THE JĀTAKA
OR
STORIES OF THE BUDDHA'S FORMER BIRTHS
BOOK V. PAÑCANIPĀTA
No. 351.
MAṆIKUṆḌALA-JĀTAKA.
[153] "Stript of all the joys of life," etc.—This story the Master, while dwelling at Jetavana, told concerning a councillor who was guilty of misconduct in the harem of the king of Kosala. The incident that gave rise to the story has been given in full before.
Stript of all the joys of life,
Jewelled earrings, horse and car,
Robbed of child and loving wife,
Nought thy pleasure seems to mar.
[154] On hearing him the Bodhisatta recited these verses:—Jewelled earrings, horse and car,
Robbed of child and loving wife,
Nought thy pleasure seems to mar.
Pleasures soon make haste to leave us,
Pleasures soon must all forego,
Sorrow has no power to grieve us,
Joy itself soon turns to woe.
Moons with new-born orb appearing
Wax awhile, to wane and die,
Suns with warmth all nature cheering,
Haste to set in yonder sky.
Change is this world's law I see,
Sorrow has no pangs for me.
Pleasures soon must all forego,
Sorrow has no power to grieve us,
Joy itself soon turns to woe.
Moons with new-born orb appearing
Wax awhile, to wane and die,
Suns with warmth all nature cheering,
Haste to set in yonder sky.
Change is this world's law I see,
Sorrow has no pangs for me.
Thus now did the Great Being expound the Truth to the usurper king, and bringing his conduct to the test, repeated these stanzas 1:—
The idle sensual layman I detest,
The false ascetic is a rogue confest.
A bad king will a case unheard decide;The false ascetic is a rogue confest.
Wrath in the sage can ne’er be justified.
The warrior prince a well-weighed verdict gives,
Of righteous judge the fame for ever lives.
[155] The king of Kosala having thus gained the forgiveness of the Bodhisatta and given him back his kingdom, departed to his own country.
Footnotes
102:1 See no. 282, Vol. ii. and no. 303 supra.No. 352.
SUJĀTA-JĀTAKA.
"Why haste to bring," etc.—This story the Master, while dwelling at Jetavana, told concerning a landowner who had lost his father. On the death of his father, they say, he went about lamenting, quite unable to shake off his grief. The Master perceived in the man a capacity to attain to the Fruit of Salvation, and when he went his rounds in Sāvatthi for alms, accompanied by an attendant priest, he came to his house and sitting down on the seat prepared for him he bowed to his host, who was also seated, and said, "Lay Brother, art thou grieving?" and on his replying, "Yes, Reverend Sir, I am," he said, "Friend, sages of old hearkened to the words of Wisdom, and when they lost a father, they did not grieve." And at the request of his host he told a story of the olden time.the place, adorned the tope with flowers and studiously lamented, neither bathing nor anointing himself nor eating. Neither did he attend to his business. The Bodhisatta, on observing this, thought, "My father ever since the death of my grandfather goes about overwhelmed with grief. And no one, I am sure, except myself has power to console him. I will find a way to deliver him from his sorrow."
[156] So seeing a dead ox lying outside the city, he brought grass and water and placing them before it said, "Eat and drink, eat and drink." All that passed by on seeing this said, "Friend Sujāta, are you mad? Do you offer grass and water to a dead ox?" But he answered not a word.
So they went to his father and said, "Your son has become mad. He is giving grass and water to a dead ox." On hearing this the landowner ceased to grieve for his father, and began to grieve for his son. And he went in haste and cried, "My dear Sujāta, are you not in your sober senses? Why do you offer grass and water to the carcase of an ox?" And hereupon he spoke two stanzas:—
Why haste to bring thy new-mown grass
so sweet,
And cry to lifeless beast, "Arise and eat”?
No food may raise to life an ox that's dead,And cry to lifeless beast, "Arise and eat”?
Thy words are idle and of folly bred.
Then the Bodhisatta uttered two stanzas:—
Methinks this beast may come to life
again,
Both head and tail and its four feet remain.
But of my grandsire head and limbs are gone:Both head and tail and its four feet remain.
No fool weeps o’er his grave, but thou alone.
[157] On hearing this the father of the Bodhisatta thought: "My son is wise. He knows the right thing to be done both for this world and for the next. He did this to console me." And he said, "My dear and wise son Sujāta, it is known to me that all existing things are impermanent. Henceforth I will not grieve. Such a son as this must be every one that would remove a father's grief." And singing the praises of his son he said .—
As ghee-fed flame that blazes out amain
Is quenched with water, so he quenched my pain.
With sorrow's shaft my heart was wounded sore,
He healed the wound and did my life restore.
The barb extracted, full of peace and joy,
I cease to grieve and hearken to my boy.
Thus kindly souls wean mortals from their grief,
As wise Sujāta brought his sire relief.
Is quenched with water, so he quenched my pain.
With sorrow's shaft my heart was wounded sore,
He healed the wound and did my life restore.
The barb extracted, full of peace and joy,
I cease to grieve and hearken to my boy.
Thus kindly souls wean mortals from their grief,
As wise Sujāta brought his sire relief.
Footnotes
103:1 These stanzas occur also in no. 332 supra.No. 353.
DHONASĀKHA-JĀTAKA.
"’Though thou art now," etc.—This story the Master, while living in the Bhesakalā grove near Suṁsumāragiri (Mount Crocodile) in the country of the Bhaggas, told concerning young prince Bodhi. This prince was the son of Udena, and at this time dwelt in Suṁsumāragiri. Now he summoned a very skilful artisan, and got him to build him a palace called Kokanada, and to make it unlike that of any other king. [158] And afterwards he thought, "This artisan may build a similar palace for some other king." And from a feeling of envy he plucked out his eyes. This circumstance became known in the assembly of the Brethren. Then they raised a discussion in the Hall of Truth, saying, "Sirs, young prince Bodhi had the eyes of such and such an artisan put out. Surely he is a harsh, cruel, and violent man." The Master came and asked what was the topic the Brethren were debating as they sat together, and hearing what it was he said, "Not now only, but formerly too such was his nature, and of old in like manner he put out the eyes of a thousand warriors and, after slaying them, he offered up their flesh as a religious sacrifice." And so saying he told them a story of past times.
Though thou art now with peace and
plenty blest,
Such happy fate may short-lived prove to be:
Should riches perish, be not sore distrest,
Like storm-tost sailor wrecked far out at sea.
Each one shall fare according to his deed,Such happy fate may short-lived prove to be:
Should riches perish, be not sore distrest,
Like storm-tost sailor wrecked far out at sea.
And reap the harvest as he sows the seed,
Whether of goodly herb, or maybe noxious weed.
[159] Then he bade his teacher farewell and returned to Benares, and after exhibiting his proficiency in the arts to his father, he was established in the viceroyalty and on his father's death he succeeded to the kingdom. His family priest, Piṅgiya by name, was a harsh and cruel man. Being greedy of fame, he thought, "What if I were to cause all the rulers of
India to be seized by this king, and if he should thus become sole monarch and I become sole priest?" And he got the king to hearken to his words.
And the king marched forth with a great army and invested the city of a certain king and took him prisoner. And by similar means he gained the sovereignty of all India, and with a thousand kings in his train, he went to seize upon the kingdom of Takkasilā. The Bodhisatta repaired the walls of the city and made it impregnable to its enemies. And the king of Benares had a canopy set up over him and a curtain thrown round about him, at the foot of a big banyan tree on the banks of the Ganges. And having a couch spread for him, he took up his quarters there. Fighting in the plains of India he had taken captive a thousand kings, but failing in his attack on Takkasilā, he asked his priest, "Master, though we have come hither with a host of-captive kings, we cannot take Takkasilā. What now are we to do?"
"Great king," he answered, "put out the eyes of the thousand kings [160] and ripping open their bellies let us take their flesh and the five sweet substances and make an offering to the guardian deity of this banyan. And surrounding the tree with a rimmed circumference let us fill it with blood five inches deep. And so shall the victory soon be ours."
The king readily assented and concealing mighty wrestlers behind the curtain, he summoned each king separately, and when the wrestlers had squeezed them in their arms till they had reduced them to a state of insensibility, he had their eyes put out, and after they were dead, he took the flesh and caused the carcases to be carried away by the Ganges. Then he made the offering, as described above, and had the drum beaten and went forth to battle. Then came a certain Yakkha from his watch-tower and tore out the right eye of the king. Severe pain set in, and maddened by the agony he suffered, he went and lay down at full length upon the couch prepared for him at the foot of the banyan tree. At this moment a vulture took a sharp-pointed bone, and perched on the top of the tree, in eating the flesh it let drop the bone, and the sharp point falling as with iron spikes on the king's left eye, destroyed that eye too. At this moment he recalled the words of the Bodhisatta and said, "Our teacher when he said "These mortals experience results corresponding to their deeds, even as fruit corresponds with the seed," spoke, I suppose, with all this before his mind's eye." And in his lamentation he addressed Piṅgiya in two stanzas:—
Ah! now at last I recognize the truth
The Master taught me in my heedless youth:
"Sin not," he cried, "or else the evil deed
To thine own punishment may one day lead."
The Master taught me in my heedless youth:
"Sin not," he cried, "or else the evil deed
To thine own punishment may one day lead."
Beneath this tree's trim boughs and
quivering shade
Libation due of sandal oil was made.
’Twas here I slew a thousand kings, and lo!
The pangs they suffered then, I now must undergo.
[161] Thus lamenting, he called to mind his queen-consort, and repeated
this stanza:—Libation due of sandal oil was made.
’Twas here I slew a thousand kings, and lo!
The pangs they suffered then, I now must undergo.
O Ubbarī, my queen of swarthy hue,
Lithe as a shoot of fair moringa tree,
That dost thy limbs with sandal oil bedew,
How should I live, bereft of sight of thee?
Yea death itself than this less grievous far would be!
While he was still murmuring these words, he died and was born
again in hell. The priest so ambitious of power could not save him, nor could
he save himself by his own power, and as soon as he died, his army broke up and
fled.Lithe as a shoot of fair moringa tree,
That dost thy limbs with sandal oil bedew,
How should I live, bereft of sight of thee?
Yea death itself than this less grievous far would be!
No. 354.
URAGA-JĀTAKA.
[162] "Man quits his mortal frame," etc. This story the Master, while dwelling at Jetavana, told concerning a landowner whose son had died. The introductory story is just the same as that of the man who lost both his wife and father. Here too the Master in the same way went to the man's house, and after saluting him as he was seated, asked him saying, "Pray, Sir, are you grieving?" And on his replying, "Yes, Reverend Sir, ever since my son's death I grieve," he said, "Sir, verily that which is subject to dissolution is dissolved, and that which is subject to destruction is destroyed 1, and this happens not to one man only, nor in one village merely, but in countless spheres, and in the three modes of existence, there is no creature that is not subject to death, nor is there any existing thing that is capable of abiding in the same condition. All beings are subject todeath, and all compounds are subject to dissolution. But sages of old, when they lost a son, said, "That which is subject to destruction is destroyed," and grieved not." And hereupon at the man's request he related a story of the past.
Now one day the Bodhisatta went with his son to plough his field. [163] The son gathered together the rubbish and set fire to it. Not far from where he was, lived a snake in an anthill. The smoke hurt the snake's eyes. Coming out from his hole in a rage, it thought, "This is all due to that fellow," and fastening upon him with its four teeth it bit him. The youth fell down dead. The Bodhisatta on seeing him fall, left his oxen and came to him, and finding that he was dead, he took him up and laid him at the foot of a certain tree, and covering him up with a cloak, he neither wept nor lamented. He said, "That which is subject to dissolution is dissolved, and that which is subject to death is dead. All compound existences are transitory and liable to death." And recognizing the transitory nature of things he went on with his ploughing. Seeing a neighbour pass close by the field, he asked, "Friend, are you going home?" And on his answering "Yes," he said, "Please then to go to our house and say to the mistress, "You are not to-day as formerly to bring food for two, but to bring it for one only. And hitherto the female slave alone has brought the food, but to-day all four of you are to put on clean garments, and to come with perfumes and flowers in your hands."
"All right," he said, and went and spoke these very words to the brahmin's wife.
She asked, "By whom, Sir, was this message given?"
"By the brahmin, lady," he replied.
Then she understood that her son was dead. But she did not so much as tremble. Thus showing perfect self-control, and wearing white garments and with perfumes and flowers in her hand, she bade them bring food, and accompanied the other members of the family to the field. But no one of them all either shed a tear or made lamentation. The Bodhisatta, still sitting in the shade where the youth lay, ate his food. And when his meal was finished, they all took up fire-wood and lifting the body on to the funeral pile, they made offerings of perfumes and flowers, and then set fire to it. But not a single tear was shed by any one. All were dwelling on the thought of death. Such was the efficacy of their virtue that the throne of Sakka manifested signs of heat. [164] Sakka said, "Who, I wonder, is anxious to bring me down from my throne?" And on reflection he discovered that the heat was due to the force of virtue existing in these people, and being highly pleased he said, "I must go to them and utter a loud cry of exultation like the roaring of a lion, and immediately afterwards fill their dwelling place with the seven treasures." And going there in haste he stood by the side of the funeral pyre and said, "What are you doing?"
"We are burning the body of a man, my lord."
"It is no man that you are burning," he said. "Methinks you are roasting the flesh of some beast that you have slain."
"Not so, my lord," they said. "It is merely the body of a man that we are burning."
Then he said, "It must have been some enemy."
The Bodhisatta said, "It is our own true son, and no enemy,"
"Then he could not have been dear as a son to you."
"He was very dear, my lord."
"Then why do you not weep?"
Then the Bodhisatta, to explain the reason why he did not weep, uttered the first stanza:—
Man quits his mortal frame, when joy in
life is past,
E’en as a snake is wont its worn out slough to cast.
No friend's lament can touch the ashes of the dead:
Why should I grieve? He fares the way he had to tread.
[165] Sakka on hearing the words of the Bodhisatta, asked the
brahmin's wife, "How, lady, did the dead man stand to you?"E’en as a snake is wont its worn out slough to cast.
No friend's lament can touch the ashes of the dead:
Why should I grieve? He fares the way he had to tread.
"I sheltered him ten months in my womb, and suckled him at my breast, and directed the movements of his hands and feet, and he was my grown up son, my lord."
"Granted, lady, that a father from the nature of a man may not weep, a mother's heart surely is tender. Why then do you not weep?"
And to explain why she did not weep, she uttered a couple of stanzas:—
Uncalled he hither came, unbidden soon
to go;
E’en as he came, he went. What cause is here for woe?
No friend's lament can touch the ashes of the dead:E’en as he came, he went. What cause is here for woe?
Why should I grieve? He fares the way he had to tread.
On hearing the words of the brahmin's wife, Sakka asked the sister: "Lady, what was the dead man to you?"
"He was my brother, my lord."
"Lady, sisters surely are loving towards their brothers. Why do you not weep?"
But she to explain the reason why she did not weep, repeated a couple of stanzas:—
Though I should fast and weep, how
would it profit me?
My kith and kin alas! would more unhappy be.
[166] No friend's lament can touch the ashes of the dead:My kith and kin alas! would more unhappy be.
Why should I grieve? He fares the way he had to tread.
Sakka on hearing the words of the sister, asked his wife: "Lady, what was he to you?"
"He was my husband, my lord."
"Women surely, when a husband dies, as widows are helpless. Why do you not weep?"
But she to explain the reason why she did not weep, uttered two stanzas:—
As children cry in vain to grasp the
moon above,
So mortals idly mourn the loss of those they love.
No friend's lament can touch the ashes of the dead:So mortals idly mourn the loss of those they love.
Why should I grieve? He fares the way he had to tread.
[167] Sakka on hearing the words of the wife, asked the handmaid, saying, "Woman, what was he to you?"
"He was my master, my lord."
"No doubt you must have been abused and beaten and oppressed by him and therefore, thinking he is happily dead, you weep not."
"Speak not so, my lord. This does not suit his case. My young master was full of long-suffering and love and pity for me, and was as a foster child to me."
"Then why do you not weep?"
And she to explain why she did not weep, uttered a couple of stanzas:—
A broken pot of earth, ah! who can
piece again?
So too to mourn the dead is nought but labour vain.
No friend's lament can touch the ashes of the dead:So too to mourn the dead is nought but labour vain.
Why should I grieve? He fares the way he had to tread.
Sakka after hearing what they all had to say, was greatly pleased and said, "Ye have carefully dwelt on the thought of death. Henceforth ye are not to labour with your own hands. I am Sakka, king of heaven. I will create the seven treasures in countless abundance in your house. [168] Ye are to give alms, to keep the moral law, to observe holy days, and to take heed to your ways." And thus admonishing them, he filled their house with countless wealth, and so parted from them.
Footnotes
107:1 Compare the story of Epictetus as given by Bacon, Advancement of Learning, i. 8. The philosopher one day saw a woman weeping for a broken pitcher, and next day saw another woman weeping over her dead son. Whereupon he said, "Heri vidi fragilem frangi, hodie vidi mortalem mori."No. 355.
GHATA-JĀTAKA.
"While others weep," etc.—This story the Master, dwelling at Jetavana, told concerning a minister of the king of Kosala. The introductory story is identical with one already given. But in this case the king after bestowing great honour on a minister who served him well, gave ear to certain mischief-makers and had him seized and thrown into prison. While he was lying there, he entered upon the First Path. The king, becoming aware of his great merit, released him. He took a scented garland and coming into the presence of the Master, saluted him and sat down. Then the Master asked if some evil had not befallen him. "Yes, Reverend Sir," he answered, "but through evil good has come to me. I have entered on the First Path." "Verily," said the Master, "not you only, but sages of old got good out of evil." And herewith at his request he told a story of the past.Now a certain minister misconducted himself in the royal harem. The king, after witnessing the offence with his own eyes, banished him from
his kingdom. At that time a king named Vaṅka ruled in Sāvatthi. The minister went to him and entering his service, just as in the former story 1, gained the king's ear and got him to seize on the kingdom of Benares. After gaining possession of the kingdom, he had the Bodhisatta bound in chains and threw him into prison. The Bodhisatta entered on an ecstatic meditation [169] and sat cross-legged in the air. A burning heat sprang up in the body of Vaṅka. He came and beheld the countenance of the Bodhisatta radiant with the beauty of a full-blown lotus, like to a golden mirror, and in the form of a question repeated the first stanza:—
While others weep and wail, their
cheeks with tears bestained,
Why still with smiling face, has Ghata ne’er complained?
Then the Bodhisatta, to explain why he did not grieve, recited the
remaining stanzas:—Why still with smiling face, has Ghata ne’er complained?
To change the past all sorrow is but
vain,
It has no blessing for a future state:
Why should I, Vaṅka, of my woes complain?
Grief is no helpmeet fit with us to mate.
One that is sick with sorrow pines away,It has no blessing for a future state:
Why should I, Vaṅka, of my woes complain?
Grief is no helpmeet fit with us to mate.
His food insipid and distasteful grows,
Pierced as with arrows, to his grief a prey,
He sinks a laughing-stock to all his foes.
Whether my home be on dry land or sea,
Be it in village, or some forest drear,
No sorrow ever shall come nigh to me,
A soul converted can have nought to fear.
But he that lacks completion in himself
And is with lust of things of sense a-fire,
Not the whole world, with all its sordid pelf,
Can e’er suffice for such a man's desire.
[170] Vaṅka therefore, after hearing these four stanzas, asked forgiveness of the Bodhisatta, and restored him to his kingdom and went his way. But the Bodhisatta handed over the kingdom to his ministers, and retreating to the Himālayas became an ascetic, and without any break in his ecstatic meditation was destined to birth in the world of Brahma.
Footnotes
112:1 Compare No. 303 supra.No. 356.
KĀRAṆḌIYA-JĀTAKA.
"Why in forest," etc.—This was a story told by the Master while dwelling at Jetavana, concerning the Captain of the Faith (Sāriputta). That elder, they say, when wicked folk came to him, such as hunters, fishermen and the like, laid down the moral law to them, and any others that he might see from time to time, saying, "Receive ye the law." Through respect for the elder, they could not disobey his words and accepted the law, but failed to keep it, and still followed each after his own business. The elder took counsel with his fellow-priests and said, "Sirs, these men receive the law from me, but keep it not." [171] They answered, "Holy Sir, you preach the law to them against their wishes, and as they dare not disobey what you tell them, they accept it. Henceforth lay not down the law to such as these." The elder was offended. On hearing of the incident they started a discussion in the Hall of Truth, how that the elder Sāriputta preached the law to any that he happened to see. The Master came and inquired what was the topic that the Brethren were debating in their assembly, and on hearing what it was, he said, "Not now only, Brethren, but formerly also he preached the law to any men he might chance to see, even though they did not ask for it." And herewith he told a story of the past.Now one day some people came from a certain village and invited the teacher to partake of the cakes offered to brahmins. He summoned his disciple named Kāraṇḍiya and said, "My dear son, I am not going, but you are to go there with these five hundred disciples, and receive the cakes, and bring the portion that falls to my share." So he sent him. The disciple went, and as he was returning, he spied on the road a cave, and the thought struck him, "Our master lays down the law, without being asked, to all that he sees. Henceforth I will cause him to preach only to those that wish to hear him." [172] And while the other disciples were comfortably seated,
he arose and picking up a huge stone, flung it into the cave, and again and again repeated the action. Then the disciples stood up and said, "Sir, what are you doing?" Kāraṇḍiya said not a word. And they went in haste and told their master. The master. came and in conversing with Kāraṇḍiya repeated the first stanza:—
Why in forest all alone
Seizing oft a mighty stone,
Didst thou hurl it with a will,
Mountain cave as ’twere to fill?
On hearing his words, Kāraṇḍiya
to rouse his master uttered the second stanza:—Seizing oft a mighty stone,
Didst thou hurl it with a will,
Mountain cave as ’twere to fill?
I would make this sea-girt land
Smooth as palm of human hand:
Thus I level knoll and hill
And with stones each hollow fill.
The brahmin, on hearing this, repeated the third stanza:—Smooth as palm of human hand:
Thus I level knoll and hill
And with stones each hollow fill.
Ne’er a one of mortal birth
Has the power to level earth.
Scarce Kāraṇḍiya can hope
With a single cave to cope.
[173] The disciple, on hearing this, spoke the fourth stanza:—Has the power to level earth.
Scarce Kāraṇḍiya can hope
With a single cave to cope.
If a man of mortal birth
Has no power to level earth,
Heretics may well refuse,
Brahmin, to adopt thy views.
On hearing this the teacher made an appropriate reply. For he now
recognized that other men might differ from him, and thinking, "I will no
longer act thus," he uttered the fifth stanza:-Has no power to level earth,
Heretics may well refuse,
Brahmin, to adopt thy views.
Friend Kāraṇḍiya,
in short
For my good thou dost exhort:
Earth can never levelled be,
Neither can all men agree.
Thus did the teacher sing the praises of his disciple. And he,
after he had thus admonished his teacher, conducted him home.For my good thou dost exhort:
Earth can never levelled be,
Neither can all men agree.
No. 357.
LAṬUKIKA-JĀTAKA. 1
"Elephant of sixty years," etc.—This was a story told by the Master while dwelling in the Bamboo Grove, concerning Devadatta. One day they raised a discussion in the Hall of Truth, saying, "Sirs, Devadatta is harsh, cruel, and violent. He has not an atom of pity for mortals." When the Master came, he inquired what was the topic the Brethren were assembled to discuss, and on hearing what it was, he said, "Brethren, not now only, but formerly also he was pitiless." And herewith he told a story of the past.
Elephant of sixty years,
Forest lord amongst thy peers,
I am but a puny bird,
Thou a leader of the herd;
With my wings I homage pay,
Spare my little ones, I pray.
[175] The Great Being said, "O quail, be not troubled. I will
protect thy offspring." And standing over the young birds, while the eighty
thousand elephants passed by, he thus addressed the quail: "Behind us
comes a solitary rogue elephant. He will not do our bidding. When he comes, do
thou entreat him too, and so insure the safety of thy offspring." And with
these words he made off. And the quail went forth to meet the other elephant,
and with both wings uplifted, making respectful salutation, she spoke the
second stanza—Forest lord amongst thy peers,
I am but a puny bird,
Thou a leader of the herd;
With my wings I homage pay,
Spare my little ones, I pray.
Roaming over hill and dale
Cherishing thy lonely way,
Thee, O forest king, I hail,
And with wings my homage pay.
I am but a wretched quail,
Spare my tender brood to slay.
On hearing her words, the elephant spoke the third stanza:—Cherishing thy lonely way,
Thee, O forest king, I hail,
And with wings my homage pay.
I am but a wretched quail,
Spare my tender brood to slay.
I will slay thy young ones, quail;
What can thy poor help avail?
My left foot can crush with ease
Many thousand birds like these.
[176] And so saying, with his foot he crushed the young birds to
atoms, and staling over them washed them away in a flood of water, and went off
loudly trumpeting. The quail sat down on the bough of a tree and said,
"Then be off with you and trumpet away. You shall very soon see what I
will do. You little know what a difference there is between strength of body
and strength of mind. Well! I will teach you this lesson." And thus
threatening him she repeated the fourth stanza:—What can thy poor help avail?
My left foot can crush with ease
Many thousand birds like these.
Power abused is not all gain,
Power is often folly's bane.
Beast that didst my young ones kill,
I will work thee mischief still.
And so saying, shortly afterwards she did a good turn to a crow,
and when the crow, who was highly pleased, asked, "What can I do for
you?" the quail said, "There is nothing else, Sir, to be done, but I
shall expect you to strike with your beak and to peck out the eyes of this
rogue elephant." The crow readily assented, and the quail then did a
service to a blue fly, and when the fly asked, "What can I do for
you?" she said, "When the eyes of this rogue elephant have been put
out by the crow, then I want you to let fall a nit upon them." The fly
agreed, and then the quail did a kindness to a frog, and when the frog asked
what it was to do, she said, "When this rogue elephant becomes blind, and
shall be searching for water to drink, then take your stand and utter a croak
on the top of a mountain, and when he has climbed to the top, come down and
croak again at the bottom of the precipice. This much I shall look for at your
hands." After hearing what the quail said, the frog readily assented.
[177] So one day the crow with its beak pecked out both the eyes of the
elephant, and the fly dropped its eggs upon them, and the elephant being eaten
up with maggots was maddened by the pain, and overcome with thirst wandered
about seeking for water to drink. At this moment the frog standing on the top
of a mountain uttered a croak. Thought the elephant, "There must be water
there," and climbed up the mountain. Then the frog descended, and standing
at the bottom croaked again. The elephant thought, "There will be water
there" andPower is often folly's bane.
Beast that didst my young ones kill,
I will work thee mischief still.
moved forward towards the precipice, and rolling over fell to the bottom of the mountain and was killed. When the quail knew that the elephant was dead, she said, "I have seen the back of mine enemy," and in a high state of delight strutted over his body, and passed away to fare according to her deeds.
A quail with crow, blue fly and frog
allied
Once proved the issue of a deadly feud.
Through them king elephant untimely died:
Therefore all quarrelling should be eschewed."
Uttering this stanza inspired by Perfect Wisdom, he thus
identified the Birth: "At that time Devadatta was the rogue elephant, and
I myself was the leader of the herd of elephants."Once proved the issue of a deadly feud.
Through them king elephant untimely died:
Therefore all quarrelling should be eschewed."
Footnotes
115:1 For this story see Benfey's Introduction to the Panchatantra.No. 358.
CULLADHAMMAPĀLA-JĀTAKA.
"Mahāpatāpa's wretched queen," etc.—This story the Master, when dwelling n. the Bamboo Grove, told concerning the going about of Devadatta to slay the Bodhisatta. In all other Births Devadatta failed to excite so much as an atom of fear in the Bodhisatta, [178] but in the Culladhammapāla Birth, when the Bodhisatta was only seven months old, he had his hands and feet and head cut off and his body encircled with sword cuts, as it were with a garland. In the Daddara 1 Birth he killed him by twisting his neck, and roasted his flesh in an oven and ate it. In the Khantivādi 2 Birth he had him scourged with two thousand strokes of a whip, and ordered his hands and feet and ears and nose to be cut off, and then had him seized by the hair of his head and dragged along, and when he was stretched at full length on his back, he kicked him in the belly and made off, and that very day the Bodhisatta died. But both in the Cullanandaka and the Vevaṭiyakapi 3 Births he merely had him put to death. Thus did Devadatta for a long time go about to slay him, and continued to do so, even after he became a Buddha. So one day they raised a discussion in the Hall ofTruth, saying, "Sirs, Devadatta is continually forming plots to slay the Buddhas. Being minded to kill the Supreme Buddha, he suborned archers to shoot him, he threw down a rock upon him, and let loose the elephant Nālāgiri on him." When the Master came and inquired what subject the Brethren were assembled to discuss, on hearing what it was he said, "Brethren, not now only, but formerly too he went about to kill me, but now he fails to excite a particle of fear in me, though formerly when I was prince Dhammapāla he brought about my death, though I was his own son, by encircling my body with sword cuts, as it were with a garland." And so saying, he related a story of the past.
"Go to the royal closet of the queen, and bring hither Dhammapāla," said the king.
But the queen knew that the king had left her in a rage, and laid the Bodhisatta on her bosom and sat weeping. The executioner came and giving her a blow in the back snatched the boy out of her arms and took him to the king and said, "What is your pleasure, Sire?" The king had a board brought and put down before him, and said, "Lay him down on it." The man did so. But queen Candā came and stood just behind her son, weeping. Again the executioner said, "What is your pleasure, Sire?" "Cut off Dhammapāla's hands," said the king. Queen Candā said, "Great king, my boy is only a child, seven months old. He knows nothing. The fault is not his. If there be any fault, it is mine. Therefore bid my hands to be cut off." And to make her meaning clear, she uttered the first stanza:—
Mahāpatāpa's wretched queen,
’Tis I alone to blame have been.
Bid Dhammapāla, Sire, go free,
And off with hands of luckless me.
’Tis I alone to blame have been.
Bid Dhammapāla, Sire, go free,
And off with hands of luckless me.
The king looked at the executioner. "What is your pleasure, Sire?" "Without further delay, off with his hands," said the king. At this moment the executioner took a sharp axe, and lopped off the boy's two hands, as if they had been young bamboo shoots. [180] The boy, when his hands were cut off, neither wept nor lamented, but moved by patience and charity bore it with resignation. But the queen Candā put the tips of his fingers in her lap and stained with blood went about lamenting. Again the executioner asked, "What is your pleasure, Sire?" "Off with his feet," said the king. On hearing this, Candā uttered the second stanza:—
Mahāpatāpa's wretched queen,
’Tis I alone to blame have been.
Bid Dhammapāla, Sire, go free,
And off with feet of luckless me.
But the king gave a sign to the executioner, and he cut off both
his feet. Queen Candā put his feet also in her lap, and stained with blood,
lamented and said, "My lord Mahāpatāpa, his feet and hands are cut off. A
mother is bound to support her children. I will work for wages and support my
son. Give him to me." The executioner said, "Sire, is the king's
pleasure fulfilled? Is my service finished?" "Not yet," said the
king. "What then is your pleasure, Sire?" "Off with his
head," said the king. Then Candā repeated the third stanza:—’Tis I alone to blame have been.
Bid Dhammapāla, Sire, go free,
And off with feet of luckless me.
Mahāpatāpa's wretched queen,
’Tis I alone to blame have been.
Bid Dhammapāla, Sire, go free,
And off with head of luckless me.
And with these words she offered her own head. Again the
executioner asked, "What is your pleasure, Sire?" "Off with his
head," said the king. So he cut off his head and asked, "Is the
king's pleasure fulfilled?" "Not yet," said the king. "What
further am I to do, Sire?" "Catching him with the edge of the
sword," said the king, "encircle him with sword cuts as it were with
a garland." Then he threw the body of the boy up into the air, and
catching it with the edge of his sword, encircled him with sword cuts, as it
were with a garland, and scattered the bits on the dais. Candā placed the flesh
of the Bodhisatta in her lap, and as she sat on the dais lamenting, she
repeated these stanzas:—’Tis I alone to blame have been.
Bid Dhammapāla, Sire, go free,
And off with head of luckless me.
[181]
No friendly councillors advise the
king,
"Slay not the heir that from thy loins did spring":
No loving kinsmen urge the tender plea,
"Slay not the boy that owes his life to thee."
Moreover after speaking these two stanzas queen Candā, pressing
both her hands upon her heart, repeated the third stanza:—"Slay not the heir that from thy loins did spring":
No loving kinsmen urge the tender plea,
"Slay not the boy that owes his life to thee."
Thou, Dhammapāla, wert by right of
birth
The lord of earth:
Thy arms, once bathed in oil of sandal wood,
Lie steeped in blood.
My fitful breath alas! is choked with sighs
And broken cries.
While she was thus lamenting, her heart broke, as a bamboo snaps,
when the grove is on fire, and she fell dead on the spot. The king too being
unable to remain on his throne fell down on the dais. An abyss was cleft
asunder in the ground, and straightway he fell into it. Then the solid earth,
though many myriads more than two hundred thousand leagues in thickness, being
unable to bear with his wickedness, clave asunder and opened a chasm. A flame
arose out of the Avīci hell, and seizing upon him, wrapped him about, as with a
royal woollen garment, [182] and plunged him into Avīci. His ministers
performed the funeral rites of Candā and the Bodhisatta.The lord of earth:
Thy arms, once bathed in oil of sandal wood,
Lie steeped in blood.
My fitful breath alas! is choked with sighs
And broken cries.
Footnotes
117:1 This does not occur in either of the two Daddara-jātakas, no. 172, vol. ii. and no. 304 supra.117:2 No. 313 supra.
117:3 These two jātakas do not seem to have been identified.
No. 359.
SUVAṆṆAMIGA-JĀTAKA. 1
"O Golden foot," This was a story told by the Master while in residence at Jetavana, about a maiden of gentle birth in Sāvatthi. She was, they say, the daughter in the household of a servitor of the two chief disciples at Sāvatthi, and was a faithful believer, fondly attached to Buddha, the Law, and the Church, abounding in good works, wise unto salvation, and devoted to almsgiving and such like deeds of piety. Another family in Sāvatthi of equal rank but of heretical views chose her in marriage. Then her parents said, "Our daughter is a faithful believer, devoted to the Three Treasures, given to alms and other good works, but you hold heretical views. And as you will not allow her to give alms, or to hear the Truth, or to visit the monastery, or to keep the moral law, or to observe holy days, as she pleases, we will not give her to you in marriage. Choose ye a maiden from a family of heretical views like yourselves." When their offer was rejected, they said, "Let your daughter when she comes to our house do everything of this kind, as she pleases. We will not prevent her. Only grant us this boon." "Take her then," they answered. So they celebrated the marriagefestivity at an auspicious season and led her home. She proved faithful in the discharge of her duties, and a devoted wife, and rendered due service to her father-in-law and mother-in-law. One day she said to her husband, "I wish, my lord, to give alms to our family priests." "Very well, my dear, give them just what you please." So one day she invited these priests, and making a great entertainment, she fed them with choice food, and taking a seat apart from them she said, "Holy Sirs, this family is heretical and unbelieving. They are ignorant of the value of the Three Treasures. Well then, Sirs, until this family understands the value of the Three Treasures, do you continue to receive your food here." The priests assented and continually ate their meals there. Again she addressed her husband, [183] "Sir, the priests constantly come here. Why do you not see them?" On hearing this he said, "Very well, I will see them." On the morrow she told him when the priests had finished their meal. He came and sat respectfully on one side, conversing affably with the priests. Then the Captain of the Faith preached the Law to him. He was so charmed with the exposition of the faith, and the deportment of the priests, that from that day forward he prepared mats for the elders to sit on, and strained water for them, and during the meal listened to the exposition of the faith. By and bye his heretical views gave way. So one day the elder in expounding the faith declared the Truths to the man and his wife, and when the sermon was ended, they were both established in the fruition of the First Path. Thenceforth all of them, from his parents down to the hired servants, gave up their heretical views, and became devoted to the Buddha, his Law, and the Church. So one day this young girl said to her husband, "What, Sir, have I to do with the household life? I wish to adopt the religious life." "Very well, my dear," he said, "I too will become an ascetic." And he conducted her with great pomp to a sisterhood, and had her admitted as a novice, and himself too went to the Master and begged to be ordained. The Master admitted him first to deacon's and afterwards to priest's orders. They both received clear spiritual vision, and shortly attained to Sainthood. One day they raised a discussion in the Hall of Truth, saying, "Sirs, a certain woman by reason of her own faith and that of her husband became a novice. And both of them having adopted the religious life, and gained clear spiritual vision, attained to Sainthood." The Master, when he came, inquired what was the topic the Brethren were sitting in council to discuss, and on hearing what it was, he said, "Brethren, not now only, did she set her husband free from the bonds of passion. Formerly too she freed even sages of old from the bonds of death." And with these words he held his peace, but being pressed by them he related a story of the past.
being able to break the snare, the stag was so alarmed with the fear of death that he uttered a succession of cries. On hearing it the herd of deer fled in a panic. But the doe, as she fled, looking amongst the deer, missed the Bodhisatta, and thought, "This panic must certainly have something to do with my lord," and flying in haste to him, with many tears and lamentations she said, "My lord, you are very strong. Why can you not get the better of the snare? Put forth your strength and break it." And thus stirring him up to make an effort, she uttered the first stanza:—
O Golden-foot, no effort spare
To loose thyself from thongéd snare.
How could I joy, bereft of thee,
To range amidst the woodland free?
[185] The Bodhisatta, on hearing this, responded in a second
stanza:—To loose thyself from thongéd snare.
How could I joy, bereft of thee,
To range amidst the woodland free?
I spare no effort, but in vain,
My liberty I cannot gain.
The more I struggle to get loose,
The sharper bites the thongéd noose.
Then the doe said: "My lord, fear not. By my own power will I
entreat the hunter, and by giving up my own life I will gain yours in
exchange." And thus comforting the Great Being, she continued to embrace
the blood-stained Bodhisatta. But the hunter approached, with sword and spear
in hand, like to the destroying flame at the beginning of a cycle. On seeing
him, the doe said, "My lord, the hunter is coming. By my own power I will
rescue you. Be not afraid." And thus comforting the stag, she went to meet
the hunter, and standing at a respectful distance, she saluted him and said,
"My lord, my husband is of the colour of gold, and endued with all the
virtues, the king of eight myriads of deer." And thus singing the praises
of the Bodhisatta, she begged for her own death, if only the king of the herd
might remain intact, and she repeated the third stanza:—My liberty I cannot gain.
The more I struggle to get loose,
The sharper bites the thongéd noose.
Let on the earth a leafy bed,
Hunter, where we may fall, be spread:
And drawing from its sheath thy sword,
Slay me and afterwards my lord.
The hunter, on hearing this, was struck with amazement and said,
"Even human beings give not up their lives for their king; much less the
beasts. What can this mean? This creature speaks with a sweet voice in the
language of men. [186] This day will I grant life to her and to her mate."
And greatly charmed with her, the hunter uttered the fourth stanza:—Hunter, where we may fall, be spread:
And drawing from its sheath thy sword,
Slay me and afterwards my lord.
A beast that speaks with voice of men,
Ne’er came before within my ken.
Rest thou in peace, my gentle deer, And cease,
O Golden-foot, to fear.
Ne’er came before within my ken.
Rest thou in peace, my gentle deer, And cease,
O Golden-foot, to fear.
The doe seeing the Bodhisatta set at his ease, was highly delighted and returning thanks to the hunter, repeated the fifth stanza:—
As I to-day rejoice to see
This mighty beast at liberty,
So, hunter, that didst loose the gin,
Rejoice with all thy kith and kin.
And the Bodhisatta thought, "This hunter has granted life to
me and this doe, and to eight myriads of deer. He has been my refuge, and I
ought to be a refuge to him." [187] And in his character of one supremely
virtuous he thought, "One ought to make a proper return to one's
benefactor," and he gave the hunter a magic jewel which he had found in
their feeding ground and said: "Friend, henceforth take not the life of
any creature, but with this jewel set up a household and maintain a wife and
children, and give alms and do other good works." And thus admonishing
him, the stag disappeared in the forest.This mighty beast at liberty,
So, hunter, that didst loose the gin,
Rejoice with all thy kith and kin.
Footnotes
120:1 Compare Tibetan Tales, xli: The Gazelle and the Hunter.No. 360.
SUSSONDI-JĀTAKA. 2
"I scent the fragrance," etc.—This story the Master, while living at Jetavana, told concerning a backsliding Brother. The Master asked if it were true that he longed for the world, and what he had seen to make him regret having taken orders. The Brother answered, "It was all owing to the charms of a woman." The Master said, "Verily, Brother, there is no possibility of being on one's guard against womenfolk. Sages of old, though they took the precaution to dwell in the abode of the Garuḍas, failed to be on their guard against them." And being urged by him, the Master related a story of the past.Once upon a time king Tamba reigned in Benares, and his queen-consort named Sussondī was a woman of surpassing beauty. At that time the Bodhisatta came to life as a young Garuḍa. Now the Nāga island was then known as Seruma island, and the Bodhisatta lived on this island in the abode of the Garuḍas. And he went to Benares, disguised as a youth, and played at dice with king Tamba. Remarking his beauty they said to Sussondī, "Such and such a youth plays at dice with our king." She longed to see him, and one day she adorned herself and repaired to the dice-chamber. [188] There taking her stand amongst the attendants, she fixed her gaze on the youth. He too gazed on the queen, and the pair fell in love with one another. The Garuḍa king by an act of supernatural power stirred up a storm in the city. The people, through fear of the house falling, fled out of the palace. By his power he caused it to be dark, and carrying off the queen with him in the air, he made his way to his own abode in Nāga island. But no one knew of the coming or going of Sussondī. The Garuḍa took his pleasure with her, and still came to play at dice with the king. Now the king had a minstrel named Sagga, and not knowing where the queen had gone, the king addressed the minstrel and said, "Go now and explore every land and sea, and discover what has become of the queen." And so saying he bade him begone.
He took what was necessary for his journey, and beginning the search from the city gate, at last came to Bhārukaccha. At that time certain merchants of Bhārukaccha were setting sail for the Golden Land. He approached them and said, "I am a minstrel. If you remit my passage money, I will act as your minstrel. Take me with you." They agreed to do so, and putting him on board weighed anchor. When the ship was fairly off, they called him and bade him make music for them. He said, "I would make music, but if I do, the fish will be so excited that your vessel will be wrecked." "If a mere mortal," they said, "make music, there will be no excitement on the part of the fish. Play to us." "Then do not be angry with me," he said, and tuning his lute and keeping perfect harmony between the words of his song and the accompaniment of the lute string, he made music for them. The fish were maddened at the sound and splashed about. And a certain sea monster leaping up fell upon the ship and broke it in two. Sagga lying on a plank was carried along by the wind till he reached a banyan tree in the Nāga island, where the Garuḍa king lived. Now queen Sussondī, whenever the Garuḍa king went to play at dice, came down from her place of abode, [189] and as she was wandering on the edge of the shore, she saw and recognized the minstrel Sagga, and asked him how he got there. He told her the whole story. And she comforted him and said, "Do not be afraid," and embracing him in her arms, she carried him to her abode and laid him on a couch. And when he was greatly revived, she fed him with heavenly
food, bathed him in heavenly scented-water, arrayed him in heavenly raiment, and adorned him with flowers of heavenly perfume, and made him recline upon a heavenly couch. Thus did she watch over him, and whenever the Garuḍa king returned, she hid her lover, and so soon as the king was gone, under the influence of passion she took her pleasure with him. At the end of a month and a half from that time some merchants, who dwelt at Benares, landed at the foot of the banyan tree in this island, to get fire-wood and water. The minstrel went on board ship with them, and on reaching Benares, as soon as he saw the king, while he was playing at dice, Sagga took his lute, and making music recited the first stanza:—
I scent the fragrance of the timira
grove,
I hear the moaning of the weary sea:
Tamba, I am tormented with my love,
For fair Sussondī dwells afar from me.
On hearing this the Garuḍa
king uttered the second stanza:—I hear the moaning of the weary sea:
Tamba, I am tormented with my love,
For fair Sussondī dwells afar from me.
How didst thou cross the stormy main,
And Seruma in safety gain?
How didst thou Sagga, tell me, pray,
To fair Sussondī win thy way?
[190] Then Sagga repeated three stanzas:—And Seruma in safety gain?
How didst thou Sagga, tell me, pray,
To fair Sussondī win thy way?
With trading-folk from Bhārukaccha land
My ship was wrecked by monsters of the sea;
I on a plank did safely gain the strand,
When an anointed queen with gentle hand
Upbore me tenderly upon her knee,
As though to her a true son I might be.
She food and raiment brought, and as I lay
With love-lorn eyes hung o’er my couch all day.
Know, Tamba, well; this word is sooth I say.
The Garuḍa, while the
minstrel thus spake, was filled with regrets and said: "Though I dwelt in
the abode of the Garuḍas, I failed to
guard her safely. What is this wicked woman to me?" So he brought her back
and presented her to the king and departed. And thenceforth he came not there
any more.My ship was wrecked by monsters of the sea;
I on a plank did safely gain the strand,
When an anointed queen with gentle hand
Upbore me tenderly upon her knee,
As though to her a true son I might be.
She food and raiment brought, and as I lay
With love-lorn eyes hung o’er my couch all day.
Know, Tamba, well; this word is sooth I say.
Footnotes
123:1 A Brother who was suspended for siding with heretics.123:2 Compare No. 327 supra.
No. 361.
VAṆṆĀROHA-JĀTAKA. 1
[191] "Is it thus, Sudātha," etc.—This story the Master, while dwelling at Jetavana, told concerning the two chief disciples. On a certain occasion the two chief elders resolved during the rainy season to devote themselves to solitude. So they bade the Master farewell and leaving the company of the Brethren they went forth from Jetavana, carrying their bowl and robes with their own hands, and lived in a forest near a border village. And a certain man, who waited on the elders and lived upon their broken victuals, dwelt apart in the same place. On seeing how happily these elders lived together, he thought: "I wonder if it is possible to set them at variance." So he drew nigh to Sāriputta and said, "Can it be, Reverend Sir, that there is some quarrel between you and the venerable chief elder Moggallāna?" "Why so, Sir?" he asked. "He ever, Holy Sir, speaks in your dispraise and says, "When I am gone, what is Sāriputta worth compared with me in caste, lineage, family and country, or in the power of attainments in the sacred volumes?" The elder smiled and said, "Be off, sirrah!" Another day he drew nigh to the chief elder Moggallāna, and said the same thing. He too smiled and said, "Be off, sirrah!" Moggallāna went to Sāriputta and asked, "Has this fellow, who lives on our leavings, said aught to you?" "Yes, friend, he has." "And he said exactly the same thing to me. We must drive him away." "Very well, friend, drive him away." The elder said, "You are not to come here," and snapping his fingers at him, he drove him away. The two elders lived happily together, and returning to the Master, made obeisance to him and sat down. The Master spoke kindly to them and asked if they had kept their Retreat pleasantly. They said, "A certain beggar wished to set us at variance, but failing in the attempt he ran away." The Master said, "Verily, Sāriputta, not now only, but formerly also, he thought to set you at variance, but failing in the attempt he ran away." And hereupon at his request he related a story of bygone days.am gone, this lion will never attain to the sixteenth part of my personal beauty, nor of my stature and girth, nor of my natural strength and power." Then the lion said to him, "Off with you. He will never speak thus of me." Then the jackal drew nigh to the tiger also, and spoke after the same manner. On hearing him, the tiger hastened to the lion, and asked, "Friend, is it true, that you said so and so of me?" And he spoke the first stanza:—
Is it thus 1Sudāṭha speaks of me?
"In grace of form and pedigree,
In might and prowess in the field,
1Subāhu still to me must yield."
On hearing this Sudāṭha repeated the
four remaining stanzas:—"In grace of form and pedigree,
In might and prowess in the field,
1Subāhu still to me must yield."
Is it thus Subāhu speaks of me?
"In grace of form and pedigree,
In might and prowess in the field, Sudāṭha still to me must yield."
If such injurious words are thine,
No more shalt thou be friend of mine.
The man that lends a ready ear
To any gossip he may hear,
Soon picks a quarrel with a friend,
And love in bitter hate will end.
No friend suspects without a cause,
Or carefully looks out for flaws;
[193] But on his friend in trust will rest
As child upon its mother's breast,
And ne’er will by a stranger's word
Be parted from his bosom's lord.
When the qualities of a friend had been thus set forth in these
four stanzas, the tiger said, "The fault is mine," and begged pardon
of the lion. And they continued to live happily together in the same place. But
the jackal departed and fled elsewhere."In grace of form and pedigree,
In might and prowess in the field, Sudāṭha still to me must yield."
If such injurious words are thine,
No more shalt thou be friend of mine.
The man that lends a ready ear
To any gossip he may hear,
Soon picks a quarrel with a friend,
And love in bitter hate will end.
No friend suspects without a cause,
Or carefully looks out for flaws;
[193] But on his friend in trust will rest
As child upon its mother's breast,
And ne’er will by a stranger's word
Be parted from his bosom's lord.
Footnotes
126:1 Compare no. 349 supra, Tibetan Tales, XXXIII: The Jackal as Calumniator, and Benfey's Introduction to the Panchatantra.127:1 Sudāṭha (strong-tooth) is the lion, Subāhu (strong-arm) the tiger.
No. 362.
SĪLAVĪMAṀSA-JĀTAKA. 1
"Virtue and learning," etc.—This story the Master, while residing at Jetavana, told concerning a brahmin who would test the power of virtue. The king, they say, owing to his reputation for virtue, regarded him with special honour, beyond what was paid to other brahmins. He thought, "Can it be that the king regards me with special honour, because I am endowed with virtue, or as one devoted to the acquisition of learning? I will just test the comparative importance of virtue and learning."So one day he abstracted a coin from the royal treasury board. The treasurer, such was his respect for him, did not say a word. It occurred a second time, and the treasurer said nothing. But on the third occasion he had him arrested as one who lived by robbery, and brought him before the king. And when the king asked what his offence was, he charged him with stealing the king's property.
[194] "Is this true, brahmin?" said the king.
"I am not in the habit of stealing your property, Sire," he said, "but I had my doubts as to the relative importance of virtue and learning, and in testing which was the greater of the two, I thrice abstracted a coin, and then I was given into custody and brought before you. Now that I know the greater efficacy of virtue compared with learning, I no longer wish to live a layman's life. I will become an ascetic."
On obtaining leave to do so, without so much as looking back on his house door, he went straight to Jetavana and begged the Master to ordain him. The Master granted him both deacon's and priest's orders. And he had been no long time in orders, before he attained to spiritual insight and reached the highest fruition. The incident was discussed in the Hall of Truth, how that a certain brahmin, after proving the power of virtue, took orders and obtaining spiritual insight reached Sainthood. When the Master came and inquired of the Brethren what was the nature of the topic they were sitting to discuss, on hearing what it was, he said, "Not this man now only, but sages of old also put virtue to the proof, and by becoming ascetics worked out their own salvation." And herewith he told a story of the past.
of virtue compared with learning." And hereupon he spoke these five stanzas:
Virtue and learning I was fain to test;
Henceforth I doubt not virtue is the best.
Virtue excels vain gifts of form and birth,
Apart from virtue learning has no worth.
A prince or peasant, if to sin enslaved,
In neither world front misery is saved.
Men of high caste with those of base degree,
If virtuous here, in heaven will equal be.
[195] Not birth, nor lore, nor friendship aught avails,
Pure virtue only future bliss entails.
Thus did the Great Being sing the praises of virtue, and having
gained the consent of the king, that very day he betook himself to the Himālaya
region, and adopting the religious life of an ascetic he developed the
Faculties and Attainments, and became destined to birth in the Brahma-world.Henceforth I doubt not virtue is the best.
Virtue excels vain gifts of form and birth,
Apart from virtue learning has no worth.
A prince or peasant, if to sin enslaved,
In neither world front misery is saved.
Men of high caste with those of base degree,
If virtuous here, in heaven will equal be.
[195] Not birth, nor lore, nor friendship aught avails,
Pure virtue only future bliss entails.
Footnotes
128:1 Compare nos. 86, vol. i., 290, vol. ii., 305, 330, vol. iii., and L. Feer, Journal Asiat., 1875.No. 363.
HIRI-JĀTAKA.
[196] "Who spite of honour," etc.—This story the Master, when dwelling at Jetavana, told concerning a rich merchant, a friend of Anāthapiṇḍika, who lived in a border province. Both the introductory story and the story of the past are related in full in the concluding Birth of the ninth division of the first book, 1 but in this version when the merchant of Benares was told that the followers of the foreign merchant were mulcted of all their property and, after losing everything they possessed, had to take to flight, he said, "Because they failed to do what they ought for the strangers who came to them, they find no one ready to do them a good turn." And so saying he repeated these verses:
Who spite of honour, while he plays the
part
Of humble servant, loathes thee in his heart,
Poor in good works and rich in words alone—
Ah! such a friend thou surely wouldst not own.
Of humble servant, loathes thee in his heart,
Poor in good works and rich in words alone—
Ah! such a friend thou surely wouldst not own.
Be thou in deed to every promise true,
Refuse to promise what thou canst not do;
Wise men on empty braggarts look askew.
No friend suspects a quarrel without cause,
For ever watching to discover flaws:
But he that trustful on a friend can rest,
As little child upon its mother's breast,
Will ne’er by any stranger's deed or word,
Be separated from his bosom's lord.
Who draws the yoke of human friendship well,
Of bliss increased and honoured life can tell:
But one that tastes the joys of calm repose,
Drinking sweet draughts of Truth—he only knows
Escape from bonds of sin and all his woes.
[197] Thus did the Great Being, disgusted by coming into contact
with evil associates, through the power of solitude, bring his teaching to a
climax and lead men to the eternal Nirvana.Refuse to promise what thou canst not do;
Wise men on empty braggarts look askew.
No friend suspects a quarrel without cause,
For ever watching to discover flaws:
But he that trustful on a friend can rest,
As little child upon its mother's breast,
Will ne’er by any stranger's deed or word,
Be separated from his bosom's lord.
Who draws the yoke of human friendship well,
Of bliss increased and honoured life can tell:
But one that tastes the joys of calm repose,
Drinking sweet draughts of Truth—he only knows
Escape from bonds of sin and all his woes.
The Master, his lesson ended, thus identified the Birth: "At that time I myself was the merchant of Benares."
Footnotes
129:1 No. 90, vol. i.
Om Tat Sat
(Continued...)
(Continued...)
No comments:
Post a Comment