for you." Thereat Upa-Kañcana and all the rest broke in, "We have become religious under your wing, it is you should stay behind and practise the life of the recluse. Let our sister remain here also, and the maid be with her: we eight will take turns to fetch the fruit, but you three shall be free from taking a turn." He agreed. Thenceforward these eight took a turn to bring in fruit one at a time: the others each received his share of the find, and carried it off to his dwelling-place and remained in his own leaf-hut. Thus they could not be together without cause or reason. He whose turn it was would bring in the provender (there was one enclosure), and laying it on a flat stone would make eleven portions of it; then making the gong sound he would take his own portion and depart to his place of dwelling; the others coming up at the gong-sound, without hustling, but with all due ceremony and order, would take each his allotted portion of the find, then returning to his own place there would eat it, and resume his meditation and religious austerity. After a time they gathered lotus fibres and ate them, and there they abode, mortifying themselves with scorching heat and other kind of torments, their senses all dead, striving to induce the ecstatic trance.
By the glory of their virtue Sakka's throne trembled. "Are these released from desire only," said he, "or are they sages? [307] Are they sages? I will find out now." So by his supernatural power for three days he caused the Great Being's share to disappear. On the first day, seeing no share for him, he thought, "My share must have been forgotten." On the second day," There must be some fault in me: 1 he has not provided my share in the way of due respect." On the third, "Why can it be they provide no share for me? If there be fault in me I will make my peace." So at evening he sounded upon

the gong. They all came together, and asked who had sounded the gong. "I did, my brothers." "Why, good master?" "My brothers, who brought in the food three days ago?" One uprose, and said, "I did," standing in all respect. "When you made the division did you set apart a share for me?" "Why yes, master, the share of the eldest." "And who brought food yesterday?" Another rose, and said, "I did," then stood respectfully waiting. "Did you remember me?" "I put by for you the share of the eldest." "To-day who brought the food?" Another arose, and stood respectfully waiting. "Did you remember me in making the division?" "I set aside the share of the eldest for you." Then he said, "Brothers, this is the third day I have had no share. The first day when I saw none, I thought, Doubtless he that made the division has forgotten my share. The second day, I thought there must be some fault in me. But to-day I made up my mind, that if fault there were, I would make my peace, and therefore I summoned you by the sound of this gong. You tell me you have put aside for me these portions of the lotus fibres: I have had none of them. I must find out who has stolen and eaten these. When one has forsaken the world and all the lusts thereof, theft is unseemly, be it no more than a lotus-stalk." When they heard these words, they cried out, [308] "Oh what a cruel deed!" and they were all much agitated.
Now the deity which dwelt in a tree by that hermitage, the chiefest tree of the forest, came out and sat down in their midst. There was likewise an elephant, which had been unable under his training to be impassible, and brake the stake he was bound to, and escaped into the woods: from time to time he used to come and salute the band of sages, and now he came also and stood on one side. A monkey also there was, that had been used to make sport with serpents, and had escaped out of the snake-charmer's hands into the forest: he dwelt in that hermitage, and that day he also greeted the band of ascetics, and stood on one side. Sakka, resolved to test the ascetics, was there also in a shape invisible beside them. At that moment the Bodhisatta's younger brother, the recluse Upa-Kañcana, arose from his seat, and saluting the Buddha, with a bow to the rest of the company, said as follows: "Master, setting aside the rest, may I clear myself from this charge?" "You may, brother." He, standing in the midst of the sages, said, "If I ate those fibres of yours, such and such am I," making a solemn oath in the words of the first stanza:

"May horse and kine be his, may silver, gold,
A loving wife, these may he precious hold,
May he have sons and daughters manifold,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away 1."

On this the ascetics put their hands over their ears, crying, "No, no, sir, that oath is very heavy!" And the Bodhisatta also said, "Brother, your oath is very heavy: you did not eat the food, sit down on your pallet." He having thus made his oath and sat down, up rose the second brother, and saluting the Great Being, recited the second stanza to clear himself:
[309]

"May he have sons and raiment at his will,
Garlands and sandal sweet his hands may fill,
His heart be fierce with lust and longing still,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away."

When he sat down, the others each in his turn uttered his own stanza to express his feeling:

"May he have plenty, win both fame and land,
Sons, houses, treasures, all at his command,
The passing years may he not understand,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away."

"As mighty warrior chief may he be known,
As king of kings set on a glorious throne,
The earth and its four corners all his own,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away."
"Be he a brahmin, passion unsubdued,
With faith in stars and lucky days imbued,
Honoured with mighty monarchs' gratitude,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away."
"A student in the Vedic lore deep-read,
Let all men reverence his holihead,
And of the people be he worshipped,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away."
"By Indra's 1 gift a village may he hold,
Rich, choice, possest of all the goods fourfold 2,
And may he die with passions uncontrolled,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away."
[310] "A village chief, his comrades all around,
His joy in dances and sweet music's sound;
May the king's favour unto him abound:
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away 3."
"May she be fairest of all womankind,
May the high monarch of the whole world find
Her chief among ten thousand to his mind,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away 4."
"When all the serving handmaidens do meet,
May she all unabashed sit in her seat,
Proud of her gains, and may her food be sweet.
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away 5."

"The great Kajañgal cloister be his care,
And may he set the ruins in repair,
And every day make a new window there,
Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away 1."

"Fast in six hundred bonds may he be caught,
From the dear forest to a city brought,
Smitten with goads and guiding-pikes, distraught,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away 2."
"Garland on neck, tin earring in each ear,
Bound, let him walk the highway, much in fear,
And schooled with sticks to serpent kind 3 draw near,
    Brahmin, who stole thy share of food away."
[312] When oath had been taken in these thirteen stanzas, the Great Being thought, "Perhaps they imagine I am lying myself, and saying that the food was not there when it was." So he made oath on his part in the fourteenth stanza:

"Who swears the food was gone, if it was not,
    Let him enjoy desire and its effect,
May worldly death be at the last his lot.
    The same for you, sirs, if you now suspect."

When the sages had made their oath thus, Sakka thought to himself, "Fear nothing; I made these lotus fibres disappear in order to test these men, and they all make oath, loathing the deed as if it were a snot of spittle. Now I will ask them why they loathe lust and desire." This question he put by questioning the Bodhisatta in the next stanza, after having assumed a visible form:

"What in the world men go a-seeking here
That thing to many lovely is and dear,
Longed-for, delightful in this life: why, then,
Have saints no praise for things desired of men?"

By way of answer to this question, the Great Being recited two stanzas:

"Desires are deadly blows and chains to bind,
In these both misery and fear we find:
When tempted by desires imperial kings 4
Infatuate do vile and sinful things.

"These sinners bring forth sin, to hell they go
    At dissolution of this mortal frame.
[313] Because the misery of lust they know 5
    Therefore saints praise not lust, but only blame."

When Sakka had heard the Great Being's explanation, much moved in heart he repeated the following stanza:

"Myself to test these sages stole away
That food, which by the lake-side I did lay.
Sages they are indeed and pure and good.
O man of holy life, behold thy food!"

Hearing which the Bodhisatta recited a stanza:

"We are no tumblers, to make sport for thee,
No kinsmen nor no friends of thine are we.
Then why, O king divine, O thousand-eyed,
Thinkst thou the sages must thy sport provide?"

And Sakka recited the twentieth stanza, making his peace with him:

"Thou art my teacher, and my father thou,
From my offence let this protect me now.
Forgive me my one error, O wise sage!
They who are wise are never fierce in rage."

[314] Then the Great Being forgave Sakka, king of the gods, and on his own part to reconcile him with the company of sages recited another stanza:

"Happy for holy men one night has been,
When the Lord Vāsava by us was seen.
And, sirs, be happy all in heart to see
The food once stolen now restored to me."

Sakka saluted the company of sages, and returned to the world of gods. And they caused the mystic trance and the transcendent faculties to spring up within them, and became destined for Brahma's world.

---

When the Master had ended this discourse, he said, "Thus, Brethren, wise men of old made an oath and renounced sin." This said, he declared the Truths. At the conclusion of the Truths, the backsliding brother was established in the fruit of the First Path. Identifying the Birth, he recited three stanzas:

"Sāriputta, Moggallāna, Puṇṇa, Kassapa, and I,
Anuruddha and Ānanda then the seven brothers were.

"Uppalavaṇṇā was the sister, and Khujjuttarā the maid,
Sātāgira was the spirit, Citta householder the slave,
"The elephant was Pārileyya, Madhuvāseṭṭha was the ape,
Kāḷudāyi then was Sakka. Now you understand the Birth."

Footnotes

192:1 No. 531: vol. v. p. 279 (Pali).
192:2 Of sense, of body, without body or form (in the kāma-, rūpa-, arūpa-loka).
193:1 Or "it is to remind me respectfully of this that he provides no share for me."
194:1 The meaning is, that a man whose heart is set on these things feels pain to part with them, and is hence unfit to die from a Buddhist point of view. The verse is therefore a curse.
195:1 Vāsava.
195:2 The scholiast explains this as: populous, rich in grain, in wood, in water. This verse is said by the friendly ascetic.
195:3 Spoken by the slave man.
195:4 Spoken by Kañcanā.
195:5 Spoken by the slave girl.
196:1 Spoken by the tree-spirit. Kajañgala, the scholiast informs us, was a town where materials were hard to be got. There in Buddha Kassapa's time a god had a hard job of it repairing the ruins of an old monastery.
196:2 Spoken by the elephant.
196:3 The monkey says this: his task was to play with a snake. See above.
196:4 Lords of Beings, "an allusion to Sakka" (schol.).
196:5 Sutta Nipāta, 50.

No. 489.

SURUCI-JĀTAKA.

"I am," etc. This story the Master told while dwelling hard by Sāvatthi in the mansion of Migāra's mother 1, how she, Visākhā the great lay Sister, received Eight Boons. One day she had heard the Law preached in Jetavana, and returned home after inviting the Buddha with his followers for the next day. But late in that night a mighty tempest deluged the four continents of the world. [315] The Blessed One addressed the Brethren as follows. "As the rain falls in Jetavana, so, Brethren, falls the rain in the four continents of the world. Let yourselves be drenched to the skin: this is my last great world-storm!" So with the Brethren, whose bodies were already drenched, by his supernatural power he disappeared from Jetavana, and appeared in a room of Visākhā's mansion. She cried, "A marvel indeed! a thing mysterious! O the miracle done by the power of the Tathāgata! With floods running knee deep, aye, with floods running waist-deep, not so much as the foot or the robe of a single Brother will be wet!" In joy and delight she waited upon the Buddha and all his company. After the meal was done, she said to the Buddha, "Verily I crave boons at the hands of the Blessed One." "Visākhā, the Tathāgatas have boons beyond measure 2." "But such as are permitted, such as are blameless?" "Speak on, Visākhā." "I crave that all my life long I may have the right to give to the Brethren clokes for the rainy season, food to all that come as guests, food to travelling priests, food to the sick, food to those who wait on the sick, medicine to the sick, a continual distribution of rice gruel; and to the Sisters all my life long robes for bathing in." The Master replied, "What blessing have you in view, Visākhā, when you ask these eight boons of the Tathāgata?" She told him the benefit she hoped for, and he said, "It is well, it is well, Visākhā, it is well indeed, Visākhā, that this is the benefit you hope for in asking the eight boons of the Tathāgata." Then he said, "I grant you the eight boons, Visākhā." Having granted her the eight boons and thanked her he departed.
One day when the Master was dwelling in the Eastern park, they began to talk of it in the Hall of Truth: "Brother, Visākhā the great lay Sister, notwithstanding her womanhood, received eight boons at the Dasabala's hands. Ah, great are her virtues!" The Master came in and asked what they spoke of. They told him. Said he, "It is not now the first time this woman has received boons from me, for she received such before"; and he told them a story of the past.

---

Once upon a time, there reigned a king Suruci in Mithilā. This king, having a son born to him, gave him the name of Suruci-Kumāra, or Prince Splendid. When he grew up, he determined to study at Takkasilā; so thither he went, and sat down in a hall at the city gate. [316] Now the

son of the king of Benares also, whose name was Prince Brahmadatta, went to the same place, and took his seat on the same bench where Prince Suruci sat. They entered into converse together, and became friends, and went both together to the teacher. They paid the fee, and studied, and ere long their education was complete. Then they took leave of their teacher, and went on their road together. After travelling thus a short distance, they came to a stop at a place where the road parted. Then they embraced, and in order to keep their friendship alive they made a compact together: "If I have a son and you a daughter, or if you have a son and I a daughter, we will make a match of it between them."
When they were on the throne, a son was born to king Suruci, and to him also the name of Prince Suruci was given. Brahmadatta had a daughter, and her name was Sumedhā, the Wise Lady. Prince Suruci in due time grew up, went to Takkasilā for his education, and that finished returned. Then his father, wishing to mark out his son for king by the ceremonial sprinkling, thought to himself, "My friend the king of Benares has a daughter, so they say: I will make her my son's consort." For this purpose he sent an ambassade with rich gifts.
But before they had yet come, the king of Benares asked his queen this question: "Lady, what is the worst misery for a woman?" "To quarrel with her fellow-wives." "Then, my lady, to save our only daughter the Princess Sumedhā from this misery, we will give her to none but him that will have her and no other." So when the ambassadors came, and named the name of his daughter, he told them, "Good friends, indeed it is true I promised my daughter to my old friend long ago. But we have no wish to cast her into the midst of a crowd of women, and we will give her only to one who will wed her and no other." This message they brought back to the king. But the king was displeased. "Ours is a great kingdom," said he, "the city of Mithilā covers seven leagues, the measure of the whole kingdom is three hundred leagues. Such a king should have sixteen thousand women at the least." But Prince Suruci, hearing the great beauty of Sumedhā, [317] fell in love from hearing of it only. So he sent word to his parents, saying, "I will take her and no other: what do I want with a multitude of women? Let her be brought." They did not thwart his desire, but sent a rich present and a great ambassade to bring her home. Then she was made his queen consort, and they were both together consecrated by sprinkling.
He became king Suruci, and ruling in justice lived a life of high happiness with his queen. But although she dwelt in his palace for ten thousand years, never son nor daughter she had of him.
Then all the townsfolk gathered together in the palace courtyard, with upbraidings. "What is it?" the king asked. "Fault we have no other to find," said they, "but this, that you have no son to keep up your line.
  You have but one queen, yet a royal prince should have sixteen thousand at the least. Choose a company of women, my lord: some worthy wife will bring you a son." "Dear friends, what is this you say? I passed my word I would take no other but one, and on those terms I got her. I cannot lie, no host of women for me." So he refused their request, and they departed. But Sumedhā heard what was said. "The king refuses to choose him concubines for his truth's sake," thought she; "well, I will find him some one." Playing the part of mother and wife to the king, she chose at her own will a thousand maidens of the warrior caste, a thousand of the courtiers, a thousand daughters of householders, a thousand of all kinds of dancing girls, four thousand in all, and delivered them to him. And all these dwelt in the palace for ten thousand years, and never a son or daughter they brought between them. In this way she three times brought four thousand maidens but they had neither son nor daughter. Thus she brought him sixteen thousand wives in all. Forty thousand years went by, that is to say, fifty thousand in all, counting the ten thousand he had lived with her alone. Then the townsfolk again gathered together with reproaches. "What is it now?" the king asked. [318] "My lord, command your women to pray for a son." The king was not unwilling, and commanded so to pray. Thenceforward praying for a son, they worship all manner of deities and offer all kinds of vows; yet no son appeared. Then the king commanded Sumedhā to pray for a son. She consented. On the fast of the fifteenth day of the month, she took upon her the eightfold sabbath vows 1, and sat meditating upon the virtues in a magnificent room upon a pleasant couch. The others were in the park, vowing to do sacrifice with goats or kine. By the glory of Sumedhā's virtue Sakka's dwelling place began to tremble. Sakka pondered, and understood that Sumedhā prayed for a son; well, she should have one. "But I cannot give her this or that son indifferently; I will search for one which shall be suitable." Then he saw a young god called Naḷākara, the Basket-weaver. He was a being endowed with merit, who in a former life lived in Benares, when this befel him. At seed-time as he was on his way to the fields he perceived a Pacceka Buddha. He sent on his hinds, bidding them sow the seed, but himself turned back, and led the Pacceka Buddha home, and gave him to eat, and then conducted him again to the Ganges bank. He and his son together made a hut, trunks of fig-trees for the foundation and reeds interwoven for the walls; a door he put to it, and made a path for walking. There for three months he made the Pacceka Buddha dwell; and after the rains were over, the two of them, father and son, put on him the three robes and let him go. In the same manner they entertained seven Pacceka Buddhas in that hut, and

gave them the three robes, and let them go their ways. So men still tell how these two, father and son, turned basket-weavers, and hunted for osiers on the banks of the Ganges, and whenever they spied a Pacceka Buddha did as we have said. When they died, they were born in the heaven of the Thirty-Three, and dwelt in the six heavens of sense one after the other in direct and in reverse succession, enjoying great majesty among the gods. These two after dying. in that region were desirous of winning to the upper god-world. Sakka perceiving that one of them would be the Tathāgata, [319] went to the door of their mansion, and saluting him as he arose and came to meet him, said, "Sir, you must go into the world of men." But he said, "O king, the world of men is hateful and loathsome: they who dwell there do good and give alms longing for the world of the gods. What shall I do when I get there?" "Sir, you shall enjoy in perfection all that can be enjoyed in that world; you shall dwell in a palace made with stones of price, five and twenty leagues in height. Do consent." He consented. When Sakka had received his promise, in the guise of a sage he descended into the king's park, and showed himself soaring above those women to and fro in the air, while he chanted, "To whom shall I give the blessing of a son, who craves the blessing of a son?" "To me, Sir, to me!" thousands of hands were uplifted. Then he said, "I give sons to the virtuous: what is your virtue, what your life and conversation?" They drew down their uplifted hands, saying, "If you would reward virtue, go seek Sumedhā." He went his ways through the air, and stayed at the window of her bedchamber. Then they went and told her, saying, "See, my lady, a king of the gods has come down through the air, and stands at your bedchamber window, offering you the boon of a son!" With great pomp she proceeded thither, and opening the window, said, "Is this true, Sir, that I hear, how you offer the blessing of a son to a virtuous woman?" "It is, and so I do." "Then grant it to me." "What is your virtue, tell me; and if you please me, I grant you the boon." Then declaring her virtue she recited these fifteen stanzas.

"I am king Ruci's consort-queen, the first he ever wed;
With Suruci ten thousand years my wedded life I led.

"Suruci king of Mithilā, Videha's chiefest place,
I never lightly held his wish, nor deemed him mean or base,
In deed or thought or word, behind his back, nor to his face.
[320] "If this be true, O holy one, so may that son be given:
But if my lips are speaking lies, then burst my head in seven.
"The parents of my husband dear, so long as they held sway,
And while they lived, would ever give me training in the Way.
"My passion was to hurt no life, and willingly do right:
I served them with extremest care unwearied day and night.
"If this be true, etc.

"No less than sixteen thousand dames my fellow-wives have been:
Yet, brahmin, never jealousy nor anger came between.

"At their good fortune I rejoice; each one of them is dear;
My heart is soft to all these wives as though myself it were.
"If this be true, etc.
"Slaves, messengers, and servants all, and all about the place,
I give them food, I treat them well, with cheerful pleasant face.
"If this be true, etc.
"Ascetics, brahmins, any man who begging here is seen,
I comfort all with food and drink, my hands all washen clean.
"If this be true, etc.
"The eighth of either fortnight, the fourteenth, fifteenth days,
And the especial fast I keep, I walk in holy ways 1.
"If this be true, O holy one, so may that son be given:
But if my lips are speaking lies, then burst my head in seven."
[321] Indeed not a hundred verses, nor a thousand, could suffice to sing the praise of her virtues: yet Sakka allowed her to sing her own praises in these fifteen stanzas, nor did he cut the tale short though he had much to do elsewhere; then he said "Abundant and marvellous are your virtues"; then in her praise he recited a couple of stanzas:

"All these great virtues, glorious dame, O daughter of a king,
Are found in thee, which of thyself, O lady, thou dost sing.

"A warrior, born of noble blood, all glorious and wise,
Videha's righteous emperor, thy son, shall soon arise."
When these words she heard, in great joy she recited two stanzas, putting a question to him:
[322]

"Unkempt, with dust and dirt begrimed, high-poiséd in the sky,
Thou speakest in a lovely voice that pricks me to the heart.

"Art thou a mighty god, O sage and dwellst in heaven on high?
O tell me whence thou comest here, O tell me who thou art!"
He told her in six stanzas:

"Sakka the Hundred-eyed thou seest, for so the gods me call
When they are wont to assemble in the heavenly judgement hall.

"When women virtuous, wise, and good here in the world are found,
True wives, to husband's mother kind even as in duty bound 2,
"When such a woman wise of heart and good in deed they know,
To her, though woman, they divine, the gods themselves will go.
"So lady, thou, through worthy life, through store of good deeds done,
A princess born, all happiness the heart can wish, hast won.

"So thou dost reap thy deeds, princess, by glory on the earth,
And after in the world of gods a new and heavenly birth.

"O wise, O blessed! so live on, preserve thy conduct right:
Now I to heaven must return, delighted with thy sight."
[323]"I have business to do in the world of gods," quoth he, "therefore I go; but do thou be vigilant." With this advice he departed.
In the morning time, the god Naḷakāra was conceived within her womb. When she discovered it, she told the king, and he did what was necessary for a woman with child 1. At the end of ten months she brought forth a son, and they gave him Mahā-panāda to his name. All the people of the two countries came crying out, "My lord, we bring this for the boy's milk-money," and each dropt a coin in the king's courtyard: a great heap there was of them. The king did not wish to accept this, but they would not take the money back, but said as they departed, "When the boy grows up, my lord, it will pay for his keep."
The lad was brought up amid great magnificence; and when he came of years, aye, no more than sixteen, he was perfect in all accomplishments. The king thinking of his son's age, said to the queen, "My lady, when the time comes for the ceremonial sprinkling of our son, let us make him a fine palace for that occasion." She was quite willing. The king sent for those who had skill in divining the lucky place for a building 2, and said to them: "My friends, get a master-mason 3, and build me a palace not far from my own. This is for my son, whom we are about to consecrate as my successor." They said it was well, and proceeded to examine the surface of the ground. At that moment Sakka's throne became hot. Perceiving this, he at once summoned Vissakamma 4, and said, "Go, my good Vissakamma, make for Prince Mahā-panāda a palace half a league in length and breadth and five and twenty leagues in height, all with stones of price." Vissakamma took on the shape of a mason, and approaching the workmen said, "Go and eat your breakfast, then return." Having thus got rid of the men, he struck on the earth with his staff; in that instant up rose a palace, seven storeys high, of the aforesaid size. Now for Mahā-panāda these three ceremonies were done together: the ceremony for consecrating the palace, the ceremony for spreading above him the royal umbrella, the ceremony of his marriage. At the time of the ceremony all the people of both countries gathered together, and spent seven years a-feasting, nor did the king dismiss them: their clothes, their ornaments, their food and their drink [324] and all the rest of it, these things were

all provided by the royal family. At the seven years' end they began to grumble, and king Suruci asked why. "O king," they said, "while we have been revelling at this feast seven years have gone by. When will the feast come to an end?" He answered, "My good friends, all this while my son has never once laughed. So soon as he shall laugh, we will disperse again." Then the crowd went beating the drum and gathered the tumblers and jugglers together. Thousands of tumblers were gathered, and they divided themselves into seven bands and danced; but they could not make the prince laugh. Of course he that had seen the dancing of dancers divine could not care for such dancers as these. Then came two clever jugglers, Bhaṇḍu-kaṇṇa and Paṇḍu-kaṇṇa, Crop-ear and Yellow-ear, and say they, "We will make the prince laugh." Bhaṇḍu-kaṇṇa made a great mango tree, which he called Sanspareil, grow before the palace door: then he threw up a ball of string, and made it catch on a branch of the tree, and then up he climbed into the Mango Sanspareil. Now the Mango Sanspareil they say is Vessavaṇa's mango 1. And the slaves of Vessavaṇa took him, as usual, chopt him up limb-meal and threw down the bits. The other jugglers joined the pieces together, and poured water upon them. The man donned upper and under garments of flowers, and rose up and began dancing again. Even the sight of this did not make the prince laugh. Then Paṇḍu-kaṇṇa had some fire-wood piled in the court-yard and went into the fire with his troop. When the fire was burnt out, the people sprinkled the pile with water. Paṇḍu-kaṇṇa with his troop rose up dancing with upper and under 2 garments of flowers. When the people found they could not make him laugh, they grew angry. Sakka, perceiving this, sent down a divine dancer, bidding him make prince Mahā-panāda laugh. Then he came and remained poised in the air above the royal courtyard, [325] and performed what is called the Half-body dance: one hand, one foot, one eye, one tooth, go a-dancing, throbbing, flickering to and fro, all the rest stone still. Mahā-panāda, when he saw this, gave a little smile. But the crowd roared and roared with laughter, could not cease laughing, laughed themselves out of their wits, lost control of their limbs, rolled over and over in the royal courtyard. That was the end of the festival. The rest of it—

Great Panāda, mighty king,
With his palace all of gold,

must be explained in the Mahā-panāda Birth 4.

King Mahā-panāda did good and gave alms, and at his life's end went to the world of gods 1.

---

When the Master had ended this discourse, he said, "Thus, brethren, Visākhā has received a boon of me before," and then he identified the Birth: "At that time, Bhaddaji was Mahā-panāda, Visākhā the Lady Sumedhā, Ānanda was Vissakamma, and I myself was Sakka."

Footnotes

198:1 Her real name was Visākhā; she was the most distinguished among the female disciples of Buddha. See her history in Hardy's Manual, 220; Warren, § 101. The reason for her title is given in Warren, Buddhism in Translations, p. 470, from the Dhammapada, p. 245. See the story in Mahāvagga, viii. 15.
198:2 Or "are above granting boons (before they know what they are)": so Rhys Davids and Oldenberg in Mahāvagga, i. 54. 4, viii. 15. 6.
200:1 The eight sīlāni: against taking life, theft, impurity, lying, intoxicating liquors, eating at forbidden hours, worldly amusements, unguents and ornaments.
202:1 For the exact meaning of pāṭihāriyapakkho see Childers, p. 618.
202:2 sassudevā-patibbatā. Sassudevā should be a separate word.
203:1 See p. 79, p. 23 note 1, vol. ii. p. 1 note 4. There was a ceremony called garbharakṣaṇa which protected against abortion (Bühler, Ritual-Litteratur, in Grundriss der indo-iran. Philologie, p. 43).
203:2 Compare ii. 297 (p. 208 of this translation)
203:3 Like rerzrwv, a carpenter or mason.
203:4 The celestial architect.
204:1 See No. 281 (transl. vol. ii. p. 271). The juggling trick here described is spoken of by mediaeval travellers. See Yule's Marco Polo, vol. i. p. 308 (ed. 2).
204:2 na is a misprint for ca.
204:3 These words are the beginning of the stanzas in No. 264 (transl. ii. p. 231). Cp. Thera-gāthā, p. 22.
204:4 No. 264 (transl. vol. ii. p. 229).

 

Om Tat Sat
                                                        
(Continued...) 

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