 
# Jātaka Tales

Folk Tales of the Buddha's Previous Lives

Volume 3

as told and illustrated by Eric K. Van Horn

originally translated by Robert Chalmers, B.A., of Oriel College, Oxford University and

William Henry Denham Rouse, Cambridge University

originally edited by Professor Edward Byles Cowell, Cambridge University

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Smashwords Publishing

eBook ISBN: 9780463264911

First Edition 2019

_Dedicated to my children,_

_Without whom I might never have discovered_

_this wonderful literature._

Also by this author:

_The Travel Guide to the Buddha's Path_

The Little Books on Buddhism series:

Book 1: _The Little Book of Buddhist Meditation: Establishing a daily meditation practice_

Book 2: _The Little Book on Buddhist Virtue: The Buddha's teachings on happiness through skillful conduct_

Book 3: _The Little Book of the Life of the Buddha_

Book 4: _The Little Book of Buddhist Wisdom: The Buddha's teachings on the Four Noble Truths, the three marks of existence, causality, and karma_

Book 5: _The Little Book of Buddhist Mindfulness & Concentration_

Book 6: _The Little Book of Buddhist Daily Living: The Discipline for Lay People_

Book 7: _The Little Book of Buddhist Rebirth_

Book 8: _The Little Book of Buddhist Awakening: The Buddha's instructions on attaining enlightenment_

The Jātaka Tales series:

_Jātaka Tales: Volume 1_

_Jātaka Tales: Volume 2_

Table of Contents

Jātaka Tales

Introduction to Volume 3

101: Parosata Jātaka, More Than 100

102: Paṇṇika Jātaka, The Green Grocer

103: Veri Jātaka, The Enemy

104: Mittavindaka Jātaka, The Curse of Mittavindika

105: Dubbalakaṭṭa Jātaka, The Nervous Man

106: Udañcani Jātaka, Infatuation with a Temptress

107: Sālittaka Jātaka, The Stone Slinger

108: Bāhiya Jātaka, The Story of Bāhiya

109: Kuṇḍakapūva Jātaka, The Rice Cakes

110: Sabbasaṃhāraka-pañha Jātaka, All Collected Wisdom

111: Gadrabha Jātaka, The Donkey

112: Amarādevī-pañha Jātaka, The Wisdom of Queen Amarā

113: Sigāla Jātaka, The Jackal

114: Mitacinti Jātaka, The Fish Story

115: Anusāsika Jātaka, Anusāsika's Story

116: Dubbaca Jātaka, Headstrong

117: Tittira Jātaka, The Partridge Story

118: Vaṭṭaka Jātaka, The Quail

119: Akālarāvi Jātaka, The Noisy Rooster

120: Bandhanamokkha Jātaka, Freed from Bondage

121: Kusunāḷi Jātaka, The Grass Fairy

122: Dummedha Jātaka, The Fool

123: Naṇgaḷisa Jātaka, The Plough Beam

124: Amba Jātaka, The Fruits of Selflessness

125: Kaṭāhaka Jātaka, Kaṭahaka's Tale

126: Asilakkhaṇa Jātaka, The Lucky Sneeze

127: Kalaṇḍuka Jātaka, The Story of Kalaṇḍuka

128: Biḷāra Jātaka, The Cat-like Nature

129: Aggika Jātaka, The Fire Worshipper

130: Kosiya Jātaka, The Story of Kosiya

131: Asampadāna Jātaka, The Mistreated Gift

132: Pañcagaru Jātaka, The Five Sense Pleasures

133: Gathāsana Jātaka, The Water Fire

134: Jhānasodhana Jātaka, Making It Clear

135: Candābha Jātaka, Sun and Moon

136: Suvaṇṇahaṃsa Jātaka, The Swan with Golden Feathers

137: Babbu Jātaka, The Cats

138: Godha Jātaka, The Lizard

139: Ubhatobhaṭṭha Jātaka, The Twofold Failure

140: Kāka Jātaka, The Crow

141: Godha Jātaka, The Iguana

142: Sigāla Jātaka, (Another) Jackal Story

143: Virocana Jātaka, The Shining

144: Naṇguṭṭha Jātaka, The Tail

145: Rādha Jātaka, Rādha's Story

146: Kāka Jātaka, (Another) Crow Story

147: Puppharatta Jātaka, The Red Flower

148: Sigāla Jātaka, (Still Another) Jackal Story

149: Ekapaṇṇa Jātaka, The Single Leaf

150: Sañjīva Jātaka, The Story of Sañjīva

## Abbreviations Used for Pāli Text References

* * *

**AN** : _Aṇguttara Nikāya_ , _The Numerical Discourses of the Buddha_

**Bv** : _Buddhavaṃsa_ , _Chronicle of Buddhas_

**BvA** : _Buddhavaṃsatthakathā_ , commentary to the _Buddhavaṃsa_

**Cv** : _Cullavagga_ , _the "smaller book,"_ the second volume in the _Khandhaka_ , which is the second book of the monastic code (the Vinaya)

**Dhp** : _Dhammapada_ , _The Path of Dhamma_ , a collection of 423 verses

**DhpA** : _Dhammapada-aṭṭhakathā_ , commentary to the _Dhammapada_

**DN** : _Digha Nikāya_ , _The Long Discourses of the Buddha_

**Iti** : _Itivuttaka_ , _This Was Said_ (by the Buddha), a.k.a., Sayings of the Buddha

**Ja** : _Jātaka Tales_ , previous life stories of the Buddha

**JaA** : _Jātaka-aṭṭhakathā_ , commentary on the _Jātaka Tales_

**Khp** : _Khuddakapāṭha_ , _Short Passages_

**MA** : _Majjhima Nikāya Aṭṭhakathā_ , commentary on the _Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha_ (by Buddhaghosa)

**MN** : _Majjhima Nikāya_ , _The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha_

**Mv** : _Mahāvagga_ , the first volume in the _Khandhaka_ , which is the second book of the monastic code (the Vinaya)

**Pm** : _Pātimokkha, The Code of Monastic Discipline_ , the first book of the monastic code (the Vinaya)

**SN** : _Saṃyutta Nikāya_ , _The Connected Discourses of the Buddha_

**S Nip** : _Sutta Nipāta, The Sutta Collection_ , literally, "suttas falling down," a sutta collection in the _Khuddaka Nikāya_ consisting mostly of verse

**Sv** : _Sutta-vibhaṇga: Classification of the Suttas_ , the "origin stories" for the Pātimokkha rules

**Thag** : _Theragāthā: Verses of the Elder Monks_

**ThagA** : _Theragāthā-aṭṭhakathā_ , Commentary to the _Theragāthā_

**Thig** : _Therīgāthā: Verses of the Elder Nuns_

**ThigA** : _Therīgāthā-aṭṭhakathā_ , Commentary to the _Therīgāthā_

**Ud** : _Udana_ , _Exclamations_ , the third book of the _Khuddaka Nikāya_

**Vin** : _Vinaya Pitaka_ , _Basket of Discipline_ , the monastic rules for monks and nuns.

* * *

# Introduction to Volume 3

One of the things that stands out to me about the stories of the monks and nuns of the Buddha's time is the different temperaments and how an individual's personality leads them to the Dharma through a different doorway. Subsequently this different doorway leads to the Dharma expressing itself in different ways. It is like artists, all of whom create different art.

We have a vast literature from the Buddha's time, many thousands and thousands of pages of teachings that have been preserved by the Saṇgha over the past 2500 years. Students of the Buddha's teaching will know the iconic teachings: the Four Noble Truths, the Noble Eightfold Path, the four elements, dependent co-arising, and so forth. But for any one student, one approach may speak to her or him in a uniquely personal way.

One of the stories from this collection that speaks to a unique path is Jātaka 124, The Fruits of Selflessness. In this story an unusually selfless monk finds his doorway to the Dharma through service. He spends his time taking good care of the monastery:

> He was meticulous in the performance of the duties of the Dharma Hall, the monastery's bath house, and so forth. He was perfect in the observance of the 14 major and the 80 minor disciplines. He used to sweep the monastery, the cells, the walkways, and the path leading to their monastery.

The Dharma is not all about supernormal powers and meditative accomplishments. Sometimes it is about the simplicity of selfless service. This is the lesson of this particularly simple and profound story, and it is through stories like this that we see one of the many doorways to the Dharma.

This is part of the challenge of following the Buddha's path. In the beginning it can be overwhelming. The Buddha's teachings are not simple. They have great depth and great breadth. And we have to keep pushing – gently – in order to find our unique doorway, and our own unique expression of the Dharma.

The way we do that is one step at a time. One of the great values of this wonderful literature is that we can nibble away at the edges of the Dharma. We see people just like us, even though these stories are centuries old. We see that in 2500 years, the human mind has not changed at all. We know these people all too well. They have the same foibles and challenges that we do. And it is in these common traits that we connect to followers of the Buddha throughout time.

Eric K. Van Horn

Rio Rancho, NM

August 2019

# 101: Parosata Jātaka,  
More Than 100

* * *

This story is identical to Jātaka 99 except in the capping verse where in this version the words "think hard" replace the words "cry out."

" _Far better than a thousand fools._ " This story was told by the Master when at Jetavana. It is about the question of the unconverted.

(The incidents will be related in the Sarabhaṅga Jātaka [Jātaka 522].)

On a certain occasion the monks met in the Dharma Hall and praised the wisdom of Sāriputta, the Commander of the Dharma, who had expounded the meaning of the Buddha's concise statement. Entering the hall, the Master asked what the monks were discussing, and they told him. "This is not the first time, monks," he said, "that the meaning of a concise statement of mine has been explained by Sāriputta. He did so likewise in times gone by." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into the family of a northern brahmin. He subsequently completed his education at Takkasilā University. Abandoning sensual desire and renouncing the world for the life of a recluse, he won the Five Knowledges ( _the power of faith, the power of moral shame, the power of moral dread, the power of energy, and the power of wisdom_ ) and the Eight Attainments ( _the eight jhānas_ ). He lived in the Himalayas where 500 recluses gathered round him.

One rainy season, his chief disciple went with half the recluses to the domain of men to get salt and vinegar. That was the time when the Bodhisatta was about to die. His disciples, wishing to know his spiritual attainment, said to him, "What excellence have you won?"

"Won?" he said. "I have won Nothing." ( _He is referring to the 7th jhāna, the base of no-thingness._ ) So saying, he died. He was reborn in the Brahma Realm of Radiant Devils. (For Bodhisattas, even though they may have attained to the immaterial jhānas, are never reborn in the Formless World because they are incapable of passing beyond the Realm of Form.)

( _In the Buddhist Cosmology, there are four immaterial realms into which you are born if you can master the four immaterial jhānas. According to this text, however, a Bodhisatta will not be reborn into those realms._ )

However, his disciples misunderstood him. They thought that he meant that he did not have any spiritual attainments. As a result, they did not pay the customary honors at his cremation.

When he returned, the chief disciple learned that the Master was dead. He asked the monks whether they had asked him about his spiritual attainments. "He said he had won nothing," they said, "So we did not pay him the usual honors at cremation."

"You did not understand his meaning," the chief disciple said. "Our Master meant that he had attained insight into the Base of No-thingness." But even though he explained this again and again to the disciples, they did not believe him.

Knowing their disbelief, the Bodhisatta cried, "Fools! They do not believe my chief disciple. I will make this thing clear to them." And he came from the Brahma Realm and by virtue of his mighty powers rested in midair above the hermitage and uttered this stanza in praise of the wisdom of the chief disciple:

Far better than a thousand fools, though they

Think hard for a hundred years unceasingly,

Is one who, hearing, straightway understands.

Figure: Remedial Dharma Class

Thus did the Great Being - from midair - proclaim the Dharma and chastise the band of recluses. Then he passed back to the Brahma Realm, and all those hermits, too, qualified themselves for rebirth in the same Realm.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Sāriputta was the chief disciple of those days, and I was Mahā-Brahma."

# 102: Paṇṇika Jātaka,  
The Green Grocer

* * *

This story has a key point that might get lost a little, and that is the wickedness of the father. This comes out in the verse where the daughter calls him out. The daughter, then, is the true hero of the story.

" _He who should prove._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a layman who was a greengrocer in Sāvatthi. He made a living by selling various roots and vegetables and pumpkins and the like.

Now he had a pretty daughter who was as good and virtuous as she was pretty, but she was always laughing. And when she was asked in marriage by a family of his own station in life, he thought "She should be married, but she's always laughing. A bad girl married into a strange family brings shame to her parents. I must find out for certain whether or not she is a good girl."

So one day he had his daughter take a basket and come with him to the forest to gather herbs. Then to test her, he took her by the hand and whispered words of love. Straightway the girl burst into tears and began to cry out that such a thing would be as monstrous as fire rising out of water, and she pleaded with him to restrain himself. Then he told her that his only intent was to test her. He asked her if she was virtuous. And she declared that she was, and that she had never looked on any man with eyes of love. Calming her fears and taking her back home, he made a feast and gave her in marriage. Then feeling that he ought to go and pay his respects to the Master, he took perfumes and garlands in his hand and went to Jetavana. His salutations done and offerings made, he seated himself near the Master, who observed that it had been a long time since his last visit. Then the man told the Blessed One the whole story.

"She has always been a virtuous girl," the Master said. "You tested her now just as you did in days gone by." Then at the greengrocer's request he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a tree sprite in a forest. And a layman who was a greengrocer of Benares had just the same doubts about his daughter, and all happened as in the introductory story. As her father took hold of her hand the weeping girl repeated these verses:

He that should prove my character strong,

My father, committed me this wrong.

Forlorn in thickest wood I cry,

My helper proves my enemy.

Figure: A Cruel Test

Then her father calmed her fears and asked her whether she was a virgin. And when she declared that she was, he brought her home and made a feast and gave the girl in marriage.

* * *

His story ended, the Master gave a discourse on the Four Noble Truths, at the close of which the green grocer attained stream-entry. Then the Master identified the birth by saying, "The father and daughter of today were the father and daughter in the story, and I was the tree sprite who witnessed the scene."

# 103: Veri Jātaka,  
The Enemy

* * *

> "The wild boar runs from the tiger, knowing that each be well-armed by nature with deadly strength, may kill the other. Running, he saves his own life and that of the tiger. This is not cowardice. It is the love of life." - [Master Kahn, Kung Fu Television Series]

This is a simple story about prudence. It has – perhaps – a slightly subtler message as well, and that is avoiding conflict when possible:

" _If you are wise, you will not linger._ " This story was told by the Master at Jetavana. It is about Anāthapiṇḍika. For we hear that Anāthapiṇḍika was returning from a village where he was the headman when he saw robbers on the road. "It won't do to delay," he thought. "I must hurry on to Sāvatthi." So he urged his oxen to speed up and got safely into Sāvatthi. On the next day he went to the monastery and told the Master what had happened to him. "Sir," the Master said, "in other times, too, the wise and good saw robbers on the road and hurried without delay to their homes." Then at the merchant's request he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a rich merchant. He had gone to a village to collect his dues and was on his way home when he saw robbers on the road. At once he urged his oxen to their topmost speed and reached home in safety. And as he sat on his couch of state after a rich feast, he exclaimed, "I have escaped from the robbers' hand to my own house, where fear does not live." And in gratitude he uttered this stanza:

If wise, you will not linger amongst enemies.

A night or two with such brings miseries.

So, from the fullness of his heart, the Bodhisatta spoke, and after a life of charity and other good deeds he passed away to fare according to his karma.

Figure: Turbo-charging the Oxen

* * *

His story ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "I was the merchant of Benares of those days.

# 104: Mittavindaka Jātaka,  
The Curse of Mittavindika

* * *

The PTS edition uses the title "Mittavinda," but I believe that is a mistake. Everywhere else the name is "Mittavindika."

This story references Jātaka 41. In that story, there is a nobleman who supplies Mittavindika with good food. When another monk shows up, Mittavindika is afraid that if he stays, Mittavindika will no longer be the beneficiary of the nobleman's generosity. So when the nobleman gives Mittavindika some food to share with the other monk, Mittavindika buries it in the ground rather than give it to him. Because of this wicked act, Mittavindika suffers greatly, including 500 lifetimes as a dog and 500 lifetimes as an ogre!

" _From four to eight._ " This story was told by the Master while at Jetavana. It is about unruly monk. The incidents are the same as those in the previous story of Mittavindika ( _Jātaka 41_ ), but belong to the days of the Buddha Kassapa ( _a previous Buddha_ ).

* * *

Now at that time one of the damned who had put on the razor wheel ( _a wheel of razors that clamps onto the head_ ) and was suffering the tortures of hell, asked the Bodhisatta, "Lord, what offense have I committed?" The Bodhisatta detailed the man's evil deeds to him and uttered this stanza:

From four to eight, then to sixteen, and on

To thirty-two insatiable greed does go,

\--Still pressing on until that greed

Does win the razor wheel's misery.

So saying the Bodhisatta went back to the Realm of Devas, but the other man stayed in hell until his misconduct had run its course. Then he passed away to fare according to his remaining karma.

Figure: The Price of Greed

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "This unruly monk was then Mittavindaka and I was the deva."

# 105: Dubbalakaṭṭa Jātaka,  
The Nervous Man

* * *

One of the common themes in the Buddha's teaching is how useful it is to come to terms with our own mortality. Contemplating and coming to terms with our own death is a way to be at peace. If we come to terms with our own mortality, we come to terms with one of the greatest fears with which most people live.

" _Do not fear the wind._ " This story was told by the Master while at Jetavana. It is about a monk who lived in a perpetual state of fear. We learn that he came from a good family in Sāvatthi. He was inspired to give up the world by hearing the Dharma, but he lived in fear by night and by day. The whistling of the wind, the rustle of a fan, or the cry of bird or beast would fill him with such abject terror that he would shriek and run away. He never reflected that death was inevitable. Had he practiced meditation on the certainty of death, he would not have been afraid of it. For only they who do not meditate on the certainty of death fear it.

Now his constant fear of dying became known to the Saṇgha. One day they met in the Dharma Hall and started discussing his fear and the importance of every monk taking death as a theme for meditation. Entering the Hall, the Master asked, and was told, what they were discussing. So he sent for that monk and asked him whether it was true that he lived in fear of death. The monk confessed that he did. "Do not be angry, monks, with this brother," the Master said. The fear of death that fills his breast was no less strong in bygone times." So saying he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a tree sprite near the Himalayas. And in those days the King put his state elephant in the elephant trainers' hands to train him. They tied the elephant to a post, and with whips in their hands they set about training the animal. Unable to bear the pain while he was being forced to do their bidding, the elephant broke the post down, chased the trainers away, and made off for the Himalayas. The men, being unable to catch him, had to return empty-handed.

After this, the elephant lived in the Himalayas in constant fear of death. A breath of wind was enough to fill him with fear and to start him off running at full speed, shaking his trunk to and fro. It was as if he was still tied to the post to be trained. All happiness of mind and body were gone. He wandered up and down in constant fear.

Seeing this, the tree sprite stood in the fork of his tree and uttered this stanza:

If you fear the wind that ceaselessly

Wears the rotten branches away,

Such fear will waste you quite away!

Such were the tree sprite's wise words. And after that, the elephant did not suffer from fear any more.

Figure: The Tree Sprite Calms the Elephant

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master taught the Four Noble Truths at the end of which the monk attained stream-entry. The Master then identified the birth by saying, "This monk was the elephant of those days, and I was the tree sprite."

# 106: Udañcani Jātaka,  
Infatuation with a Temptress

* * *

The original translation of this story describes the young woman as a "fat girl." However, the Pāli word for "fat" also means "coarse." In the teachings a "coarse person" is someone who indulges in sensual pleasures and is something of a temptress, someone who is seductive and uses those seductive powers to manipulate others.

" _A happy life was mine._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about being tempted by a seductive woman. The entire incident will be related in the Culla-Nārada-Kassapa Jātaka ( _Jātaka 477_ ) in the Thirteenth Book.

( _In Jātaka 477, a sensuous young woman tries to lure the Bodhisatta's son out of his life living as a recluse in the forest. However, the Bodhisatta composes a metaphorical poem that he recites and then explains to his son. This shows the son the dangers of the sensual world and brings him back to his senses._ )

On asking the monk, the Master was told that it was true he was in love, and in love with the seductive girl. "Brother," the Master said, "she is leading you astray. So, too, in times gone by she led you into evil, and you were only restored to happiness by the wise and good of those days." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, those things came to pass which will be told in the Culla-Nārada-Kassapa Jātaka. But on this occasion the Bodhisatta arrived in the evening with fruits at the hermitage. Opening the door, he said to his son, "Every other day you brought wood and victuals and lit a fire. Why have you not done any of these things today, but sit sadly here pining away?"

"Father," the young man said, "while you were away gathering fruits, a woman came who tried to lure me away with sweet talk. But I would not go with her until I had your permission, and so I left her sitting waiting for me. And now my wish is to depart."

Finding that the young man was too infatuated to be able to give her up, the Bodhisatta wished him farewell, saying "But when she wants meat or fish or ghee or salt or rice or any such thing to eat, and she sends you hurrying to and fro on her errands, then remember this hermitage and come away back to me."

So the son went off with the woman to the world of men. When he got to her house, she made him run about to do every single thing she wanted.

"I might just as well be her slave," he thought, and promptly ran away back to his father. Saluting him, he stood and repeated this stanza:

A happy life was mine until she arrived,

\--That worrying, tiresome schemer defined my wife--

Set me to run the errands of her whims.

Figure: The Perils of Passion

And the Bodhisatta praised the young man and encouraged him to be kind and show mercy. He described the four forms of right feeling towards people ( _loving-kindness, compassion, empathetic joy, and equanimity_ ) and the practices for gaining insight. And it was not long before the young man won the Knowledges ( _supernormal powers_ ) and Attainments ( _the jhānas_ ). Further, he cultivated the right feelings towards his fellow beings, and with his father was reborn into the Brahma Realm.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master taught the Four Noble Truths, at the close of which that monk attained stream entry. The Master identified the birth by saying, "The seductive girl of today was also the seductive girl of those days. This beguiled monk was the son, and I was the father of those days."

# 107: Sālittaka Jātaka,  
The Stone Slinger

* * *

This is a very funny story. One of the things that I love about the Pāli Canon is how much humor there is. In this story there is a man who is an obsessive talker and a King who is looking for a way to shut him up. The solution is quite ingenious!

In this story, the same skill is used in two different contexts. In one context, the skill is used wisely, in the other, it is not. Thus the Buddha's admonishment that skills should only be developed by the wise.

" _Prize skill._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a monk who threw a stone and hit a swan. We are told that this monk, who came from a good family in Sāvatthi, had great skill in hitting things with stones. One day he heard the Dharma taught and he decided to give his heart to it, and, giving up the world, was admitted to Saṇgha.

However, he did not excel as a monk either in study or in practice. One day, he went to the river Aciravatī ( _the modern Rāpti River_ ) with a young monk. He was standing on the bank after bathing when he saw two white swans flying by. He said to the young monk, "I'll hit the trailing swan in the eye and bring it down."

"Bring it down indeed!" the young monk said. "You can't hit it."

"Just you wait a moment. I'll hit it on the eye on this side and it will go out through the eye on the other side."

"Oh, nonsense."

"Very well. You wait and see."

Then he took a three-cornered stone in his hand and threw it at the swan. The stone whizzed through the air and the swan, suspecting danger, stopped to listen. At once the monk grabbed a smooth round stone, and as the resting swan was looking in the other direction, he hit it right in the eye. That stone went in one eye and came out through the other. And with a loud scream the swan fell to the ground at their feet.

"That is a shameful action," said the young monk, and he brought him before the Master and told him what had happened. After rebuking the monk, the Master said, "He had the same skill, monks, in past times as now." And he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was one of the King's courtiers. And the royal priest of those days was so talkative and longwinded that once he started, no one else could get a word in. So the King looked around for someone to cut the priest off. He looked high and low for someone.

Now at that time there was a cripple in Benares who was a wonderful marksman with stones. The boys used to put him on a little cart and take him to the gates of Benares where there is a large branching banyan tree covered with leaves. There they would gather round and give him a coin, saying "Make an elephant," or "Make a horse." And the cripple would throw stone after stone until he had cut the foliage into the appropriate shapes. And the ground was covered with fallen leaves.

One day, on his way to his pleasure garden the King came to that spot. All the boys scampered off in fear of the King, leaving the cripple there helpless. At the sight of the litter of leaves the King asked, as he rode by in his chariot, who had cut the leaves off. And he was told that the cripple had done it. Thinking that here might be a way to shut the priest's mouth, the King asked where the cripple was. He was shown him sitting at the foot of the tree. Then the King had him brought to him and, motioning his retinue to stand apart, said to the cripple, "I have a very talkative priest. Do you think you could stop his talking?"

"Yes, sire. If I had a peashooter full of dry goat's dung," the cripple said. So the King took him to the palace. There he had him set up with a peashooter full of dry goat's dung. He put him behind a curtain with a slit in it facing the priest. When the priest came to wait upon the King, his majesty started a conversation. And the priest, as usual, monopolized the conversation. No one else could get a word in. The cripple started to shoot the pellets of goat's dung one by one, like flies, through the slit in the curtain right into the priest's mouth. And the brahmin swallowed the pellets down as they came, like so much oil, until all had disappeared.

When the whole peashooter-full of pellets was lodged in the priest's stomach, they swelled to the size of a bushel basket. The King, knowing they were all gone, addressed the brahmin in these words, "Reverend sir, you are so talkative that you have swallowed down a peashooter-full of goat's dung without knowing it. That's about as much as you will be able to take at one time. Now go home and take a dose of panic grass seed and water as an emetic ( _something that makes you vomit_ ) and put yourself right again."

Figure: Learning a Harsh Lesson

From that day on the priest kept his mouth shut and sat as silent during conversation as though his lips were sealed.

"Well, my ears are indebted to the cripple for this relief," the King said, and he bestowed on him four villages, one in the North, one in the South, one in the West, and one in the East. They produced a hundred thousand coins in income per year."

The Bodhisatta drew near to the King and said, "In this world, sire, skill should be cultivated by the wise. Mere skill in aiming has brought this cripple all this prosperity." So saying he uttered this stanza:

Prize skill, and the marksman is lame.

\--Four villages reward his aim

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "This monk was the cripple of those days, Ānanda was the King, and I was the wise courtier."

# 108: Bāhiya Jātaka,  
The Story of Bāhiya

* * *

This is a somewhat curious but amusing story, but I think its message is clear. It is fundamentally about mindfulness and the great benefit that can come from that. In this particular case, it is about a woman who needs to relieve herself (!). She is so thoughtful about how she goes about this, that she earns the favor of the king, becomes his queen, and gives birth to a "universal monarch." Not bad for mindful peeing, eh?

" _Learn this quickly._ " This story was told by the Master while he was living in the Gabled Chamber at the Great Grove near Vesāli. It is about a Licchavi ( _Licchavi was a "tribal confederation" in ancient India_ ), a devout prince who had embraced the Dharma. He had invited the Saṇgha - with the Buddha at its head - to his house. There he showed great generosity towards them. Now his wife was a very fat woman, almost bloated in appearance, and she was badly dressed.

Thanking the prince for his hospitality, the Master returned to the monastery and, after a discourse to the monks, retired to his perfumed chamber.

Assembled in the Dharma Hall, the monks expressed their surprise that a man like this Licchavi prince should have such a fat, badly dressed woman for his wife, and that he was so fond of her. Entering the Hall and hearing what they were discussing, the Master said, "Monks, as now, so in former times he was fond of a fat woman." Then, at their request, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was one of his courtiers. And a fat and badly dressed country woman who worked for hire was passing near the courtyard of the palace when a pressing need to relieve herself came upon her. Bending down with her clothing decently gathered round her, she accomplished her purpose and was erect again in an instant.

The King happened to be looking out onto the courtyard through a window at the time and saw this. He thought, "A woman who could manage this with so much decorum must enjoy good health. She would be sure to keep her house neat and clean, and a son born into a clean house would be sure to grow up clean and virtuous. I will make her my queen consort." And accordingly, the King, first assuring himself that she was not another man's wife, sent for her and made her his Queen. She became very near and dear to him. Not long afterwards a son was born, and this son became a Universal Monarch ( _a particularly compassionate and wise ruler, also called a "Wheel Turning Monarch"_ ).

Figure: Somewhat Unusual but Nonetheless Happy Family

Observing her fortunes, the Bodhisatta took occasion to say to the King, "Sire, why should not care be taken to mindfully fulfill all proper observances, when this excellent woman won your majesty's favor and rose to such fortune by her modesty and decency in relieving herself." And he went on to utter this stanza:

Learn this quickly. Though gaudy people there be,

The rustic pleased the King by modesty.

Thus did the Great Being commend the virtues of those who devoted themselves to the study of proper decorum.

* * *

His story ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "The husband and wife of today were also the husband and wife of those times, and I was the wise courtier."

# 109: Kuṇḍakapūva Jātaka,  
The Rice Cakes

* * *

This is a lovely story about humility and generosity. It is reminiscent of the story in the Bible about the Widow's Offering [Mark 12:41-44 and Luke 21:1-4].

An interesting feature of this story is how the tree sprite – the Bodhisatta – instructs the poor man to take the buried treasure to the King rather than keeping it for himself. In this way he reaps even greater benefits by gaining the position of Lord Treasurer.

" _As fares his benefactor._ " This story was told by the Master when he was at Sāvatthi. It is about a very poor man.

Now at Sāvatthi, the Saṇgha, with the Buddha at its head, used to be entertained now by a single family, then by three or four families together. Or a body of people or a whole street would get together, or sometimes the whole city entertained them. But on the occasion now in question it was a street that was showing its hospitality. And the inhabitants had gathered to provide rice porridge followed by cakes.

Now on that street there lived a very poor man. He was a hired laborer. He did not see how he could give the porridge, but he resolved to give cakes. He scraped out the red powder from empty rice husks and kneaded it with water into a round cake. He wrapped this cake in a leaf of swallow wort ( _a shrub whose leaves were used in baking_ ) and baked it in the embers.

When it was done, he made up his mind that only the Buddha should have it. Accordingly, he placed himself near the Master. No sooner had the word been given to offer cakes, then he stepped forward quicker than anyone else and put his cake in the Master's alms bowl. The Master declined all other cakes offered to him and ate the poor man's cake. Immediately the whole city talked of nothing but how the All-Enlightened One had only eaten the poor man's cake. And from porters to nobles and the King himself, everyone flocked to the spot, saluted the Master, and crowded around the poor man. They offered him food or two to five hundred pieces of money if he would dedicate the merit of his act to them.

Thinking he had better ask the Master first, he went to him and stated his case. "Take what they offer," the Master said, "and offer your merit to all living creatures." So the man set to work to collect the offerings. Some gave twice as much as others, some four times as much, others eight times as much, and so on, until nine million rupees worth of gold were collected.

Returning thanks for the hospitality, the Master went back to the monastery and after instructing the monks and giving his blessed teaching to them, he retired to his perfumed chamber.

In the evening the King sent for the poor man and made him Lord Treasurer.

Assembling in the Dharma Hall the monks spoke together of how the Master, accepting the poor man's cake, had eaten it as though it were ambrosia, and how the poor man had been enriched and made Lord Treasurer to his great good fortune. And when the Master entered the Dharma Hall and heard what they were talking about, he said, "Monks, this is not the first time that I have accepted that poor man's cake. I did the same when I was a tree sprite, and then too it was the means by which he was made Lord Treasurer." So saying he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a tree sprite living in a castor oil plant. The villagers of those days were superstitious about gods. A festival came around, and the villagers offered sacrifices to their respective tree sprites. Seeing this, a poor man paid homage to the castor oil tree. All the others had offered garlands, fragrances, perfumes, and cakes. But the poor man only had a rice cake and water in a cocoanut shell for his tree. Standing before it, he thought to himself, "Tree sprites are used to heavenly food, and my tree sprite will not eat this poor rice cake. Why then should I waste it? I will eat it myself." He turned to go away when the Bodhisatta exclaimed from the fork of his tree, "My good man, if you were a great lord you would bring me dainty wheat breads. But as you are a poor man, what shall I eat if not that cake? Do not rob me of that." And he uttered this stanza:

As his benefactor fares, so a sprite must fare.

Bring me the cake, and do not rob me of my share.

Then the man turned around and, seeing the Bodhisatta, gave up his humble offering. The Bodhisatta fed on the cake and said, "Why do you honor me?"

Figure: The Poor Man Makes a Kind Offering

"I am a poor man, my lord, and I honor you so that I might be relieved of my poverty."

"Have no more fear for that. You have sacrificed to one who is grateful and mindful of kindness. Behind this tree there are pots of buried treasure. Go tell the King and take the treasure away in wagons to the King's courtyard. Pile it in a heap there and the King will be so pleased with you that he will make you Lord Treasurer." So saying, the Bodhisatta vanished from sight.

The man did as he was told, and the King made him Lord Treasurer. Thus did the poor man, by aid of the Bodhisatta, come to great fortune. And when he died, he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "The poor man of today was also the poor man of those times, and I was the tree sprite who lived in the castor oil tree."

# 110: Sabbasaṃhāraka-pañha Jātaka,  
All Collected Wisdom

* * *

Some of the stories in this collection simply reference other stories. This is one of them. The "story" itself is simply the first line.

The PTS edition of this story says that the referenced Jātaka is number 254. However, the Ummagga Jātaka is actually number 546. I have included Jātaka 546 in its entirety.

Once you read Jātaka 546, you may be confused as to what the "all-embracing question is." So am I.

" _There is no all-embracing._ " This all-embracing question will be set out at length in the Ummagga Jātaka. This is the end of the all-embracing question.

* * *

## Jātaka 546: Māha-Ummagga Jātaka,

### The Great Tunnel

This is a very (very!) long story. It reads more like a novella, and it has some of the heroic qualities of Homer about it.

There are two recurring themes in this tale. The first is the superiority of wisdom over wealth and status. The other is the value of living with wise people.

As often happens in Pāli, the word for wisdom – pañña – covers a lot of ground. First and foremost, this is Buddhist wisdom. This means living in an ethical, moral, virtuous way. A wise person is a person of integrity. A wise person knows what is skillful and what is not skillful.

But it also has an active quality to it that is missing in the English word "wisdom." It is something more like knowing what to do and when to do it. Ṭhānnisaro Bhikkhu prefers the word "discernment." "Pañña" can also mean "intelligence," "cleverness," and the ability to creatively solve problems. We see all of these qualities in the sage of this story.

The Buddha often emphasized the importance of being around wise people. In a Buddhist context this means arhats, or at least members of the Noble Saṇgha (someone who is at least a stream-enterer). On one hand, bad friends can get you into all kinds of trouble. But good friends will a) always give you good advice and b) are role models for the best possibilities in life.

The Pāli Text Society translation of this story uses the word "omniscient" in reference to the Buddha. However, the Buddha never claimed to be omniscient. He only said that he could know what he needed to know when he needed to know it. Thus I have substituted the phrase "who knows and sees," which is a phrase that comes from elsewhere in the Canon.

This Jātaka has 10 separate stories in it. They are:

  1. The 19 Tests

  2. The Story of the Chameleon

  3. The Question of Good and Bad Luck

  4. The Question of the Goat

  5. The Question of Poor and Rich

  6. The Question of the Secret Path

  7. The Question of the Goddess

  8. The Question of the Five Wise Men and The Story of Slander

  9. The Tale of the Great Tunnel

  10. The Question of the Water Demon

" _King Cūḷani of Uttarapañcāla,_ " et al. The Teacher, while living at Jetavana, told this story about the perfection of knowledge.

One day the monks were sitting in the Dharma Hall, and they described the Buddha's perfection of knowledge. "Brothers, the Buddha knows and sees. His wisdom is vast, ready, swift, sharp, crushing wrong views. After converting, by the power of his own knowledge the brahmin Kūṭadanta and the rest, the ascetic Sabhiya and the rest, the thief Aṅgulimāla and the rest, the yakkha Āḷavaka and the rest, the god Sakka and the rest, and the brahmins Baka and the rest, he humbled them. He ordained many people as recluses and established them in the fruition of the path of liberation."

The Teacher arrived and asked what they were discussing. When they told him, he replied, "Not only now does the Buddha know and see. In past times also, before his knowledge was fully mature, he was full of wisdom as he worked for the sake of wisdom and knowledge." He then told this story of the past.

* * *

In days gone by, a King named Vedeha ruled in Mithilā. He had four sages who instructed him in the law. They were named Senaka, Pukkusa, Kāvinda, and Devinda. Now when the Bodhisatta was conceived in his mother's womb, the King had the following dream. He saw four columns of fire as high as the great wall blaze up in the four corners of the royal court. In the midst of them a flame the size of a firefly rose up. At that moment it suddenly shot up as high as the Brahma world and illuminated the whole world. Even a grain of mustard seed lying on the ground could be easily seen. The human world and the world of gods paid homage to it with garlands and incense. Many beings passed through this flame, but not even a hair of their skin was singed.

When he saw this vision, the King recoiled in terror and sat wondering what was going to happen, and he waited for the dawn.

When the four wise men came in the morning, they asked him whether he had slept well.

"How could I sleep well," he replied, "when I have had a frightening dream." He told them his dream.

Then Paṇḍita ( _this is an honorific term for someone who is learned, a.k.a., a scholar_ ) Senaka replied, "Fear not, Oh King. It is an auspicious dream. It means that you will be prosperous." When he was asked to explain, he went on, "Oh King, a fifth sage will be born who will surpass us four. We four are like the four columns of fire, but in the midst of us there will arise a fifth column of fire, one who is unparalleled and fills a post that is unequaled in the world of gods or men."

"Where is he at this moment?"

"Oh King, he will either assume a body or come out of his mother's womb." ( _He will either have a normal birth or be spontaneously born into an existing body._ )

Thus Senaka reported what he had seen by his divine eye, and the King remembered his words from that time forward.

Now at the four gates of Mithilā there were four market towns. They were called the East Town, the South Town, the West Town, and the North Town. A rich man named "Sirivaḍḍhaka" and his wife Sumanādevī lived in the East Town. Now on the day when the King had the vision, the Great Being left the heaven of the Thirty-three ( _the Tāvatiṃsa Heaven, which is two realms above the human realm in the Buddhist cosmology_ ) and was conceived in her womb. A thousand other sons of the gods also went from that heaven and were conceived in the families of various wealthy merchants in that village. At the end of the tenth month the lady Sumanā gave birth to a child. He was the color of gold.

Now at that moment Sakka ( _supreme god of the Tāvatiṃsa Heaven_ ), as he looked over the world of humankind, beheld the Great Being's birth. He said to himself that he ought to make it known in the world of gods and men that this Bodhisatta had sprung into being. Sakka manifested in a visible form just as the child was born. He placed a piece of a medicinal herb into the child's hand, and then he returned to his own realm.

The Great Being seized the herb firmly in his closed hand. And as he came out from his mother's womb, she did not feel the slightest pain. He came out as easily as water from a sacred water pot. When his mother saw the piece of medicinal herb in his hand, she said to him, "My child, what do you have in your hand?" He replied, "It is a medicinal plant, mother." He placed it in her hand and told her to take it and give it to anyone who was ill.

Full of joy she told this to the merchant Sirivaḍḍhaka. He had been suffering from a painful headache for seven years. He said to himself, "This child came out of his mother's womb holding a medicinal plant, and as soon as he was born he talked to his mother. A medicine given by a being of such great merit must have great power." He rubbed it on a grindstone and smeared a little of it on his forehead, and the pain in his head disappeared at once like water from a lotus leaf. Overcome with joy he exclaimed, "This is a medicine of marvelous power."

The news spread quickly that the Great Being had been born with a medicine in his hand. Everyone who was sick rushed to the merchant's house and begged for the medicine. They gave a little to all who came. As soon as the divine medicine touched a sick body, its disease was cured. The delighted patients went away proclaiming the wondrous virtues of the medicine in the house of the merchant Sirivaḍḍhaka.

On the naming day of the child the merchant thought to himself, "My child does not have to be named after one of his ancestors. Let him be given the name of the medicine." So he gave him the name "Mahosadha." Then he thought again, "My son possesses great merit. He would not be born alone. Many other children must have been born at the same time." He discovered that thousands of other boys were born on the same day. He sent nurses to all of them and gave them clothes as gifts. He resolved that they should be his son's attendants. He celebrated a festival for them with the Great Being, and he adorned the boys and brought them to wait upon him every day.

The Great Being grew up playing with them, and when he was seven years old he was as beautiful as a golden statue. However, as he was playing with them in the village, sometimes elephants and other animals passed by and disturbed their games, and sometimes the children were distressed by the rain and the heat. One day as they played, an unseasonable rainstorm came on. When the Great Being, who was as strong as an elephant, saw it, he ran into a house. As the other children ran after him they fell over each other's feet and bruised their knees and limbs. Then he thought to himself, "We should build a hall for playing. We should not play in this way." He said to the boys, "Let us build a hall here where we can stand, sit, or lie down in time of wind, hot sunshine, or rain. Let each one of you bring his share of money."

The thousand boys all did so, and the Great Being sent for a master-carpenter and gave him the money. He told him to build a hall. The carpenter took the money, leveled the ground, and cut posts. He spread out the measuring line, but he did not understand exactly what the Great Being wanted. So the Great Being told the carpenter how he wanted the building to be built. The carpenter replied, "I have laid it out according to my practical experience. I cannot do it in any other way."

"If you can build it this way, how can you take our money and build a hall? Take the line. I will measure and show you." He took the line and drew out the plan. It was done as if Vissakamma ( _a deva who was the architect in the Tāvatiṃsa heaven_ ) had done it. Then he said to the carpenter, "Will you be able to build it this way?"

"I will not be able to, sir."

"Will you be able to do it if I tell you how?"

"I will be able to do that, Sir."

Then the Great Being laid out the hall so that there was one area for ordinary strangers, another place for the poor, a place for destitute women, another place for housing spiritual seekers and brahmins. In another space there was housing for other sorts of men, in another a place where foreign merchants could store their goods, and all these rooms had doors opening outside.

He also had a public place built for sports. There was a court of justice and a hall for religious assemblies. When the work was completed he summoned painters. He put them to work painting beautiful pictures so that the hall became like ( _the god_ ) Sakka's heavenly palace Sudhammā.

Still he thought that the palace was not yet complete, "I must have a bathing pool constructed as well." So he ordered the ground to be dug. He hired an architect and had him build a pool with a hundred steps leading down to the river. The water was covered with the five kinds of lotuses. It was as beautiful as the lake in the heavenly garden Nandana ( _literally "paradise"_ ). On its bank he planted various trees and had a park made like Nandana. And near this hall he established a place for giving alms to holy men whether they were spiritual seekers or brahmins, and for strangers and for people from the neighboring villages.

These actions of his were reported everywhere and crowds gathered at the place. The Great Being used to sit in the hall and discuss the right and the wrong of the good or evil circumstances of all the people who came there. He gave his judgment on each, and it became like the happy time when a Buddha makes his appearance in the world.

When he was seven years old, King Vedeha remembered how the four sages had said that a fifth sage would be born who would surpass them in wisdom. He said to himself, "I wonder where is he now?" He sent out his four councilors, each by one of the four gates of the city, telling them to find out where he was.

Three of the sages saw no sign of the Great Being. But the one who went out by the eastern gate saw the hall and its various buildings. He felt sure that only a wise man could have built this palace. They asked the people, "What architect built this hall?" They replied, "This palace was not built by any architect, but by Paṇḍita Mahosadha, the son of the merchant Sirivaḍḍha."

"How old is he?"

"He has just completed his seventh year."

The councilor remembered all the events from the day on which the King saw the dream, and he said to himself, "This being fulfills the King's dream." He sent a messenger with this message to the King: "Mahosadha, the son of the merchant Sirivaḍḍhaka in the East Town, who is now seven years old, has built an extraordinary hall and pool and park. Shall I bring him to you?"

When the King heard this he was delighted. He sent for Senaka, and after telling him what had happened, he asked him whether he should send for this sage. But Senaka, being jealous, replied, "Oh King, a man is not to be called a sage simply because he built halls and such. Anyone can build things. This is a trivial matter."

When the King heard his words he said to himself, "There must be some secret reason for all this," and he was silent. Then he sent the messenger back with the command that the councilor should remain there for a while and carefully observe the sage.

The councilor did that. He carefully observed the sage's actions, and he performed this series of tests:

1. " _The piece of meat._ " One day when the Great Being was going to the play hall, a hawk stole a piece of meat from a slaughterhouse and flew up into the air. Some of the boys decided to get it from him, and they ran after him. The hawk flew this way and that. They tried to follow him, but they just wore themselves out. They threw stones at him and kept stumbling over each other. Then the sage said to them, "I can make him drop it." They begged him to do so. He told them to watch. Then he ran with the swiftness of the wind and walked onto the hawk's shadow. Then he clapped his hands and shouted. His shout seemed to pierce the bird's belly through and through, and in its terror he dropped the meat. The Great Being, knowing by watching the shadow that he had dropped the meat, caught it in the air before it reached the ground.

The people saw this marvel. They shouted and clapped their hands. The councilor sent an account of this incident to the King telling him how the sage had made the bird drop the flesh. The King asked Senaka whether he should summon him to the court. Senaka reflected, "If he comes I will lose my status. The King will forget that I even exist. I must not let him bring him here." So enviously he said, "He is not a sage just because he can do something like that. This is a trivial matter." And the King, being impartial, sent word to the councilor that he should continue to test him.

2. " _The cattle._ " A man who lived in the village of Yavamajjhaka bought some cattle from another village and took them home. The next day he took them to a field of grass to graze, and he rode on the back of one of the cattle. But he got tired, so he got down and sat on the ground and fell asleep. Meanwhile a thief came and stole his cattle. When he woke up he did not see his cattle. But as he looked around he saw the thief running away. Jumping up he shouted, "Where are you taking my cattle?"

"They are my cattle, and I am taking them where I want."

A great crowd gathered as they heard the argument. The sage heard the noise as they passed by the door of the hall. He sent for them both. When he saw how they were acting, he knew at once who was the thief and who was the real owner. But even though he felt sure, he asked them what they were arguing about.

The owner said, "I bought these cattle, and I brought them home and put them in a field of grass. This thief saw that I was not watching and came and carried them off. I caught sight of him, ran after him, and caught him. The people of the village where I got them know that I bought the cattle and that they belong to me."

The thief replied, "This man is lying. They were born in my house."

The sage said, "I will decide your case fairly. Will you abide by my decision?" and they both promised to do so.

Thinking to himself that he must convince the crowd of people, he first asked the thief, "What have you fed these cattle, and what have you given them to drink?"

"They have drunk rice gruel and have been fed on sesame flour and kidney beans."

Then he asked the real owner, who said, "My lord, how could a poor man like me afford to feed them rice? I fed them on grass."

The sage ordered panic seeds ( _an "emetic," something that makes you vomit_ ) to be brought. He ground them up in a mortar. Then he added water to the mixture and had this given to the cattle. The cattle vomited only grass. He showed this to the assembly, and then asked the thief, "Are you the thief or not?" He confessed that he was the thief. He said to him, "Then do not commit such an offense ever again."

But the Bodhisatta's attendants carried the man away and cut off his hands and feet and made him helpless. Then the sage addressed him with words of good counsel, "This suffering has happened to you only in this present life. But in a future life you will suffer great torment in the different hells if you continue to act in this way," and he taught him the Five Precepts.

The minister sent an account of the incident to the King, who asked Senaka about it. But once again Senaka advised him to wait. "It is only an affair about cattle, and anyone could have done this." The King, being impartial, sent back the same message as before.

3. " _The necklace of thread._ " A poor woman had tied together several threads of different colors and made them into a necklace. She removed it from her neck and placed it on her clothes when she was getting ready to go and bathe in the pool that the Bodhisatta had built. A young woman nearby coveted the necklace. She picked it up and said, "This is a very beautiful necklace, how much did it cost to make? I will make one for myself. May I put it on my own neck and see if it fits me?" The woman gave her permission, but once she put it on, she ran away. The elder woman ran after her and grabbed hold of her dress. She cried, "You are running away with a necklace that I made."

The young woman replied, "I am not taking anything of yours. It is my necklace that I wear on my neck." A great crowd gathered as they heard this. The sage, while he played with the boys, heard them arguing as they passed by the door of the hall. He asked what the commotion was about. When he heard the cause of the quarrel, he sent for them both. He knew at once by the expression on her face who the thief was. He asked them whether they would abide by his decision. They both agreed to do so. He asked the thief, "What scent do you use with this necklace?"

She replied, "I always use sabbasaṁhāraka ( _a perfume made of many different scents_ )."

Then he asked the other woman, who replied, "How would a poor woman like me get sabbasaṃhāraka? I always scent it with a perfume made of piyaṅgu flowers." ( _"Piyaṅgu" is also called "panic seed," as above. It is a medicinal plant._ ) The sage had a jar of water brought, and he put the necklace in it. Then he sent for a perfume seller. He asked him to smell the jar and tell him what it smelled like. He directly recognized the smell of the piyaṅgu flower, and quoted this stanza:

No sabbasaṃhāraka it is. Only the piyaṅgu smells.

That wicked woman told a lie. The perfumer finds the truth.

The Great Being told the bystanders what had happened. He asked each of the women, "Are you the thief? Are you not the thief?" and he made the guilty one confess. And from that time on his wisdom became known to the people.

This matter was reported to the King, with the usual response.

4. " _The cotton thread._ " One day a woman who tended cotton fields took some clean cotton and spun some fine thread. She rolled it into a ball and put it in her lap. As she was going home she thought to herself, "I will bathe in the great sage's pool," so she placed the ball on her dress and went down into the pool to bathe. Another woman saw the ball of cotton. Coveting it, she picked it up and said, "This is a beautiful ball of thread. Did you make it yourself?" She put it in her lap as if to examine it more closely, and then she walked off with it. (The rest of the story is the same as the previous one.) The sage asked the thief, "When you made the ball what did you put inside?" ( _to roll the thread around_ ) She replied, "A cotton seed." Then he asked the other woman, and she replied, "A timbaru seed." ( _Timbaru is a type of fruit._ ) When the crowd had heard what each one had said, he untwisted the ball of cotton and found a timbaru seed inside. He forced the thief to confess her guilt. The great crowd was very pleased. They shouted their applause at the way in which the case had been decided.

This matter was reported to the King, with the usual response.

5. " _The son._ " There was a woman who took her son and went down to the sage's pool to wash her face. After she bathed her son, she laid him in her dress, washed her face, and went to in to bathe herself. At that moment a female goblin saw the child and wanted to eat it, so she took hold of the dress and said, "My friend, this is a fine child, is he your son?" Then the goblin asked if she might hold him. The mother gave her consent. The goblin took him and played with him for a while and then tried to run off with him. The mother ran after her. She seized hold of the goblin, shouting, "Where are you taking my child?"

The goblin replied, "Why do you touch the child? He is mine." As they argued they passed by the door of the hall. The sage, hearing the noise, sent for them and asked what was the matter. When he heard the story, although he knew at once by her red unwinking eyes that one of them was a goblin, he asked them whether they would abide by his decision. On their promising to do so, he drew a line and laid the child in the middle of the line. He told the goblin to grab the child by the hands and the mother by the feet. Then he said to them, "Grab hold of it and pull. The child will belong to whoever can pull it over the line." They both pulled, and the child uttered a painful cry. The mother's heart seemed ready to burst. She let the child go and stood there crying. The sage asked the crowd, "Is it the heart of the mother who is tender towards the child or the heart of her who is not the mother?" They answered, "The mother's heart."

"Is she the mother who kept hold of the child or she who let it go?"

They replied, "She who let it go."

"Do you know who stole the child?"

"We do not know, oh sage."

"She is a goblin. She stole it in order to eat it."

When they asked how he knew that he replied, "I knew her by her unwinking and red eyes, by her casting no shadow, and by her fearlessness and lack of mercy."

Then he asked her what she was, and she confessed that she was a goblin.

"Why did you seize the child?"

"To eat it."

"You blind fool," he said. "You committed an offense in a previous life. This is why you were born as a goblin. And now you continue to commit offenses, blind fool that you are."

Figure: The Goblin is Revealed!

Then he encouraged her and established her in the Five Precepts and sent her away. The mother blessed him, saying, "May you live a long life, my lord." Then she took her son and went her way.

The minister sent an account of the incident to the King who asked Senaka what he thought. But once again he advised him to wait. "It is only an affair about a child and anybody could have decided it." The King, being impartial, sent back the same message.

6. " _The black ball._ " There was a certain man who was called Goḷakāḷa. Now he got the name gola ( _ball_ ) from his small size, and kāḷa ( _dark_ ) from his black color. He worked in a merchant's house for seven years and obtained a wife. She was named Dīghatālā. One day he said to her, "Wife, cook some sweetmeats and food. We will pay a visit to your parents." At first she opposed the plan, saying, "What do I have to do with parents now?" but after the third time he asked, he persuaded her to cook some cakes. And having taken some provisions and a present, he set out on the journey with her.

In the course of the journey he came to a stream that was not really deep, but because both of them were afraid of water, they were afraid to cross it. They just stood on the bank.

Now a poor man named Dīghapiṭṭhi came to that place as he walked along the bank. When they saw him they asked him whether the river was deep or shallow. Seeing that they were afraid of the water, he told them that it was very deep and full of ferocious fish.

"How then will you get across it?" they asked.

"I have struck up a friendship with the crocodiles and monsters that live here so they do not hurt me."

"Please take us with you," they said.

When he agreed, they gave him some food to eat. When he finished his meal he asked them who he should take over first. "Take my wife first and then take me," said Goḷakaḷā. Then the man placed her on his shoulders. He took the provisions and the present and went down into the stream.

When he had gone a short way, he crouched down and walked along in a bent posture. Goḷakāḷa, as he stood on the bank, thought to himself, "This stream must be very deep. If it is so difficult for even such a man as Dīghapiṭṭhi, it must be impassable for me." When the other man had carried the woman to the middle of the stream, he said to her, "Lady, I will cherish you, and you will live richly clothed with fine dresses and ornaments, and you will have men servants and maidservants. What will that poor dwarf do for you? Listen to what I tell you."

She listened to his words and ceased loving her husband. And being infatuated with the stranger, she agreed, saying, "If you will be faithful to me, I will do as you say."

So when they reached the opposite bank, they amused themselves. They left Goḷakāḷa behind, telling him to stay where he was. While he stood there looking on, they ate all the food and then they left. When he saw what was happening, he exclaimed, "They have struck up a friendship and are running away, leaving me here." As he ran backwards and forwards he went a little way into the water but then he went back again in fear. Then in his anger at what they had done to him, he made a desperate leap, saying, "Let me live or die." When he went into the water, he discovered how shallow it was.

So he crossed it and ran after them shouting, "You wicked thief, where are you taking my wife?"

The other man replied, "How is she your wife? She is mine." And he grabbed him by the neck and spun him around and threw him down. Still he held on to Dīghatālā's hand and shouted, "Stop. Where are you going? You are my wife who I got after working for seven years in a house." And as the argument ensued they came near the hall.

A great crowd collected. The Great Being asked what the noise was about. He sent for them, and he heard what each one had to say. He asked whether they would abide by his decision. On their both agreeing to do so, he sent for Dīghapiṭṭhi and asked him his name. Then he asked his wife's name. But he did not know, and he gave the wrong name.

Then he asked him the names of his parents, and he told them. But when he asked him the names of his wife's parents, he did not know, and he said the wrong names. The Great Being put his story together and had him removed.

Then he sent for the other man and asked him the names of all in the same way. He, knowing the truth, gave them correctly.

Then he had him removed and sent for Dīghatālā. He asked her what her name was and she gave it. Then he asked for her husband's name and she, not knowing, gave the wrong name. Then he asked for her parents' names, and she gave them correctly. But when he asked her the names of her husband's parents', she hemmed and hawed and gave the wrong names.

Then the sage sent for the two men. He asked the crowd, "Does the woman's story agree with Dīghapiṭṭhi or Goḷakāḷa."

They replied, "With Goḷakāḷa."

Then he pronounced his sentence, "This man is her husband. The other is a thief." And when he asked him, he confessed that he had acted as the thief.

This matter was reported to the King, with the usual response.

7. " _The chariot._ " There was a man who was sitting in a chariot. He dismounted from it to wash his face. At that moment Sakka, as he observed the sage, resolved that he would make known Mahosadha's power and wisdom. So he came down from the heaven in the form of a man, and he grabbed on to the chariot from behind. The man who sat in the chariot asked, "Why have you come?" He replied, "To serve you." The man agreed to this.

He dismounted from the chariot and went aside to relieve himself. Immediately Sakka got in the chariot and took off. The owner of the chariot, his business done, returned, and when he saw Sakka hurrying away with the chariot, he ran quickly behind, crying, "Stop! Stop! Where are you taking my chariot?" Sakka replied, "This is not your chariot. This one is mine."

As they argued they came to the gate of the hall. The sage asked, "What is going on?" and sent for them. As Sakka came, the sage knew that this was Sakka by his fearlessness and his eyes which did not blink. He also knew that the other man was the owner.

Nevertheless he asked for the cause of the argument. He asked them, "Will you abide by my decision?" They said, "Yes." He went on, "I will have the chariot driven, and you must both hold on from behind. The owner will not let go, and the thief will." Then he told a man to drive the chariot. He did so while they both held on from behind. The owner held on for a while, but eventually he was unable to run any further, and he let go. But Sakka went on running with the chariot.

When he had called for the chariot to return, the sage said to the people, "This man ran a little way and let go. The other ran out with the chariot and came back with it. Yet there is not a drop of sweat on his body, no panting, he is fearless, and his eyes do not blink. This is Sakka, King of the gods."

Then he asked, "Are you King of the gods?"

"Yes."

"Why did you come here?"

"To spread the fame of your wisdom, oh sage!"

"Then," he said, "do not do this kind of thing again."

Now Sakka revealed his power by standing poised in the air. He praised the sage, saying, "This is a wise judgment!" Then he went back to his own realm.

Then the minister went to the King and said, "Oh great King, this is how the chariot question was resolved. Even Sakka was subdued by him. Why don't you recognize his greatness?"

The King asked Senaka, "What do you say you, Senaka, shall we bring the sage here?"

Senaka replied, "That is not all that makes a sage. Wait awhile. I will test him and find out."

8. " _The pole._ " So one day, in order to test the sage, they got an acacia ( _a tree native to the tropics and sub-tropics_ ) pole. And cutting off about a span ( _a distance from the tip of the thumb to the tip of the little finger, about ¾ of a foot_ ), they had it smoothed by a wood turner. They sent it to the East Town with this message, "The people of the East Town have a reputation for wisdom. Let them determine which end is the top and which is the root of this stick. If they cannot, there will be a fine of 1,000 coins."

The people gathered together but could not figure it out. They said to their leader, "Perhaps Mahosadha the sage would know. Send for him and ask him." The foreman sent for the sage from his playground and told him what was going on. The sage thought to himself, "The King can gain nothing from knowing which is the top and which is the root. There is no doubt this was sent to test me." He said, "Bring it here, my friends, I will figure it out."

Holding it in his hand, he knew which was the top and which the root. Yet to please the hearts of the people, he sent for a pot of water, and he tied a string around the middle of the stick. Then holding it by the end of the string, he put it down on the surface of the water. Because the root is heavier, that end sank first. Then he asked the people, "Is the root of a tree heavier, or is the top heavier?"

"The root, wise sir!"

"See then, this part sinks first, and this is therefore the root."

He marked the end that was the root. The people sent it back to the King. The King was pleased, and he asked who had figured it out? They said, "The sage Mahosadha, son of foreman Sirivaddhi."

"Senaka, shall we send for him?" he asked.

"Wait, my lord, Senaka replied. "Let us test him in another way."

9. " _The head._ " One day, two heads were sent to the village. One was a woman's and one was a man's. The villagers were told that if they could not determine which head was a man's head and which one was a woman's head, there would be a fine of 1,000 coins. The villagers could not decide, and they asked the Great Being. He recognized them immediately because, they say, the plates in the skull of a man's head are straight and in a woman's head they are crooked. He marked which was which, and they sent them back to the King. The rest is as before.

10. " _The snake._ " One day a male and a female snake were sent to the villagers to decide which was which. They asked the sage, and he knew at once when he saw them because the tail of the male snake is thick and that of the female is thin. The male snake's head is thick and the female's is long. The eyes of the male are big and the eyes of the female are small. The head of the male is rounded and that of the female is cut short. By these signs he distinguished the male from the female. The rest is as before.

11. " _The cock._ " One day a message was sent to the people of the East Town to this effect: "Send us a white bull with horns on his legs and a hump on his head who bellows three times unfailingly. Otherwise there will be a fine of 1,000 coins." Not knowing what to do, they asked the sage. He said, "The King means you should send him a cock. This creature has horns on his feet, which are the spurs. It has a hump on his head, which is the crest. And it crows three times unfailingly. So send him a cock such as he requested." They sent one.

12. " _The gem._ " Sakka gave a gem to King Vedeha that was octagonal. Its thread was broken, and no one could remove the old thread and put in a new one. One day they sent this gem to the village with instructions to take out the old thread and to put in a new one. The villagers could do neither one, and in their difficulty they told the sage about the problem. He told them not to fear and asked for some honey. With this he smeared the two holes in the gem with the honey. Then he took a thread of wool and smeared the end of this with honey as well. Then he pushed it a little way into the hole. Next he put it in a place where there were some ants. The ants smelled the honey and came out of their hole. They started eating away the old thread. They also bit hold of the end of the woolen thread and pulled it out at the other end. When he saw that it had passed through, he told them to present it to the King. He was pleased when he heard how the thread had been put in. The rest is as before.

13. " _The calving._ " The royal bull was fed well for some months so that his belly swelled out. His horns were washed, he was anointed with oil and bathed with turmeric, and then they sent him to the East Town with this message: "You have a reputation for wisdom. Here is the King's royal bull. He is pregnant. Deliver him and send him back with the calf or else there will be a fine of 1,000 coins." The villagers, perplexed about what to do, went to the sage

He thought it would be proper to meet one question with another. He asked, "Can you find a man who is bold enough to speak to the King?"

"That is not a problem," they replied. So they summoned him, and the Great Being said, "Go, my good man. Let your hair down loose over your shoulders and go to the palace gate weeping and lamenting. Refuse to speak to anyone but the King. If the King sends for you to ask why you are crying, say, "For seven days my son has been in labor and he cannot give birth. Oh help me! Tell me how I may deliver the baby!"

Then the King will say, "What madness! This is impossible. Men do not bear children." Then you must say, "If that is true, how can the people of the East Town deliver a calf from your royal bull"

He did as he was instructed. The King asked who thought of that witty response. On hearing that it was the sage Mahosadha, he was pleased.

14. " _The boiled rice._ " On another day, to test the sage this message was sent, "The people of the East Town must send us some boiled rice cooked under eight conditions. These are 1) without rice, 2) without water, 3) without a pot, 4) without an oven, 5) without fire, 6) without firewood, 7) without being sent along a road either by a woman 8) and without being sent along a road by a man. If they cannot do this, there will be a fine of 1,000 coins."

The perplexed people went to the sage. He said, "Do not be troubled. Take some broken rice, for that is not rice. Cook with snow, for that is not water. Use an earthen bowl, which is not a pot. Chop up some wood blocks, because they are not an oven. Make a fire by rubbing, instead of using a proper fire. Use leaves instead of firewood. Finally, cook the rice, put it in a new vessel, press it well down, and put it on the head of a eunuch, who is neither man nor woman. Leave the main road and go along a footpath and take it to the King."

They did so, and the King was pleased when he heard who had solved the riddle.

15. " _The sand._ " On another day, to test the sage they sent this message to the villagers, "The King wishes to amuse himself in a swing. The old rope is broken. You are to make a rope of sand or else pay a fine of 1,000 coins." They did not know what to do and appealed to the sage. He saw that this was the place for a counter question.

He reassured the people and sent for two or three clever speakers. He told them go tell the King, "My lord, the villagers do not know whether the sand rope is to be thick or thin. Send them a bit of the old rope, a span of four or five fingers. Then they can twist a rope of the same size."

If the King replies, "There has never been any sand rope in my house," they should reply, "If your majesty cannot make a sand rope, how can the villagers do so?" They did this, and the King was pleased to hear that the sage had thought of this clever response.

16. " _The pool._ " On another day, the message was, "The King wants to entertain himself in the water. You must send a new pool from the forest covered with water lilies of all five kinds, otherwise there will be a fine of 1,000 coins." They told the sage, who saw that a counter question was appropriate. He sent for several men who were clever at speaking. He said to them, "Go and play in the water until your eyes are red. Then go to the palace door with wet hair and wet clothes and your bodies covered with mud. Hold ropes, staves, and clods of dirt in your hands. Send word to the King that you are coming. When you are admitted say to him, Sire, inasmuch as your majesty has ordered the people of the East Town to send you a pool, we brought a great pool to suit your taste. But she is used to a life in the forest. When she saw the town with its walls, moats, and watchtowers, then she became frightened. She broke the ropes and went back into the forest. We pelted her with stones and beat her with sticks but could not make her come back. Give us the old pool that your majesty is said to have brought from the forest. Then we will tie them together and bring the other one back. The King will say, "I never had a pool brought in from the forest, and I never send a pool there to be yoked and bring in another!" Then you must say, "If that is so, how can the villagers send you a pool?" They did so, and the King was pleased to hear that the sage had thought of this.

17. " _The park._ " One day the King sent a message: "I wish to entertain myself in the park, and my park is old. The people of the East Town must send me a new park, one that is filled with trees and flowers." The sage reassured them as before, and sent men to speak in the same manner as above.

18. " _The more excellent horse._ " The King was pleased. He said to Senaka, "Well, Senaka, shall we send for the sage?" But he, grudging the other's prosperity, said, "That is not all that makes a sage. Wait." On hearing this the King thought, "The sage Mahosadha is wise even as a child. As a result, he gained my favor. In all these mysterious tests and counter questions he has given answers like a Buddha. Yet the wise man Senaka will not let me summon him to my side. Why do I care what Senaka thinks? I will bring the man here." So with a great following he set out for the village mounted on his royal horse. But as he traveled the horse stepped into a hole and broke his leg, so the King turned back. Then Senaka went to him and said, "Sire, did you go to the East Town to bring the sage back?"

"Yes, sir," said the King.

"Sire," said Senaka, "you treat me as someone who is of no account. I begged you to wait. But off you went in a hurry, and at the outset your royal horse broke his leg."

The King said nothing.

On another day he asked Senaka, "Shall we send for the sage, Senaka?"

"If so, your majesty, don't go yourself. Send a messenger. Tell him to say, 'Oh sage! As I was on my way to fetch you my horse broke his leg. Send us a better horse and a more excellent one. If he takes the first choice, he will come himself. If he takes the second choice, he will send his father. Then we will test him with a riddle."

The King sent a messenger with this message. The sage on hearing it understood that the King wanted to see him and his father. So he went to his father. Greeting him, he said, "Father, the King wishes to see you and me. You go first with 1,000 merchants. Take a sandalwood casket filled with fresh ghee. The King will speak kindly to you. He will offer you a householder's seat. Take it and sit down. When you are seated, I will come. The King will speak kindly to me and offer me another seat. Then I will look at you. Take this as a cue. Get up from your seat and say, 'Son Mahosadha the wise, take this seat.' Then the riddle will be ripe for solution."

He did so. On arriving at the palace door, his arrival was announced to the King. On the King's invitation, he entered, greeted the King, and stood to one side. The King spoke to him kindly, and asked where was his son, the wise Mahosadha. "Coming after me, my lord." The King was pleased to hear he was coming and told the father to sit in a suitable place. He found a place and sat there.

Meanwhile the Great Being dressed himself in all his splendor. Attended by the 1,000 youths, he came in a magnificent chariot. As he entered the town, he saw a donkey by the side of a ditch. He told some stout fellows to bind the mouth of the donkey so that it would not make any noise, and to put him in a bag and carry him on their shoulders. They did so.

The Bodhisatta entered the city with his great following. The people could not praise him enough. "This," they cried, "is the wise Mahosadha, the merchant Sirivaḍḍhaka's son. They say it was he who was born holding the herb of virtue in his hand. It is he who knew the answers to so many problems set to test him." On arriving before the palace, he sent word of his coming. The King was pleased to hear it and said, "Let the wise Mahosadha make haste to come in."

So with his attendants, he entered the palace. He saluted the King and stood on one side. The King was delighted to see him. He spoke to him very sweetly and asked him to find an appropriate seat and sit down. He looked at his father, and his father - at this cue – got up from his seat and invited him to sit there, which he did. The foolish men who were there, Senaka, Pukkusa, Kāvinda, Devinda, and others, seeing him sit there, clapped their hands and laughed loudly and cried, "This is the blind fool they call wise! He has made his father rise from his seat, and he sits there himself! He should surely not be called wise."

The King also was crestfallen. Then the Great Being said, "Why, my lord, are you sad?"

"Yes, wise sir, I am sad. I was glad to hear of you, but to see you I am not glad."

"Why so?"

"Because you made your father rise from his seat, and you sit there yourself."

"What, my lord! Do you think that in all cases the father is better than the sons?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you not send word to me to bring you the better horse and the more excellent horse?"

He rose up and, looking towards the young fellows, he said, "Bring in the donkey." Placing this donkey before the King he went on, "Sire, what is the price of this donkey?" The King said, "If is serviceable, it is worth eight rupees."

"But if you breed this donkey with a thoroughbred Sindh mare, what would the price of the offspring?"

"It would be priceless."

"Why do you say that, my lord? Didn't you just say that in all cases the father is better than the sons? If that is true, then the donkey is worth more than the colt. Now your wise men clapped their hands and laughed at me because they did not know that. What wisdom is there in your wise men! Where did you get them?!"

And in contempt for all four of them he addressed the King in this stanza:

If you think that the father is always better than the son,

Oh, excellent King,

Then is the colt better than the donkey

When the donkey is the father?

He went on, "My lord, if the father is better than the son, take my father into your service. If the son is better than the father, take me."

The King was delighted. The whole assembly cried out, applauding and praising a thousand times, "Well, indeed the wise man answered the riddle." There was the snapping of fingers and the waving of a thousand scarves. And the four advisors were crestfallen.

Figure: The More Excellent Sage

Now no one knows better than the Bodhisatta the value of parents. If one asks, then, why he did this, it was not to throw contempt on his father. But when the King sent the message, "Send the better horse or the more excellent horse," he did this to solve this riddle, to make his wisdom recognized, and to take the shine out of the four sages.

The King was pleased. Taking the golden vase filled with scented water, he poured the water on the merchant's hand ( _this is how deals were consummated_ ), saying, "Enjoy the East Town as a gift from the King. Let the other merchants," he went on, "be subordinate to him." This done he sent all kinds of ornaments to the mother of the Bodhisatta. He was so delighted at the Bodhisatta's solution to the Donkey Question, he wanted to make the Bodhisatta his own son. He said to the father, "Good sir, give me the Great Being to be my son."

He replied, "Sire, he is still very young. His mouth still smells of milk. But when he is old, he can be with you."

The King said however, "Good sir, you must give up your attachment to the boy. From this day he is my son. I can support my son, so go your way." Then he told him to leave. Sirivaḍḍhaka paid homage to the King and embraced his son. Throwing his arms around him, he kissed him on the head and gave him some final words of advice. The boy said farewell to his father, begged him not to be dismayed, and sent him away.

The King then asked the sage whether he would prefer to eat his meals inside the palace or outside of it. Thinking that with such a large following it would be best to have his meals outside the palace, he replied to that effect. Then the King gave him a suitable house. He providing for the maintenance of the 1,000 youths and all. The King gave him anything that he needed. From that time on the sage served the King.

19. " _The jewel's reflection._ " Now it was the King who wanted to test the sage. At that time there was a precious jewel in a crow's nest in a palm tree. It stood on the bank of a lake near the southern gate. The image of this jewel could be seen reflected on the lake. They told the King that there was a jewel in the lake. He sent for Senaka, saying, "They tell me there is a jewel in the lake. How are we going to get it?"

Senaka said, "The best way is to drain out the water." The King instructed him to do so. He gathered together many men. They drained out the water and dug up the soil at the bottom, but he could not see any jewel. But when the lake was full again, they could see the reflection of the jewel once more. Again Senaka drained the lake, and again he did not find any jewel.

Then the King sent for the sage. He said, "A jewel has been seen in the lake. Senaka drained out the water and dug up the earth without finding it. But no sooner was the lake full than it appeared again. Can you get hold of it?"

He replied, "That is no problem, sire. I will get it for you."

The King was pleased at this promise. With a great following he went to the lake, ready to see the might of the sage's wisdom.

The Great Being stood on the bank and looked. He saw that the jewel was not in the lake, but that it must be in the tree. He said aloud, "Sire, there is no jewel in the lake."

"What! Is it not visible in the water?"

So he sent for a pail of water, and said, "Now my lord, see? Isn't the jewel visible both in the pail and the lake?"

"Then where can the jewel be?"

"Sire, it is the reflection of the jewel that is visible both in the lake and in the pail. But the jewel is in a crow's nest in this palm tree. Send someone up the tree and have it brought down."

The King did so. The man brought down the jewel, and the sage put it into the King's hand. All the people applauded the sage and mocked Senaka. "Here's a precious jewel in a crow's nest up a tree, and Senaka makes strong men drain out the lake! Surely a wise man should be like Mahosadha."

Thus they praised the Great Being. And the King was so delighted with him that he gave him a necklace of pearls from his own neck. And he gave strings of pearls to the 1,000 boys, and to him and his retinue he granted the right to wait upon him without ceremony ( _i.e., to see the King without having an appointment)._

Thus ends the story of the 19 questions.

* * *

One day the King went with the sage into the park. A chameleon who lived on the top of the arched gateway saw the King approach. He came down and lay flat on the ground. Seeing this, the King asked, "What is he doing, wise sir?"

"Paying respect to you, sire."

"If so, let his respect be rewarded. Give him a gift."

"Sire, a gift is of no use to him. All he wants is something to eat."

"And what does he eat?"

"Meat, sire."

"How much does he need?"

"A single coin's worth, sire."

"A single coin is a simple gift from a king," said the King. So he sent a man with orders to regularly give the chameleon a single coin's worth of meat. But on a fast day, when there is no killing, the man could not find any meat. So he bored a hole through the coin, strung it on a thread, and tied it around the chameleon's neck. This made the creature proud. That day the King went once more into the park. When the chameleon saw the King draw near, his pride in his wealth make him think that he was equal to the King. "You may be very rich, Oh, King, but so am I." So he did not come down, but lay still on the archway, stroking his head.

The King saw this and said, "Wise sir, this creature does not come down today as usual. Why is that?" and he recited this stanza:

The chameleon did not used to stay up on the archway.

Explain, Mahosadha,

Why the chameleon has become so high and mighty.

The sage realized that the man must have been unable to find meat on this fast day when there was no killing, and that the creature must have become proud because of the coin hung about his neck. So he recited this stanza:

The chameleon has what he has never had before,

A single coin.

Hence he disregards King Vedeha, lord of Mithilā.

The King sent for the man and questioned him, and he affirmed what had happened. Then he was even more pleased with the sage, who - it seemed - knew the mind of the chameleon, with a wisdom like the supreme wisdom of a Buddha. So he gave him the revenue taken at the four gates. The King was also angry with the chameleon, and he thought of ending the gift. But the sage told him that it was unfitting and persuaded him to continue it.

Thus ends the story of the chameleon.

* * *

Now there was a boy named "Piṇguttara" who lived in Mithilā. He went to Takkasilā University and studied under a famous teacher. He soon completed his education. Then after diligent study he proposed to his teacher that it was time for him to leave. But in this teacher's family there was a custom that if there was a daughter who was ready for marriage, she should be given to the eldest pupil. This teacher had such a daughter. She was as beautiful as a divine nymph. So he said, "My son, I will give you my daughter, and you will take her with you."

Now this young man was unfortunate and unlucky, but the girl was very lucky. When he saw her, he did not care for her. However, he did not want to disregard his master's request, so he agreed, and the brahmin married the daughter to him.

When night came, he got into bed. When she got into the bed, he started groaning and laid down on the floor. She got out and lay next to him. Then he got up and went to bed again. When she got back into the bed again, he got out, for bad luck cannot mate with good luck. So the girl stayed in bed, and he stayed on the ground. They spent seven days like this. Then he took leave of his teacher and departed, taking her with him.

When they were on the road, not a single word was spoken between them. Both unhappy, they arrived in Mithilā. Not far from the town, Piṇguttara saw a fig tree covered with fruit. He was hungry, so he climbed up and ate some of the figs. The girl was also hungry. She went to the foot of the tree and called out, "Throw some fruit down for me, too."

"What!" he said. "Don't you have hands and feet? Climb up and get it yourself."

She climbed up also and ate. No sooner did he see that she had climbed up the tree than he climbed quickly down. He piled thorns around the tree and walked off saying to himself, "I have gotten rid of that miserable woman at last." She could not get down but remained sitting where she was.

Now the King, who had been amusing himself in the forest, was going back to town on his elephant in the evening when he saw her. He immediately fell in love with her. So he sent someone to ask if she had a husband. She replied, "Yes, I have a husband to whom my family gave me. But he has abandoned me and left me here alone."

The courtier told this story to the King who said, "This treasure trove belongs to the Crown." She was brought down and placed on the elephant and taken to the palace where she was sprinkled with the water of consecration as his Queen consort. She was very dear to him. He gave her the name "Udumbarā" or "Queen Fig" because he first saw her in a fig tree.

One day after this, the people who lived by the city gate were cleaning the road for the King for a trip into his park. Piṇguttara, who had to earn his living, was part of that crew. He tucked up his clothes and set to work clearing the road with a hoe. Before the road was clean the King and Queen Udumbarā came along in a chariot. When the Queen saw the wretch clearing the road she could not restrain gloating.

The King was angry to see her smile, and he asked her why she did so. "My lord," she said, "that road cleaner is my former husband, the one who made me climb up the fig tree and then piled thorns around it and abandoned me. When I saw him, I felt triumphant at my good fortune, and I smiled to see the wretch there."

The King said, "You lie. You laughed at someone else, and I will kill you!" And he drew his sword. She was alarmed and said, "Sire, please ask your wise men!"

The King asked Senaka whether he believed her. "No, my lord, I do not," said Senaka, "for who would leave such a beautiful woman if he possessed her?" When she heard this, she was more frightened than ever. But the King thought, "What does Senaka know about this? I will ask the sage," and he asked him reciting this stanza:

Should a woman be virtuous and fair,

And a man not desire her?

Do you believe it Mahosadha?

The sage replied:

"Oh King, I do believe it. The man would be an unlucky wretch. Good luck and bad luck can never mate together."

These words subdued the King's anger. His heart was calmed. Pleased he said, "Oh wise man! If you had not been here, I would have trusted the words of that fool Senaka and lost this precious woman. You have saved me my Queen." He compensated the sage with 1,000 pieces of money. Then the Queen said to the King respectfully, "Sire, it is because of this wise man that my life has been saved. Grant me a boon. Let me treat him as my youngest brother."

"Yes, my Queen, I consent, the boon is granted."

"Then, my lord, from this day I will eat no delicacies without my brother. From this day in season and out of season my door shall be open to send him sweet food. This is the boon I desire."

"You may have this boon also, my lady," The King said. Here ends The Question of Good and Bad Luck.

* * *

On another day, the King was walking after breakfast. Through a doorway he saw a goat and a dog befriending each other. Now this goat was in the habit of eating the grass thrown to the elephants next to their stable before they were able to get to it. The elephant keepers beat the goat and drove it away. As it ran away bleating, one man ran after it and beat it on the back with a stick. The goat's back humped in pain. He went and lay down by the great wall of the palace on a bench.

Now there was a dog which fed upon the bones, skin, and refuse of the royal kitchen. That same day the cook had finished preparing the food and had dished it up. While he was wiping the sweat off his body, the dog could no longer bear the smell of the meat and fish. He went into the kitchen, pushed off the pot cover, and began eating the meat. But the cook heard the noise of the dishes. He ran in and saw the dog. he slammed through to the door and beat the dog with sticks and stones. The dog dropped the meat from his mouth and ran off yelping. The cook ran after him and hit him on the back with a stick. The dog humped his back and limped off. He ended up at the place where the goat was lying.

Then the goat said, "Friend, why do you hump your back? Are you suffering from colic?"

The dog replied, "You are humping your back too. Do you have an attack of colic?"

He told his tale. Then the goat added, "Well, can you ever go to the kitchen again?"

"No, it is not worth jeopardizing my life. Can you go to the stable again?"

"No more than you can go back to the kitchen. It is not worth jeopardizing my life."

Well, they began to wonder how they could live. Then the goat said, "If we could work together I have an idea."

"Please tell me."

"Well, sir, you can go to the stable. The elephant keepers will take no notice of you, for they know that you do not eat grass. And you must bring me my grass. Then I will go to the kitchen. The cook will take no notice of me, knowing that I do not eat meat, so I will bring you your meat."

"That's a good plan," said the dog, and they made their bargain. The dog went to the stable. He brought a bundle of grass in his teeth and laid it beside the great wall. The goat went to the kitchen and brought a great lump of meat in his mouth to the same place. The dog ate the meat and the goat ate the grass. And so in this way they lived together in harmony by the great wall.

When the King saw their friendship he thought, "I have never seen anything like this before. Here are two natural enemies living in friendship together. I will put this in the form of a riddle to my wise men. I will banish those who cannot solve it from the realm. And if anyone guesses it, I will declare him an incomparable sage and show him honor. There is no time today, but when they come to wait on me tomorrow, I will ask them to solve this riddle. So the next day when the wise men came to wait on him, he put his riddle to them with these words:

Two natural enemies, who never before in the world could come within seven paces of each other, have become friends and go inseparable. What is the reason?

After this he added another stanza:

If you cannot answer this question on this day before noon, I will banish you all. I have no need of ignorant men.

Now Senaka was sitting in the first seat. The sage was in the last seat. The sage thought to himself, "This King is not clever enough to have thought of this question himself. He must have seen something. If I can get one day's grace, I will be able to solve the riddle. And Senaka is sure to find some way to postpone it for a day."

And the other four wise men could not solve the riddle, being like men in a dark room. Senaka looked at the Bodhisatta to see what he would do. The Bodhisatta looked at Senaka. By the way Mahosadha looked, Senaka understood his state of mind. He saw that even this wise man did not understand the riddle. He cannot answer it today but wants a day's grace. He would fulfill this wish.

So he laughed loudly in a reassuring manner and said, "Sire, you will banish us all if we cannot answer your question?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, you know that it is a difficult question, and that we cannot solve it. But give us some time. A difficult question cannot be solved in a crowd. We will think it over, and then we will explain it to you. So let us have a chance." Then he recited these stanzas:

In a great crowd, where a great din of people is assembled,

Our minds are distracted, our thoughts cannot concentrate,

And we cannot solve the question. But alone, calm in

Thought, apart we will go and ponder the matter, in solitude

Grappling with it firmly, then we will solve it for you,

Oh lord of men.

The King was exasperated at his speech. He threatened them, saying, "Very well. Think it over and tell me. If you do not, I will banish you."

The four wise men left the palace. Senaka said to the others, "Friends, the King has posed a difficult question. If we cannot solve it, we will be in great trouble. So eat a good meal and reflect carefully." After this they all went home. The sage, however, sought out Queen Udumbarā. He said to her, "Oh Queen, where was the King most of today and yesterday?"

"Walking up and down the long walk, good sir, and looking out of the window."

"Ah," the Bodhisatta thought. "He must have seen something there." So he went to the place and looked out and saw what the goat and the dog were doing.

"The King's question is solved!" he exclaimed, and home he went. The three others discovered nothing. They went to Senaka, who asked, "Have you solved the riddle?"

"No, master."

"If that is so, the King will banish you. What will you do?"

"But you have you figured it out?"

"Indeed no, I. have not."

"If you cannot find it out, how can we? We roared like lions before the King. We said, 'Let us think and we will solve it.' And now if we cannot, he will be angry. What are we going to do?"

"This riddle is not for us to solve. There is no doubt that the sage has solved it."

"Then let us go to him."

So all four of them went to see the Bodhisatta. They entered his home and spoke politely to him. Then they asked the Great Being, "Well, sir, have you discovered the answer to the riddle?"

"If I have not, who will? Of course, I have."

"Then tell us too."

He thought to himself, "If I do not tell them, the King will banish them, and he will honor me with the seven precious things ( _gold, silver, pearl, coral, catseye, ruby, and diamond_ ). But I will not let these fools perish. I will tell them."

So he had them sit down on low seats and to bow in salutation. And without telling them what the King had seen, he composed four stanzas. He taught each one of them one stanza in the Pāli language and told them to recite their verse when the King asked them the question. Then he sent them away.

On the next day they went to wait on the King. They sat where they were told to sit. The King asked Senaka, "Have you solved the question, Senaka?"

"Sire, if I have not then who can?'

"Tell me, then."

"Listen, my lord," and he recited a stanza as he had been taught:

Young beggars and young princes like and delight in ram's flesh; But they do not eat a dog's flesh. Yet there might be friendship between the ram and the dog.

Although Senaka recited the stanza he did not know what it meant. But the King did because he had seen the thing. "Senaka has figured it out," he thought. He then turned to Pukkusa and asked him. "What? am I not a wise man?" asked Pukkusa, and he recited his stanza as he had been taught:

They take off a goatskin to cover a horse's back, but they do not use a dogskin for covering. Yet there might be friendship between ram and dog.

He did not understand what that meant, either. But the King thought he did because he had seen the thing. Then he asked Kāvinda, and he also recited his stanza:

A ram has twisted horns; the dog has none at all. One eats grass, one flesh. Yet there might be friendship between a ram and a dog.

He has figured it out too," thought the King and proceeded to ask Devinda. He recited his stanza as he had been taught:

The ram eats both grass and leaves, the dog eats neither grass nor leaves. The dog would attack a rabbit or a cat. Yet there might be friendship between a ram and a dog.

Next the King questioned the sage, "My son, do you understand this question?"

"Sire, who else can understand it from Avīci ( _the lowest hell_ ) to Bhavagga ( _the highest heaven_ ), from the lowest hell to the highest heaven?"

"Tell me, then."

"Listen, sire." And he made his knowledge clear by reciting these stanzas:

The ram, with eight half-feet on his four feet, and eight hooves, unobserved, brings meat for the other, and the other brings grass for him. The King Videha, the lord of men, on his terrace saw with his own eyes the exchange of food given by each to the other, between bow-wow and full-mouth.

The King, not knowing that the others had their knowledge through the Bodhisatta, was delighted to think that all five had solved the riddle each by his own wisdom, and he recited this stanza:

It is no small gain that I have men so wise in my house.

They have penetrated a profound and subtle matter

With noble speech, these clever men!

So he said to them, "One good turn deserves another" and announced his gift in the following stanza:

To each I give a chariot and a she-mule,

To each a rich village, very choice.

These I give to all the wise men,

Delighted at their noble speech.

He gave all this.

Here ends The Question of the Goat.

* * *

But Queen Udumbarā knew that the others had gotten their answer to the riddle through the sage. She thought, "The King has given the same reward to all five, like a man who makes no difference between peas and beans. Surely my brother should have had a special reward." So she went to the King and asked him, "Who solved the riddle for you, sir?"

"The five wise men, madam."

"But my lord, through whom did the four get their knowledge?"

"I do not know, madam."

"Sire, what do those men know! It was the sage who wished that these fools should not be ruined through him. He taught them the solution. Then you gave the same reward to all of them. That is not right. You should make a distinction for the sage."

The King was pleased that the sage had not revealed that they had their knowledge through him. He wanted to give him an exceptional reward. He thought, "Never mind. I will ask my son another question. And when he replies, I will give him a great reward." Thinking of this he hit on the Question of Poor and Rich.

One day, when the five wise men had come to wait on him, and when they were comfortably seated, the King said, "Senaka, I will ask a question."

"Do, sire." Then he recited the first stanza in the Question of Poor and Rich:

Endowed with wisdom but without wealth,

Or wealthy and without wisdom.

I ask you this question, Senaka.

Which of these two clever men do you call the better?

Now this question had been handed down from generation to generation in Senaka's family, so he replied at once:

Truly, Oh King, wise men and fools,

Men educated or uneducated,

Do service to the wealthy.

Even though they are high-born and he is low-born.

Beholding this I say:

The wise is inferior, and the wealthy is better.

The King listened to this answer. Then without asking the other three, he said to the sage Mahosadha:

Lofty in wisdom, Mahosadha, who knows all the Law.

I ask you the same question:

A fool with wealth or a wise man with little.

Which of the two do clever men call the better?

Then the Great Being replied, "Hear, Oh King":

The fool commits unskillful acts.

He thinks "In this world I am superior."

He looks at this life and not at the next,

And he gets the worst of it in both.

Knowing this I say:

The wise man is better than the wealthy fool.

This said, the King looked at Senaka and said, "Well, you see Mahosadha says the wise man is the best."

Senaka said, "Your majesty, Mahosadha is a child. Even now his mouth smells of milk. What can he know?" And he recited this stanza:

Science does not give riches,

Nor does family or personal beauty.

Look at that idiot Gorimanda greatly prospering,

Because good fortune favors the wretch.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is inferior, the wealthy is better."

( _Gorimanda was a rich man who was very ugly. He was not married and he had no children. When he spoke, saliva flowed from his mouth. But because he was wealthy, he had two beautiful women who attended to him. They wiped the saliva from his mouth with blue lilies._ )

Hearing this the King said, "What now, Mahosadha my son?"

He answered, "My lord, what does Senaka know? He is like a crow where rice is scattered, like a dog trying to lap up milk. He sees himself but does not see the stick that is ready to fall on his head. Listen, my lord," and he recited this stanza:

He who is small of wit, when he gets wealth, is intoxicated.

When he is struck by misfortune he becomes stupefied.

Whether he is struck by bad luck or good luck,

He writhes like a fish in the hot sun.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is better than the wealthy fool."

On hearing this the King said, "Now then, master!" Senaka said, "My lord, what does he know? The birds go after the fine tree full of fruit." And he recited this stanza:

As in the forest,

The birds gather from all quarters

To the tree which has sweet fruit.

So crowds flock to the rich man who has treasure

For their profit.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is inferior, the wealthy is the better."

"Well, my son, what now?" the King asked. The sage answered, "What does that pot-belly know? Listen, my lord," and he recited this stanza:

The powerful fool tries to win treasure by violence.

But no matter how loud he roars,

They drag the simpleton off to hell.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is better than the wealthy fool."

Again the King said, "Well, Senaka?" to which Senaka replied:

Whatever streams pour themselves into the Ganges,

All these lose their name and kind.

The Ganges falling into the sea

Is no longer distinguishable.

So the world is devoted to wealth.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is inferior, the rich is better."

Again the King said, "Well, sage?" and he answered, "Hear, Oh King!":

This mighty ocean of which he spoke,

Into which innumerable rivers flow,

This sea beating incessantly on the shore can never overcome it,

No matter how mighty the ocean is.

So it is with the chatterings of the fool.

His prosperity cannot overpass the wise.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is better than the prosperous fool."

"Well, Senaka?" said the King. "Hear, Oh King!" he said, and he recited this stanza:

A wealthy man in a high position may lack intelligence,

But if he says anything to others,

His word has weight in the midst of his family.

But wisdom has no effect for the man without wealth.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is inferior, the rich is better."

"Well, my son?" said the King again. "Listen, sire! What does that stupid Senaka know?" And he recited this stanza:

For another's sake or his own

The fool and small of wit speaks falsely.

He is put to shame in the midst of company,

And in the hereafter he goes to misery.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is better than the wealthy fool."

Then Senaka recited a stanza:

Even if one is wise, without rice or grain and needy,

If he says anything,

His word has no weight in the midst of his family.

Prosperity does not come to a man for his knowledge.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is inferior, the rich is better."

Again the King said, "What say you to that, my son?" And the sage replied, "What does Senaka know? he looks at this world and not the next," and he recited this stanza:

Not for his own sake or another's

Does the man of great wisdom speak a lie.

He is honored in the midst of the assembly,

And in the hereafter he is reborn in happiness.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is better than the wealthy fool."

Then Senaka recited a stanza:

Elephants, money, horses, jeweled earrings, and women,

Are found in rich families.

These all are for the enjoyment of the rich man

Without supernatural power.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is inferior, the rich is better."

The sage said, "What does he know?" and continued to explain the matter with this stanza:

The fool, who does thoughtless acts

And speaks foolish words is cast off by fortune

As a snake casts off the old skin.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is better than the wealthy fool."

"What now?" asked the King. Senaka said, "My lord, what can this little boy know? Listen!" and he recited this stanza, thinking that he would silence the sage:

We are five wise men, venerable sir,

All waiting upon you, our King with gestures of respect.

You are our lord and master,

Like Sakka, lord of all creatures, King of the gods.

Beholding this I say, "The wise is inferior, the rich is better."

When the King heard this he thought, "That was neatly said by Senaka. I wonder whether my son will be able to refute it and to say something else." So he asked him, "Well, wise sir, what now?" But this argument of Senaka's could only be refuted by the Bodhisatta. So the Great Being said, "Sire, what does this fool know? He only looks at himself. He does not know the excellence of wisdom. Listen, sire," and he recited this stanza:

The wealthy fool is the slave of a wise man.

When questions like this arise,

When the sage solves it cleverly,

Then the fool is simply confused.

Beholding this I say,

"The wise is better than the wealthy fool."

As if he drew golden sand from the foot of Mount Sineru, as though he brought the full moon up in the sky, so did he set forth this argument. In this way the Great Being showed his wisdom. Then the King said to Senaka, "Well, Senaka, cap that if you can!" But like one who had used up all the corn in his granary, he sat silently, disturbed and grieving.

If he could have produced another argument, even a thousand stanzas would not have finished this debate. But when he remained without an answer, the Great Being went on with this stanza in praise of wisdom, as though he poured out a deep flood:

Truly wisdom is esteemed by the good.

Wealth is beloved because men are addicted

To pleasures of the senses.

The knowledge of the Buddhas is incomparable,

And wealth never surpasses wisdom.

Hearing this the King was so pleased with the Great Being's answer to the question that he showered him with riches, and he recited this stanza:

Whatever I asked he has answered me,

Mahosadha, the only preacher of the law.

I give you a thousand coins,

A bull and an elephant,

Ten chariots drawn by thoroughbreds,

And sixteen excellent villages,

Because I am pleased with your answer to the question."

Here ends the Question of Rich and Poor.

* * *

From that day on the Bodhisatta's glory was great, and Queen Udumbarā managed it all. When he was 16 she thought, "My young brother has grown up, and his glory is great. We must find a wife for him." She said this to the King, and the King was pleased. "Very well, he said. "Tell him."

She told him, and he agreed. She said, "Then let us find you a bride, my son." The Great Being thought, "I will never be satisfied if they choose a wife for me. I will find one for myself." So he said, "Madam, do not tell the King for a few days, and I will go look for a wife to suit my taste."

"Do so, my brother," she replied.

He left the Queen, went to his house, and told his friends. Then he got a new outfit from a tailor and went out alone by the northern gate into North Town.

Now in that place there was an ancient merchant family who had fallen on hard times. There was a daughter in this family, the lady Amarā. She was a beautiful girl, wise, and with all the marks of good luck. Early that morning this girl had gone to the place where her father was plowing. She brought him rice gruel that she had cooked. It so happened that she went by the same road as the Bodhisatta. When the Great Being saw her coming he thought, "A woman with all the lucky marks! If she is not married she must be my wife."

Likewise, when she saw him she thought, "If I could live in the house of such a man, I might restore my family." The Great Being thought, "I do not know if she is married or not. I will ask her by gesturing with my hands, and if she is wise she will understand." So standing far off he clenched his fist. She understood that he was asking whether she had a husband. So she spread out her hand.

Then he went up to her and asked her name. She said, "My name is that which neither is nor was nor ever shall be."

"Madam, there is nothing in the world that is immortal. Your name must be Amarā, the Immortal."

"It is so, master."

"For whom, madam, do you carry that gruel?"

"For the god of old time."

"Gods of old time are one's parents. No doubt you mean your father."

"So it is, master."

"What does your father do?"

"He makes two out of one." Now making two out of one is plowing. "He is plowing, madam."

"It is so, master."

"And where is your father plowing?"

"Where those who go do not come out again."

"The place where those who go do not come out again is the cemetery. He is plowing then near a cemetery."

"It is so, master."

"Will you come again today, madam?"

"If it comes I will not come, if it does not come I will come."

"I think your father, madam, is plowing by a riverside. And if the flood comes, you will not come. If it does not come, you will."

After this exchange, the lady Amarā offered him some of the gruel. The Great Being, thinking it would be ungracious to refuse, said he would like some. Then she put down the jar of gruel. The Great Being thought, "If she offers it to me without first washing the pot and giving me water to wash my hands, I will leave her and go." But she washed the pot and offered him water for washing. Then she placed the empty pot empty on the ground, stirred up the gruel in the jar, and filled the pot with it. But there was not much rice in it, and the Great Being said, "Why, madam, there is very little rice here!"

"We have had no water, master."

"You mean when your crops were growing, there was no water for them."

"It is so, master."

So she kept some gruel for her father and gave some to the Bodhisatta. He drank and gargled his mouth and said, "Madam, I will go to your house. Kindly show me the way." She did so by reciting this stanza:

By the way of the cakes and gruel, and the tree in flower,

By the hand with which I eat, I point the way,

Not using the hand with which I do not eat.

That is the way to the market town,

You must find the secret path.

Here ends the Question of the Secret Path.

* * *

He reached the house by the way she had indicated. Amarā's mother saw him and offered him a seat. "May I offer you some gruel, master?" she asked. "Thank you, mother. Sister Amarā gave me a little." She recognized at once that he must have come because of her daughter.

When he saw how poor they were the Great Being said, "Mother, I am a tailor. Do you have you anything that you need mended?"

"Yes, master, but I do not have any money with which to pay you."

"There is no need to pay me, mother. Bring the things that need to be repaired, and I will mend them."

She brought him some old clothes, and the Bodhisatta mended them. Then he said, "Go tell the people in the village." She spread the word of his skill as a tailor throughout the village, and in one day the Great Being earned 1,000 pieces of money by his tailoring. The old woman cooked him a midday meal, and in the evening she asked how much she should cook. "Enough, mother, for everyone in this house." Because of his good fortune, she was able to cook a large quantity of rice with some curry and condiments.

Now Amarā came back in the evening from the forest. She brought a bundle of wood that she carried on her head. She threw down the wood in front of the house and came in through the back door. Her father returned later. The Great Being ate the tasty meal. The girl served her parents before eating herself. She washed their feet and the Bodhisatta's feet. For several days he lived there observing her.

Then one day he decided to test her. He said, "My dear Amarā, take half a measure of rice and make me some gruel, a cake, and some boiled rice." She agreed at once. She husked the rice. With the big grains she made gruel, she boiled the medium size grains, and she made a cake with the little ones, adding suitable condiments. She gave the gruel with its condiments to the Great Being. He took a mouthful of it, and he instantly was thrilled with its wonderful flavor.

Nevertheless, in order to test her he said, "Madam, if you don't know how to cook, why did you spoil my rice?" and he spat it out on the ground. But she was not angry. She only gave him the cake, saying, "If you do not like the gruel, eat the cake."

He did the same thing with the cake, and likewise rejected the boiled rice. He said, "If you don't know how to cook, why did you waste my property?" Pretending to be angry, he mixed all three together and smeared them all over her body from the head downwards and told her to sit at the door. "Very well, master," she said. She was not angry at all. Seeing that there was no pride in her he said, "Come here, madam." At the first word she came.

Figure: The Patience of a Saint

When the Great Being had first arrived, he brought with him 1,000 rupees, and he also had a dress in his bag. Now he took out this dress and placed it in her hands, saying, "Madam, bathe with your friends and put on this dress and come to me." She did so. The sage gave her parents all the money he had brought or earned. He reassured and comforted them, and then he took her back to the town.

There he tested her once more. He made her sit down in the gatekeeper's house. Telling the gatekeeper's wife of his plans, he went to his own house and changed into his royal clothes. Then he sent for some of his friends. He said, "I left a woman at the gatekeeper's house. Take 1,000 coins with you and test her." ( _Presumably they were to offer her money for sex._ ) He gave them the money and sent them away.

They did as they were told. She refused, saying, "That is not worth the dust on my master's feet." The men came back and reported the result. He sent them again, and then a third time. On the fourth time he told them to drag her away by force and take her to the Great Being.

They did so, and when she saw the Great Being in all his glory, she did not recognize him. Then she smiled and wept at the same time as she looked at him. He asked her why she did this. She replied, "Master, I smiled when I saw your magnificence. I thought that this magnificence was given to you for some good deed that you did in a former life. I thought, 'It is the fruit of goodness!' and I smiled. But then I wept to think that now you will commit an offense against another man's woman, and then you will go to hell. From compassion for that, I wept." After this test he knew her fidelity, and he sent her back to the gatekeeper's house. Putting on his tailor's disguise, he went back to her and spent the night there.

On the next morning, he went to the palace and told Queen Udumbarā what had happened, and she in turn told the King. They got Amarā and adorned her with all kinds of ornaments. They seated her in a great chariot, and with great honor they brought her to the Great Being's house for a gala day. There the Great Being revealed his true identity.

The King sent the Bodhisatta a gift worth 1,000 pieces of money. All the people of the town sent gifts, from the doorkeepers onwards. Lady Amarā divided the gifts sent by the King into halves. She sent one portion back to the King. In the same way she divided all the gifts sent to her by the citizens and returned half of them. With this act of kindness and generosity, she won the hearts of the people. And from that time on, the Great Being lived with her in happiness, and he instructed the King in worldly affairs as well as religious ones.

One day Senaka said to the other three wise men, "Friends, we are no match for this common man's son Mahosadha. And now he has gotten himself a wife who is even more clever than he is. Can we find a way to cause a rift between him and the King?"

"What do we know, sir teacher. You must decide."

"Well, there is a way. I will steal the jewel from the royal crest. You, Pukkusa, take the King's golden necklace. You, Kāvinda, take his woolen robe. And you, Devinda, take his golden slipper."

All four of them were able to do these things. Then Senaka said, "We must now get them into the fellow's house without his knowing."

So Senaka put the jewel in a pot of dates and had it delivered to Mahosadha by a slave girl. He said to her, "If anyone else wants to have this pot of dates, refuse, but give it - pot and all - to the people in Mahosadha's house."

She took the pot of dates to the sage's house and walked in front of it crying out, "Do you want some dates?" The lady Amarā was standing by the door. She noticed that the girl did not go to any other house. She deduced that there must be something going on. She signaled her servants to go inside the house, then she cried to the girl, "Come here, girl, I will take the dates." When she came, the mistress called for her servants, but none answered. So she sent the girl inside to get them.

While she was gone, Amarā put her hand into the pot and found the jewel. When the girl returned Amarā asked her, "Whose servant are you, girl?"

"I am Paṇḍita Senaka's maid."

Then she asked what her name was and her mother's name and said, "Well, give me some dates."

"If you want it, mother, take it pot and all. I do not want any payment."

"You may go, then," said Amarā, and she sent her away.

Then she wrote down on a leaf, "On this day of this month the teacher Senaka sent a jewel from the King's crest for a present by the hand of such and such a girl."

Pukkusa sent the golden necklace hidden in a casket of jasmine flowers. Kāvinda sent the robe in a basket of vegetables. And Devinda sent the golden slipper in a bundle of straw. She received them all and wrote down the names and details of the exchanges on a leaf. She put the leaf away and told the Great Being about what had happened.

The four wise men then went to the palace, and said, "Why, my lord! Please wear your jeweled crest."

"I will. Go fetch it," said the King.

But they could not find the jewel or the other things. Then the four said, "My lord, your ornaments are in Mahosadha's house, and he uses them. That common man's son is your enemy!"

And so they slandered him. Mahosadha's friends told him what had happened. And he said, "I will go to the King."

He went to see the King. But the King was angry and said, "I do not know him! What does he want here?"

He would not grant Mahosadha an audience. When the sage learned that the King was angry, he returned home. The King sent men to seize him. When the sage heard about this from his friends, he told Amarā that he should leave.

So he escaped out of the city in disguise to South Town where he worked as a potter's assistant. The city was full of the news that he had run away. When Senaka and the other three heard that he was gone, each - unknown to the rest - sent a letter to the lady Amarā. The letters said in effect, "Never mind about Mahosadha. We are also wise men."

She answered all four letters, telling them to come to her at the same time. When they came, she had them shaved with razors ( _this was a form of humiliation_ ) and threw them into the outhouses. She tormented them, wrapped them up in rolls of matting, and sent word to the King.

Taking them and the four precious things together, she went to the King's courtyard. There she greeted him, saying: "My lord, the wise Mahosadha is no thief. Here are the thieves. Senaka stole the jewel. Pukkusa stole the golden necklace. Kāvinda stole the robe. And Devinda stole the golden slipper. By the hands of their slave girls, these four were sent as presents. Look at this leaf and you will have your proof. Take what is yours and banish these thieves."

She ridiculed these four men and then returned home. But the King did not know what to do since the Bodhisatta had gone and there were no other wise men. So he did nothing. He just told them to bathe and go home.

Now there was a deity ( _a deva_ ) that lived in the royal parasol. She no longer heard the Bodhisatta's discourses and wondered why. When she found out what happened, she determined to bring the sage back.

So at night she appeared through a hole in the parasol. She challenged the King to solve four riddles that are found in the Questions of the Goddess:

  1. He strikes with hands and feet and beats the face. And yet, Oh King, he is dear and grows dearer than a husband. 
  2. She abuses him roundly, yet wishes him to be near. And he, Oh King, is dearer than a husband. 
  3. She reviles him without cause and without reason. She reproaches him without reason. Yet he, Oh King, is dearer than a husband. 
  4. They take our food and drink, clothes and lodging. Yet they, Oh King, are dearer than a husband.

The King did not know the answers to these riddles, and he said so. But he said that he would ask his wise men and asked for a day's delay.

On the next day he sent a message summoning them. But they replied, "We are ashamed to show ourselves in the street, shaven as we are." So he sent them four skullcaps to wear on their heads. Then they came and sat where they were instructed. The King said, "Senaka, last night the deity that lives in my parasol asked me to solve four riddles. I did not know the answers, but said I would ask my wise men. Please solve them for me." And then he recited the first stanza:

He strikes with hands and feet and beats the face. And yet,

Oh King, he is dear and grows dearer than a husband.

Senaka stammered out whatever came first, "Strikes how, strikes whom?" He could not make heads or tails of it. Likewise, the others were all dumb. The King was full of distress. When the deity asked him that night whether he had solved the riddles, he said, "I asked my four wise men, and even they could not do so."

She replied, "What do they know? Except for wise Mahosadha there is no one who can solve them. If you do not send for him and get him to solve these riddles, I will split your head open with this fiery blade."

After suitably scaring him she went on: "Oh King, when you want fire, don't blow on a firefly, and when you want milk don't milk the cow's horn." Then she posed the Firefly Question:

When light is extinguished, who goes searching for fire

Thinking that a firefly is fire if he sees one at night?

If he puts it on cow dung and grass, it is a foolish idea.

He cannot make them burn.

You cannot solve a problem by foolish means.

If you milk a cow by the horn, milk will not flow.

By many means people obtain benefit by

Punishing their enemies and being kind to friends.

By winning over the chiefs of the army,

And by the counsel of friends,

The lords of the earth possess the earth

And all of its fullness.

"But they are not like you, blowing at a firefly in the belief that it is a fire. You are like one blowing on a firefly when fire is right in front of you. You are like someone who weighs something while pressing his hand down on the scale. You are like one who wants milk and milks the cow's horn when you ask deep questions of Senaka and the like of him. What do they know? They are like fireflies while the great flaming fire is Mahosadha. He is blazing with wisdom. If you do not solve these riddles, you are a dead man." Having thus terrified the King, she disappeared.

( _Never mess with a deva!_ )

Now on the next day, the King, overwhelmed with fear, sent out four courtiers. He ordered each of them to mount a chariot and to set out from the four gates of the city. If they should find his son, the wise Mahosadha, they should show him great respect and quickly bring him back. Three of them did not find the sage. But the one who went out by south gate found the Great Being in the South Town.

On that day, the sage gathered some clay for his master and worked at turning his master's wheel. Then he sat smeared all over with clay on a bundle of straw eating balls of rice dipped in a little soup.

Now the reason he was working as a potter's assistant was that he thought that the King might suspect him of trying to grab the sovereign power. But if he heard that he was living as a potter's assistant, this suspicion would be put away.

When he saw the courtier he knew that the man had come for him. He understood that his prosperity and good name would be restored, and that he would eat all kinds of wonderful food prepared by the lady Amarā. So he dropped the ball of rice, stood up, and rinsed his mouth. At that moment the courtier arrived.

Now this courtier was one of Senaka's faction, so he addressed him rudely. "Wise Teacher, what Senaka said was true. Your prosperity is gone, and all of your wisdom was useless. And now you sit there covered with clay on a pile of straw, eating food like that!" ( _This is in reference to the debate on whether wisdom or wealth is better._ ) And he recited this stanza from the Bhūripañha, the Question of Wisdom:

Is it true, as they say, that you are one of profound wisdom?

So great prosperity, cleverness, and intelligence

Does not serve you, thus brought to insignificance,

While you eat a little soup like that.

Then the Great Being said, "Blind fool! By power of my wisdom, when I want to restore my prosperity, I will do it." And he recited these stanzas.

I make prosperity ripen by trial.

I discriminate between seasonable and unseasonable times.

I hide by my own will.

I unlock the doors of profit.

So I am content with boiled rice.

When I determine the time for effort,

I will do so by my own will.

Then I will proceed valiantly like a lion,

And by that mighty power you will see me again.

Then the courtier said, "Wise sir, the deity who lives in the parasol has given a riddle to the King. The King asked the four wise men, but none of them could solve it! Therefore, the King has sent me to find you."

"In that case," the Great Being said, "Don't you see the power of wisdom? In a case like this, prosperity is useless. The only useful quality is wisdom."

The courtier gave him the 1,000 pieces of money. Then he gave the Great Being the suit of clothes provided by the King so that he could bathe and dress. The potter was terrified to think that Mahosadha the sage had been his workman. But the Great Being consoled him, saying, "Do not be afraid, my master. You have been a great help to me."

Then he gave the potter the 1,000 pieces of money, and with the mud stains still on him, he mounted the chariot and went to town. The courtier told the King of his arrival. "Where did you find the sage, my son?"

"My lord, he was earning his livelihood as a potter's assistant in the South Town. But as soon as he heard that you had sent for him, without bathing, the mud still staining his body, he came."

The King thought, "If he were my enemy he would have come with great fanfare and a large following. He is not my enemy."

Then he gave orders to take him to his house, bathe him and adorn him, and to have him come back with the fanfare that he deserved.

He returned, entered, and greeted the King with deference and respect. The King spoke kindly to him. Then to test him, he said this stanza:

Some do no wrong because they are rich,

But others do no wrong for fear of blame.

You are able, if your mind desires to have great wealth.

Why do you not do me harm?

The Bodhisatta said:

Wise men do no wrong

To protect the pleasure that wealth gives.

But good men,

Even though struck by misfortune and brought low,

Will do no wrong either for friendship or from anger.

Again the King recited this stanza, the mysterious saying of a Khattiya ( _a member of the ruling caste_ ):

He who for any cause, small or great,

Should lift himself up from a low place,

Will thereafter walk in righteousness.

And the Great Being recited this stanza with an illustration of a tree:

If a man finds rest and shade beneath a tree,

It would be treachery to lop off a branch.

We detest false friends.

Then he went on, "Sire, if it is treachery to lop a branch from a tree, what are we to say of one who kills a man? Your majesty has given my father great wealth, and you have shown me great favor. How could I be so treacherous as to injure you?" Thus, having demonstrated his loyalty, he reproached the King for his fault:

When any man has demonstrated his virtue,

Has cleared any doubts,

The other becomes his protection and refuge.

A wise man will not destroy this friendship.

Now admonishing the King, he said these stanzas:

I detest the idle self-indulgent layman,

The false ascetic is an admitted rogue.

A bad king will decide a case without hearing it out.

Malice in a sage can never be justified.

The warrior prince considers carefully,

and gives a fair verdict.

When kings use good judgment, their fame lives forever.

When he had said this, the King instructed the Great Being to sit on the royal throne under the white parasol. He himself sat on a low seat and said, "Wise sir, the deity who lives in the white parasol asked me four riddles. I consulted the four wise men and they could not answer them. Solve the riddles, my son!"

"Sire, whether it is the deity of the parasol, the Four Great Kings, or whoever it might be, let anyone ask a question, and I will answer it." ( _The Four Great Kings rule the heaven adjacent to the human realm._ )

So the King posed the riddle as the deity had done:

He strikes with hands and feet and beats the face. And yet,

Oh King, he is dear, and grows dearer than a husband.

When the Great Being heard the riddle, the meaning was as clear as though the moon had risen in the sky. "Listen, Oh King!" he said, "When a child is on the mother's lap, happy and playful, he beats his mother with hands and feet, pulls her hair, beats her face with his fist, and she says, 'Little rogue, why do you beat me?' And in love she presses him close to her breast unable to restrain her affection, and she kisses him. And at such a time he is dearer to her than his father."

Thus did he solve this riddle as though he made the sun rise in the sky. And hearing this the goddess showed half her body from the aperture in the royal parasol and said in a sweet voice, "The riddle is well solved!" Then she presented the Great Being with a precious casket full of divine perfumes and flowers and disappeared. The King also presented him with flowers and gifts and posed the second riddle, reciting the stanza:

She abuses him roundly, yet wishes him to be near.

And he, Oh King, is dearer than a husband.

The Great Being said, "Sire, the child who is seven years old can now do as his mother asks. But when he is told to go to the field or to the bazaar, he says, 'If you give me a treat, then I will go.' She says, 'Here my son, and she gives him a treat.' Then he eats it and says, 'Yes, you sit in the cool shade of the house while I have to go out on your business!' He grimaces and mocks her and refuses to go. She is angry. She picks up a stick and cries, 'You eat what I give you and then won't do anything for me in the field!' He is frightened and runs off at full speed. She cannot follow and yells, 'Get out. May the thieves chop you up into little bits!' So she abuses him roundly as much as she can. But despite what she says, she does not mean it. She wants him to be near. He plays all day long, and in the evening he is afraid to go home so he goes to the house of a friend. The mother watches and waits for his return. Her heart is full of pain. There are tears streaming from her eyes. She searches the houses of her friends and neighbors. When she finds her son, she hugs and kisses him and squeezes him tight with both arms, and loves him more than ever as she cries, 'Did you think that I meant what I said?' Thus, sire, a mother loves her son even more in the hour of anger."

Thus he answered the second riddle. The goddess gave him the same offering as before as did the King. Then the King posed the third riddle in another stanza:

She reviles him without cause and without reason.

She reproaches him without reason.

Yet he, Oh King, is dearer than a husband.

The Great Being said, "Sire, a pair of lovers are enjoying their love's delights. And one says to the other, 'You don't care for me. Your heart is elsewhere I know!' It is without reason. They chide and reproach one another, then they grow dearer to each other. That is the meaning of the riddle."

The goddess made the same offering as before, as did the King. The King then posed the final riddle, reciting the fourth stanza:

They take our food and drink, clothes and lodging,

Yet they, Oh King, are dearer than a husband.

He replied, "Sire, this question refers to humble beggars. Pious families that believe in this world and the next give to them and delight in that giving. When they see such people receiving what is given and eating it, they think, 'They came to us to beg. When they eat our food, that increases our affection towards them. Thus they take these things, and wearing the clothing that we give to them, they become dear."

When this riddle was answered the goddess expressed her approval with the same gift as before. She laid a casket full of the seven precious things before the Great Being's feet, asking him to accept it. The delighted King made him Commander in Chief. From then on the Great Being experienced great glory.

Here ends the Question of the Goddess.

* * *

Once again the four wise men said, "This common fellow has even more fame and power than before. What are we to do?"

Senaka said to them, "All right, I have a plan. Let us go to Mahosadha and ask him, 'To whom is it all right to tell a secret?' If he says, 'No one,' then we will tell the King that he is a traitor."

So the four men went to the sage's house. They greeted him and said, "Wise sir, we want to ask you a question."

"Ask away," he said.

Senaka said, "Wise sir, what quality should a man hold most dear?"

"The truth."

"That done, what is the next thing to do?"

"He must make wealth."

"What after that?"

"He must learn wisdom."

"After that what next?"

"He must tell no man his own secret."

"Thank you, sir," they said and went away happy, thinking, "Today we will see him get his punishment!"

Then they entered the King's presence and said to him, "Sire, the fellow is a traitor to you!"

The King replied, "I do not believe you. He would never be a traitor to me."

"Believe it, sire, for it is true! But if you do not believe us, then ask him to whom a secret ought to be told. If he is not a traitor, he will say, 'A secret should be told to such and such kind of a person.' But if he is a traitor he will say, 'A secret should never be told to anyone.' Then believe us, and you will no longer be suspicious."

Accordingly, one day when they were all seated together, he recited the first stanza of the Wise Man's Question:

The five wise men are now together,

And a question occurs to me. Hear me.

To whom should a secret be revealed,

whether the secret is good or bad?

This said, Senaka, thinking to get the King on his side, repeated this stanza:

Declare your thoughts, Oh lord of the earth!

You are our supporter. You bear our burdens.

The five clever men will understand your wish and pleasure.

Then we will speak, Oh master of men!

Then the King in his human weakness recited this stanza:

If a woman is virtuous and faithful,

Respectful and affectionate to her husband,

A secret should be told - whether good or bad - to the wife.

"Now the King is on my side!" Senaka thought. Feeling pleased with himself, he repeated a stanza, explaining his own course of conduct:

He who protects a sick man in distress

And who is his refuge and support,

May reveal a secret to his friend, whether it is good or bad.

Then the King asked Pukkusa, "What do you think, Pukkusa? To whom can a secret be told?" And Pukkusa recited this stanza:

Old or young or in between,

If a brother is virtuous and trustworthy,

To such a brother a secret may be told,

Whether it is good or bad.

Next the King asked Kāvinda, and he recited this stanza:

When a son is obedient to his father's heart,

A true son, of lofty wisdom,

To that son a secret may be revealed

Whether it is good or bad.

And then the King asked Devinda, who recited this stanza:

Oh lord of men!

If a mother cherishes her son with loving fondness,

To his mother he may reveal a secret

Whether it is good or bad.

After asking them, the King asked Mahosadha, "How do you look at this, wise sir?" And Mahosadha recited this stanza:

The secrecy of a secret is a good thing,

Revealing a secret is not to be praised.

The wise man should keep it to himself

As long as it is not known.

But after it is revealed

He may speak as he wishes.

When the sage said this, the King was not pleased. Then the King looked at Senaka, and Senaka looked at the King. Then the Bodhisatta remembered that these four had previously slandered him to the King. He realized that this question was meant to test him.

Now while they were talking, the sun had set, and lamps had been lit. "The life of a king is hard," he thought. "No one can tell what will happen. I better leave as quickly as possible."

So he got up from his seat, saluted the King, and left. He thought, "Of these four men, one said a secret should be told to a friend, one to a brother, one to a son, and one to a mother. Something must have happened to each one of them to make them say this. Or perhaps they heard a story from someone else. Well, well. I will find out what is going on."

Now it was the custom of the four councilors to sit on a trough at the palace door after they left waiting on the King. There they would talk before going home. So the sage thought that if he could hide under that trough, he might learn their secrets. He lifted up the trough, put a rug underneath it, and crawled in. He told his men to come get him once the four men left. The men promised and went off.

Meanwhile Senaka was saying to the King, "Sire, you did not believe us. Now what do you think?" The King accepted the word of these mischief-makers without further investigation. The King asked in terror, "What are we to do now, wise Senaka?"

"Sire, without delay, without a word to anyone, he must be killed."

"Oh Senaka, you are the only one who truly cares for my interests. Take your friends with you, and in the morning, wait at the door. When the fellow comes to wait on me, split his head open with a sword."

He even gave them his own precious sword.

"Very good, my lord, fear nothing. We will kill him."

They left the palace, saying, "We have seen the back of our enemy!" and they sat down on the trough. Then Senaka said, "Friends, who should kill him?"

The others said, "You, our teacher," assigning the task to him.

Then Senaka said, "You said, friends, that a secret should be told to certain people. Was this because of something that happened to you?"

"Never mind that, teacher. When you said that a secret might be told to a friend, was that because of something that happened to you?"

"That doesn't really matter." he said.

"Please tell us, teacher," they insisted.

He said, "If the King found out my secret, I would be a dead man."

"Don't worry, teacher. There is no one here to betray your secret. Tell us."

Then, tapping on the trough, Senaka said, "What if that yokel is under this trough!"

"Oh teacher! The fellow would not crawl in his finest clothes into a place like this! He is intoxicated with his status. Come, tell us."

Senaka said, "Do you know such and such a harlot in this city?"

"Yes, teacher."

"Have you seen her lately?"

"No, teacher."

"I had a tryst with her in the sāl grove, and then I killed her to get her jewelry. I tied the jewels up in a bundle and took it to my house where I hung it up on an elephant's tusk in an upstairs room. But I can't use the jewelry until the matter has blown over. I told a friend about this crime, and he has not told a soul. That is why I said a secret may be told to a friend."

Then Pukkusa told his secret. "I have s spot of leprosy on my thigh. In the morning my young brother washes it, puts salve and a bandage on it, and he never tells a soul. When the King's heart is soft, he cries, 'Come here, Pukkusa,' and he often lays his head on that thigh. But if he knew about the leprosy, he would kill me. No one knows this except my young brother, and that is why I said, 'A secret may be told to a brother.'"

Kāvinda then told his secret. "As for me, every two weeks – on the day of fasting – when it is dark, a goblin named Naradeva possesses me, and I bark like a mad dog. I told my son about this. When he sees me being possessed, he ties me up indoors. Then he leaves me locked in a room. To hide the noise I make, he holds a loud party. That is why I said that a secret might be told to a son."

Then they asked Devinda, and he told his secret. "I am the inspector of the King's jewels, and I stole a wonderful lucky gem. It was the gift of Sakka to King Vedeha. I gave it to my mother for safe-keeping. When I go to the palace she gives it to me without saying a word to anyone. And because of that gem, I am pervaded with the spirit of good fortune when I enter the palace. The King always speaks to me first before any of you, and each day he gives me eight rupees to spend, or sixteen, or thirty-two, or sixty-four. If the King found out that I am hiding that gem, I'm a dead man! That is why I said that a secret can be told to a mother."

The Great Being took careful note of all their secrets. But they, after telling their secrets as if they had exposed their bellies and let the entrails out, rose up from the seat and left, saying, "Be sure to come early, and we will kill the scoundrel."

When they were gone, the sage's men came, lifted up the trough, and took the Great Being home. He washed and dressed and ate. He knew that his sister Queen Udumbarī would probably send him a message once she found out what was going on, so he placed a trustworthy man to be on the look-out. He told him to send anyone coming from the palace in at once. Then he went to lay down.

At the same moment the King was also lying on his bed. He was remembering the virtue of the sage. "The sage Mahosadha has served me since he was seven years old, and he has never done me wrong. When the goddess asked me her questions, if it was not for the sage, I would be a dead man. I should never have accepted the words of revengeful enemies, much less give them a sword and tell them to kill a peerless sage. After tomorrow I will never see him again!"

He grieved and sweat poured from his body. He was overcome with pain. His heart had no peace. Queen Udumbarī, who was with him on his couch, saw him in this frame of mind and asked, "Have I committed any offense against you, or has something else caused grief to my lord?" Then she repeated this stanza:

Why are you so unsettled, Oh King?

We do not hear the voice of the lord of men!

What has you so downcast?

There is no offense from me, my lord.

Then the King repeated a stanza:

They said, "The wise Mahosadha must be killed."

And I condemned the wise one to death.

As I now consider this, I am downcast.

There is no fault in you, my Queen.

When she heard this, grief crushed her like a rock. She thought, "I know a plan to console the King. When he goes to sleep, I will send a message to my brother."

Then she said to him, "Sire, it is your doing that the common man's son was raised to great power. You made him commander-in-chief. Now they say that he is your enemy. No enemy is insignificant. If he must be killed, then do not grieve."

In this way she consoled the King. His grief passed, and he fell asleep.

Then the Queen got up and went to her chamber. She wrote a letter to this effect: "Mahosadha, the four wise men have slandered you. The King is angry, and he has ordered you to be killed at the gate. Do not come to the palace tomorrow morning. But if you do come, come with the power to hold the city in your hand." ( _with soldiers under his command_ )

She put the letter inside of a sweetmeat and tied it up with a thread. She put that in a jar, perfumed it, sealed it up, and gave it to a handmaid, saying, "Take this sweetmeat and give it to my brother."

You may be wondering how she got out at night. ( _Indian cities had a strict curfew._ ) But the King had given this privilege to the Queen. Therefore no one stopped her. The Bodhisatta received the present and dismissed the woman, who returned and reported that she had delivered it. Then the Queen went back to bed. The Bodhisatta opened the sweetmeat. He read the letter, and after deliberating what to do, he went to sleep.

Early in the morning, the other four wise men stood by the gate, sword in hand. But they did not see the sage. They became downcast. They went in to see the King. "Well," he said, "is the yokel dead?"

They replied, "We have not seen him, sire."

Meanwhile, at sunrise the Great Being got the whole city under his control. He set guards everywhere. He went to the palace gates in a chariot with a great host of men.

The King stood looking out of an open window. Then the Great Being got down from his chariot and saluted him. The King thought, "If he were my enemy, he would not salute me."

Then the King sent for him, and he sat on his throne. The Great Being came in and sat on one side. The four wise men also sat down. Then the King pretended to know nothing and said, "My son, yesterday you abandoned us. Now today you do not arrive at the appointed time. Why do you treat me so disrespectfully?" And he repeated this stanza:

Last evening you left early, now you come late.

What have you heard? What are you afraid of?

Come. We are listening for the word. Tell me.

The Great Being replied, "Sire, you listened to the four wise men, and you ordered my death. That is why I did not come earlier." And reproaching him, he repeated this stanza:

"The wise Mahosadha must be slain."

If you told this last night secretly to your wife,

Your secret was disclosed and I heard it.

When the King heard this he looked angrily at his wife thinking that she must have sent word to him. Seeing this the Great Being said, "Why are you angry with the Queen, my lord? I know the past, the present, and the future. Suppose the Queen did tell your secret? Then who told me the secrets of master Senaka, and Pukkusa, and the rest of them? But I know all their secrets." And he told Senaka's secret in this stanza:

Senaka did a sinful and wicked deed in the sāl grove.

He told this to a friend in secret.

That secret has been revealed, and I have heard it.

Looking at Senaka, the King asked, "Is it true?"

"Sire, it is true," he replied, and the King ordered him to be thrown into prison. Then the sage told Pukkusa's secret in this stanza:

In the man Pukkusa, Oh King of men,

There is a disease unfit for the King's touching.

He told it in secret to his brother.

That secret has been revealed, and I have heard it.

The King looked at Pukkusa and asked, "Is it true?"

"Yes, my lord," he said, and the King also sent him to prison. Then the sage told Kāvinda's secret in this stanza:

He is a diseased man, of evil nature.

Naradeva possesses him.

He told this secret to his son.

This secret has been revealed, and I have heard it.

"Is it true, Kāvinda?" the King asked, and he answered, "It is true." Then the King sent him to prison. The sage now told Devinda's secret in this stanza:

The noble and precious gem of eight facets,

Which Sakka gave to your grandfather,

That is now in Devinda's hands.

He told this to his mother in secret.

That secret has been revealed, and I have heard it.

"Is it true, Devinda?" the King asked, and he answered, "It is true." So the King sent him to prison as well.

Thus those who had plotted to kill the Bodhisatta were all in prison. And the Bodhisatta said, "This is why I say, a man should tell his secret to no one. Those who said that a secret ought to be told have all come to utter ruin." And he recited these stanzas, proclaiming a higher doctrine:

The secrecy of a secret is always good.

It is never good to tell a secret.

When a secret is not known,

The wise man should keep it to himself.

Once a secret is revealed, let him speak as he will.

One should not disclose a secret thing,

But should guard it like a treasure.

For a secret is not revealed by the prudent.

Not to a wife would the wise man tell a secret,

Not to an enemy,

Nor to one who can be enticed by self-interest,

Or for the sake of affection.

One who discloses a secret,

Through fear of broken confidence

He must always be the other's slave.

As many as know a man's secret,

That is how many worries he has.

Therefore one should not disclose a secret.

If you tell a secret by day, or by night in a soft whisper,

Listeners hear the words, and the words soon come out.

When the King heard the Great Being speak he was angry, and he thought, "These men were traitors to their King, but they tried to convince me that the wise man is a traitor to me!"

Then he said, "Take them to the edge of the town and impale them or split their heads open!"

They bound their hands behind them. At every street corner they were beaten. But as they were dragged along, the sage said, "My lord, these are your ancient ministers. Please pardon them for their crimes!"

The King consented and ordered that they should be slaves. Then the King said, "Well, they will not live in my domain." He ordered them to be banished. But the sage begged him to pardon their blind folly and persuaded him to restore their positions. The King was very pleased with the sage. If he was this kind to his enemies, what must it be like for others! And from then on, the four wise men, like snakes with their teeth drawn and their poison gone, could not find a word to say, we are told.

Here ends the Question of the Five Wise Men, and likewise the Story of Slander.

* * *

After this the Great Being instructed the King in things worldly and spiritual. He thought, "I am indeed the King's white parasol ( _the symbol of royal authority_ ). I am the one who manages the kingdom. Therefore, I must be vigilant."

He had a great wall built to protect the city. Along the wall were watchtowers at the gates. Between the watchtowers he dug three moats: a water moat, a mud moat, and a dry moat. Inside the city he had all the old houses restored. Large tanks were dug and turned into reservoirs for water. All the storehouses were filled with grain. The priests brought mud and edible lily seeds from Himavat ( _the Himalayas_ ). The water ducts were cleaned out, and the old houses outside of the city were also restored. This was done as a defense against future dangers. Merchants who came from one place or another were asked where they came from. Then they were asked what their king liked. They were treated with kindness before traveling on. In this way the Great Being learned about all of the other cities in India.

Then he sent for 101 soldiers. He said to them, "My men, take these gifts to the 101 royal cities and give them to their Kings. Put yourselves in their service. Listen to their actions and plans and report back to me. I will take care of your wives and children."

And he sent them with earrings for some, golden slippers for others, and golden necklaces for others. They all had inscriptions engraved on them. His plan was to reveal the inscriptions when it suited his purpose. The men went off and gave these gifts to the kings, saying that they had come to live in their service. When asked where they came from, they gave the names of cities other than that from which they had really come. Their offers were accepted. They put themselves in service to the 101 kings and they gained the trust of the kings.

Now in the kingdom of Ekabala there was a King named Saṃkhapāla. He was collecting arms and assembling an army. The man who had gone to him sent a message back to the sage, saying, "This is the news here. But I do not know what he intends to do. See if you can find out what is going on."

Then the Great Being called a parrot and said, "Friend, go and find out what King Saṃkhapāla is doing in Ekabala. Then continue to travel over all India and bring me the news."

He fed it with honey and grain and gave it sweet water to drink. He rubbed the joints of the wings with the purest oil. Then he stood by the eastern window and let it go.

The parrot went to Ekabala and discovered the truth. On his way back through India, he went to the city of Uttarapañcāla in the kingdom of Kampilla. The King there was named "Cūḷani-Brahmadatta." He had a brahmin named "Kevaṭṭa" who was his adviser. Kevaṭṭa was clever and learned.

( _From here on King Cūḷani-Brahmadatta will be called by his more common name, "King Cūḷani._ ")

One morning the Kevaṭṭa woke up at dawn. By the light of a lamp he looked around his magnificent chamber. As he regarded its splendor, he thought, "To whom does this splendor belong? To no one but to Cūḷani. A King who gives splendor like this ought to be the chief King in all India, and I should be his chief priest."

So early in the morning he went to the King. After asking him if he had slept well, he said, "My lord, there is something I wish to say."

"Say it, teacher."

"My lord, a secret cannot be told in the town. Let us go into the park."

"Very well, teacher."

The King went to the park with him. He left his retinue behind. He posted a guard, entered the park with the brahmin, and sat down upon the royal seat.

The parrot, seeing this, thought that something must be up. "Today I will hear something that must be sent to my wise master." So he flew into the park and perched on the leaves of the royal sāl tree.

The King said, "Speak up, teacher."

He said, "Sire, lean in this way. This is a plan for four ears only. If, sire, you do as I advise, I will make you the chief King in all India."

The King heard him greedily and answered, "Tell me, my teacher, and I will do it."

"My lord, let us raise an army and surround a small city. Then I will enter the city by a side gate, and I will say to the King, 'Sire, there is no point in your fighting. All you have to do is agree to be our ally. If you do that, you can keep your kingdom. However, if you choose to fight our mighty force, you will be completely destroyed.'"

"If he agrees to become our ally, we will accept him. If not, we will fight and kill him. In either case, we can then take the two armies and go and take another city, and then another, and in this way we will gain control over all India, and we will drink the cup of victory. Then we will bring all 101 kings to our city. We will set up a bar in the park, seat them there, and give them poisoned liquor. We will kill them all and throw them into the Ganges. Thus we will get the 101 royal cities into our hands, and you will become chief King of all India."

"Very well, my teacher," said he, "I will do so."

"Sire, this plan is for four ears only. No one else must know about it. Do not delay. Set off at once."

The King was pleased with this advice and resolved to execute the plan. The parrot, meanwhile, had overheard their conversation. He let a lump of dung fall on Kevaṭṭa's head. He made it seem as if it had dropped from a twig.

"What's that?" he cried, looking upwards with his mouth wide open. Whereupon the bird dropped another lump of dung into his mouth. He flew off crying out, "Cree cree! Oh Kevaṭṭa, you think your plan is for four ears only, but now it is for six. Soon it will be for eight ears and for hundreds of them!"

"Catch him, catch him!" they cried. But as swift as the wind the parrot flew to Mithilā and entered the wise man's house.

Now the parrot's custom was that if he had news that was for the sage only, he would perch on his shoulder. If Queen Amarā was also to hear it, he perched on his lap. If anyone could hear it, he perched on the ground.

This time he perched on the shoulder. When those present saw that, they left the room, knowing that it was a secret. The sage took him up to the top story of the house and asked him, "Well, my friend, what have you seen? What have you heard?"

He said, "My lord, I have not seen a threat from any other king in India except for one. In the city of Uttarapañcāla, Kevaṭṭa, who is the chief priest, took his King into the park and told him a plan for their four ears only. I was sitting in the branches and dropped a ball of dung in his mouth, and here I am!"

Then he told the sage everything that he had seen and heard.

"Did the King agree to it?" he asked.

"Yes, he did," the parrot said.

So the sage tended to the bird as was fitting. He put him in his golden cage strewn with soft rugs. He thought to himself, "Kevaṭṭa does not know that I am the wise Mahosadha. I will not allow him to accomplish his plan."

Then he gathered all the people from the kingdom, the country side, and the suburb villages, and settled them inside the city, and he gathered great quantities of grain.

And Cūḷani did as Kevaṭṭa had proposed. He went with his army and laid siege to a city. Kevaṭṭa, as he had suggested, went into the city and explained matters to the King and won him over. They joined the two armies, and Cūḷani followed Kevaṭṭa's advice and went on to another kingdom. Eventually he brought all the Kings of India under his power except for King Vedeha.

The Bodhisatta's agents kept sending messages reporting, "Cūḷani-Brahmadatta has taken such and such a town. Be on your guard."

He would replied, "I am on my guard here. Be careful yourselves without a moment's negligence."

It took Cūḷani seven years and seven months and seven days to gain possession of all India except for King Vedeha. Then he said to Kevaṭṭa, "Teacher, let us seize the empire of Vedeha at Mithilā!"

"Sire," he said, "we will never be able to conquer the city where wise Mahosadha lives. He is very skillful and very clever."

Then he spoke at great length on the virtue of the Great Being, as though he drew it on the face of the moon.

Now he was himself very skillful, so he said, "The kingdom of Mithilā is very small, and the dominion of all India is enough for us." Thus he consoled the King. But the other princes said, "No, we will take the kingdom of Mithilā and drink the cup of victory!"

Kevaṭṭa tried to restrain them, saying, "What good will it be to take Vedeha's kingdom? That King is no threat to us. Leave him be."

Such was his advice. They listened to him and turned their great army back. The Great Being's men sent him word that Cūḷani with a 101 Kings had been on his way to Mithilā, but he turned back and returned to his own city. He sent back word that they were to observe what he did.

Now Cūḷani and Kevaṭṭa discussed what to do next. Hoping to drink the cup of victory, they decorated the park. They told the servants to set out wine in thousands of jars and to prepare fish and meat of all sorts. The sage's men also reported this to him.

Now they did not know about the plan to poison the kings, but the Great Being knew it from what the parrot had told him. He sent a message to his agents saying that they should let him know when the festival was to be held. Then he thought, "It is not right that so many kings should be killed while a wise man like myself lives. I will help them."

He sent for 10,000 warriors and said to them, "Friends, on a certain day Cūḷani, they tell me, is going to decorate his park and drink wine with the 101 Kings. Go there, and before anyone sits on the seats provided for the Kings, take possession of the seat of honor next to Cūḷani. Say, 'This is for our King.' When they ask whose men you are, tell them King Vedeha's. They will make a great outcry and say, 'What! For seven years and seven months and seven days we have been conquering kingdoms, and not once did we see your King Vedeha! Go find him a seat at the end!' You must then squabble and say, 'Except, Cūḷani, no King is above our King! If we cannot get a seat for our King, we will not let you eat or drink now!' Then jump up and shout and create an uproar. Terrify them with the noise, break all the pots with your great clubs, scatter the food and make it unfit to eat. Run around in the crowd as fast as you can. Make a ruckus like titans invading the city of the gods, shouting out, 'We are the wise Mahosadha's men of Mithilā city. Catch us if you can!' Create a riot, and then return to me."

( _This is really good work if you can get it._ )

They promised to obey and took their leave. And armed with the five weapons ( _sword, spear, battle-axe, bow, and mace_ ), they set off.

They entered the decorated park. It was like Nandana Grove ( _a celestial park_ ). It was magnificent. The seats were placed for the 101 kings. The white parasols were spread out, and everything was ready. They did as they had been directed by the Great Being. And after causing havoc, they returned to Mithilā.

King Cūḷani's men told him what had happened. He was angry that the fine plan to poison the princes had failed. The princes were angry because they had been deprived of the cup of victory. And the soldiers were angry because they had lost the chance for free drinks. So Cūḷani said to the princes, "Come, friends. Let us go to Mithilā and cut off King Vedeha's head with the sword and trample it underfoot, and then we will come back and drink the cup of victory! Go tell your armies to get ready."

Then pulling Kevaṭṭa aside, he told him about it, saying, "See, we will capture the enemy who has ruined this fine plan. With the 101 princes and their 18 complete armies we will attack that town. Come, my teacher!"

But the brahmin was wise enough to know that they could never capture the sage Mahosadha, that all they would get would be disgrace. He tried to dissuade the King. He said, "Sire! This King Vedeha is weak. But his kingdom is in the hands of the sage Mahosadha, and he is very powerful. As long as Mithilā is under his protection, as a lion guards his den, it can be taken by no one. We will only be disgraced. Do not go."

But the King, mad with a soldier's pride and the intoxication of conquest, cried out, "What can he do!" and departed, with the 101 princes and the 18 complete armies. Kevaṭṭa, unable to persuade him to take his advice and thinking that there was no point trying to stop him, went with him.

The Bodhisatta's agents sent him word that Cūḷani was on his way with the 101 kings to take King Vedeha, and that he must be vigilant. The messages came in a steady stream. "Today he is in such a place, today in such a place, today he will reach the city." On hearing this, the Great Being redoubled his efforts. And King Vedeha heard it constantly that Cūḷani was on his way to take the city.

In the early evening King Cūḷani surrounded the city by the light of 100,000 torches. He surrounded it with fences of elephants and of chariots and of horses. At regular intervals he placed a mass of soldiers. The men stood there shouting, snapping their fingers, roaring, dancing, crying aloud. With the light of the torches and the sheen of armor the whole city of Mithilā was one blaze of light. The noise of elephants and horses and chariots and men made the very earth shake.

The four wise men, hearing the waves of sound and not knowing what it was, went to the King and said, "Sire, there is a great din, and we do not know what it is. Will you find out what it is?"

The King thought, "No doubt Cūḷani has come." He opened a window and looked out. When he saw that Cūḷani had indeed arrived, the King was dismayed. He said to them, "We are dead men! Tomorrow he will undoubtedly kill us all!"

So they sat talking together.

But when the Great Being saw that Cūḷani had arrived, as fearless as a lion he set guards in all the city. Then he went up into the palace to encourage the King. Greeting him, he stood on one side ( _this is a sign of respect_ ). The King was encouraged to see him and thought, "There is no one who can save me from this trouble except the wise Mahosadha!" and he addressed him as follows:

"Cūḷani of Uttarapañcāla has come with all his host. His army is infinite, Oh Mahosadha! Men with burdens on their backs ( _carpenters, a.k.a. the engineers_ ), foot soldiers, men skilled in battle, men ready to destroy, a great din, the noise of drums and conchs, great swordsmen. Here are banners and cavalrymen in armor, accomplished warriors and heroes! Ten sages are here, profound in wisdom, expert in strategy, and an eleventh, the mother of the King ( _the King's mother was supposed to be even more wise than the sages_ ) who is encouraging the ruler of Uttarapañcāla. There are 101 warrior princes, their kingdoms taken from them, terror-stricken and overcome by the men of Uttarapañcāla. They side with Uttarapañcāla, being in his power. Mithilā the royal city is surrounded by this host arrayed with three intervals ( _one between each of the encircling bands and the wall_ ), digging in on all sides. We are surrounded as if by the stars on all sides. Think, Mahosadha! How can we be delivered from this?"

When the Great Being heard this, he thought, "This King is in fear for his life. The sick man's refuge is the physician, the hungry man's is food, and drink is the refuge of the thirsty man. But I and I alone am his refuge. I will comfort him."

Then, like a lion roaring upon the Vermilion uplands ( _the Himalayas_ ), he said, "Do not be afraid, sire. Enjoy your royal power. As I would scare a crow with a rock or a monkey with a bow, I will scatter that mighty host and leave them not so much as a pair of underwear." And he recited this stanza:

Stretch out your feet, eat, and be merry.

Cūḷani will abandon the army of Uttarapañcāla

And he will run away.

After encouraging the King, the sage ordered the drums of festival to beat about the city. They issued this proclamation, "Have no fear. Go get your garlands, scents, and perfumes, food and drink, and celebrate a great festival for seven days. Drink deeply, sing and dance and make merry. Shout and cheer and snap your fingers. All will be paid for by me. I am the wise Mahosadha. Behold my power!"

In this way he encouraged the townsfolk.

They did so, and those besieging the city heard the sounds of singing and music. Some of the enemy soldiers snuck in by the side gate. Now it was not the custom in the city to arrest strangers unless it was a known criminal, so the access was not closed. These men were able to see the people enjoying their festival. And Cūḷani heard the noise in the town and said to his courtiers, "We have surrounded this city with 18 great armies, and the people show no fear whatsoever. They are full of joy and happiness. They snap their fingers, they make merry, they leap and sing. What is going on?"

Then the Great Being's agents said to the King, "My lord, we entered the city by the side gate. Seeing the people celebrating, we asked, 'Why are you having a festival when all the Kings of India are here besieging your city?' And they replied, 'When our King was a boy, he made a wish to have a festival when all the Kings of India were besieging the city. And now that wish is fulfilled.' He made a proclamation, and he is celebrating the festival in the palace."

This made King Cūḷani angry. He sent out a division of his army with these orders: "Disperse everyone in the city. Fill up the trenches, break down the walls, destroy the gate towers, enter the city. Use the people's heads like pumpkins cast on a cart and bring me the head of King Vedeha."

Then the mighty warriors, armed with all kinds of weapons, marched up to the gate. They had red-hot missiles, showers of mud, and stones thrown down on them. When they were in the ditch trying to destroy the wall, the men in the gate towers showered them with arrows, javelins, and spears. The sage's men mocked and jeered Cūḷani's men with rude gestures. They cried, "If you can't take us, have a bite to eat or perhaps a little supper!" They held out bowls of liquor and skewers with meat or fish, which they ate and drank themselves and strolled casually along the top of the walls.

The humiliated soldiers returned to Cūḷani and said, "My lord, no one but a magician could get into that city."

The King spent the next four or five days trying to come up with a plan to take the city. Then he said to Kevaṭṭa, "Teacher, we cannot take the city. No one can get near it! What can we do?"

"Don't worry, your majesty. The city gets water from the outside. We will cut off the water and then take the city. They will be worn out for lack of water, and they will open the gates."

"That is the plan," the King said.

After that, they did everything they could to keep the people from getting near the water.

The wise man's spies sent reports by writing them on leaves. They fastened these to arrows and shot them into the city. He had already given orders that if anyone saw a leaf fastened to an arrow, they should bring it to him. A man saw one and took it to the sage, who read the message. "He does not know that I am the sage Mahosadha," he thought.

Mahosadha had his men get bamboo poles 30 meters long. He had them split in two, the knots removed, and then joined together again, covered with leather, and smeared with mud. He then sent for the soil and lily seed brought from Himavat by the hermits. He planted the seed in the mud by the edge of the tank, placed the bamboo over it, and filled it with water. In one night the lilies grew up and flowered, rising two meters above the top of the bamboo.

Then they pulled the bamboo up. They rolled up the stalk and threw it over the wall, crying out, "Ho servants of Cūḷani! Don't starve for lack of food. Here you are. Wear the flower and fill your bellies with the stalks!"

One of the wise man's spies picked up some of the stalks and brought them to the King. He said, "See, your majesty, the stalk of this lily. I have never seen a stalk this long before!"

The King asked, "Where did that grow?"

He replied with a story he made up. "One day, my lord, being thirsty for a little toddy, I went into the city by the side gate. I saw the great pools made for the people to play in. There were a number of people in a boat picking flowers. That was where this grew by the edge of the pool. But there were those that grew in the deep water. They were 50 meters high!"

Hearing this the King said to Kevaṭṭa, "Teacher, we cannot defeat them by cutting off the water. Put an end to this."

"Well," he said, "then we will cut off their food. The city gets its food from outside."

"Very well, teacher."

The sage learned about this as usual. He thought, "He does not know that I am the sage Mahosadha!"

Along the rampart he laid mud and planted rice there. Now the wishes of the Bodhisattas always succeed. In one night the rice sprang up and draped over the top of the rampart. Cūḷani saw this and asked, "Friend, what is that green thing that drapes over the rampart?"

One of the sage's agents replied, "My lord, Mahosadha the farmer's son anticipated the coming danger. He collected food from all over the realm. He filled the granaries with grain, throwing the excess out over the ramparts. This rice, warmed with the heat and soaked in the rain, grew up there into plants. I myself went into the city by the side gate one day and picked up a handful of this rice from a heap on the rampart. I dropped some of it in the street. The people laughed at me and cried, "You must be hungry! Tie up some of it in the corner of your robe, take it home and cook it and eat it."

Hearing this, the King said to Kevaṭṭa, "Teacher, we will not defeat them by cutting off their food supply. That simply won't work."

"Then, my lord, we will take the city by cutting off the supply of wood."

"So be it, teacher."

The Bodhisatta learned of this plan as he had before. He built a huge pile of firewood that showed above the rice on the ramparts. The people laughed at Cūḷani's men. They said, "If you are hungry, here is something to cook your food with." They threw down great logs of wood as they said it. The King asked, "What is this firewood showing above the rampart?"

The agents said, "The farmer's son, seeing danger to come, collected firewood and stored it in the sheds behind the houses. He stacked the excess next to the ramparts." Then the King said to Kevaṭṭa, "Teacher, we cannot take the place by cutting off the wood. Enough of that plan."

"Don't worry, sire. I have another plan."

"What is that plan, teacher? I see no end to your plans. We cannot defeat King Videha. Let us go back to our city."

"My lord, if people say that Cūḷani and 101 princes could not take King Videha, we will be disgraced. Mahosadha is not the only clever man. I am another. I have a scheme."

"What scheme, teacher?"

"We will have a Battle of the Law."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Sire, no army will fight. The two sages of the two Kings will meet, and whichever one pays homage to the other will be conquered. Mahosadha will not know this is the plan. I am older and he is younger so when he sees me, he will bow to me. Thus we will defeat King Vedeha, and then we will return home. That is what is meant by a Battle of the Law."

Cūḷani said, "This is a marvelous plan!" He wrote a letter and sent it to King Vedeha by the side gate. It said, "Tomorrow there will be a Battle of the Law between the two sages. If either one refuses to fight, they will automatically be defeated."

But the Bodhisatta learned about this plan just as he had before. "If I let Kevaṭṭa beat me," he thought, "then I am no sage."

When King Vedeha got the message he sent for the sage and told him what was about to happen. The sage answered, "Good, my lord. Give orders to prepare a place for the Battle of the Law by the western gate and have everyone assemble there."

So the King gave a response to the messenger, and on the next day they prepared the place for the Battle of the Law.

But the 101 princes, not knowing what to expect, surrounded Kevaṭṭa to protect him. These princes went to the place on their guard along with the sage Kevaṭṭa. They stood looking towards the east.

Likewise, early in the morning, the Bodhisatta bathed in sweet-scented water. He dressed himself in a Kāsi robe worth 100,000 pieces of gold and adorned himself fully. And after an exquisite breakfast, he went with a great following to the palace gate.

He greeted King Vedeha and sat down on one side. "Well, sage Mahosadha?" said the King. "I am going to the place of the Battle. Do you need anything from me?"

"My lord, I wish to conquer Kevaṭṭa with a gem. I must have the eight-sided gem."

"Take it, my son."

He took it and took his leave. And surrounded by 1,000 warriors, he mounted a noble chariot drawn by a team of white thoroughbreds. Each steed was worth 90,000 pieces of gold. Finally, at the time of the midday meal he went to the gate.

Kevaṭṭa stood watching for his arrival. He said, "Here he comes. Here he comes." He stretched his neck to see the sage until it actually appeared to get longer. He was sweating in the heat of the sun.

The Great Being, with his following like an overflowing sea, was like a roused lion, fearless and unruffled. He ordered the gate to be opened and went forth from the city. He descended from his chariot like a lion aroused and went forward.

The 101 princes beheld his majesty and praised him with thousands of cries, "Here is the sage Mahosadha, son of Sirivaḍḍhaka, who has no peer for wisdom in all India!"

Just like ( _the god_ ) Sakka surrounded with his troop of gods, he was unparalleled in glory and grandeur. He held the gem in his hand as he stood before Kevaṭṭa.

When Kevaṭṭa saw him he reflexively moved forward to meet him. He said, "Sage Mahosadha, we are both sages. Yet even though I have been living near you for a long time, you have never yet sent me a gift. Why is this?"

The Great Being said, "Wise sir, I was looking for a gift that would be worthy of you, and today I have found this gem. Please take it. There is nothing else like in the world."

Kevaṭṭa responded, "Give it me then," and he held out his hand.

"Take it," said the Great Being. Just as Kevaṭṭa reached out, the Bodhisatta dropped it on the ground. The brahmin bent down to the Bodhisatta's feet in order to pick it up. Then the Great Being pushed down on his shoulder blades to keep him from getting up. He cried out, "Rise teacher, rise! I am younger than you, young enough to be your grandson. Do not pay homage to me."

As he said this again and again, he rubbed Kevaṭṭa's face into the ground until it was all bloody. Then he whispered, "Blind fool. Did you think that I would pay homage to you?" He caught him by the throat, grabbed his thigh and threw him up in the air. He fell ten meters away. Then Kevaṭṭa got up and ran away.

As the Great Being's men picked up the gem, the echo of the Bodhisatta's words, "Rise up, rise, do not pay homage to me!" rose above the noise of the crowd. All the people shouted aloud with one voice, "Brahmin Kevaṭṭa bowed down at the sage's feet!" King Vedeha, Cūḷani, and everyone had seen Kevaṭṭa bow before the feet of the Great Being.

"Our sage," they thought, "has paid homage to the Great Being. Now we have been defeated! He will destroy us all." They mounted their horses and began to run away to Uttarapañcāla. The Bodhisatta's men saw them running off and cried out, "Cūḷani is running away with his 101 princes!"

Hearing this, the princes were terrified even more. They ran away. The great army scattered. Meanwhile the Bodhisatta's men, shouting and yelling, made an even louder uproar. The Great Being with his followers returned to the city, while Cūḷani's army ran in rout for 15 kilometers.

Kevaṭṭa mounted a horse and ran up to the army wiping off the blood from his forehead. He cried, "Ho there, do not run! I did not bow to that wretch! Stop, stop!" But the army would not stop. They mocked Kevaṭṭa, reviling him. "Man of folly! Villain brahmin! You would call a Battle of the Law and then bow before a punk young enough to be your grandson! This is the worst thing you could have done!"

They would not listen to him and continued on. He dashed on into the army and cried, "Ho you, you must believe me! I did not bow to him! He tricked me with a gem!"

So by one means or another, he finally convinced the princes and made them believe him, and he rallied the broken army.

Now the army was so large that if each of them had taken a handful of earth and thrown it into the moat, they could have filled the moat and made a hill as high as the rampart. But we know that the intentions of the Bodhisattas are always fulfilled. There was not one person who threw a handful of earth towards the city. They all returned back to their original positions.

Then the King asked Kevaṭṭa, "Now what are we going to do?"

"My lord, do not let anyone come out from the side gate. Cut off all access to the city. When the people are not able to come out, they will be discouraged and will open the gate. Then we will enter the city and capture our enemies."

The sage was informed of this as before. He thought, "If they stay here very long we will have no peace. I need to find a way to get rid of them. I will come up with a plan to make them go."

So he searched for a man who was very clever. He found one named "Anukevaṭṭa." He said to him, "I have something that I want you to do for me."

"What would you like me to do, wise sir? Tell me."

"Go stand on the rampart. When you see that our men are not paying close attention, throw down cakes, fish, meat, and other food to Cūḷani's men. Call out, 'Here, eat this and this. Don't be downhearted. Try to stay here as long as you can. It won't be long before the people will be like hens in a coop, and they will open the gate. Then you will be able to capture King Vedeha and that villain of a farmer's son.' When our men hear you saying this, they will tie you up in the sight of Cūḷani's army. They will pretend to beat you with bamboo and knock you down and tie your hair in knots. They will cover you with brick dust, put a garland of oleander ( _oleander is poisonous_ ) on you, beat you soundly until sores arise on your back. Then they will take you up on the rampart and let you down by a rope to Cūḷani's men crying out, 'Go, traitor!'"

"Then you will be taken to Cūḷani. He will ask what you did. You will say to him, 'Great King, I was once held in great esteem. But the farmer's son denounced me to my King as a traitor and he robbed me of all my possessions. I wanted to make the man shorter by a head because he ruined me. And in pity for the plight of your men, I gave them food and drink. For that, with the old grudge in his heart, he brought this destruction upon me. Your own men, Oh King, saw it all.'"

"In this way you will win the King's trust. Then say to him, 'Sire, now you have me. Your troubles are over. King Vedeha and the farmer's son are dead men! I know the strong places and the weak places of the ramparts in this city. I know where crocodiles are in the moat and where they are not. Before long I will bring the city into your hands.'"

The King will believe you, and he will honor you. He will place the army under your command. Then you must bring the army into the places infested by snakes and crocodiles. When they see the crocodiles, the army will refuse to go down. You must then say to the King, 'Your army, my lord, has been bribed by the farmer's son. There is no one, not even the teacher Kevaṭṭa and the princes, who has not been bribed. They are all the creatures of the farmer's son, and I alone am your man. If you do not believe me, order the kings to come before you in full dress. Then examine their dresses, their ornaments, their swords. You will see that they all have been given something by the farmer's son that is inscribed with his name.'"

"He will do this, and in fear will dismiss the princes. Then he will ask you what is to be done? You must reply, 'My lord, the farmer's son is very resourceful. If you stay here even a few days he will gain control over the army and capture you. Make no delay. Tonight in the middle watch let us take horses and leave so that we will not die in the enemy's hands.' He will follow your advice, and when he runs away you must return and tell my agents."

Thereupon Anukevaṭṭa replied, "Good, wise sir, I will do as you ask."

Then after showing all respect to Anukevaṭṭa's family, he had him roughed up as planned and handed him over to Cūḷani's men. The King tested him and trusted him. He honored him and put him in charge of the army. Anukevaṭṭa brought the army down to the places that were infested by snakes and crocodiles. The men were terrified by the crocodiles. They were wounded by arrows, spears, and lances cast by soldiers who stood upon the battlements. Many men died. After this, none of the men were brave enough to approach the ramparts.

Then Anukevaṭṭa approached the King and said to him, "Oh great King, there is not a single man who will fight for you. They have all been bribed. If you do not believe me, send for the princes and see the inscriptions on their garments and accoutrements."

The King did this. He saw the inscriptions on all their garments and accoutrements. He felt sure that indeed they had taken bribes. "Teacher," he said, "what should we do now?"

"My lord, there's nothing to be done. If you delay, the farmer's son will capture you. Sire, even the teacher Kevaṭṭa has taken a bribe. He accepted that precious gem and made you run in rout for 15 kilometers. Then he won your confidence again and made you return. He is a traitor! I would not obey him a single moment. You should escape tonight in the middle watch. The only friend you have is me."

"Then get my horse and chariot ready yourself."

Now that the King was definitely going to escape, he encouraged him and told him not to be afraid. Then he went out and told the agents that the King was going to escape that night, and they should not plan on sleeping. He next prepared the King's horse. He arranged the reins so that the more he pulled on them the faster the horse would go. At midnight he said, "My lord, your horse is ready. See? It is time." The King mounted the horse and ran off. Anukevaṭṭa also got on horseback pretending to go with him. But after they had traveled a short distance, he turned back. And the King's horse, because of the arrangement of its reins, ran on, no matter how hard the King pulled on the reins.

Then Anukevaṭṭa went to the army and shouted with a loud voice, "Cūḷani has fled!" The scouts and their attendants cried out too. The other princes, hearing the noise, were terrified. "Sage Mahosadha must have opened the gate and come out. We will all be dead men!"

Giving but a glance at all their weapons and equipment, they ran away. The men shouted even louder, "The princes are running away!" Hearing the noise, all the others who stood at the gate and on the towers shouted and clapped their hands. Then the whole city within and without was one great roar, as though the earth had split apart, or the mighty oceans had broken up. The innumerable men of that mighty army were in mortal terror, without refuge or defense. They cried out, "Cūḷani and the 101 kings have been defeated by Mahosadha!" Away they ran, throwing away their clothes. The camp was empty. Cūḷani entered his own city with the 101 chiefs.

On the next morning, the soldiers opened the city gates and went out. Seeing the great bounty, they reported it to the Great Being, asking what they were to do. He said, "Everything that they have left is ours. Give our King everything that belonged to the princes. Bring everything that belonged to Kevaṭṭa to me. Let the people of the city have everything else."

It took half a month to retrieve the valuable jewels and goods, four months for everything else. The Great Being bestowed great honor to Anukevaṭṭa. And from that day on, the citizens of Mithilā had plenty of gold.

Now Cūḷani and those kings had been back in the city of Uttarapañcālā for a year when one day Kevaṭṭa, looking at his face in a mirror, saw the scar on his forehead and thought, "That is the doing of the farmer's son. He made me a laughingstock before all those kings!" He became very angry. "How can I manage to get my revenge?" he thought. "Ah, I have a plan. Our King's daughter, Pañcālacaṇḍī is peerless in beauty. She is like a divine nymph. I will offer her to King Vedeha. He will be trapped by desire like a fish that has swallowed the hook. I will trap him along with Mahosadha. I will kill them both and drink the cup of victory!"

With this resolve, he approached the King. "My lord," he said, "I have an idea."

"Well, teacher, your ideas left me once without a rag to cover me. What will you do now? I think that maybe you should hold your peace."

"Sire, there never was a plan as good as this."

"Tell me, then."

"Sire, we two must be alone."

"So be it."

The brahmin took him into an upper story of the palace and said, "Great King! I will trap King Vedeha by desire, bring him here, and kill him."

"A good plan, teacher, but how are we to arouse his desire?"

"Sire, your daughter Pañcālacaṇḍī is peerless in beauty. We will have her charms and accomplishments celebrated in verse by poets and have those poems sung in Mithilā. When we find that he is saying to himself, 'If the mighty monarch King Vedeha cannot get this pearl of maidens, what good is his kingdom to him?' Then he will be consumed by that idea. I will arrange a day on which he will come, like a fish that has swallowed the hook. The farmer's son will come with him. Then we will kill them."

This pleased the King, and he agreed. "That is a fine plan, my teacher! so we will do it."

But a myna bird who was watching the King's bed heard everything.

And so the King sent for clever poets. He showed them his daughter and asked them to write a poem about her beauty. They composed songs of great sweetness and recited them to the King. He rewarded them richly. Musicians learned these songs from the poets. They sang them in public, and thus they were spread abroad.

Once they had been spread abroad, the King sent for singers. He said, "My children, climb into the trees by night with some birds. Sit there and sing, and in the morning tie bells about their necks. Let them fly down." He did this so that people would think that the very gods sing the beauty of the King of Uttarapañcāla's daughter.

A second time the King sent for these poets. He said to them, "My children, make poems that say that such a princess is not for any King in all India except for Vedeha, King of Mithilā. Praise the King's majesty and the girl's beauty."

They did so, and the King paid them well. He told them to go to Mithilā and sing just as they had before. So they went to Mithilā, singing these songs on the way, and there they sang them in public. Crowds of people heard the songs. They applauded enthusiastically, and they paid them well. At night they climbed into the trees and sang. And in the morning, they tied bells around the birds' necks before they flew down. People heard the sound of the bells in the air, and all the city rang with the news that the very gods were singing the beauty of the King of Uttarapañcāla's daughter.

King Vedeha heard about all of this. He sent for the poets and granted them an audience in his palace. He was encouraged to think that they wanted to give him the peerless daughter of King Cūḷani. So he paid them well.

They went back and told Cūḷani. Then Kevaṭṭa said to him, "Now, sire, this is the time for us to arrange the day."

"Very good, teacher. What must you take with you?"

"A little present."

He gave him one. Accompanied by a large following, Kevaṭṭa set off to Vedeha's kingdom. When he arrived, the whole city was in an uproar. "King Cūḷani and Vedeha, they say, will strike a friendship. Cūḷani will give his daughter to our King, and Kevaṭṭa, they say, is coming to arrange the day."

King Vedeha also heard this, and the Great Being heard it as well. He thought, "I do not like his coming here. I must find out what is really going on."

So he sent word to his spies who lived with Cūḷani. They replied, "We do not know what is going on. The King and Kevaṭṭa were sitting and talking in the royal bedchamber. But the myna bird that watches the bedchamber will know what they said."

On hearing this, the Great Being thought, "When they come into our city, I want them to see and learn as little as possible. So I will divide up the whole city and assign people to decorate it. These decorations will hide what we do not want Kevaṭṭa to see." So from the city gate to the palace, and from the palace to his own house, on both sides of the road he erected lattice-work. It was covered with mats and pictures. There were flowers scattered on the ground. They set out jars full of water. They hung flags and banners.

As Kevaṭṭa entered the city he thought the King had decorated it for his sake. He did not understand that it had been done so that he would see as little as possible. When he went before the King, he offered his gift, and with a courteous greeting sat down on one side. Then after an honorable reception, he recited these stanzas to announce the reason for his arrival:

A King who wishes for your friendship

Sends these precious things.

Now let worthy sweet-spoken ambassadors

Come from that place.

Let them utter gentle words

That will please you.

And let the people of Uttarapañcāla and Mithilā be one.

"Sire," he went on, "he would have sent someone else in my place, but he sent me, feeling sure that no else could tell the tale as pleasantly as I can. 'Go, teacher,' he said, 'win the King's friendship and bring him back with you.' Now, sire, accept an excellent and beautiful princess and there will be friendship between our King and you."

The King was pleased with this proposal. He was excited that he would marry a princess of peerless beauty. He replied, "Teacher, there was a quarrel between you and the wise Mahosadha at the Battle of the Law. Go and see him. You two wise men must reconcile your differences. After you talk together, come back."

Kevaṭṭa promised to go and see the sage, and he went.

Now the Great Being was determined to avoid talking with this wicked man. So in the morning he drank a little ghee ( _for medicinal purposes_ ). They smeared the floor with wet cow dung and smeared the pillars with oil. They removed all the chairs and seats except for one narrow couch on which he lay. To his servants he gave this order, "When the brahmin begins to talk, say, 'brahmin, do not talk with the sage. He has taken a dose of ghee today.' And when I start to talk to him, stop me, saying, 'My lord, you have taken a dose of ghee. Do not talk.'"

( _The implication is that the ghee affects the ability to speak._ )

After these instructions the Great Being put on a red robe and lay down on the couch. He posted men at the seven gate-towers. Kevaṭṭa, reaching the first gate, asked where the wise man was? The servants answered, "Brahmin, do not make any noise. If you want to go in, go in silently. The sage has taken a dose of ghee today, and he cannot stand any noise."

At the other gates they told him the same thing. When he got to the seventh gate, he entered the presence of the sage, and the sage began to speak. But as instructed, his servants said, "My lord, do not talk. you have taken a strong dose of ghee. You should not talk to this wicked brahmin."

So they stopped him from speaking.

The brahmin came in, but he could not find where to sit. There was not even a place for him to stand by the couch. He walked over the wet cow dung and stood. Then one servant looked at him and rubbed his eyes. Another one lifted his eyebrow. One scratched his elbow. When he saw this, he was annoyed, and said, "Wise sir, I am going."

Another servant said, "Ha, wretched brahmin, don't make any noise! If you do, I'll break your bones!"

Terrified he looked back, just as a servant hit him on the back with a bamboo stick. Another one grabbed him by the throat and pushed him. Another hit him on the back. He ran off in fear, like a fawn from a panther's mouth, and returned to the palace.

Now the King thought, "Today my son will be pleased to hear the news. What a great discussion there will be between the two wise men about the Law! Today they will reconcile with each other, and I will benefit from it."

So when he saw Kevaṭṭa, he recited a stanza, asking about their conversation together:

How did your meeting with Mahosadha come off, Kevaṭṭa?

Please tell me.

Did you reconcile with Mahosadha?

Was he pleased?

Kevaṭṭa replied, "Sire, you think that is a wise man, but there is not a more wicked man," and he recited this stanza:

He is a dishonorable man, lord of men!

He is disagreeable, obstinate, and wicked,

Like one dumb or deaf, he did not say a word.

The King was not pleased about this.

He provided Kevaṭṭa and his attendants with everything they needed. He gave them a house to live in and told him to go and rest. After he sent him away the King thought to himself, "My son is wise, and he knows well how to be courteous. Yet he was rude to this man and did not want to see him. He must have some reason for being wary of him!" and he composed a stanza of his own:

Truly, this is very hard to understand.

Some danger has been foreseen by this wise man.

Therefore my body is shaken.

Who will lose his freedom

And fall into the hands of his enemy?

"No doubt my son saw something devious in the brahmin's visit. He may have come here for some nefarious reason. He may want to trap me by desire, make me go to his city and capture me there. The sage must have seen this danger."

As he was turning these thoughts over in his mind with alarm, the four wise men came in. The King said to Senaka, "Well, Senaka, do you think I ought to go to the city of Uttarapañcāla and marry King Cūḷani's daughter?"

He replied, "Oh sire, what are you saying! When luck comes your way, who would drive it off? If you go there and marry her, you will have no equal except for King Cūḷani in all India. You will have married the daughter of the chief King. The King knows that the other princes are under his control, and that King Vedeha alone is his equal. This is why he wants to give you his peerless daughter. Do as he says, and we will also receive many gifts."

When the King asked the others, they all agreed with this. And as they were having this discussion, the brahmin Kevaṭṭa came from his house to take his leave of the King and go back to his city. He said, "Sire, I cannot stay here any longer. It is time for me to go, prince of men!"

The King showed him respect and let him go.

When the Great Being heard that the brahmin had left, he bathed and dressed and went to wait on the King. Saluting him, he sat down on one side. The King thought, "Wise Mahosadha my son is great and resourceful. He understands the past and the present, and he knows the future. He will know whether I should go or not."

Yet he was overcome with passion. He lost his reason and asked his question in a stanza:

All have one opinion,

And they are sages who are supreme in wisdom.

Should I go or not?

Mahosadha, tell me your opinion also.

At this the sage thought, "This King is overcome with desire. He is blind and foolish. He listens to the words of these four. I will tell him the danger in going and dissuade him."

So he repeated these stanzas:

Do you know, great King,

King Cūḷani is mighty and strong.

He wants to kill you, as a hunter catches the deer by decoy.

As a fish greedy for food does not recognize

The hook hidden in the bait, or a mortal his death.

So you, Oh King, overcome with desire,

Do not recognize Cūḷani's daughter

Will be your own death.

If you go to Uttarapañcāla, you will soon destroy yourself,

As a deer caught on the road comes into great danger.

At this strong rebuke, the King was angry. "The man thinks that I am his slave," he thought. "He forgets that I am the King. He knows that the chief King has offered me his daughter. He does not say a word of good wishes. He only says that I will be caught and killed like a silly deer or a fish that swallows the hook or a deer caught on the road!"

He recited this stanza:

I was foolish, I was an idiot to consult you on high matters.

How can you understand things like other men

When you grew up hanging on to a plow-tail?

With these abusive words, he said, "This yokel is hindering my good fortune! Away with him!"

And to get rid of him he uttered this stanza:

Take this fellow by the neck and rid my kingdom of him,

He who speaks to hinder my getting a jewel.

The sage saw the King's anger. He thought, "If anyone grabs me by the hand or by the neck or even touches me by order of this King, I will be disgraced to my dying day. Therefore, I will quickly leave."

So he saluted the King and went to his house.

Now the King had merely spoken out of anger. But he respected the Bodhisatta and did not follow through on his threat. Meanwhile the Great Being thought, "This King is a fool. He does not know what is to his benefit and what is harmful. He is infatuated and determined to get that princess. He does not see the danger to come. He will go to his ruin. But I will not let his angry words bother me. He is my great benefactor, and he has done me honor. I must have confidence in him. I will send the parrot and find out what is really going on."

He said to his messenger, Māṭhara, the clever parrot, "Come, my green parrot, do a service for me. The King of Uttarapañcāla has a myna that watches over his bed. Talk to him, for he knows all of the secrets of the King and the Queen."

The clever parrot Māṭhara listened and went to see the myna bird. Then this clever parrot Māṭhara sweet talked the myna in her fine cage. "Is all well with you in your fine cage? Are you happy, Oh Vessā? Do they give you parched honey-grain in your fine cage?"

"All is well with me, sir, indeed, all is happy. They do give me parched honey-grain, Oh clever parrot. Why have you come, sir and why were you sent? I have never seen you before."

On hearing this, the parrot thought, "If I say that I am from Mithilā, she will never trust me. But on my way here I noticed a town called Ariṭṭhapura in the kingdom of Sivi. So I will tell her that the King of Sivi has sent me here." He said, "I was King Sivi's attendant in his palace."

Then the myna gave him some of the honey-grain and some honey-water from her golden dish. She said, "Sir, you have come a long way. Why did you come here?"

He made up a story because he wanted to learn her secrets. He said, "I once had a wife who was a sweet-voiced myna, and a hawk killed her right before my eyes."

Then she asked, "How did the hawk kill your wife?"

He told her this story. "One day our King invited me to join him at a swimming party. My wife and I went with him. In the evening we returned with him to the palace. To dry our feathers, my wife and I flew out of a window and sat on the top of a pinnacle. At that moment a hawk swooped down to catch us as we were just about to leave the pinnacle. I flew swiftly off. But she was pregnant and could not fly very fast. So before my eyes he killed her and carried her off. The King saw me weeping and asked me why I was crying. On hearing what had happened, he said, 'Enough, friend. Do not cry. You should look for another wife.'"

I replied, "My lord, why do I need to marry again? She might prove to be wicked and vicious. It is better to live alone."

He said, "Friend, I know a bird who is as virtuous as your wife. King Cūḷani has a myna like her. Go and ask her. If she likes you come and tell me. Then I or my Queen will go with great fanfare and bring her back."

With these words he sent me, and that is why I have come.

And he said, "Full of love for her I have come to you. If you agree then we might live together."

She was exceedingly flattered by these words. But she did not want to appear anxious, so she pretended to be unwilling:

"Parrot should love parrot, and myna myna. How can there be love between a parrot and a myna?"

The parrot thought, "She does not reject me. She is only teasing me. There is no doubt that she loves me. I will say something to make her trust me."

So he said, "Whoever a lover loves, even if it is a low servant, all are alike. In love there is no distinction. The mother of the King of Sivi is named Jambāvatī, and she was the beloved queen consort of Vāsudeva."

Now the King of Sivi's mother was Jambāvatī. She was from a low caste. She was the beloved queen consort of King Vāsudeva. The story goes that one day he went out from Dvāravatī into the park. On his way he saw a very beautiful girl as she was traveling from her village to the town. He fell in love with her and asked about her birth ( _her caste_ ). When she said that she was from a low caste, he was very upset. Nonetheless, when he found out that she was not married, he turned back at once and took her home. He surrounded her with precious things and made her his chief Queen. She gave birth to a son who they named "Sivi." Sivi became the King of Dvāravatī at his father's death.

After giving this example, he went on, "So even a prince married a low caste woman. So what is the difference, even if we are from the animal kingdom? If we would like to mate together, there is no more to be said." And he gave another example as follows:

"Rathavatī also loved Vaccha, and the man loved the fairy. In love there is no distinction."

"Vaccha was a hermit. In times gone by, a brahmin, who had seen the danger in passion, left a life of great wealth to follow the ascetic life. He lived in Himavat in a hut of leaves that he built for himself. Not far from this hut there lived some fairies in a cave. A spider lived in that same cave. This spider used to spin his web and catch the fairies in it. Then he would crack their heads open and drink their blood."

"Now the fairies were weak and timid. The spider was mighty and very poisonous. They could do nothing to stop him. So they went to the hermit. They saluted him and told him how the spider was destroying them, and that they could see no way to overcome him. They begged the hermit to kill the spider and save them. But the ascetic drove them away, saying, 'Men like me do not kill!'"

"One of the female fairies was named Rahavatī, and she was not married. They brought her finely arrayed to the hermit and said, 'She can be your maiden if you kill our enemy.' When the hermit saw her, he fell in love with her. So he stayed with her in the cave and waited for the spider. When the spider came out for food, the hermit killed him with a club. So he lived with the fairy. They had sons and daughters together, and then he died. Thus she loved him."

The parrot, having given this example, said, "Vaccha the hermit, even though he was a man, lived with a fairy who belonged to the animal world. Why should we not do the same, we who are both birds?"

She said, "My lord, the heart is not always the same. I do not want to be separated from my beloved." But he, being wise and versed in the deceits of romance, further tested her with this stanza:

If that is the case, then I shall go away,

Oh sweet-voiced myna.

This is your refusal; no doubt you despise me.

She felt as though her heart would break. But now she acted as though she was burning with a newly awakened love, and she recited this stanza:

There is no good fortune for those who are too hasty,

Oh wise parrot Māṭhara.

Stay here until you can see the King.

Hear the sound of drums and see the splendor of our King.

So they lived in friendship and pleasure and delight. Then the parrot thought, "Now the time is ripe. She will not keep her secrets from me. I must find out what she knows and go back."

"Myna," he said.

"What is it, my lord?"

"I want to ask you something. Is that all right?"

"Say it, my lord."

"Oh, on second thought, today is a festival day. I will ask on another day.'

"If it is suitable to say on a festival day, go ahead and say it."

"Indeed, this is a thing fit for a festival day."

"Then speak."

"If you will listen, I will speak."

Then he asked the secret in a stanza:

This sound is proclaimed throughout the countryside:

The daughter of the King of Uttarapañcāla, bright as a star

Is to be given to King Videha; soon it will be their wedding!

When she heard this she said, "My lord! On this festival day you have raised a matter of great misfortune!"

"I say it is good fortune. You say it is misfortune. How can this be?"

"I cannot tell you, my lord."

"Madam, if you refuse to tell me your secret, our happy union will end."

Convinced of his sincerity she replied, "Then, my lord, listen."

"You should not let even your worst enemies have a wedding like the one that is about to happen between Kings of Uttarapañcāla and Mithilā, Māṭhara."

Then he asked, "Why do you say such a thing, madam?"

She replied, "Listen now, and I will tell you about the conspiracy," and she repeated another stanza:

The mighty King of Uttarapañcāla will entice Videha,

And then he will kill him; she shall not be his wife.

So she told the whole secret to the wise parrot. In turn, the wise parrot, praised Kevaṭṭa. "This teacher is very resourceful. It is a clever plan. But it will not have any effect on us. It is best if we say nothing."

With this, he completed the purpose of his journey. After passing the night with her, he said, "Lady, I must go to Sivi and tell the King that I have found a loving wife." He left with these parting words: "Now I will leave for seven nights so I can tell the mighty King of Sivi how I have started a new life with a myna."

The myna did not want him to leave, but she was unable to deny him. She recited this stanza:

Now I give you leave for seven nights.

If you do not return to me after seven nights,

I see myself going into the grave.

I shall be dead when you return.

The parrot said, "Lady, don't say that! If I never see you again after seven days, how can I live?"

So he spoke with his lips. But he thought in his heart, "Live or die. What do I care?"

He got up, and after flying for a short distance towards the Sivi country, he turned and headed to Mithilā. He landed on the wise man's shoulder. The Great Being took him to the upper story where they would not be disturbed. He asked the parrot what news he brought, and the parrot told him everything. The Great Being paid him great honor just as he had before.

The Great Being thought, "If the King goes, he will be destroyed. This King has been very generous to me. If I do not help him because I hold a grudge, I will be disgraced. If I am really wise, why should he be killed? I will go to Uttarapañcāla before their King. I will see King Cūḷani, and I will make all the arrangements. I will build a fortified compound for King Vedeha. I will dig a small escape tunnel 1.5 kilometers long, and a larger tunnel 8 kilometers long. Even if we are surrounded by King Cūḷani and the 101 kings and their 18 armies, our King will marry in the safety of the compound. I will save our King just as the moon is saved from the jaws of Rāhu ( _Rāhu is the astronomical body that causes eclipses in Indian mythology and astrology_ ), and we will bring him home. His safe return is in my hands."

As he thought about this plan, joy pervaded his body, and by the power of this joy he exclaimed, "A man should always work for the interest of the house in which he is fed."

He bathed and dressed appropriately, and then he went to the palace. Saluting the King, he stood on one side. "My lord," he asked, "are you going to Uttarapañcāla?"

"Yes, my son. If I do not go to Pañcālacaṇḍī what meaning would my kingdom have to me? Do not abandon me. Please come with me. There are two benefits to going there. I shall gain the most precious of women, and I will establish a friendship with their King."

Then the wise man said, "Well, my lord, let me go on ahead and build a suitable place for you to live. When it is ready, I will send word and you can come." Then he said these stanzas:

I will go first, lord of men, to the city of Uttarapañcāla's King,

To build dwellings for the glorious Vedeha.

When I have built dwellings for the glorious Vedeha,

Come, mighty warrior, when I send word.

On hearing this the King was pleased that Mahosadha was not going to desert him. He said, "My son, if you go on ahead, what will you need?"

"An army, sire."

"Take as many men as you wish, my son."

Mahosadha went on, "My lord, have the four prisons opened. Break the chains that bind the robbers, and let me also take them with me."

"Do as you wish, my son," he replied.

The Great Being had the prisons opened. He asked if there were mighty heroes who were willing to do their duty wherever they would be sent. He showed great favor to those who volunteered. He took 18 companies of men, masons, blacksmiths, carpenters, painters, men skilled in all sorts of arts and crafts. They brought their axes, spades, hoes, and many other tools. So with a great company, he left the city.

The Master explained it by this stanza:

Mahosadha went ahead,

To the good town of Uttarapañcāla,

To build dwellings for Vedeha the glorious.

Along the way, the Great Being built a village every 13 kilometers. He left a courtier in charge of each village. He gave them these instructions: "For the King's return with Pañcālacaṇḍī you are to prepare elephants, horses, and chariots to fight off his enemies and to get him back to Mithilā as quickly as possible."

When he arrived at the Ganges River, he called Ānandakumāra, and said to him, "Ānanda, take 300 shipwrights. Go to the Upper Ganges. Get choice timber and build 300 ships. Have them cut wood for the town. Fill the ships with the wood and come back as soon as you can."

He crossed the Ganges in a ship, and from his landing place he paced out the distances, thinking, "This is 4 kilometers. This is where the great tunnel will be. Here is where we will build the fortress for our King. From this place to the palace it is 1.5 kilometers. This is where we will build the small tunnel."

So he laid everything out, and then he entered the city.

When King Cūḷani heard of the Bodhisatta's arrival, he was very pleased. He thought, "Now my heart's desire will be fulfilled. Now that he is here, it will not be long before Vedeha arrives. Then will I kill them both, and there will only be one kingdom in all India."

The whole city was in a frenzy. "This, they say, is the wise Mahosadha, who defeated the 101 kings as a crow is scared off by a stone!"

The Great Being proceeded to the palace gates while the citizens gazed at his beauty. Dismounting from the chariot, he sent word to the King. "Let him come," the King said. He entered, greeted the King, and sat down on one side. Then the King spoke politely to him. He asked, "My son, when will your King arrive?"

"When I send for him, my lord."

"But why have you come, then?"

"To build a place for our King to live in, my lord."

"Good, my son."

He made provisions for the escort, and showed great honor to the Great Being by providing a house for him. He said, "My son, until your King arrives, live here. And do what whatever you think is necessary."

As he left the palace, he stood at the foot of the stairs, thinking, "Here would be a good place for the door of the small tunnel." And then he thought, "The King told me to do whatever I thought necessary. I must be careful that this stairway does not collapse when we dig the tunnel."

So he went to the King and said, "My lord, as I was leaving, I saw a fault in the great staircase. If it is all right, let me have some of my workers fix it for you."

"Very well, my son. Do it."

He looked over the place carefully and determined where the exit of the tunnel should be. Then he removed the staircase and arranged to have a wooden platform installed so that it would not collapse. The King unwittingly thought that this was being done as an act of goodwill.

Mahosadha spent the day overseeing the repairs. The next day he said to the King, "My lord, if you could let me know where our King is going to live, I will have it prepared for him."

"Very well, wise sir. Choose any house you like in the city except for my palace."

"Sire, we are strangers. You have many friends here. If we take their houses, your soldiers will fight with us. What are we to do?"

"Wise sir, do not listen to them. Choose any house you want."

"My lord, they will come to you over and over again with complaints, and you are going to get tired of that. But if you please, let me put our men on guard instead of yours. Then you will not be bothered with complaints."

The King agreed. The Great Being placed his own guards at the foot and head of the stairway, at the great gate, everywhere, giving orders that no one was to pass by. Then he ordered his men to go to the Queen Mother's house and to pretend that they were going to tear it down. When they began to remove bricks and mud from the gates and walls, the Queen Mother saw what was happening and asked, "You fellows, why are you tearing down my house?"

"Mahosadha the sage wants to tear it down in order to build a palace for his King."

"If that is so, you may live in this house. You do not have to tear it down and build a new one."

"Our King's retinue is very large. This place is not big enough. We need to build a larger house for him."

"You do not know who I am. I am the Queen Mother, and now I am going to go see my son and we shall see about this."

"We are acting on the King's orders. Stop us if you can!"

She grew angry and said, "Now I will see what is to be done with you!" and she proceeded to the palace gate. But the soldiers would not let her go in. "Fellows, I am the King's mother!"

"Oh, we know who you are. But the King has ordered us not to let anyone go in. Go away!"

Unable to get into the palace, she went back to her house. Then one of the men said, "What are you doing here? Go away."

He grabbed her by the throat and threw her on the ground. She thought, "It must be the King's command. Otherwise they would never be able to do this. I will visit the sage."

She asked him, "Son Mahosadha, why are you tearing down my house?" He would not speak to her, but a bystander said, "What did you say, madam?"

"My son, why is the sage tearing down my house?"

"To build a dwelling for King Vedeha."

"Why, my son! What? In this entire great city he can't find another place to live? Take this bribe, 100,000 pieces of gold and let him build elsewhere."

"Very well, madam. We will leave your house alone. But do not tell anyone that you have given us this bribe. We do not want people to know that they can bribe us to spare their houses."

"My son! If anyone knew that the Queen Mother needed to bribe someone, the shame would be mine! I will not tell anyone."

The man agreed. He took the 100,000 pieces of gold and left the house. Then he went to Kevaṭṭa's house. Kevaṭṭa had gone to the palace gate. But when he tried to enter the palace, he was beaten on his back with bamboo sticks. He also gave 100,000 pieces of gold to keep his house from being torn down. In this way, by seizing houses all over the city and procuring bribes, they got 90 million gold pieces.

After this the Great Being went across the city and returned to the palace. The King asked him whether he had found a suitable place. "Sire," he said, "they are all willing to give, but as soon as we take possession they are grief stricken. We do not want to be the cause of their pain. But outside the city, about 1.5 kilometers away, between the city and the Ganges, there is a place where we could build a palace for our King."

When the King heard this, he was pleased. He thought, "Fighting inside the city is dangerous. It is impossible to tell the difference between our men and theirs. But outside the city it is easy to fight. Outside the city I will attack and kill them."

Then he said, "Very well, my son. Build in the place that you have chosen."

"We will, sire. But make sure that your people do not come to the place where we are building in search of firewood or food or things like that. If they do, there is sure to be trouble, and this will not be good for either of us."

"Very well, my son. Forbid all access to that area."

"My lord, our elephants like to splash in the water. If the water becomes muddy, the people will complain that since Mahosadha came they do not have clean water. You will have to put up with it."

The King replied, "I understand. Let your elephants play."

Then he proclaimed by beat of the drum, "Whoever goes to the place where the sage Mahosadha is building shall be fined 1,000 coins."

Then the Great Being took leave of the King. With his attendants, he went out of the city. They began to build the compound on the spot he had chosen. On the other side of the Ganges he built a village called "Gaggali." He stationed his elephants, horses, chariots, cattle, and oxen there. He organized the work and assigned everyone their tasks.

Having distributed the work for the fortified compound, he set about making the great tunnel. The mouth of the tunnel was on the bank of the Ganges. Sixty thousand warriors started digging the great tunnel. They removed the earth in leather sacks and dropped it in the river. Whenever the earth was dropped, the elephants trampled it. This made the Ganges muddy. The citizens complained that, since Mahosadha had come, they could not get clean water to drink. But the wise man's spies told them that Mahosadha's elephants were playing in the water and stirring up the mud, and that was why it ran muddy.

The entrance to the smaller tunnel was in the city. Seven hundred men were digging it. They brought out their earth in leather sacks and dropped in the city. As they dropped each load, they mixed it with water and used it to build a wall and other public works.

The end of the larger tunnel was also in the city. The tunnel was built up with bricks and covered with stucco. It was roofed over with planks, covered with cement, and plastered. In all there were 80 great doors and 64 small doors. The main entrance was two meters high. It was fitted with machinery so that if you pressed one peg, all of the doors opened, and if you pressed another peg, all of the doors closed. On each side there were hundreds of niches that contained lamps. They were also fitted with machinery so that when one was opened, they all opened, and when one was shut, they would all shut.

On each side of the tunnel there were 101 chambers for 101 warriors. In each chamber there were beds of various colors. Each room had a great couch shaded by a white sunshade. Each had a throne near the great couch. They all had a statue of a beautiful woman. The statues were so exquisitely executed that without touching them no one could tell whether they were human or not.

Also, in the tunnel, talented painters painted many different kinds of scenes: the splendor of ( _the god_ ) Sakka, the zones of Mount Sineru, the sea and the ocean, the four continents, Himavat ( _the Himalayas_ ), Lake Anotatta ( _a lake in the Himalayas_ ), the Vermilion Mountain ( _presumably a mountain in the Himalayas_ ), the Sun and the Moon, the heaven of the four great kings with the six heavens of sense and their divisions. They could all be seen in the tunnel. The floor was covered with sand as white as a silver plate, and there were lotus flowers on the ceiling. Here and there garlands of flowers and scented blooms hung. Thus they decorated the tunnel until it was like the divine hall of Sudhamma. ( _Sudhamma is the city in which a previous Buddha – Sobhita – was born._ )

Now those 300 wrights, having built 300 ships, loaded them with many articles that they had made. They brought them down the river and informed the sage. He used them in the city. Then he had them hide the ships in a secret place so they could be brought out when he gave the word.

In the compound, the water moat, the wall, the gate and tower, living quarters for the King and his people, the elephant stables and the water tanks were all finished. So the great tunnel, the small tunnel, and the fortified compound were finished in four months.

Now that the work was complete, the Great Being sent a messenger to the King telling him come.

When the King got the message, he was pleased. The King set out with innumerable chariots and an army in four divisions to visit the prosperous city of Uttarapañcāla.

In due time he arrived at the Ganges. The Great Being went out to meet him. He took him to the compound that he had built. The King entered the palace and ate a rich meal. And after resting a little, in the evening he sent a messenger to King Cūḷani to say that he had arrived. The message said, "Mighty King, I have come to salute your feet. Now give me that most beautiful woman - full of grace, attended by her handmaidens - in marriage."

King Cūḷani was very excited to get the message. He thought, "My enemy has no way out now. I will cut off both their heads and drink the cup of victory!" But all he showed to the messenger was joy. He paid him respects and recited the following stanza:

Tell King Vedeha that he is welcome here.

It is good that he has arrived!

Ask for a lucky hour when we can meet,

And I will give you my daughter,

Full of grace, attended by her handmaidens.

The messenger now went back to Vedeha and said, "My lord, the King says that you should 'select a time that is suitable for this auspicious event, and I will give you my daughter.'" He sent the man right back with the message, "This very day is a lucky hour!" And King Cūḷani responded, "I will now give you that most beautiful woman - full of grace, attended by her handmaidens - to marry."

But in saying "I will send her now, even now," he lied. He gave the word to the 101 kings, "Get ready for battle with your 18 mighty hosts. We will split open the heads of our two enemies and drink the cup of victory!"

He sent his mother Queen Talatā, his consort Queen Nandā, his son Pañcālacaṇḍa, and his daughter Pañcālacaṇḍī with her handmaidens to the palace to keep them safe.

The Bodhisatta treated the great army that came with King Vedeha very hospitably. Some were drinking spirits, some were eating fish and meat, and some were resting, tired from their long march. But King Vedeha along with Senaka and the other wise men sat in their seats of honor with the courtiers.

But King Cūḷani surrounded the compound in four rings with three intervals. They lit several hundred thousand torches. Then they got into position, ready to attack at sunrise.

The Great Being found out what they were doing. He gave orders to 300 of his own warriors: "Go through the small tunnel and bring the King's mother, consort, son, and daughter out by that tunnel. Then take them into the great tunnel. But do not let them out of the great tunnel. Keep them safe there until we come. When we arrive, bring them out of the tunnel and into the compound."

When they had received these commands, they went along the smaller tunnel. They pushed up the platform underneath the staircase. They seized all of King Cūḷani's men and humpbacks and all the others they found there. They bound them hand and foot, gagged them, and hid them away. They ate some of the food prepared for the King, destroyed the rest, and went up to the terrace.

Now that day Queen Talatā, uncertain what might happen, had made Queen Nandā and the son and daughter stay with her in one room. The warriors stood at the door of the chamber and called to them. She came out and said, "What is it, my children?"

They said, "Madam, the King has killed Vedeha and Mahosadha. He has unified all of India. Surrounded by the 101 princes he is drinking deeply of this great glory. He has sent us to bring the four of you to him."

They all went down to the foot of the staircase. When the men took them into the tunnel, they said, "All this time we have lived here, and we have never been here before."

The men replied, "People do not go here every day. This is a place reserved for rejoicing, and because this is a day of rejoicing, the King told us to bring you this way." And they believed it.

Some of the men escorted the four members of the royal family into the tunnel. Others returned to the palace where they broke open the treasury and carried off all the precious things they wanted. The four continued on through the great tunnel. It seemed to them that they were in the glorious hall of the gods. They thought that it had been built for the King. Then they were brought to a place not far from the river and placed in a fine room inside the tunnel. Some soldiers kept watch over them while others went and told the Bodhisatta that they had arrived.

"Now," the Bodhisatta thought, "my heart's desire shall he fulfilled." Highly pleased, he went into the presence of King Vedeha and stood on one side. The King was anxious with desire. The King was thinking, "Now he will send his daughter, now, now." He got up and looked out of the window. The city was one blaze of light from the thousands of torches. He was surrounded by a great army! In fear and suspicion, he cried, "What is this?" and he recited a stanza to his wise men:

Elephants, horses, chariots, footmen,

A host in armor stands there.

Torches are blazing with light,

What does this mean, wise sirs?

Senaka replied, "Do not be troubled, sire. Large numbers of torches are blazing. I presume that the King is bringing his daughter to you."

And Pukkusa said, "No doubt he wants to show honor at your visit, and therefore he has come with a guard."

They told him whatever they liked. But the King heard the soldiers' commands: "Put a detachment here, set a guard there, be vigilant!" He saw the armed soldiers. He was frightened to death and desperate to hear some word from the Great Being. He recited another stanza:

Elephants, horses, chariots, footmen,

A host in armor stands there.

Torches ablaze with light.

What will they do, wise sir?

Then the Great Being thought, "I will first frighten this blind fool for a little. Then I will show my power and save him." So he said, "Sire, the mighty Cūḷani is watching you. He is a traitor. He will kill you in the morning."

On hearing this they were all frightened to death. The King's throat was parched, his mouth dried up, and his body burned with fear. Frightened to death and whimpering he these stanzas:

My heart throbs, my mouth is parched, I cannot rest.

I am like one burned in the fire and then put in the sun.

As a fire that burns inwardly and is not seen outside,

So my heart burns within me and is not seen outside.

When the Great Being heard this lament, he thought, "This blind fool would not do listen to me. I will punish him still more," and he said, "Warrior, you are careless. You do not listen to wise advice. Now let your clever advisers save you. A King who will not listen to a wise and faithful counsellor, being seduced by his own greed, is like a deer caught in a trap. Like a fish who is greedy for the bait, he does not notice the hook hidden in the meat which is wrapped around it. He does not recognize its own death. Just like you, Oh King, greedy with lust, like the fish you did not recognize Cūḷani's daughter as your own death. 'If you go to Uttarapañcāla,' I said, 'you will quickly lose your happiness.' As a deer caught on the highway, you fell into danger. A bad man, my lord, bites like a snake in your lap. No wise man should make friends with him. Any association with a wicked man will only bring harm. Any man, my lord, who is virtuous and wise is the man with whom to be friends. Association with a good man will bring good fortune and happiness."

Then to drive home the reproach that a good man should not be treated so badly, he recalled the words that the King had once said, and went on, "You are foolish, Oh King, deaf and dumb. You rebuked me for my good advice, asking how I could know what was good - like you people of privilege do - because I had grown up behind a plow. 'Take that man by the neck,' you said, 'and cast him out of my kingdom. He is trying to keep me from getting a precious thing!'"

Having said this, he continued, "Sire, how could I, a mere yokel, know what is good like Senaka and the other wise men? That is not my calling. I only know the yokel's trade. But this matter is known to Senaka and his peers. They are wise gentlemen. So now today let them save you from the 18 mighty armies that have you surrounded. Follow through on your threat and have them take me by the throat and cast me out. Why do you ask my advice now?"

Thus he berated him mercilessly. When the King heard all this, he thought, "The sage is reciting everything that I have done wrong. He knew long ago that this was dangerous. That is why he is rebuking me so bitterly. But I know him. He did not spend all this time doing nothing. He must have been doing something to keep me safe."

So to reproach the sage, he recited these stanzas:

Mahosadha, the wise do not throw the past in someone's face.

Why do you prod me like a horse who is tied up?

If you see a way to deliver me to safety, then comfort me.

But do not throw the past up against me.

Then the Great Being thought, "This King is very blind and foolish. He has poor judgment when it comes to the differences between men. I will torment him some more, and then I will save him."

He said, "It is too late to do anything, too hard and too difficult. I cannot save you. You must figure this out yourself. There are magical, glorious elephants who can fly through the air. If you have anything like that then you can fly away on them. There are magical, glorious, horses who can fly through the air. Perhaps you could fly away on one of them. Or you might fly away with the birds, or perhaps some goblins. But it is too late to do anything, too hard and too difficult. I cannot save you, and you must figure this out for yourself."

The King sat still without saying a word. Senaka was thinking, "There is no one who can help the King and us except for the sage. But the King is too afraid to ask him. So I will ask him." And he made his request with these stanzas:

A man who cannot see the shore in the mighty ocean,

When he does find a place to land is full of joy.

To us and the King you, Mahosadha,

Are firm ground on which to stand.

You are the best of councilors.

Deliver us from despair.

The Great Being reproached him in this stanza:

It is too late for men to act, too hard and difficult.

I cannot save you.

You must figure this out for yourself, Senaka.

The King, unable to see a way out and terrified for his life, could not say a word to the Great Being. But thinking that perhaps Senaka had a plan, he asked him in this stanza:

Hear me. You see this great danger,

And now Senaka, I ask you,

What do you think we should do?

Senaka thought, "The King is asking for a plan, whether it is good or bad. I will give him one," and he recited this stanza:

Let us set fire to the door.

Then let each of us take a sword,

Let us kill one another

Let's not let Cūḷani kill us by a slow death.

The King fell into despair. Then he asked Pukkusa and the rest, who also spoke foolishly:

"Hear me. You see this great danger. Pukkusa. What do you think we should do?"

"We should all take poison and die. But do not let Cūḷani kill us by a slow and painful death."

"Now I ask Kāvinda."

"Let us make a noose and hang ourselves. But do not let Cūḷani kill us by a slow death."

"Now I ask Devinda."

"I agree with Senaka. Let us set fire to the door. Then let each of us take a sword and kill each other. I cannot save us, but I think that Mahosadha can do so easily."

Devinda thought, "What is the King doing? Here is fire, and he is blowing on a firefly! Except Mahosadha, there is no one who can save us. Yet he stops asking him and asks us! What do we know?"

Not seeing any way out, he repeated the plan proposed by Senaka and praised the Great Being in these stanzas:

This is what I think, sire.

Let us all ask the sage.

And if despite our pleading Mahosadha will not save us,

Then let us follow Senaka's advice.

This reminded the King of how badly he had treated the Bodhisatta. He was ashamed and unable to speak to him. He lamented, "As one that searches for sap in the plantain tree or the silk cotton tree and does not find any, so we searched for an answer to our dilemma and have not found one. Our compound is in a bad place, like elephants in a place where there is no water. I am with worthless men and fools that know nothing. My heart aches, my mouth is parched, I cannot rest. I am like someone burned in the fire and then put out in the sun. As the fire that burns inwardly and is not seen outside, so my heart burns inside and is not seen outside."

Then the sage thought, "The King is quite upset. If I do not console him, his heart will break and he will die."

Then the wise sage Mahosadha, knowing what is good, when he saw how miserable King Vedeha was, he said to him. "Fear not, Oh King, fear not, lord of chariots. I will set you free like the moon when it is caught by Rāhu or the sun when it is caught by Rāhu. Like an elephant stuck in the mud, like a snake shut up in a basket, like a fish caught in a net, I will set you free with your chariots and your army. I will scare away Uttarapañcāla just as a crow is scared off by a stone. What good would I be if I cannot set you free when you are in trouble?"

When he heard this, The King was comforted. "Now my life is safe!" he thought. All of them were elated when the Bodhisatta spoke out like a lion. Then Senaka asked, "Wise sir, how will we get away?"

"By a magnificent tunnel," he said. "Get ready."

He turned and gave word to his men to open the tunnel.

"Come, men. Open up the entrance. The King and his court are ready to go through the tunnel."

They rose up and opened the door of the tunnel. The inside of the tunnel shone in a blaze of light like the decorated hall of the gods.

He said to the King, "Quickly, my lord! Come down from the terrace." The King came down. Senaka took off his headdress and loosened his gown. The Great Being asked him why he did that. He replied, "Wise sir, when a man goes through a tunnel, he must take off his turban and wrap his clothes tightly around him."

The Great Being replied, "Senaka, do not assume that you must crawl through the tunnel on your knees. If you wish to go in on an elephant, then mount your elephant. Our tunnel is huge. It is tall. It has a wide door. Dress however you want and go in front of the King."

Then the Bodhisatta made Senaka go into the tunnel first. He went last and the King was in the middle. The reason they did this was that the tunnel was full of food and drink. The men wanted to stop and eat and drink as they gazed at the marvelous tunnel." But the Great Being went behind urging the King to press on.

Now when the men in the tunnel saw the King coming, they gathered the other King's mother, wife, son, and daughter. When these four saw the King and the sage, they were frightened to death. They shrieked in fear, "We are in the hands of our enemies! It must have been the wise man's soldiers who came for us!" Then they were taken out of the tunnel and into the great courtyard of the compound. The King and the Bodhisatta followed them out.

Meanwhile King Cūḷani heard their outcry in the quiet of the night. He wanted to say, "It sounds like the voice of Queen Nandā!" But he was afraid that he might be laughed at for thinking such a thing, so he said nothing.

The Great Being placed Princess Pañcālacaṇḍi on a pile of treasure and administered the ceremonial sprinkling as he said, "Sire, here is the woman for whom you came. Let her be your Queen!"

They brought the 300 ships out from their hiding place. The King went from the wide courtyard and boarded a ship that was richly decorated. The four went on board with him.

Mahosadha thus encouraged him: "This is your father-in-law ( _It was actually his new brother-in-law. The brother takes the place of the absent father-in-law._ ), my lord. This is your mother-in-law, oh master of men. As you would treat your mother, so treat your mother-in-law. As a brother by the same father and mother, so protect Pañcālacaṇḍa, oh lord of chariots. Pañcālacaṇḍī is a royal princess. She was desired by many. Now she is your wife, oh lord of chariots."

The King consented. But why did the Great Being say nothing about the Queen mother? Because she was an old woman. ( _It is not clear what this means. Perhaps as an old woman she was automatically entitled to be kept safe and treated with respect._ )

Now the Bodhisatta said all this while he was still standing on the bank. The King, having been delivered from the great danger, wanted to set off as quickly as possible in the ship. He said, "My son, you are standing on the shore," and he recited this stanza:

Come aboard quickly.

Why do you stand on the bank?

We have been delivered from danger and trouble.

Now, Mahosadha, let us go.

The Great Being replied, "My lord, it is not fitting that I, the leader of an army, should desert my army. I will bring out the army that is left in the town, and I will bring them away with the consent of King Cūḷani."

"Among our soldiers, some are sleeping because they are exhausted from their long journey, some are eating and drinking. Some are sick because they worked so hard for me for four months, and there are many of my assistants. I cannot go if I leave a single man behind. No, I will return only with that army. And I will bring it with Cūḷani's consent, without any fighting. But you, sire, should go as quickly as possible. Do not linger anywhere. I have stationed relays of elephants and horses and chariots along the road so that you may leave behind those that are tired. And with fresh animals you may return quickly to Mithilā."

Then the King recited a stanza:

A small army against a great one,

How will you prevail?

The weak will be destroyed by the strong, wise sir!

Then the Bodhisatta recited a stanza:

A small army with wise counsel

Conquers a large army that has none.

One King conquers many,

Just as the rising sun conquers the darkness.

With these words, the Great Being saluted the King and sent him away. The King remembering how he had been delivered from the hands of enemies, and by winning the princess had attained his heart's desire, reflected on the Bodhisatta's virtues. He described in joy and delight the wise man's virtues to Senaka in this stanza:

Happiness truly comes, Oh Senaka, by living with the wise.

As birds from a closed cage, as fish from a net,

Mahosadha set us free

When we were in the hands of my enemies.

To this Senaka replied with another stanza, also praising the sage:

Even so, sire, there is happiness among the wise.

As birds from a closed cage, as fish from a net,

Mahosadha set us free

When we were in the hands of our enemies.

Then King Vedeha crossed over the river. 5.5 kilometers away he found the village that the Bodhisatta had prepared. The men posted by the Bodhisatta were waiting with fresh elephants and horses and chariots. They gave them food and drink. Then they went on to the next village. In this way the King made the journey of 550 kilometers, and by the next morning he was in Mithilā.

At the same time the Bodhisatta went back to the great tunnel. He drew his sword, which was slung over his shoulder, and buried it in the sand. Then he bathed in scented water and ate a wonderful meal and retired to his couch. He was pleased that the desire of his heart had been fulfilled.

The mighty Cūḷani watched all night, and at sunrise he approached the compound. Mounting his noble elephant, Cūḷani, mighty King of Uttarapañcāla, addressed his army. He was fully armed and wore a jeweled harness. He had an arrow in his hand. There were men mounted on elephants, charioteers, footmen, men skilled in archery, bowmen, all gathered together.

Now the King commanded them to take Vedeha alive:

"Send the mighty, tusked elephants. Let them trample down the city that Vedeha built. Let the arrows fly this way and that way. Propelled by the bow, arrows like the teeth of calves, sharp-pointed, will pierce their bones. Let heroes come forth clad in armor, with weapons finely decorated, bold and heroic, ready to face an elephant. Spears bathed in oil, their points glittering like fire, stand gleaming like the constellation of a hundred stars. With such heroes, with mighty weapons, clad in mail and armor, men who never run away, how shall Vedeha escape even if he can fly like a bird? My 39,000 warriors, all hand-picked men, whose like has never been seen before, are my mighty host. See the mighty, decorated, tusked elephants on whose backs are the brilliant and good princes. They are like the gods in Nandana ( _paradise_ ), with glorious ornaments, glorious dress and robes. Their swords are the color of the sheat-fish ( _Silurus Boalis_ ), well oiled, glittering, held fast by mighty men, well-finished, very sharp, shining, spotless, made of steel, strong. The swords are held by mighty men who strike and strike again. In golden trappings and blood-red belts they gleam as they turn like lightning in a thick cloud. Mailed heroes with banners waving, skilled in the use of sword and shield, grasping the hilt, accomplished soldiers, mighty fighters on elephant-back. Surrounded by men like this there is no escape. I see no power by which Vedeha can escape."

Thus he threatened Vedeha, thinking to capture him then and there. Goading his elephant, he ordered the army to seize and strike and kill. King Cūḷani came like a flood to King Vedeha's fortified compound.

Then the Great Being's men thought, "Who knows what will happen?" and they surrounded him in order to protect him. Just then the Bodhisatta rose from his bed and attended to his bodily needs. After breakfast he adorned and dressed himself, putting on his kāsi robe worth 100,000 pieces of gold. With his red robe over one shoulder and holding his ceremonial staff inlaid with the seven precious jewels, with golden sandals on his feet, and being fanned with an oxtail fan like some divine nymph richly arrayed, he went up on the terrace.

He opened a window so that King Cūḷani could see him. He walked back and forth with the grace of the king of the gods. And King Cūḷani, seeing his beauty, was disturbed to see him there. He drove his elephant quickly thinking that he should take him now. The sage thought, "He has hurried here expecting to catch Vedeha. He does not know that his own children have been taken and that our King is gone. I will show my face like a golden mirror and speak to him."

So standing at the window, he uttered these words in a voice as sweet as honey, "Why have you driven your elephant up in such a hurry? You come with a happy look. You think that you have gotten what you want. Throw down that bow, put away that arrow, take off that shining armor set with jewels and coral."

When he heard the man's voice, he thought, "That yokel is making fun of me. But today I will do with him as I wish." Then he threatened him, saying, "You look pleased with yourself. You speak with a smile. It is only in the hour of death that such beauty is seen."

As they talked together, the soldiers noticed the Great Being's beauty. "Our King," they said, "is talking with wise Mahosadha. I wonder what they are talking about? Let us move in closer so we can hear what they are saying."

So they moved in closer to the King. But the sage, when the King had finished speaking, replied, "You do not know that I am the wise Mahosadha. I will not let you kill me. Your plan has failed. The plan that you and Kevaṭṭa devised has not come to pass." And he explained this by saying, "Your blustering is in vain, Oh King! Your plan has failed, man of war! My King is as hard for you to catch as a thoroughbred horse. Our King crossed the Ganges yesterday with his courtiers and attendants. You will be like a crow trying to chase the royal goose."

Again, like a maned lion without fear, he gave an illustration in these words:

"Jackals in the night time see the Judas tree in flower and think the flowers are lumps of meat. They gather in troops, these vilest of beasts. When the watches of the night are past and the sun has risen, they see the Judas tree in flower and lose their wish, those vilest of beasts. Even so you, Oh King, for all that you have surrounded Vedeha, shall lose your wish and go, just as the jackals abandon the Judas tree."

When the King heard his fearless words, he thought, "That yokel is bold in his speech. There can be no doubt that Vedeha has escaped."

He was very angry. "Long ago," he thought, "through this yokel I barely had a rag to cover me. Now my enemy was in my hands, but because of him, he has escaped. Truly he has caused me a great deal of suffering, and I will get revenge on him for what he has done."

Then he gave orders as follows:

"This man delivered my enemy Vedeha from my hands. Cut off his hands and feet, ears and nose. Cut off his flesh and cook it on skewers. As a bull's hide is spread out on the ground, or a lion's or tiger's fastened flat with pegs, so I will peg him out and stab him with spikes, for he delivered my enemy Vedeha from my hands."

The Great Being smiled when he heard this. He thought, "This King does not know that his Queen and family are in Mithilā. He is giving all these orders about me. But in his anger, he might shoot me with an arrow or do something else to make him feel better. I must overwhelm him with pain and sorrow. I will make him faint on his elephant's back when I tell him what has happened."

So he said, "If you cut off my hands and feet, my ears and nose, King Vedeha will do the same to Pañcālacaṇḍa, Pañcālacaṇḍī, and Queen Nandā, your wife and children. If you cut off my flesh and cook it on skewers, so King Vedeha will cook the flesh of Pañcālacaṇḍa, Pañcālacaṇḍī, and Queen Nandā, your wife and children. If you peg me out and pierce me with spikes, King Vedeha will do the same to Pañcālacaṇḍa, Pañcālacaṇḍi, and Queen Nandā, your wife and children. King Vedeha and I made this arrangement before he left. This arrangement is like as a leather shield with a hundred layers, carefully wrought by the leather workers. It is a defense to keep off your arrows. In this way I have brought happiness and prevented sorrow for glorious King Vedeha, and I fend off your hostility as a shield keeps off an arrow."

Hearing this, the King thought, "What is this yokel talking about? As I do to him, King Vedeha will do likewise to my family? He does not know that I put a guard on my family. He is only threatening me to prevent his instant death. I don't believe what he says."

The Great Being could tell that the King was speaking from fear. So he explained the situation.

"Come, sire. See that your inner apartments are empty. Your wife, children, and mother, oh warrior, were carried through a tunnel and put under the control of King Vedeha."

The King thought, "The sage speaks with a lot of self-assurance. Last night I did hear the voice of Queen Nandā coming from the Ganges. The sage is very clever. Perhaps he is telling the truth!"

He was overcome with grief. But not succumbing to his grief, he gathered up all of his courage. He sent a messenger to check the apartments. He said to him, "Go. Enter my inner apartments and see whether the man's words are true."

The messenger went with his attendants. They opened the door and entered. There he discovered the sentries of the inner apartments along with the dwarfs and hunchbacks. They had their hands and feet bound. They had gags in their mouths and were hanging from pegs. There were broken vessels, food, and drink scattered about. The doors of the treasury were broken open and the treasure had been plundered. A tribe of crows had come in by the open windows. It was like a deserted village or a graveyard. The palace was a mess.

He went back and reported this news to the King. He said, "Sire, just as Mahosadha told you, the inner palace is empty, like a waterside village inhabited by crows."

The King trembled with grief at the loss of his four dear ones. He said, "This catastrophe is the fault of this yokel!" Like a snake that has been hit with a stick, he was exceedingly angry with the Bodhisatta. When the Great Being saw him, he thought, "This King is very powerful. If he gets anger enough, from a warrior's pride he might hurt me. Suppose I describe to him the beauty of Queen Nandā, as if he has seen her. Then he will remember her. Then he will understand that he will never get this precious woman back if he kills me. Then out of love for her, he will not harm me."

So standing there in the upper story, he removed his hand from beneath his red robe and pointed in the direction in which she went. He described her beauties in this way:

"It was this way, sire, where your beautiful woman went. Her lips are like plates of gold. Her voice sounds like the music of the wild goose. She was taken this way, sire, the woman who is beautiful in every limb, dressed in silk, dark, with a sash of gold. Her feet are fair to see, with ornaments of gold and jewels. She has lips the color of bimba fruit ( _also called 'scarlet gourd'_ ). She has a slender waist like a vine. Her hair is long, black, and a little curled at the end. She is well-born, like a fawn, like a flame of fire in winter time. She is a river hidden in the chasm of a mountain under the low reeds. Her nose is petite and beautiful. She is peerless, with breasts like the tindook fruit ( _persimmon_ )."

As the Great Being praised her grace, it was as if King had never really seen her before. He felt a great longing for his Queen and wife. The Great Being sensed this and said, "If you are willing for Nandā to die, glorious King, then she and I will go before Yama ( _the god of death_ ) together."

In his speech the Great Being praised Nandā and no one else. The reason for this is that people never love someone else as much as they do a beloved wife. He only praised her, because he thought that if the King remembered her, he would also remember his children. When the wise Great Being praised her in this honeyed voice, Queen Nandā seemed to stand there right in front of the King.

Then the King thought, "No one but Mahosadha can bring back my wife and give her to me." As he remembered her, he was overcome with sorrow. Then the Great Being said, "Do not worry, sire. Your Queen and son and mother shall all come back. You only have to ensure that I return safely. Rest assured, your majesty!"

The King said, "I watched and guarded my own city so carefully. I surrounded this compound with such a vast army. Yet this wise man managed to take my guarded Queen and son and mother out of the city and hand them over to Vedeha! All this happened while we were besieging the compound. He did this without a single person finding out. And then he sent Vedeha away with his army and all of his equipment! Does he know magic or how to fool the eyes?"

And he put this question to him:

"Do you study magic or have you bewitched my eyes. Is this how you delivered my enemy Vedeha from my hands?"

On hearing this, the Great Being said, "Sire, I do know magic, for wise men who know magic can save themselves and others when danger comes. I have young men who are clever at breaking barriers. The passage that they built for me is how Vedeha escaped to Mithilā."

This implied that Vedeha had gone through a tunnel, so the King said, "Where is this passage?" and he said that he wanted to see it. The Great Being offered to show it to him.

"Come see, Oh King, a tunnel that is well made. It is big enough for elephants or horses, chariots, or foot soldiers. It is brightly lit, a tunnel well built."

Then he went on, "Sire, come see the tunnel that was made from my plan. It is as bright as though both the sun and moon rose inside of it, decorated. There are 80 large doors and 64 small ones. There are 101 bedchambers and many hundreds of lamp niches. Come with me in joy and delight and enter the compound with your guard."

With these words he had the city gate thrown open. The King with his 101 princes came in. The Great Being descended from the upper story and saluted the King. He led him and his retinue into the tunnel. When the King saw this tunnel like a decorated city of the gods, he spoke in praise of the Bodhisatta.

"It is a great gain for Vedeha to have in his house or kingdom men as wise as you are, Mahosadha!"

The King went into the tunnel first. The wise man went after him, and then the soldiers entered the tunnel. The Great Being showed him the 101 bedchambers. He showed him how opening one door opened all of the doors.

When the King emerged from the tunnel, the Great Being kept the rest of them from coming out by shutting and locking the tunnel door. This caused the 80 large doors and the 64 small ones and the doors of the 101 bedchambers and the doors of the hundreds of lamp niches to all shut together. The whole tunnel became as dark as hell. All of the people who were trapped in the tunnel were terrified.

Now the Great Being took the sword that he had hidden yesterday. He leaped high into the air, and when he landed he brought the sword down on the King's arm. The he swung the sword around, frightening the King. He cried, "Sire, to whom do all the kingdoms of India belong?"

"They are yours, wise sir! Spare me!" He replied.

"Have no fear, sire. I did not take up my sword to kill you. I did it only to show my wisdom."

Then he handed his sword to the King. When he had taken it, the Great Being said, "If you want to kill me, sire, kill me now with that sword. But if you want to spare me, spare me."

"Wise sir," he replied. "I promise you safety. Have no fear."

And as he held the sword, they both struck up a sincere friendship.

Then the King said to the Bodhisatta, "Wise sir, with your wisdom, why don't you just take over the kingdom?"

"Sire, if I wanted to, I could take over all of the kingdoms of India, and I could kill all of the kings. But it is not wise for a man to gain glory by killing others."

"Wise sir, many people are stuck in the tunnel. Because they cannot get out, they are in great fear. Please open the tunnel door and spare their lives."

He opened the door. The entire tunnel became a blaze of light. The people were greatly relieved. All of the Kings and their courtiers came out and approached the sage. He was standing in the wide courtyard with the King. Then those kings said, "Wise sir, you have spared our lives. If the door had remained shut for just a little while longer, we would have all died there."

"My lords, this is not the first time your lives have been saved by me."

"What do you mean, wise sir?"

"Do you remember when all of the kingdoms of India had been conquered except for our city and you went to the park of Uttarapañcāla ready to drink the cup of victory?"

"Yes, wise sir."

"Then this King with Kevaṭṭa with evil intentions poisoned the drink and the food. He intended to murder you. But I did not want you to die such a foul death. So I sent in my men. They broke all the vessels and sabotaged their plan, giving you your lives."

Fearfully they asked Cūḷani, "Is this true, sire?"

"Indeed. What I did was because of Kevaṭṭa's advice. The sage speaks the truth."

Then they all embraced the Great Being and said, "Wise sir, you have saved us all. You have saved our lives."

They showered him with gifts out of gratitude. The sage said to the King, "Do not worry, sire. This is the fault of a wicked friend. Ask the kings to forgive you."

The King said, "I did this because of the advice of a wicked man. It was my fault for listening to him. Please forgive me. I will never do such a terrible thing again."

The kings forgave him. They confessed their faults to each other, and they all became friends. Then the King sent for food, perfumes, and garlands, and for seven days they celebrated in the great tunnel. Then they went back into the city and honored the Great Being. The King sat on his great throne surrounded by the 101 princes. He wanted to keep the sage in his court as his adviser. He said, "I will support and honor you. I will double your allowance of food and money. I will give you many great boons. Now enjoy our food and hospitality. But please, do not return to King Vedeha. What can he do for you?"

But the sage declined with these words:

"When one deserts a patron, sire, for the sake of gain, it is a disgrace to both oneself and the patron. While King Vedeha lives, I could not be in service to another man. While King Vedeha remains, I could not live in another's kingdom."

Then the King said to him, "Well, sir, when your King passes on to his next life, promise me to come here then."

"If I live that long, sire, I will come."

So the King held a festival in his honor for seven days. After that, as he prepared to leave the King said, "I give you 1,000 gold coins, 80 villages in Kāsi, 400 female slaves, and 100 wives. Take your army and go in peace, Mahosadha."

He replied, "Sire, do not worry about your family. When my King went back to his country, I told him to treat Queen Nandā as he would his own mother and Pañcālacaṇḍa as his younger brother, and I married your daughter to him with the ceremonial sprinkling. I will soon send your mother, wife, and son back to you."

"Good!" said the King. He gave him a dowry for his daughter to give to King Vedeha. This included men slaves and women slaves, fine clothing and ornaments, gold and precious metal, decorated elephants and horses and chariots. Then he gave orders for the army to execute: "Provide them with double rations for the elephants and horses and provide food and drink for the charioteers and footmen."

Then he dismissed the sage with these words, "Go, wise sir. Take the elephants, horses, chariots, and footmen and go to King Vedeha in Mithilā."

Saying this he dismissed the sage with great honor. And the 101 kings honored the Great Being and gave him rich gifts. The spies who had been on service with the Kings surrounded the sage, and with this great company he set out. While he was traveling he sent out men to collect the revenues of the villages that King Cūḷani had given him. Then he arrived at the kingdom of King Vedeha.

Now Senaka had ordered a man to keep watch in case King Cūḷani was on his way. He saw the Great Being when he was 15 kilometers from the city. He reported this news to the palace. The King also saw the great host from the top story of the palace. He was frightened. "The Great Being's company is small, but this following is very large. Is this King Cūḷani on his way? Elephants, horses, chariots, footmen. There is a great army with four divisions. It looks quite menacing. What does this mean, wise sirs?"

Senaka replied, "What you are seeing, sire, is a cause for great joy. Mahosadha is safe, and he is returning with all of his men."

The King replied, "But Senaka, the wise man's army is small, this is a very large entourage."

"Sire, King Cūḷani must have been pleased with him and given him all that you see."

Then the King proclaimed throughout the city by the beat of the drum, "Let the city be decorated to welcome the return of the wise man."

The townspeople obeyed. The wise man entered the city and went to the King's palace. The King rose and embraced him. Returning to his throne he spoke pleasantly to him, "As four men leave a corpse in the cemetery, so we left you in Uttarapañcāla. Yet you returned. How did you manage this?!"

The Great Being replied, "By determination, King Vedeha, I overcame them. I outdid their plan with my plan, oh warrior, and I surrounded the King just as the ocean surrounds India."

The King was pleased. Then Mahosadha told him about the gift that King Cūḷani had given him. "He gave me 1,000 gold coins, 80 villages in Kāsi, 400 slave women, and 100 wives. And I have returned with the entire army safe and intact."

Then the King, exceedingly pleased and overjoyed, uttered this pious hymn in praise of the Great Being's merit, "Happiness truly comes by living with the wise. As birds from a closed cage, as fish from a net, so Mahosadha set us free when we were in the hands of our enemies."

Senaka responded, "Even so, sire, there is happiness with a wise man. As birds from a closed cage, as fish from the net, so Mahosadha set us free when we were in the hands of our enemies."

Then the King ordered that the drum of festival should be beaten around the city. "Let there be a festival for seven days, and let all who have goodwill toward me pay homage to the wise man. Let them sound the lutes, drums, and flutes, sound the trumpets, and merrily roll the kettledrums."

The townsfolk and countryfolk were eager to honor to the sage. When they heard the proclamation, they celebrated enthusiastically. Women and maids, low-born and brahmin wives brought food and drink to the sage. Elephant drivers, lifeguardsmen, charioteers, footmen, all did likewise, and so did all the people from the country and villages. Everyone was glad to see the sage had returned safely, and at his reception they waved banners in the air.

At the end of the festival, the Great Being went to the palace and said, "Sire, King Cūḷani's mother, wife, and son should be sent back at once."

"Very well, my son. Send them back."

So he showed respect to those three. He also entertained everyone who had come with them. He sent the three back with his own men, plus the 100 wives and the 400 slave women whom the King had given to him.

When this great company reached the city of Uttarapañcāla, the King asked his mother, "Did King Vedeha treat you well, my mother?"

"My son, what are you saying? He treated me with the same honor as if I had been a goddess."

Then she told him how Queen Nandā had been treated as a mother and Pañcālacaṇḍa as a younger brother. This pleased the King very much. He sent King Vedeha a rich gift, and from that time forward they lived in friendship and harmony.

Pañcālacaṇḍī was very dear and precious to King Vedeha. In the second year she gave birth to a son. Then ten years later King Vedeha died. The Bodhisatta raised the royal parasol for the son ( _his coronation_ ) and asked his permission to go to his grandfather, King Cūḷani. The boy said, "Wise sir, do not leave me while I am still so young. I will honor you as a father."

And Pañcālacaṇḍī said, "Wise sir, there will be no one to protect us if you go. Please do not go."

But he replied, "I have given my word. I must go."

So amidst the sadness of the people, he left with his servants and went to Uttarapañcāla.

The King heard of his arrival and went out to greet him. He led him into the city with great fanfare. He gave him a great house. In addition to the 80 villages he had already given him, he gave him an additional gift. And Mahosadha served that King.

* * *

At that time there was a religious woman named "Bherī." She would often eat her meals at the palace. She was wise and learned. She had never seen the Great Being before. She heard that the wise Mahosadha was now serving the King. He had also never seen her before, but he heard that a religious woman named "Bherī" often ate at the palace.

Now Queen Nandā still harbored a grudge against the Bodhisatta because he had separated her from her husband and caused her hardship. So she sent for five women whom she trusted. She said to them, "Watch for any fault in the wise man. Let us try to create a rift between him and the King."

So they set about trying to find fault with him.

One day this religious woman was just leaving the palace after her meal. She saw the Bodhisatta in the courtyard. He was on his way to see the King. He saluted her and stood still. She thought, "They say this is a wise man. I will see whether he is wise or not."

So she asked him a question by gesturing with her hand. Looking towards the Bodhisatta, she opened her hand. This was her way of asking whether the King took good care of him. When the Bodhisatta saw that she was asking him a question by gesturing, he answered it by opening his fist. This meant that the King brought me here in fulfillment of a promise, and now he keeps his promise and takes good care of me."

She understood. Then she stretched out her hand as she rubbed her head. This was to say, "Wise sir, why don't you become an ascetic like me?"

At this the Great Being stroked his stomach. This meant that there were many people that he had to support, and that is why he did not become an ascetic."

After this questioning she returned to her home, and the Great Being went to see the King.

Now the Queen's confidantes saw all this from a window. They went to the King and said, "My lord, Mahosadha is plotting with Bherī to seize your kingdom. He is your enemy."

"What have you heard or seen?" the King asked.

They said, "Sire, as the ascetic was going out after her meal, she saw the Great Being. She opened her hand as if to say, 'Cannot you crush the King flat like the palm of the hand or a threshing floor and seize the kingdom for yourself?' And Mahosadha opened his fist as though he were taking up a sword, as if to say, 'In a few days I will take the city into my power.' She signaled back, 'Cut off his head,' by rubbing her own head with her hand. The Great Being signaled, 'I will cut him in two,' by rubbing his belly. Be vigilant, sire! Mahosadha should be put to death."

The King thought, "I cannot hurt this wise man. I will question the ascetic."

On the next day at the time of her meal, he went to her and asked, "Madam, have you seen wise Mahosadha?"

"Yes, sire. I saw him yesterday as I was leaving after my meal."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No. But I had heard about his wisdom, and in order to test him I used gestures to ask whether the King was generous with him or stingy. Did he treat him with kindness or not. He opened his fist, implying that his master had made him come here in fulfillment of a promise, and now he keeps his promise. Then I rubbed my head to ask why he did not become an ascetic. He stroked his belly meaning that there were many people for him to feed, many bellies to fill, and therefore he did not become an ascetic.'

"And is Mahosadha a wise man?"

"Yes, indeed, sire. In all the earth there is not anyone like him for wisdom."

After hearing her account, the King dismissed her. After she left, the sage went to wait upon the King. The King asked him, "Have you seen, sir, the ascetic Bherī?"

"Yes, sire. I saw her yesterday on her way out. She asked me a question by gesturing with her hands, and I answered her at once."

And he told the story as she had done. The King in his pleasure that day made him the commander-in-chief of the army. He put him in sole charge. His power was great. It was second only to the King's. But he thought, "The King suddenly gave me this great power. This is often what kings do even when they wish to kill someone. Suppose I test the King to see whether he has goodwill towards me or not. The only one who can find this out is the ascetic Bherī. She is very wise, and she will find a way."

So he took some flowers and perfumes and went to the ascetic. After saluting her, he said, "Madam, ever since you told the King of my merits, the King has overwhelmed me with splendid gifts. But I am not sure if he is sincere or not. It would help me greatly if you can find out what the King's true intentions are."

She promised to do so. And on the next day as she was going to the palace, the Question of Dakarakkhasa the Water Demon popped into her mind. Then she thought, "I must not act like a spy, but I must find an opportunity to ask the question and discover whether the King has good intentions toward the wise man."

After her meal, the King saluted her and sat down on one side. Then she thought, "If the King bears ill will to the sage, when he is asked the question, if he declares his ill will in the presence of a number of people, that will not do. I will ask him privately."

She said, "Sire, I wish to speak to you in private."

The King sent his attendants away. She said, "I want to ask your majesty a question."

"Ask, madam, and if I can answer it then I will reply."

Then she recited the first stanza in the Question of Dakarakkhasa:

"If there were seven of you sailing on the ocean and a demon who was looking for a human sacrifice seized the ship, in what order would you give them up and save yourself from the water demon?"

The King answered, "First I would give my mother, next my wife, next my brother, fourth my friend, fifth my brahmin, and sixth myself. But I would not give up Mahosadha."

In this way the ascetic discovered the goodwill of the King towards the Great Being. But his merit was not acknowledged publicly, so she thought of something else, "When there are many people gathered, I will praise the merits of the six, and the King will praise the wise man's merit instead. This will make the wise man's merit as clear as the moon shining in the sky."

So she collected all the people in the inner palace and asked the same question and received the same answer. Then she said, "Sire, you say that you would give up your mother first. But a mother is of great merit, and your mother is not like other mothers. She is very useful." And she recited her merits in a couple of stanzas:

She reared you and she gave birth to you,

And for a long time was kind to you.

When Chambhī tried to kill you

She was wise and did what was for your good,

And by putting an imposter in your place

She saved you from harm.

Such a mother, who gave you life,

Your own mother who bore you in her womb,

For what fault could you give her to the water demon?

( _King Cūḷani's father was named "MahāCūḷani." When the child was young, the mother committed adultery with the priest Chambhī, then poisoned her husband and made Chambī the King in his place._

_As the boy grew older, Chambī was afraid that he was too clever, and that the boy might take the kingdom away from him. He told the Queen that he was going to kill the boy. The Queen plotted to have the cook and the cook's son - who was Cūḷani's best friend - burn down the kitchen and run away. They left behind three piles of goat bones that she hoped people would think were the cook, his son, and Cūḷani._

_The plan worked, and Cūḷani was raised safely in another kingdom._ )

To this the King replied, "My mother has many virtues, and I acknowledge my debt to her," and then he described her faults in a couple of stanzas:

Like a young girl she wears jewelry that she should not use,

She ruthlessly mocks the doorkeepers and guards,

She sends secret messages to rival kings,

And for these faults I would give her to the water demon.

"So be it, sire. Yet your wife also has much merit," and she declared her merit in this way,

She is chief among all the women in the kingdom,

She is gracious in her speech, devoted and virtuous.

She clings to you like your shadow.

She is not given to anger,

She is prudent and wise,

She sees the good in you

For what fault would you give her to the water-demon?

He described her faults:

By her beauty she has made me subject to evil influence.

She asks for too much for her sons.

In my passion I give her too many gifts.

I give her what is very hard to give,

And afterwards I am bitterly sorry.

For that fault I would give my wife to the water demon.

The ascetic said, "Be it so. But your younger brother, Prince Tikhiṇamantī, is useful to you. For what fault would you give him up?"

He gave prosperity to the people,

And when you were living in foreign lands

He brought you back home.

He could not be corrupted by great wealth

He is a peerless bowman and hero, Tikhiṇamantī.

For what fault would you give him to the water demon?

( _Tikhiṇamantī was born while his mother was living with the brahmin. One day the brahmin gave him a sword and told him to use the sword to "stand by him."_

_Tikhiṇamantī thought that the brahmin was his father. But one of the courtiers told him that King MahāCūḷani was his real father. He was angry, and he determined to find a way to kill the brahmin._

_One day he conspired with a servant to pretend to argue over who owned the sword. When the brahmin tried to intervene in the dispute, Tikhiṇamantī used the sword to cut off the brahmin's head. This made Tikhiṇamantī King. But then his mother told him how prince Cūḷani was hiding in another kingdom, whereupon the prince went there with an army and brought back his brother and made him King._ )

The King described his fault:

He thinks, "I gave prosperity to the people,

And I brought him back home when he was living in exile.

Great wealth cannot corrupt me.

I am a peerless bowman and a hero,

I give wise counsel, and because of me he was made King."

But he does not come to wait on me, madam, as he used to.

For that fault I would give him to the water demon.

The ascetic said, "So much for your brother's fault. But your friend Prince Dhanusekhavā is devoted in his love for you, and he is very useful." And she described his merit:

You and Dhanusekhavā were born on the same night.

You have been friends and companions all your life.

He has followed you, your joy and pain were his.

He has served you tirelessly night and day

For what fault would you give him to the water demon?

Then the King described his fault:

Madam, through all my life he used to make merry with me,

And now he takes liberties with our friendship.

If I talk in secret with my wife,

He comes in uninvited and unannounced.

Give him a chance and an opening,

And he acts shamelessly and disrespectfully.

For that fault I would give him to the water demon.

The ascetic said, "So much for his fault. But the priest is very useful to you," and she described his merit:

He is clever, he knows all omens and sounds,

He is skilled in signs and dreams, comings and goings.

He understands the meaning in the earth and air and stars.

For what fault would you give him to the water demon?

The King explained his fault:

Even in company he stares at me with open eyes.

For this fault I would give this rascal

With his puckered brows to the water demon.

( _Apparently it is not polite to stare at the King!_ )

Then the ascetic said, "Sire, you say you would give these five to the water demon and that you would give your own life for the wise Mahosadha. Why would you do this?" and she recited these stanzas:

Sire, you live with your courtiers

In a great continent surrounded by the sea,

With the ocean like an encircling wall.

You are the lord of the earth, with a mighty empire,

Victorious, sole emperor, your glory is great.

You have 16,000 women dressed in jewels and ornaments,

Women of all nations, resplendent like divine maidens.

You have been provided for every need,

Every desire is fulfilled,

You have lived long in happiness and bliss.

Then by what reason or what cause

Do you sacrifice your precious life to protect the sage?

On hearing this, he recited the following stanzas in praise of the wise man's merit:

Since Mahosadha, madam, came to me,

I have not seen him do the most trifling wrong.

If I should die before him at any time,

He would bring happiness to my sons and grandsons.

He knows all things, past or future.

This man is without fault.

I would not give him to the water demon.

Then the ascetic thought, "This is not enough to show the wise man's merits. I will make them known to all of the people in the city, like one who spreads scented oil over the surface of the sea."

So she took the King with her, and they left the palace. She prepared a seat in the palace courtyard and had him sit there. She gathered the people together, and once again she asked the King the Question of the Water Demon. And when he had answered it as described above, she addressed the people in this way, "People of Uttarapañcāla, hear what King Cūḷani has said. To protect the wise man, he would sacrifice his mother's life, his wife's, his brother's, his friend's life, and his own. The power of wisdom is so marvelous, so clever and so intelligent for good in this world and for happiness in the next."

So like one that places the topmost ornament on a heap of treasure, she put the crowning jewel on her demonstration of the Great Being's merit.

Here ends the Question of the Water Demon, and here also ends the tale of the Great Tunnel.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Uppalavaṇṇī was Bherī, Suddhodana ( _the Buddha's father_ ) was the wise man's father, Mahāmāyā his mother ( _the Buddha's biological mother_ ), the beautiful Bimbā was Amarā, Ānanda was the parrot, and Sāriputta was Cūḷani-Brahmadatta. Devadatta ( _the Buddha's nemesis_ ) was Kevaṭṭa, Cullanandikā was Talatā, Sundarī ( _the Buddha's half-sister_ ) was Pañcālacaṇḍī, Yasassikā was the Queen, Ambaṭṭha ( _a brahmin who is the subject of the Ambaṭṭha Sutta, DN 3_ ) was Kāvinda, Poṭṭhapāda ( _another brahmin who is the subject of the Poṭṭapāda Sutta, DN 9_ ) was Pukkusa, Pilotika ( _probably the monk who is the subject of the Cūḷahatthipadopama Sutta, MN 27_ ) was Devinda, Saccaka ( _a Jain who is the subject of the Maha-Saccaka Sutta, MN 36, and the Cūla-Saccaka Sutta, MN 35_ ) was Senaka, Diṭṭhamangalikā was Queen Udumbarā, Kuṇḍalī was the myna bird, and Lāḷudāyī ( _an elder monk_ ) was Vedeha, and I was the sage Mahosadha."

# 111: Gadrabha Jātaka,  
The Donkey

* * *

This is another "story" that simply refers to another Jātaka. In this case, it is one of the tests in the Ummagga Jātaka (546). I have included that part of the Ummagga Jātaka here.

If you have not read the Ummagga Jātaka, here is the context. The Buddha was born as the sage Mahosadha. Even at the age of 7 he was very wise. The King heard about him and wanted to bring him to the palace as one of his advisors. But one of his other advisors, Senaka, along with the King's other advisors - Pukkusa, Kāvinda, and Devinda was jealous of him and tried to keep the King from doing so. As the story starts, Mahosadha has just solved a problem that earns the King's trust.

" _You think you are a swan._ " This Question as to the Donkey will be set out at length in the Ummagga Jātaka. This is the end of the Question as to the Donkey.

* * *

## Jātaka 546: Māha-Ummagga Jātaka,

### The Question as to the Donkey

" _The more excellent horse._ " The King was pleased. He said to Senaka, "Well, Senaka, shall we send for the sage?" But he, grudging the other's prosperity, said, "That is not all that makes a sage. Wait." On hearing this the King thought, "The sage Mahosadha is wise even as a child. As a result, he gained my favor. In all these mysterious tests and counter questions he has given answers like a Buddha. Yet the wise man Senaka will not let me summon him to my side. Why do I care what Senaka thinks? I will bring the man here." So with a great following he set out for the village mounted on his royal horse. But as he traveled the horse stepped into a hole and broke his leg, so the King turned back. Then Senaka went to him and said, "Sire, did you go to the East Town to bring the sage back?"

"Yes, sir," said the King.

"Sire," said Senaka, "you treat me as someone who is of no account. I begged you to wait. But off you went in a hurry, and at the outset your royal horse broke his leg."

The King said nothing.

On another day he asked Senaka, "Shall we send for the sage, Senaka?"

"If so, your majesty, don't go yourself. Send a messenger. Tell him to say, 'Oh sage! As I was on my way to fetch you my horse broke his leg. Send us a better horse and a more excellent one. If he takes the first choice, he will come himself. If he takes the second choice, he will send his father. Then we will test him with a riddle."

The King sent a messenger with this message. The sage on hearing it understood that the King wanted to see him and his father. So he went to his father. Greeting him, he said, "Father, the King wishes to see you and me. You go first with 1,000 merchants. Take a sandalwood casket filled with fresh ghee. The King will speak kindly to you. He will offer you a householder's seat. Take it and sit down. When you are seated, I will come. The King will speak kindly to me and offer me another seat. Then I will look at you. Take this as a cue. Get up from your seat and say, 'Son Mahosadha the wise, take this seat.' Then the riddle will be ripe for solution."

He did so. On arriving at the palace door, his arrival was announced to the King. On the King's invitation, he entered, greeted the King, and stood to one side. The King spoke to him kindly, and asked where was his son, the wise Mahosadha. "Coming after me, my lord." The King was pleased to hear he was coming and told the father to sit in a suitable place. He found a place and sat there.

Meanwhile the Great Being dressed himself in all his splendor. Attended by the 1,000 youths, he came in a magnificent chariot. As he entered the town, he saw a donkey by the side of a ditch. He told some stout fellows to bind the mouth of the donkey so that it would not make any noise, and to put him in a bag and carry him on their shoulders. They did so.

The Bodhisatta entered the city with his great following. The people could not praise him enough. "This," they cried, "is the wise Mahosadha, the merchant Sirivaḍḍhaka's son. They say it was he who was born holding the herb of virtue in his hand. It is he who knew the answers to so many problems set to test him." On arriving before the palace, he sent word of his coming. The King was pleased to hear it and said, "Let the wise Mahosadha make haste to come in."

So with his attendants, he entered the palace. He saluted the King and stood on one side. The King was delighted to see him. He spoke to him very sweetly and asked him to find an appropriate seat and sit down. He looked at his father, and his father - at this cue – got up from his seat and invited him to sit there, which he did. The foolish men who were there, Senaka, Pukkusa, Kāvinda, Devinda, and others, seeing him sit there, clapped their hands and laughed loudly and cried, "This is the blind fool they call wise! He has made his father rise from his seat, and he sits there himself! He should surely not be called wise."

The King also was crestfallen. Then the Great Being said, "Why, my lord, are you sad?"

"Yes, wise sir, I am sad. I was glad to hear of you, but to see you I am not glad."

"Why so?"

"Because you made your father rise from his seat, and you sit there yourself."

"What, my lord! Do you think that in all cases the father is better than the sons?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you not send word to me to bring you the better horse and the more excellent horse?"

He rose up and, looking towards the young fellows, he said, "Bring in the donkey." Placing this donkey before the King he went on, "Sire, what is the price of this donkey?" The King said, "If is serviceable, it is worth eight rupees."

"But if you breed this donkey with a thoroughbred Sindh mare, what would the price of the offspring?"

"It would be priceless."

"Why do you say that, my lord? Didn't you just say that in all cases the father is better than the sons? If that is true, then the donkey is worth more than the colt. Now your wise men clapped their hands and laughed at me because they did not know that. What wisdom is there in your wise men! Where did you get them?!"

And in contempt for all four of them he addressed the King in this stanza:

If you think that the father is always better than the son,

Oh, excellent King,

Then is the colt better than the donkey

When the donkey is the father?

He went on, "My lord, if the father is better than the son, take my father into your service. If the son is better than the father, take me."

The King was delighted. The whole assembly cried out, applauding and praising a thousand times, "Well, indeed the wise man answered the riddle." There was the snapping of fingers and the waving of a thousand scarves. And the four advisors were crestfallen.

Figure: The More Excellent Sage

Now no one knows better than the Bodhisatta the value of parents. If one asks, then, why he did this, it was not to throw contempt on his father. But when the King sent the message, "Send the better horse or the more excellent horse," he did this to solve this riddle, to make his wisdom recognized, and to take the shine out of the four sages.

The King was pleased. Taking the golden vase filled with scented water, he poured the water on the merchant's hand ( _this is how deals were consummated_ ), saying, "Enjoy the East Town as a gift from the King. Let the other merchants," he went on, "be subordinate to him." This done he sent all kinds of ornaments to the mother of the Bodhisatta. He was so delighted at the Bodhisatta's solution to the Donkey Question, he wanted to make the Bodhisatta his own son. He said to the father, "Good sir, give me the Great Being to be my son."

He replied, "Sire, he is still very young. His mouth still smells of milk. But when he is old, he can be with you."

The King said however, "Good sir, you must give up your attachment to the boy. From this day he is my son. I can support my son, so go your way." Then he told him to leave. Sirivaḍḍhaka paid homage to the King and embraced his son. Throwing his arms around him, he kissed him on the head and gave him some final words of advice. The boy said farewell to his father, begged him not to be dismayed, and sent him away.

The King then asked the sage whether he would prefer to eat his meals inside the palace or outside of it. Thinking that with such a large following it would be best to have his meals outside the palace, he replied to that effect. Then the King gave him a suitable house. He providing for the maintenance of the 1,000 youths and all. The King gave him anything that he needed. From that time the sage served the King.

# 112: Amarādevī-pañha Jātaka,  
The Wisdom of Queen Amarā

* * *

This is another "story" that references a section of the Ummagga Jātaka (546). As usual, I have included it here.

If you have not read the Ummagga Jātaka, here is the context. The Buddha was born as the sage Mahosadha. At the age of 7 he was adopted by the King as his son. The Queen was so enamored of him that she made him her brother. In this story, Mahosadha is now 16 years old, and the King and Queen decided to find a wife for him.

The way that Mahosadha treats Amarā may seem cruel. But he was looking for someone who was his match intellectually and spiritually. He wants to see if she can behave with the same patience and endurance of a Bodhisatta.

There is a minor technical note to be made. The Pāli Text Society (PTS) dictionary spells "amara" – the word for "immortal" – without the diacritical bar-over on the trailing "a". But the text in the PTS Jātaka tales spells it "amarā". I have chosen to leave it as it is in the Jātaka collection.

" _Cakes and gruel._ " This question too will be found in the same (Ummagga) Jātaka. This is the end of the Question of Queen Amarā. ( _Amarā is a "queen" here because in a later life Mahosadha was a king._ )

* * *

## Jātaka 546: Māha-Ummagga Jātaka,

### The Question of Queen Amarā

From that day on the Bodhisatta's glory was great, and Queen Udumbarā managed it all. When he was 16 she thought, "My young brother has grown up, and his glory is great. We must find a wife for him." She said this to the King, and the King was pleased. "Very well, he said. "Tell him."

She told him, and he agreed. She said, "Then let us find you a bride, my son." The Great Being thought, "I will never be satisfied if they choose a wife for me. I will find one for myself." So he said, "Madam, do not tell the King for a few days, and I will go look for a wife to suit my taste."

"Do so, my brother," she replied.

He left the Queen, went to his house, and told his friends. Then he got a new outfit from a tailor and went out alone by the northern gate into North Town.

Now in that place there was an ancient merchant family who had fallen on hard times. There was a daughter in this family, the lady Amarā. She was a beautiful girl, wise, and with all the marks of good luck. Early that morning this girl had gone to the place where her father was plowing. She brought him rice gruel that she had cooked. It so happened that she went by the same road as the Bodhisatta. When the Great Being saw her coming he thought, "A woman with all the lucky marks! If she is not married she must be my wife."

Likewise, when she saw him she thought, "If I could live in the house of such a man, I might restore my family." The Great Being thought, "I do not know if she is married or not. I will ask her by gesturing with my hands, and if she is wise she will understand." So standing far off he clenched his fist. She understood that he was asking whether she had a husband. So she spread out her hand.

Then he went up to her and asked her name. She said, "My name is that which neither is nor was nor ever shall be."

"Madam, there is nothing in the world that is immortal. Your name must be Amarā, the Immortal."

"It is so, master."

"For whom, madam, do you carry that gruel?"

"For the god of old time."

"Gods of old time are one's parents. No doubt you mean your father."

"So it is, master."

"What does your father do?"

"He makes two out of one." Now making two out of one is plowing. "He is plowing, madam."

"It is so, master."

"And where is your father plowing?"

"Where those who go do not come out again."

"The place where those who go do not come out again is the cemetery. He is plowing then near a cemetery."

"It is so, master."

"Will you come again today, madam?"

"If it comes I will not come, if it does not come I will come."

"I think your father, madam, is plowing by a riverside. And if the flood comes, you will not come. If it does not come, you will."

After this exchange, the lady Amarā offered him some of the gruel. The Great Being, thinking it would be ungracious to refuse, said he would like some. Then she put down the jar of gruel. The Great Being thought, "If she offers it to me without first washing the pot and giving me water to wash my hands, I will leave her and go." But she washed the pot and offered him water for washing. Then she placed the empty pot empty on the ground, stirred up the gruel in the jar, and filled the pot with it. But there was not much rice in it, and the Great Being said, "Why, madam, there is very little rice here!"

"We have had no water, master."

"You mean when your crops were growing, there was no water for them."

"It is so, master."

So she kept some gruel for her father and gave some to the Bodhisatta. He drank and gargled his mouth and said, "Madam, I will go to your house. Kindly show me the way." She did so by reciting this stanza:

By the way of the cakes and gruel, and the tree in flower,

By the hand with which I eat, I point the way,

Not using the hand with which I do not eat.

That is the way to the market town,

You must find the secret path.

Here ends the Question of the Secret Path.

* * *

He reached the house by the way she had indicated. Amarā's mother saw him and offered him a seat. "May I offer you some gruel, master?" she asked. "Thank you, mother. Sister Amarā gave me a little." She recognized at once that he must have come because of her daughter.

When he saw how poor they were the Great Being said, "Mother, I am a tailor. Do you have you anything that you need mended?"

"Yes, master, but I do not have any money with which to pay you."

"There is no need to pay me, mother. Bring the things that need to be repaired, and I will mend them."

She brought him some old clothes, and the Bodhisatta mended them. Then he said, "Go tell the people in the village." She spread the word of his skill as a tailor throughout the village, and in one day the Great Being earned 1,000 pieces of money by his tailoring. The old woman cooked him a midday meal, and in the evening she asked how much she should cook. "Enough, mother, for everyone in this house." Because of his good fortune, she was able to cook a large quantity of rice with some curry and condiments.

Now Amarā came back in the evening from the forest. She brought a bundle of wood that she carried on her head. She threw down the wood in front of the house and came in through the back door. Her father returned later. The Great Being ate the tasty meal. The girl served her parents before eating herself. She washed their feet and the Bodhisatta's feet. For several days he lived there observing her.

Then one day he decided to test her. He said, "My dear Amarā, take half a measure of rice and make me some gruel, a cake, and some boiled rice." She agreed at once. She husked the rice. With the big grains she made gruel, she boiled the medium size grains, and she made a cake with the little ones, adding suitable condiments. She gave the gruel with its condiments to the Great Being. He took a mouthful of it, and he instantly was thrilled with its wonderful flavor.

Nevertheless, in order to test her he said, "Madam, if you don't know how to cook, why did you spoil my rice?" and he spat it out on the ground. But she was not angry. She only gave him the cake, saying, "If you do not like the gruel, eat the cake."

He did the same thing with the cake, and likewise rejected the boiled rice. He said, "If you don't know how to cook, why did you waste my property?" Pretending to be angry, he mixed all three together and smeared them all over her body from the head downwards and told her to sit at the door. "Very well, master," she said. She was not angry at all. Seeing that there was no pride in her he said, "Come here, madam." At the first word she came.

Figure: The Patience of a Saint

When the Great Being had first arrived, he brought with him 1,000 rupees, and he also had a dress in his bag. Now he took out this dress and placed it in her hands, saying, "Madam, bathe with your friends and put on this dress and come to me." She did so. The sage gave her parents all the money he had brought or earned. He reassured and comforted them, and then he took her back to the town.

There he tested her once more. He made her sit down in the gatekeeper's house. Telling the gatekeeper's wife of his plans, he went to his own house and changed into his royal clothes. Then he sent for some of his friends. He said, "I left a woman at the gatekeeper's house. Take 1,000 coins with you and test her." ( _Presumably they were to offer her money for sex._ ) He gave them the money and sent them away.

They did as they were told. She refused, saying, "That is not worth the dust on my master's feet." The men came back and reported the result. He sent them again, and then a third time. On the fourth time he told them to drag her away by force and take her to the Great Being.

They did so, and when she saw the Great Being in all his glory, she did not recognize him. Then she smiled and wept at the same time as she looked at him. He asked her why she did this. She replied, "Master, I smiled when I saw your magnificence. I thought that this magnificence was given to you for some good deed that you did in a former life. I thought, 'It is the fruit of goodness!' and I smiled. But then I wept to think that now you will commit an offense against another man's woman, and then you will go to hell. From compassion for that, I wept." After this test he knew her fidelity, and he sent her back to the gatekeeper's house. Putting on his tailor's disguise, he went back to her and spent the night there.

On the next morning, he went to the palace and told Queen Udumbarā what had happened, and she in turn told the King. They got Amarā and adorned her with all kinds of ornaments. They seated her in a great chariot, and with great honor they brought her to the Great Being's house for a gala day. There the Great Being revealed his true identity.

The King sent the Bodhisatta a gift worth 1,000 pieces of money. All the people of the town sent gifts, from the doorkeepers onwards. Lady Amarā divided the gifts sent by the King into halves. She sent one portion back to the King. In the same way she divided all the gifts sent to her by the citizens and returned half of them. With this act of kindness and generosity, she won the hearts of the people. And from that time on, the Great Being lived with her in happiness, and he instructed the King in worldly affairs as well as religious ones.

# 113: Sigāla Jātaka,  
The Jackal

* * *

Another story with a tree sprite (fairy). Yay! Another story with Devadatta. Boo!

The historical story is that Devadatta convinced 500 of the Buddha's youngest and most vulnerable monks to leave the Buddha's Saṇgha and follow him to Gayāsīsa. But while Devadatta was sleeping, the Buddha's two chief disciples, Sāriputta and Moggallāna, convinced them to return. According to the Vinaya, when Devadatta woke up and realized the 500 monks had returned to the Buddha, "hot blood came forth from Devadatta's mouth." [Cv 7.4.3] Devadatta's co-conspirator, King Ajātasattu, later built a monastery for Devadatta at Gayāsīsa.

" _The drunken jackal._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at the Bamboo Grove. It is about Devadatta. The monks had assembled in the Dharma Hall and were discussing how Devadatta had gone to Gayāsīsa with 500 followers. There he was misleading them by declaring that the truth was manifested in him "and not in the ascetic Gotama." His lies were causing a schism in the Saṇgha. They discussed how he kept two fast-days a week. ( _While Buddhist monastics do not eat after noon, complete days of fasting are considered an ascetic practice and therefore not part of the "middle way" taught by the Buddha._ ) And as they sat there discussing the wickedness of Devadatta, the Master entered and was told the subject of their conversation. "Monks," he said, "Devadatta was as great a liar in past times as he is now." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a tree sprite in a cemetery grove. In those days a festival had been proclaimed in Benares, and the people decided to make sacrifices to the ogres. So they spread fish and meat around the courtyards, streets, and other places, and they put out great pots of strong liquor.

At midnight a jackal came into the town through the sewer, and he regaled himself on the meat and liquor. Crawling into some bushes, he fell fast asleep just before dawn.

When he woke up, he saw that it was broad daylight. He knew that he could not sneak back out at that time. So he lay down quietly near the roadside where he could not be seen. He waited until he saw a solitary brahmin on his way to rinse his mouth in the water tank. The jackal thought to himself, "Brahmins are a greedy lot. I will play on his greed in order to get him to carry me out of the city hidden under his outer robe." So, with a human voice, he cried "Brahmin."

"Who calls me?" the brahmin said, turning around.

"I, brahmin."

"What for?"

"I have 200 gold pieces, brahmin. If you will hide me under your outer robe and get me out of the city without my being seen, you shall have them all."

Agreeing to the offer, the greedy brahmin hid the jackal and carried the beast a little way out of the city.

"Where are we, brahmin?" said the jackal.

"Oh, it's such and such a place," said the brahmin.

"Go on a bit farther," said the jackal. He kept urging the brahmin on a little farther and then farther still until at last they reached the cremation park.

"Put me down here," the jackal said, and the brahmin did so.

"Spread your robe out on the ground, brahmin." And the greedy brahmin did so.

"And now dig up this tree by the roots," he said. And while the brahmin was at work the jackal walked on to the robe and excreted on it in five places: the four corners and the middle. He then went off into the woods.

Seeing this, the Bodhisatta, standing in the fork of the tree, uttered this stanza:

The drunken jackal, brahmin, betrayed your trust!

You will not find here a hundred mollusk shells,

Much less 200 gold coins.

Figure: The Foolish Brahmin

When he had said these verses, the Bodhisatta said to the brahmin, "Go now. Wash your robe and bathe, and then go about your business." So saying, he disappeared from sight. The brahmin did as he was instructed. He departed, mortified at having been so badly deceived.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Devadatta was the jackal of those days, and I was the tree sprite."

# 114: Mitacinti Jātaka,  
The Fish Story

* * *

Ah, laziness! When people first come to the Dharma they often have an idealized view of Buddhism. But this is real life. Through the ages many people – mostly monks – ordain because they think it is an easy life. You don't get much, but it is all free, and if you are very poor, the life of a monk can seem appealing. The Dharma is rewarding, of course, but it also requires effort.

It may also be comforting to know that fish stories are – apparently - universal.

" _Caught in the fisherman's net._ " This story was told by the Master while at Jetavana. It is about two elder monks. After spending the rainy season in a forest in the country ( _the rains retreat, or "vassa"_ ), they decided to go see the Master. They gathered provisions for their journey, but they kept putting off their departure day by day until an entire month went by. Then they gathered another supply of fresh provisions, but once again they procrastinated until a second month went by, and then a third. When their indolence and sluggishness had cost them three months, they finally set out and went to Jetavana. Laying aside their bowls and robes in the common room, they went into the Master's presence. The monks commented on how long it had been since the two had visited the Master, and they asked them why this was. Then they told their story, and the entire Saṇgha came to know of the laziness of these indolent monks.

Assembling in the Dharma Hall the monks discussed this matter. The Master entered and was told what they were discussing. Being asked whether they were really so lazy, those monks admitted their short-coming. "Monks," he said, "in former times, just as now, they were lazy and reluctant to leave their residence." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, there were three fish who lived in the river of Benares. They were named Over-thoughtful, Thoughtful, and Thoughtless. They swam downstream from the wild country to where men lived. Thoughtful said to the other two, "This is a dangerous and perilous place. Fishermen catch fish with nets, basket-traps, and other such equipment. Let us go back to the wild country again."

But the other two fish were so lazy and so greedy that they kept procrastinating until three months had slipped by.

One day some fishermen cast their nets into the river. Over-thoughtful and Thoughtless were swimming in search of food when they blindly rushed into the net. Thoughtful, who was behind them, saw the net and what had happened to them.

"I must save these lazy fools from death," he thought. He swam around the net and splashed in the water in front of it like a fish that had broken through and gone up stream. He then doubled back and splashed behind it like a fish that had broken through and gone down stream. Seeing this, the fishermen thought the fish had broken the net and gotten away, so they pulled it up by only one corner. This allowed the two fish to escape from the net into the open water again. In this way they owed their lives to Thoughtful.

Figure: The Foolish Fish are Freed

* * *

His story told, the Master, as Buddha, recited this stanza:

The two fish were caught in the nets.

Then Thoughtful saved them and they were free again.

His lesson ended, he taught the Four Noble Truths. At the close of his discourse the aged monks attained stream-entry. Then the Master identified the birth by saying, "These two monks were Over-thoughtful and Thoughtless, and I was Thoughtful."

# 115: Anusāsika Jātaka,  
Anusāsika's Story

* * *

This is a simple story about greed. It is one of the few stories that is about a misbehaving nun. Most of the time it is the men who are the offenders. But in true Buddhist fashion, no one group of people can lay claim to either the moral high ground or the moral low ground. It is not by membership in any group that one claims superiority. This happens only through the quality of your actions.

" _The greed-denouncing bird._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a nun who gave a warning to others. We are told that she came from a good Sāvatthi family. ( _Sāvatthi is the ancient Indian city in which Jetavana Monastery was located._ ) But from the day that she joined the Saṇgha she was undisciplined, and she was consumed with greed and gluttony. She used to get alms in a section of the city that was usually avoided by other nuns.

She was given very good food there. Her greed made her afraid that other nuns might go there as well and reduce the amount of food that she would get. After thinking about how to stop them from going there, she warned the other nuns that it was a dangerous place that was threatened by a fierce elephant, a fierce horse, and a fierce dog. Accordingly, not a single nun gave so much as a look in that direction.

Now one day she went to this district for alms. As she was hurrying into a house there, a fierce ram butted her with such violence that he broke her leg. People ran to help her. They set her leg and brought her on a litter to the monastery. All the nuns tauntingly said that she broke her leg because she had gone where she had warned them not to go.

Not long after the monks heard about this. One day in the Dharma Hall the monks discussed how this sister had her leg broken by a fierce ram in a section of the city that she had warned the other nuns not to visit. They condemned her conduct. Entering the Dharma Hall at this moment, the Master asked what they were discussing. When they told him he said, "Just as now, monks," he said, "so too in the past she warned people against doing things that she did not follow herself. And then as now she came to harm." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a bird. When he grew up he became the King of the Birds. He lived in the Himalayas with thousands of birds under his protection.

During their time there, a certain fierce bird used to go looking for food along a highway. There she found rice, beans, and other grain that had been dropped by passing wagons. She thought about how to keep the others from finding her bounty. She told them, "The highway is very dangerous. Elephants and horses travel there. There are wagons drawn by fierce oxen. Since it is impossible to take off quickly enough, don't go there at all." And because of her warning, the other birds called her "The Warner."

Now one day when she was feeding along the highway, she heard the sound of a carriage coming swiftly along the road. She turned her head to look at it and thought "Oh it's quite a long way off," and went on as before. But the carriage came up as swiftly as the wind, and before she could get away, the wheel crushed her and sped off.

Figure: The Price of Greed and Mindlessness

At the next gathering of the birds, the King noted her absence and ordered that a search be made for her. She was found cut in two on the highway, and the news was brought to the King. "Through not following her own warning to the other birds she has been cut in two," he said, and he uttered this stanza:

The greed-denouncing bird became prey to greed,

The chariot wheels left her mangled on the road.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "The warning nun was "The Warner" bird of those times, and I was the King of the Birds."

# 116: Dubbaca Jātaka,  
Headstrong

* * *

This is another story about stubbornness. A common theme in the Pāli Canon is people who do not listen to the advice of "the wise." There are many monks who would not even listen to the Buddha. Buddhist practice at different times requires both self-confidence in your ability to master the practice, and humility in order to follow the guidance of your teachers. This does not mean blind acceptance, of course, but it is very hard to progress if you only follow your own opinions.

" _Too many._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a headstrong monk whose own story will be given in the Gijjha Jātaka. ( _Jātaka 427. This is a story about a monk who thought he knew what was best for him and did not listen to his teachers. In Jātaka_ _427 the headstrong monk was a vulture who ignored warnings and flew too far away from his home country. He was killed as a result. The word "gijjha" means "vulture."_ )

The Master rebuked him with these words, "As you do now, so in former days you were headstrong, brother, disregarding the advice of the wise and good. Because of this you were killed by a javelin." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into an acrobat's family. When he grew up, he was a very wise and clever fellow. He learned the "javelin dance" from another acrobat, and he and his master used to travel about exhibiting his skill. Now this master of his knew the four-javelin dance but not the five-javelin dance. One day when performing in a certain village, the master set up five javelins in a row and announced that he would dance through all of them.

Unfortunately, he had been drinking. The Bodhisatta said to him, "You will not be able to manage all five javelins, master. Take one of them away. If you try all five, you will be run through by the fifth one, and you will die."

"You don't know what I can do when I try," said the drunken fellow. And ignoring the Bodhisatta's warning, he danced through four of the javelins only to be run through on the fifth one like the Bassia flower on its stalk. ( _The Bassia flower is shaped like a spear._ ) As he lay groaning, the Bodhisatta said, "This disaster is because you ignored the counsel of the wise and good." Then he uttered this stanza:

Greatly against my will, too much you tried.

Clearing the four, on the fifth you died.

Figure: No, it isn't just a metaphor

So saying, he lifted his master off of the javelin point and duly performed the last duties over his body. ( _In Hinduism and Buddhism the "last duties" are a ritual bathing of the body._ )

* * *

His story done, the Master identified the birth by saying, "This headstrong monk was the master of those days, and I was the pupil."

# 117: Tittira Jātaka,  
The Partridge Story

* * *

In both the story in the present and the Jātaka we learn a lesson about talking too much!

" _As the partridge died._ " This story was told by the Master while at Jetavana. It is about Kokālika, whose story will be found in the Takkāriya Jātaka. (Kokālika was a disciple of the rogue monk Devadatta.)

( _In the Takkāriya Jātaka – Jātaka 481 - King Brahmadatta has a chaplain whose wife was cheating on him with a "tawny-brown" brahmin. In order to get rid of the cheating brahmin, the chaplain devised a plan. He told Brahmadatta that he needed to build a new southern gate to the city. When the gate was completed, he told the King that he needed to sacrifice a "tawny-brown" brahmin and bury him at the gate or the city would suffer from bad luck. However, before the sacrifice could occur, the chaplain told his wife how he would soon get revenge on her and the brahmin. She then told the brahmin, who fled the city. When it came time for the sacrifice to occur, the only "tawny-brown" brahmin left was the chaplain himself. However, the Bodhisatta – who was the chaplain's understudy - saved the chaplain and a goat was buried at the gate instead._ )

Said the Master, "As now, monks, so likewise in former times, Kokālika's tongue has brought his destruction." ( _Kokālika's "destruction" during the time of the Buddha was for helping to cause a schism in the Saṇgha._ )

So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a brahmin in the north country. When he grew up, he received a complete education at Takkasilā University. After graduating, he renounced sense pleasures and gave up the world to become a hermit. He won the Five Knowledges ( _the power of faith, the power of moral shame, the power of moral dread, the power of energy, and the power of wisdom_ ) and the Eight Attainments ( _jhānas_ ), and all the recluses of the Himalayas to the number of 500 assembled together and followed him as their master.

Insight was his as he lived with his disciples in the Himalayas.

In those days there was an ascetic suffering from jaundice who was chopping wood with an axe. And a chattering monk went and stood next to him telling him what to do. He told him to chop here and chop there until the jaundiced ascetic lost his temper. In a rage he cried, "Who are you to tell me how to chop wood!?" And lifting up his sharp-edged axe he killed him with a single blow. The Bodhisatta then had the body buried.

Figure: This Isn't Going to End Well

Now on an ant-hill near by the hermitage there lived a partridge. From dawn until dusk he was always chirping on the top of the ant-hill. Recognizing the note of a partridge, a sportsman killed the bird and took it away with him. Missing the bird's chirp, the Bodhisatta asked the hermits why they did not hear their neighbor the partridge any longer. Then they told him what had happened. He linked the two events together in this stanza:

As the partridge died for her clamorous cry,

So long and annoying chatter doomed this fool to die.

Having developed within himself the four Perfect States ( _the "Brahma viharas" - love, compassion, empathetic joy, and wisdom_ ), the Bodhisatta thus became destined to rebirth in the Brahma Realm.

* * *

Said the Master, "Monks, just as now, in past days Kokālika's tongue has worked for his destruction." And at the close of this lesson he identified the birth by saying, "Kokālika was the meddling ascetic of those days, my followers were the band of hermits, and I was their master."

# 118: Vaṭṭaka Jātaka,  
The Quail

* * *

This is a story about resolve or determination. In the story in the present, a young man is unjustly accused of harming a young woman. He makes a resolution that if he is able to escape his sentence that he will ordain as a member of the Buddha's Saṇgha. He carries through on his resolution which is an important aspect of the story.

In the Jātaka itself, a captured quail makes a resolution not to eat. In this way his captor is unable to sell him. This enables him to eventually escape. In both cases we see intelligence, wisdom, and determination working together in the same way that they do when properly following the Buddha's path.

" _The thoughtless man._ " The Master told this story while at Jetavana. It is about the son of the Treasurer in Chief. This Chief Treasurer was a very rich man in Sāvatthi. His wife gave birth to a righteous being from the realm of Brahma, and he grew up to be as lovely as Brahma.

Now one day when the Kattikā festival ( _Kattikā is the last month of the rainy season_ ) had been proclaimed in Sāvatthi, the whole city rejoiced in the festivities. The righteous man's companions, who were the sons of other rich men, all had wives. But the Chief Treasurer's son had lived so long in the Brahma Realm that he no longer had any sense desire. His companions plotted together to get him a sweetheart and make him celebrate the feast with them. So they went to him and said, "Dear friend, it is the great feast of Kattikā. Can't we get a sweetheart for you too and celebrate together?"

Without his knowledge his friends found a charming girl and dressed her in fine clothes. They left her at his house and told her to make her way up to his chamber. But when she entered the room, she did not get a single look or word from the young man. Annoyed at this slight to her beauty, she used all of her charm and flirtations, smiling in order to show her pretty teeth. But the sight of her teeth just made him think of bones. At the thought of bones, the girl's whole body appeared to him as nothing but a chain of bones. He gave her some money and told her to leave. But as she was leaving the house a nobleman saw her in the street. He gave her a present to accompany him home.

At the end of seven days the festival was over. The girl's mother, seeing her daughter did not come back, went to the young man's friends and asked where she was. They in turn asked the young man where she was. He told them that he had paid her and sent her away as soon as he saw her.

The girl's mother insisted on having her daughter returned to her. She brought the young man before the King and asked that the King look into the matter. In answer to the King's questions, the young man admitted that the girl had been passed along to him. But he said that he did not know where she was and that he had no way to produce her. Then the King said, "If he fails to produce the girl, execute him."

So they tied his hands behind his back and took him away to be executed. The whole city was in an uproar at the news. With hands laid on their breasts the people followed after him lamenting, "What does this mean, sir? You are suffering unjustly."

Then the young man thought, "All this sorrow has happened to me because I am living a lay life. If I can only escape this danger, I will give up the world and become a monk in the Saṇgha of the great Gotama, the All-Enlightened One."

Meanwhile the girl heard the uproar and asked what was going on. Being told, she ran swiftly out, crying, "Stand aside, sirs! Let me pass! Let the King's men see me." As soon as she showed herself, she was handed over to her mother by the King's men. They set the young man free and went on their way.

Surrounded by his friends, the son of the Chief Treasurer went down to the river and bathed. After he returned home, he ate breakfast and told his parents about his resolution to give up the world. Then taking cloth for his monk's robe, and followed by a great crowd, he sought out the Master. With due salutation he asked to be ordained into the Saṇgha. He became a novice first, and later he was fully ordained. He meditated on the idea of saṃsara ( _the endless rounds of rebirth_ ) until he gained insight ( _presumably stream-entry_ ), and not long afterwards he became an Arhat.

Now one day in the Dharma Hall the monks were talking about his virtues. They recalled how in his hour of danger he recognized the excellence of the Dharma and wisely resolved to give up the world for its sake. As a result he won the highest fruit which is Arhatship. As they talked, the Master entered. He asked what they were discussing. They told him the topic of their conversation. He told them that, like the son of the Chief Treasurer, the wise of former times made a resolution in their hour of peril. In doing so they were able to escape death. He then told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Ḅenares, the Bodhisatta was born as a quail. Now in those days there was a quail catcher who used to catch many of these birds in the forest and take them home to fatten. When they were fat, he would sell them to people. This was how he made a living.

One day he caught the Bodhisatta and brought him home with a number of other quails. The Bodhisatta thought to himself, "If I eat and drink what he gives me, I will be sold. But if I don't eat it, I will get so thin that people will notice it and pass me over. Then I will be safe. This, then, is what I must do."

So he fasted and fasted until he got so thin that he was nothing but skin and bone. No one would buy him at any price. Having sold every one of his birds except the Bodhisatta, the bird catcher took the Bodhisatta out of the cage and put him on the palms of his hands to see what was wrong with the bird. When the man was not watching, the Bodhisatta spread his wings and flew off into the forest.

Figure: The Quail Makes His Escape!

Seeing him return the other quails asked where he had been for so long. He told them he had been caught by a bird catcher. They asked him how he had escaped. He told them how he resolved not to eat or drink anything that the bird catcher gave to him. So saying, he uttered this stanza:

The thoughtless man reaps no profit.

But see the fruit of my thinking.

I am free from death and bondage.

In this way the Bodhisatta told them what he had done.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "I was the quail that escaped death in those days."

# 119: Akālarāvi Jātaka,  
The Noisy Rooster

* * *

One of the subtle aspects of the Buddha's teachings on right speech is that there is a time and a place for everything. That distinction is made in this story. In the Buddha's instructions for right speech, he said that speech must be truthful and of benefit. But it must also come at the proper time. The timing may have to do with the receiver of the speech or the speaker. In the first case, someone may be quite agitated, for example, and so criticizing them then, even though the words may be true and beneficial, may not be appropriate. Likewise, the speaker may have an unskillful intention – anger, for example – and so the speaker must wait until the intention is wholesome. Ajahn Brahm tells the story about a monk in Thailand who had a problem with another monk. But because he could not get a wholesome intention to manifest, he waited five years until he spoke to the other monk. When he finally did speak, he did so out of love, compassion, and wisdom, and the difficult conversation was fruitful.

" _No parents trained._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a monk who used to be noisy at all the wrong times. He is said to have come of a good Sāvatthi family and to have given up the world for the Dharma, but he neglected his duties and despised instruction. He never paid attention to the proper time to tend to his duties, for learning, or for reciting the texts. Throughout the three watches of the night, as well as the daylight hours, he was never quiet. As a result the other monks could not get a wink of sleep. Accordingly, the monks in the Dharma Hall condemned his conduct. One day the Buddha entered the Dharma Hall and asked what they were discussing. When they told him, the Master said, "Monks, just as now, so in past times, this monk was noisy at all the wrong times, and for this he was strangled." So saying he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into a northern brahmin family. When he grew up, he completed his education and became a teacher of world-wide fame. He had 500 young brahmins studying under him.

Now these young brahmins had a rooster who crowed at the appropriate times and roused them to their studies. But this rooster died. So they looked all about for another one. One day one of the students was gathering firewood in the woods next to the cemetery. He saw a rooster there. He brought it home and put into a coop. But because this second rooster had been bred in a cemetery, he did not know the proper times to crow. He crowed at all the wrong times. He would crow unmindfully at midnight as well as at daybreak. Roused by his crowing at midnight, the young brahmins attended to their studies. But by dawn they were exhausted and could not keep their attention on their subjects. When the rooster crowed during the day they did not get the quiet necessary for studying their lessons.

As it was the rooster's crowing all day and all night that had brought their studies to a standstill, they took the bird and wrung his neck. Then they told their teacher that they had killed the rooster that crowed at all the wrong times.

Figure: The Price of Being Too Annoying!

Using this as a lesson, their teacher said, "It was his bad upbringing that brought this rooster to his end." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

No parents trained, no teacher taught this bird.

At all the wrong times he was heard.

Such was the Bodhisatta's teaching on the matter. And when he had lived his allotted time on earth, he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth as follows, "This monk was the rooster of those times. He did not know when not to crow. My disciples were the young brahmins, and I was their teacher."

# 120: Bandhanamokkha Jātaka,  
Freed from Bondage

* * *

The difficulty of defending yourself against baseless charges cannot be underestimated. People often want to believe the worst about someone. Especially in the age of social media, false accusations can spread quickly and it can be extremely difficult to prove them wrong. But even at the time of the Buddha, this was true. Nothing moves more quickly than ugly, false speech.

This story also has an interesting side note. As in some of the other stories, the Bodhisatta decides that one reason he was at risk was because he was living as a lay person. Ordaining as a monk provides some protection against certain kinds of high-risk situations.

" _With foolish speech._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the brahmin girl "Ciñcā." Her history will be given in the Mahāpaduma Jātaka ( _Jātaka 472_ ). On this occasion the Master said, "Monks, this is not the first time Ciñcā has made false accusations against me. She did so in the past as well." So saying he told this story of the past.

( _In the Mahāpaduma Jātaka the Bodhisatta was born as "Paduma," the son of Brahmadatta, King of Benares. When Paduma's mother died, his father married another woman. The King had to leave to subdue a border uprising. Thinking that it was too dangerous to take the Queen with him, he left her under the protection of Paduma. The campaign was successful. When Paduma was making arrangements for the celebration of his father's return, Paduma went into the Queen's apartment. She was struck by his amazing beauty and tried to seduce him. Paduma indignantly refused. She pretended to be sick, and when the King returned, she falsely accused him of having mistreated her. Despite the protests of the people, the King ordered that Paduma should be thrown from the "Robbers' Cliff." The god of the mountain saved his life and turned him over to the Nāga King. He took him to his home where he stayed for a year. Paduma then went to the Himālayas and became a renunciate. The King heard about this and went to offer him the kingdom, but Paduma refused. The King became convinced that the charge brought against Paduma was false, and he ordered that the Queen be thrown from the Robbers' Cliff. Ciñcā was identified as the Queen._ )

* * *

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into the family of the King's chaplain. When his father died, he became the new chaplain.

Now the King had promised to grant whatever boon his Queen wanted. She said, "The boon I ask is an easy one. From now on you must not look at any other woman with eyes of love." At first he refused, but he got tired of her unrelenting demand. Finally he gave in to her. And from that day on he never cast a glance of love at any one of his 16,000 dancing girls.

Now an uprising occurred on the borders of his kingdom. After several battles with the insurgents, the troops there sent a letter to the King saying that they were unable to subdue the rebellion. The King was anxious to go there in person, and he assembled a great army. He said to his wife, "Dear one, I will go to the frontier where there will be fierce fighting. The camp is no place for a woman. You must stay behind here."

"I can't stay here if you go, my lord," she said. But the King was determined in his decision, so she made the following request instead, "Every five kilometers, send a messenger to me to let me know how you are doing." The King promised to do so.

He marched out with his army, leaving the Bodhisatta in charge of the city. As requested, the King sent back a messenger at the end of every five kilometers to let the Queen know how he was and to find out how she was doing. When each man returned she asked him why he had come. When they each replied that they had come to see how she was doing, the Queen had the messenger come into her quarters and she seduced him.

Now the King had traveled 160 kilometers, and he had sent back 32 messengers. The Queen had seduced all of them. The King was finally able to put down the rebellion, to the great joy of the people. He started on his journey home. He sent a second series of 32 messengers. The Queen seduced each one of them as well.

Halting his victorious army near the city, the King sent a letter to the Bodhisatta to prepare the celebration. The preparations in the city were completed, and the Bodhisatta was preparing the palace for the King's arrival when he went to the Queen's quarters. The sight of his great beauty so moved the Queen that she tried to seduce him. But the Bodhisatta pleaded with her, invoking the King's honor. He protested that he would not abandon his virtue and that he would not do as she wished. "Not one of the King's 64 messengers were afraid of him," she said. "Will you not do what I want out of fear of the King?"

The Bodhisatta said, "Had those messengers followed my example, they would not have acted as they did. As for me, I know what is right, and I will not commit this offense."

"Don't talk nonsense," she said. "If you refuse, I will have your head cut off."

"So be it. Cut off my head in this or in 100,000 existences. But I will not do as you want."

"All right. We shall see," the Queen said menacingly.

She went back to her quarters. There she scratched and bruised herself. She put oil on her limbs, clothed herself in dirty clothes, and pretended to be sick. Then she sent for her slaves and told them to tell the King that she was sick.

Meanwhile the Bodhisatta had gone to meet the King. After he marched around the city in a joyous procession, he entered the palace. Not seeing the Queen, he asked where she was. He was told that she was sick. Entering the royal bed-chamber, the King put his arms around the Queen and asked what was wrong with her. She remained silent. But when the King asked the third time, she looked up at him and said, "Though my lord the King still lives, yet poor women like me have to suffer under a master."

"What do you mean?"

"The chaplain whom you left to watch over the city came here pretending to look after the palace. But he tried to seduce me, and when I would not yield to his will, he beat me to his heart's content."

The King fumed with rage, like the crackling of salt or sugar in the fire. He rushed from the chamber. Calling his servants, he told them to tie the chaplain's hands behind him like one who is condemned to death. He ordered that they cut off his head at the place of execution. They hurried off and tied up the Bodhisatta. The drum was beaten to announce the execution.

The Bodhisatta thought, "Undoubtedly that wicked Queen has already poisoned the King against me, and now must I save myself from this danger." He said to his captors, "Bring me into the King's presence before you execute me."

"Why?" they asked.

"Because as the King's servant, I have worked tirelessly on the King's behalf. I know where great treasures are hidden. If I am not brought before the King, all this wealth will be lost. So lead me to him and then do your duty."

Accordingly, they brought him before the King, who asked him why simple respect had not prevented him from such wickedness.

"Sire," the Bodhisatta answered, "I was born a brahmin. I have never taken the life of so much as an ant. I have never taken what was not my own, not even a blade of grass. I have never looked with lust upon another man's wife. I have never - not even in jest - spoken falsely. I have never drunk a drop of alcohol. I am innocent, sire. But that wicked woman tried to seduce me. When I refused, she threatened me. But before she did so, she told me about her mischief. For there were 64 messengers who came with letters from you to the Queen. Send for these men and ask each one of them whether he did as the Queen wanted."

Then the King had the 64 men bound, and he sent for the Queen. She confessed to having seduced the men. The King ordered that all 64 of them should be beheaded.

But at this point the Bodhisatta cried out, "Sire, these men are not to blame. They were forced by the Queen. Pardon them. And as for the Queen, she is not to blame. Her mind is untrained. She is blinded by the fire of passion. You should pardon her as well, Oh King."

Figure: Pleading for Mercy for the Queen and the 64 Men

Upon this humble request the King was merciful. And so the Bodhisatta saved the lives of the Queen and the 64 men. He gave each of the men a place to live. Then the Bodhisatta went to the King and said, "Sire, baseless accusations born of foolishness put the wise in bondage, but the words of the wise release the foolish. Foolishness wrongfully enslaves, and wisdom sets one free from slavery." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

While foolish speech enslaves unjustly,

With wise words the unjustly bound go free.

When he had taught the King the Dharma in these verses, he exclaimed, "All this trouble sprang from my living a lay life. I must change my way of living. I ask your permission, sire, to give up the world." And with the King's permission he gave up the world. He gave up his family and his great wealth in order to become a renunciate. He lived in the Himalayas, and there he won the Higher Knowledges ( _the power of faith, the power of moral shame, the power of moral dread, the power of energy, and the power of wisdom_ ) and the Attainments ( _eight jhānas_ ) and became destined to be reborn in the Brahma Realm.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Ciñcā was the wicked Queen of those days, Ānanda was the King, and I was his chaplain."

# 121: Kusunāḷi Jātaka,  
The Grass Fairy

* * *

I especially love these stories about the superficiality of status. I had a job once where I was promoted to run the department. I was astonished at how suddenly I was treated with so much deference and respect. I was exactly the same person that I was before the promotion. Then later I decide to give up that position and go back to my old one, I was once again treated differently.

In the Buddha's teaching, the only "status" that matters is your capacity to cultivate wholesome qualities and abandon unwholesome qualities. Everything else is just details.

It is a touching note that in the story, the Bodhisatta is a lowly "kusa sprite" while Ānanda is the "superior" tree sprite. Also note that both Ānanda and the Bodhisatta are both female. Finally note that the final summary teaching is given by Ānanda and not the Bodhisatta.

" _Let great and small._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about Anāthapiṇḍika's true friend. Anāthapiṇḍika's friends, acquaintances, and family tried to end his friendship with a certain man. They said that he was not Anāthapiṇḍika's equal in either birth or wealth.

But the great merchant replied that friendship should not depend on the equality or inequality of such superficial factors. And when he traveled to oversee his vast land holdings, he put this friend in charge of his estate.

Everything came to pass as in the Kālakaṇṇi Jātaka ( _Jātaka 83_ ). But in this case when Anāthapiṇḍika related the danger his house had been in, the Master said, "Layman, a true friend is never inferior. The measure is the ability to be a friend. A true friend is always superior, for all such friends will not fail to help you when you are in need. It is your real friend that has now protected your wealth. In days gone by a similar true friend saved a sprite's mansion." Then at Anāthapiṇḍika's request, he told this story of the past.

( _In the Kālakaṇṇi Jātaka Anāthapiṇḍika's true friend saves his house from being robbed by quick thinking and clever action._ )

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a sprite ( _fairy_ ) in the King's pleasure garden. He lived in a clump of kusa grass as a lowly kusa sprite. Now in the garden near the King's seat there was a beautiful Wishing Tree (also called the "Mukkhaka" or "foremost" tree). It had a straight trunk and spreading branches. It was greatly favored by the King.

A mighty deva king who had been reborn as a superior tree sprite lived in the tree. And the Bodhisatta had a close and intimate friendship with this tree sprite.

Now the King's palace had only one pillar to support the roof and that pillar grew weak. So the King sent for carpenters and ordered them to replace the pillar and make it secure. The carpenters looked around for a tree that would do and, not finding one elsewhere, went to the pleasure garden and saw the Mukkhaka. Then they went back to the King. "Well," he said, "have you found a tree that will do?"

"Yes, sire," they said. "But we don't want to cut it down."

"Why not?" the King said.

Then they told him how they looked everywhere for a suitable tree. They did not find one anywhere else, but they did not want to cut down the sacred tree.

"Go and cut it down," he said, "and make the roof secure. I will replace it with another tree."

So they went off. They took a sacrifice to the pleasure garden and offered it to the tree. In their conversation they let it slip that they were going to come back and cut it down on the next day. Hearing their words, the tree sprite knew that her home would be destroyed. She burst into tears as she clasped her children to her breast, not knowing where to take them. Her friends, the spirits of the forest, came to find out what the matter was. But not one of them could think of a way to keep the carpenters from cutting down the tree. They all embraced her with tears and sorrow.

At this moment the Bodhisatta arrived to call upon her friend the tree sprite. They told him the news.

"Have no fear," the Bodhisatta said cheerfully. "I will make sure that the tree is not cut down. Just wait and see what I do when the carpenters come tomorrow."

On the next day the Bodhisatta assumed the shape of a chameleon. Starting at the roots, he worked his way up the tree until he spread himself through all of the branches. Then the Bodhisatta whipped his head rapidly back and forth. This made the tree look like it was full of holes. When the carpenters arrived, their leader struck the tree with his hand. He exclaimed that the tree was rotten and that they didn't look carefully enough before making their offerings the day before. So off he went full of scorn for the great strong tree.

Figure: The Kusa Sprite Saves the Tree

In this way the Bodhisatta saved the tree sprite's home. And when all her friends and acquaintances came to see her, she joyfully sang the praises of the Bodhisatta as the savior of her home. She said, "Sprites of the trees, for all our mighty power we did not know what to do, while a humble kusa sprite was clever enough to save my home for me. Truly we should choose our friends without considering whether they are superior, equal, or inferior. For anyone who is able can help a friend in the hour of need." And she repeated this stanza about friendship and its duties:

Let great and small be equals all,

Do each their best, if harm befall,

And help a friend in evil plight,

As I was helped by kusa sprite.

Thus did she teach the assembled devas, adding these words, "Anyone who needs to escape from an evil plight must not consider whether someone is an equal or a superior. You should make friends of the wise no matter what their station is in life." And she lived her life, and she and the kusa sprite finally passed away to fare according to her karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Ānanda was the tree sprite, and I was the kusa sprite."

# 122: Dummedha Jātaka,  
The Fool

* * *

In this story the Bodhisatta is born as a wondrous, great elephant. In fact, the elephant is so amazing that his owner, the King, is jealous of him and tries to kill him. But our hero in this story is the humble mahout (elephant trainer). He decides that this wonderful beast is much too good for a petty King. So he has this elephant fly to the domain of a good King and presents him to the good King as a gift. The moral of the story - as stated in the opening line - is that someone who thinks he is great because of his status may also fall prey to his own foolishness!

" _Exalted status brings a fool great woe._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at the Bamboo Grove. It is about Devadatta. The monks had met together in the Dharma Hall. They were talking about how the sight of the Buddha's perfections and all the distinctive signs of Buddhahood ( _this refers to the Sela Sutta, which is III.7 in the Sutta Nipata and Sutta 92 in the Majjhima Nikāya_ ) maddened Devadatta, and how in his jealousy he could not bear to hear the praises of the Buddha's transcendent wisdom. Entering the Dharma Hall, the Master asked what they were discussing. When they told him, he said, "Monks, just as now, in the past Devadatta was maddened by hearing my praises." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when King Magadha was ruling in Rājagaha ( _"Rājagaha" literally means the "home of the raja/king"_ ) in Magadha ( _one of the two superpowers in ancient India_ ), the Bodhisatta was born as an elephant. He was white all over, and he was graced with all the beauty of form described above. ( _This is apparently a reference to the passage in Jātaka 72: "When he was born, he was white all over like a mighty mass of silver. His eyes were like diamond balls, like a manifestation of the five brightnesses. His mouth was red like scarlet cloth. His trunk was like silver flecked with red gold, and his four feet were as if polished with lacquer. Thus he was of consummate beauty, adorned with the ten perfections."_ ) And because of his beauty the King made him his state elephant.

One festival day the King had the city decorated like a city of the devas. The elephant was dressed with all of his ornaments. He mounted the elephant and made a solemn procession around the city accompanied by a great retinue. All along the route the people were moved by the sight of the peerless elephant. They exclaimed, "Oh what a stately gait! What perfect proportions! What beauty! What grace! Such a white elephant is worthy of a universal monarch."

All of this praise of the elephant aroused the King's jealousy. So he decided to have it thrown off of a cliff and killed. He summoned the mahout and asked whether he considered the elephant to be well trained.

"Indeed, he is well trained, sire," said the mahout.

"No, he is very badly trained," said the King.

"Sire, he is well trained," countered the mahout.

"If he is so well trained," said the King, "can you get him to climb to the summit of Mount Vepulla?"

"Yes, sire," said the mahout.

"Away with you, then," said the King.

The King got down from the elephant and had the mahout mount the elephant. The King walked to the foot of the mountain while the mahout rode the elephant up to the top of Mount Vepulla. The King and his courtiers followed him up the mountain. He had the elephant taken to the edge of a cliff.

"Now," The King said to the mahout, "if he is as well trained as you say he is, make him stand on three legs."

The mahout touched the animal with his goad and called to him, "Hi, my beauty. Stand on three legs."

"Now make him stand on his two forelegs," said the King.

The Great Being raised his hind legs and stood on his forelegs alone.

"Now have him stand on his hind legs," said the King, and the obedient elephant raised his forelegs until he stood only on his hind legs.

"Now have him stand on one leg," said the King, and the elephant stood on one leg.

Seeing that the elephant did not fall over the cliff, the King cried, "Now if you can, make him float in the air."

The mahout thought to himself, "All India cannot match this elephant for the excellence of his training. Surely the King must want him to fall over the cliff and meet his death."

So he whispered in the elephant's ear, "My son, the King wants you to fall over and be killed. He is not worthy of you. If you have the power to travel through the air, rise up with me on your back and fly through the air to Benares."

And the Great Being, endowed as he was with the marvelous powers which come from great virtue, rose straight up into the air. Then the mahout said, "Sire, this elephant, possessed as he is with the marvelous powers that flow from great virtue, is too good for a worthless fool like you. Only a wise and good king is worthy to be his master. When someone as worthless as you gets an elephant like this, they don't know his value. So they lose their elephant and the glory and splendor that come with it."

So saying the mahout, seated on the elephant's neck, recited this stanza:

Exalted status brings a fool great woe.

He proves to be his own worst foe.

"And now, goodbye," he said to the King.

And rising up in the air, he flew to Benares and hovered in midair over the royal courtyard. There was a great stir in the city and all cried out, "Look at the state elephant that has come through the air for our King. He is hovering over the royal courtyard!"

Figure: The Great Elephant Meets the Deserving King

The news was rapidly sent to the King who came out and said, "If your coming is for my benefit, land here on the earth."

And with that the Bodhisatta descended from the air. The mahout climbed down and bowed before the King. He told him the story of their leaving Rājagaha.

"It was very good of you," said the King, "to come here." And in his joy he had the city decorated and the elephant installed in his state stable. Then he divided his kingdom into three parts. He gave one to the Bodhisatta, one to the mahout, and he kept one for himself. And from the day of the Bodhisatta's coming his power grew until all India came under his authority. As the Emperor of India, he was charitable and did good works until he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying "Devadatta was the King of Magadha in those days. Sāriputta was the King of Benares. Ānanda was the mahout, and I was the elephant."

# 123: Naṇgaḷisa Jātaka,  
The Plough Beam

* * *

In this story my impression is that the story in the present offers a clearer teaching than the actual Jātaka Tale. The story in the present gives a common teaching of the Buddha about right speech. That is that an important aspect of right speech is timeliness. Something you say may be true and it may be helpful, but it may not be the right time. For example, if someone is upset or angry, it may not be the best time to offer constructive criticism.

The Jātaka Tale itself seems to be more about simple stupidity. The dull student's comparison of everything he sees to "the beam of a plough" sounds like that old line about the Model T Ford: "You can have any color you want as long as it is black." Nonetheless, the inept student had the admirable quality of devotion. Life is never black and white.

" _For universal application._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the Elder Lāḷudāyi who is said to have had a knack for always saying the wrong thing. He never knew the proper occasion for the proper teaching. For instance, if it was a festival, he would croak out a gloomy text, "Without the walls they lurk, and where four crossroads meet." ( _This is a reference to a passage in the Khuddaka Pātha. It is a somewhat dark passage called the "Tirokudda Kanda — Hungry Shades Outside the Walls."_ ) If it was a funeral, he would burst out with "Joy filled the hearts of gods and men," or with "Oh may you see 100, nay 1,000 such happy days!"

Now one day the monks in the Dharma Hall commented on his inappropriate choices for speaking and his knack of always saying the wrong thing. As they sat talking, the Master entered, and, in answer to his question, was told the subject of their discussion. "Monks," he said, "this is not the first time that Lāḷudāyi's folly has made him say the wrong thing. He has always been as inept as he is now." So saying he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into the family of a rich brahmin. When he grew up, he was well educated, and he became a world-renowned professor with 500 young brahmins as his students.

At the time of our story there was one student among the young brahmins who always had foolish notions in his head and always said the wrong thing. Like the other students, he was learning the texts as a pupil, but because of his folly he could not master them. But he was a devoted attendant of the Bodhisatta and ministered to him like a slave.

Now one day after supper the Bodhisatta laid down on his bed. The young brahmin washed and perfumed his hands, feet, and back. As the youth turned to go away, the Bodhisatta said to him, "Prop up the feet of my bed before you go." And the young brahmin propped up the feet of the bed on one side without problem, but he could not find anything to prop it up with on the other side. Accordingly he used his own leg as a prop and spent the entire night in this way. When the Bodhisatta got up in the morning and saw the young brahmin, he asked him why he was sitting there. "Master," the young man said, "I could not find one of the bed supports, so I put my leg under the bed to prop it up instead."

Moved at these words, the Bodhisatta thought, "What devotion! And to think that it should come from the worst pupil of mine. I wonder how can I can teach him more successfully?"

It occurred to him that the best way to teach him was to question the young brahmin after he returned from gathering firewood and leaves. He would ask him about something that he had seen or done that day. Then he would ask him what it was like. "For," the master thought, "this will lead him to make comparisons and to reason. The continuous practice of comparing and reasoning will enable me to teach him."

Accordingly he sent for the young man. He told him that he wanted him to come to him every day after he had gathered firewood and leaves, and to report what he had seen during the day. The young man promised he would.

So one day he saw a snake. He said, "Master, today I saw a snake."

"What did it look like?"

"Oh, like the beam of a plough," he said.

( _The blades of a plough are connected to the beam which in turn is connected to the harness._ )

"That is a very good comparison. Snakes are like the beams of ploughs," said the Bodhisatta, who began to have hopes that he might at last succeed with his pupil.

Another day the young brahmin saw an elephant in the forest and told his master about it.

"And what is an elephant like?" the Bodhisatta asked.

"Oh, like the beam of a plough," was the reply.

His master said nothing. He thought that because the elephant's trunk and tusks looked like the beam of a plough, perhaps this made his student speak in this way.

On the third day the student was invited to eat sugar cane. He told his master about this.

"And what is a sugar cane like?"

"Oh, like the beam of a plough."

"Now _that_ is a very bad comparison," his master thought, but he said nothing.

On another day, the students were invited to eat molasses with cheese and milk. This too was duly reported.

"And what are cheese and milk like?"

"Oh, like the beam of a plough."

Then the master thought to himself, "This young man was perfectly right in saying a snake was like the beam of a plough, and was more or less right in saying that an elephant and sugar cane are like the beam of a plough. But milk and cheese take the shape of whatever container they are placed in. This comparison makes no sense. This dullard will never learn." So saying he uttered this stanza:

For universal application he

Employs a term of limited meaning.

Plough beams and cheese alike are unknown to him.

The fool asserts the two things are the same.

Figure: The Dull Student and the Exasperated Teacher

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Lāḷudāyi was the dullard of those days, and I was the professor of world-wide renown."

# 124: Amba Jātaka,  
The Fruits of Selflessness

* * *

This is a lovely but simple story of how goodness, virtue, and selflessness can bring their own rewards. Prosperity often comes to those who are most generous. People who live lives of compassion and selflessness often – ultimately - benefit from it. But it takes a leap of faith and heart to act in a way that in the short term may appear to be to your own detriment. But ultimately, doing the virtuous thing is always the right thing.

" _Toil on, my brother._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a good brahmin who was from a noble Sāvatthi family. He was very devoted to the Dharma. He ordained as a member of the Saṇgha, and he was diligent in his duties. He was devoted in his attendance on his teachers. He was scrupulous in the care of food and drink. He was meticulous in the performance of the duties of the Dharma Hall, the monastery's bath house, and so forth. He was perfect in the observance of the 14 major and the 80 minor disciplines ( _the rules of the monastic code, or "Vinaya."_ ). He used to sweep the monastery, the cells, the walkways, and the path leading to their monastery. And he gave water to thirsty people.

Because of his great goodness lay supporters regularly gave 500 meals a day to the monks. The monastery gained a great reputation. The many monks in the monastery prospered because of the virtue of this one monk.

One day in the Dharma Hall the monks started talking about how that one monk's goodness had brought them gain and honor and filled so many lives with joy. Entering the Dharma Hall, the Master asked, and was told, what their conversation was about. "This is not the first time, monks," he said, "that this monk has been diligent in the fulfillment of duties. In days gone by 500 recluses going out to gather food were supported on the benefits that his goodness provided." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a brahmin in the north. When he came of age, he gave up the world and lived at the head of a group of 500 recluses at the foot of the mountains.

In those days a great drought came upon the Himalaya country. Everywhere the water dried up, and great distress fell upon all living things. Seeing the poor creatures suffering from thirst, one of the recluses cut down a tree that he hollowed out into a trough. He filled this trough with all the water that he could find. In this way he was able to give the animals something to drink.

Figure: Selfless Compassion

The animals came in large herds and drank and drank until the recluse had no time left to go and find food for himself. Ignoring his own hunger, he worked tirelessly to provide water for the animals. They thought to themselves, "This recluse is so busy taking care of us that he does not have time to go in search of food for himself. He must be very hungry. Let us agree that everyone of us who comes here to drink brings as much food as he can to the recluse."

They all agreed to do this. Every animal that came brought mangoes or guavas or jack fruit or the like, until their offerings would have filled 250 wagons. There was food for all 500 recluses with plenty to spare. Seeing this, the Bodhisatta exclaimed, "Thus one man's goodness has supplied food for all these recluses. Truly, we should always be dedicated to doing the virtuous thing." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

Toil on, my brother. Persevere in hope.

Do not let your courage flag and tire.

Do not forget him, who by his own fasting

Reaped benefits beyond his heart's desire.

Such was the teaching of the Great Being to the band of recluses.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "This monk was the good recluse of those days, and I was the hermits' master."

# 125: Kaṭāhaka Jātaka,  
Kaṭahaka's Tale

* * *

Police officers often say that they would never catch any criminals if they were not so stupid (!). Here is a story about not getting too cocky.

" _If he among strangers._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a boastful monk. The introductory story about him is like what has been already related. ( _The PTS edition notes that this is probably Jātaka 80._ )

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a rich treasurer. His wife gave birth to a son. On the same day a female slave in his house gave birth to a boy. His name was Kaṭāhaka, and the two children grew up together.

When the rich man's son was being taught to write, Kaṭāhaka used to carry the young master's tablets, so he also learned how to write. In the same way he mastered several crafts. He grew up to be a well-spoken and handsome young man.

Although he had a good job as a private secretary, he thought to himself, "I will not always be in this favored position. At the slightest fault I will be beaten, imprisoned, branded, and fed on slave's food. There is a merchant who lives on the border who is a friend of my master. Suppose I go to him with a letter that appears to come from my master. In that letter I can pretend to be my master's son. Then I can marry the merchant's daughter and live happily ever afterwards."

So he wrote a letter that said, "The bearer of this letter is my son. It is appropriate that our houses should be united in marriage. I propose that you give your daughter to my son and have the young couple live near you for the present. As soon as I can conveniently do so, I will come visit you."

He sealed this letter with his master's private seal and went to see the border merchant. He took with him a well-filled purse, handsome clothes, perfumes and the like. With a bow he stood before the merchant.

"Where do you come from?" said the merchant.

"From Benares."

"Who is your father?"

"The Treasurer of Benares."

"And what brings you here?"

"This letter will tell you," said Kaṭāhaka, handing it to him. The merchant read the letter and exclaimed, "This gives me new life!"

And in his joy he gave his daughter to Kaṭāhaka and set up the young couple to live in grand style.

But soon after Kaṭāhaka started acting in a conceited and arrogant way. He became very snobbish and self-absorbed. He used to find fault with the food and the clothes that were brought to him. He scathingly called them "rustic" and "provincial."

"These misguided yocals," he would say, "have no fashion sense. And as for taste in scents and garlands, they've got none."

Meanwhile the Bodhisatta missed his private secretary. He said, "I don't see Kaṭāhaka. Where has he gone? Go find him." And off the Bodhisatta's people went in search of him. They searched far and wide until they finally found him. Then back they went, without Kaṭāhaka knowing that they had found him. They told the Bodhisatta what had happened.

"This will never do," the Bodhisatta said on hearing the news. "I will go and bring him back."

After asking the King's permission, he left with a great following. The news spread everywhere that the Treasurer was on his way to the borders. Hearing this news, Kaṭāhaka tried to come up with a plan. He knew that he was the reason the Treasurer was coming. If he ran away now then he would destroy any chance of returning. So he decided to go meet the Treasurer and win his favor by acting as a slave towards him as he had in the old days.

Acting on this plan, he made a point of declaring as often as possible how much he disapproved of the lamentable decay of respect towards parents, especially in children's sitting down to meals with their parents instead of serving them. "When my parents eat their meals," Kaṭāhaka said, "I hand them their plates and dishes. I bring the spittoon and fetch their fans for them. Such is my diligent practice." And he carefully explained a slave's duty to his master, such as bringing them water and tending to him when he retired.

Having made his views commonly known, he said to his father-in-law shortly before the Bodhisatta arrived, "I hear that my father is coming to see you. You had better prepare to entertain him, while I will go and meet him on the road with a gift."

"Do so, my dear boy," his father-in-law said.

So Kaṭāhaka took a generous present and went out with a large following to meet the Bodhisatta. He handed him the present with great humility. The Bodhisatta received the present with kindness. Then Kaṭāhaka fell at the Bodhisatta's feet and cried, "Oh, sir, I will pay any amount you want, but do not expose me."

"Do not worry about me exposing you," the Bodhisatta said. Pleased with Kaṭāhaka's dutiful conduct, he entered the city where he was greeted with great magnificence. And Kaṭāhaka continued to act as his slave.

As the Treasurer sat, the border merchant said, "My Lord, upon receipt of your letter I duly gave my daughter to your son in marriage." The Treasurer made a suitable reply about "his son" in such a kind way that the merchant was delighted beyond measure. But from that time on the Bodhisatta could not bear the sight of Kaṭāhaka.

One day the Great Being sent for the merchant's daughter. He said, "Now tell me, my dear, whether my son is a reasonable man in good times and bad, and whether you manage to get along well with him."

"My husband has only one fault," she replied. "He finds fault with his food."

"He has always had his faults, my dear. But I will tell you how to stop his complaints. I will teach you a verse that you must learn carefully. It is in a language that you do not know, but he will understand it. Repeat it to your husband the next time that he finds fault with his food."

So he taught her the verse and shortly after that he left for Benares. Kaṭāhaka accompanied him part of the way, and then left him after offering valuable presents to the Treasurer.

Once the Bodhisatta left, Kaṭāhaka grew more and more conceited. He was even more insufferable than before. One day his wife prepared a nice dinner. She carefully dished it out for him. But at the first mouthful Kaṭāhaka began to complain. Then the merchant's daughter remembered the verse. She repeated the following stanza:

If far from home a man talks big,

His visitor will return to spoil it all.

Come, eat your dinner then, Kaṭāhaka.

Figure: Caught!

"Dear me," Kaṭāhaka thought. "The Treasurer must have told her who I am along with the whole story!" And from that day on he lost his pomposity. He humbly ate whatever was set before him. And at his death, he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "This pompous monk was the Kaṭāhaka of those days, and I was the Treasurer of Benares."

# 126: Asilakkhaṇa Jātaka,  
The Lucky Sneeze

* * *

This story is about how the same type of event can lead to very different results. This is a subtle theme in the Buddha's teachings, that karma is not deterministic.

An interesting item in this story is that apparently at the time of the Buddha the notion of prosthetic devices – in this case a nose (!) – was at least an idea. Medical people have made special note of that part of this story.

" _Our different fates._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a brahmin who was employed by the King of Kosala because of his ability to tell whether swords were lucky or not. We are told that when the King's smiths forged a sword, this brahmin could tell whether it was a lucky one or not by smelling it. He made it a rule only to praise the work of the smiths who gave him presents, while he rejected the work of those who did not bribe him.

Now a certain smith made a sword and put some finely-ground pepper into the sheath with it. He brought it to the King, who handed it over to the brahmin to test. The brahmin unsheathed the blade and sniffed it. The pepper went into his nose and made him sneeze so violently that he slit his nose on the edge of the sword.

This mishap of the brahmin made it back to the monks. One day they were talking about it in the Dharma Hall when the Master entered. When he learned what they were discussing, he said, "This is not the first time, monks, that this brahmin has slit his nose sniffing swords. The same thing happened to him in former days." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, he had a brahmin in his service who claimed that he could tell whether swords were lucky or not, and all came to pass as in the Introductory Story. The King called in the surgeons and had him fitted with a false tip to his nose which was cleverly painted to look like a real nose. After that the brahmin resumed his duties again with the King.

Now Brahmadatta had no son, only a daughter and a nephew. He raised them both as his own. When they grew up, they fell in love with one another. So the King sent for his councilors and said to them, "My nephew is heir to the throne. If I give him my daughter to marry, he will be anointed King."

But on second thought, he decided that as his nephew was like a son, he had better marry him to a foreign princess and give his daughter to a prince of another royal house. For, he thought, this plan would give him more grandchildren and bring his heirs into several kingdoms. After consulting with his councilors, he decided to separate the two. Accordingly, they were forced to live apart from one another.

Now they were sixteen years old and very much in love. The young prince thought of nothing but how to free the princess from her father's palace. After thinking about it, he decided to send for a wise woman, to whom he gave a pocketful of money.

"And what is this for?" she asked.

He told her of his passion, and asked the wise woman to reunite him with his dear princess.

She promised to do so. She said that she would tell the King that his daughter was under the influence of witchcraft. She would say that the demon had possessed her for so long that he was off his guard. Then she would take the princess to the cemetery with an armed escort. There the princess would lay in a magic circle on a bed with a dead man under it. With 108 showers of scented water the demon would be flushed out of her.

"And when I bring the princess to the cemetery on this pretext," the wise woman continued, "make sure that you reach the cemetery just before us in your carriage. Bring an armed escort and some ground pepper with you. Leave your carriage at the entrance and send your men to the cemetery grove. You go to the top of the mound and lie down as though you were dead. Then I will set up a bed over you on which the princess will lie down. When the time is right, sniff the pepper until you sneeze two or three times. When you sneeze, we will leave the princess and run away. Then you and the princess must bathe, and then you should take her home with you."

"Wonderful!" said the prince. "This is an excellent plan."

So the wise woman went to the King. He loved her idea, as did the princess when it was explained to her. When the proper day arrived, the old woman told the princess their true purpose. In order to frighten the guards she said to them, "Listen. There will be a dead man under the bed. That dead man will sneeze. As soon as he sneezes, he will come out from under the bed and seize the first person he finds. So be prepared, all of you."

Now the prince had already gotten to the cemetery and was under the bed as arranged.

Next the old woman led off the princess and laid her on the bed. She whispered to her not to be afraid. The prince sniffed the pepper and started to sneeze. The wise woman let out a loud scream and sped off, quicker than any of them. Not one man stood his ground. They threw away their weapons and bolted for dear life. Once they were out of sight the prince came out and took the princess to his home, as had been arranged. Then the old woman went back to the King and told him what had happened.

Figure: Gasundkeit!

"Well," the King thought, "I always intended for her to marry him, and they've grown up together like rice and curry." So he did not fly into a rage. In due course he made his nephew the King of the land with his daughter as his Queen.

Now the new King kept the brahmin who claimed to tell the fortunes of swords in his service. One day as he stood in the sun, the false tip to the brahmin's nose got loose and fell off. And there he stood, hanging his head with shame.

"Never mind, never mind," the King laughed. "Sneezing is good for some, but bad for others. A sneeze lost you your nose while I have a sneeze to thank for both my throne and Queen." So saying he uttered this stanza:

Our different fates this moral shows,

\--What brings me good, may bring you woe.

So spoke the King. And after a life spent in charity and other good works, he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

In this way the Master taught the lesson that the world was wrong in thinking events were absolutely good or bad in all cases. Lastly, he identified the birth by saying, "The same man that now claims to know whether swords are lucky or not, claimed to have the same ability in those days. And I was the prince who inherited his uncle's kingdom."

# 127: Kalaṇḍuka Jātaka,  
The Story of Kalaṇḍuka

* * *

This is a curious story. Nominally it is about boastfulness. But the elephant in the room is that in this lifetime the Bodhisatta is a slave owner. It is always hard to know the origin of these stories. Some of them were – no doubt – simply brought into the Buddhist tradition from Indian folk tales that had existed for a long time. This may be one of them. On the other hand, since these are nominally stories of the Buddha's previous lives, he does not always behave in an exemplary manner. He is still a work in progress. This is an important lesson for all of us. We are all works in progress, and we do the best we can with the skills and situation in which we find ourselves.

" _You boast._ " This story was told by the Master once when he was at Jetavana. It is about a boastful monk. (The introductory story and the story of the past in this case is like that of Kaṭāhaka related above ( _Jātaka 125_ ).

* * *

Kalaṇḍuka was a slave of the Treasurer of Benares. He had run away and was living in luxury with the daughter of a border merchant. The Treasurer missed him and could not discover his whereabouts. So he sent a young pet parrot to search for the runaway. The parrot flew off in search of Kalaṇḍuka. He searched for him far and wide, until at last the bird came to the town where he lived. Kalaṇḍuka was enjoying himself on the river with his wife in a boat that was well-stocked with exquisite food and with flowers and perfumes.

Now the nobles of that land had a custom of taking milk with a pungent drug to drink at their water parties. This helped them to keep from feeling cold after their time on the water. But when Kalaṇḍuka tasted this milk, he choked and spit it out. In so doing he spit on the head of the merchant's daughter. At that moment the parrot flew up. He saw all of this from the bough of a fig tree on the bank. "Come, come, slave Kalaṇḍuka," the bird cried. "Remember who and what you are. Don't spit on the head of this young gentlewoman. Know your place, fellow." So saying, he uttered the following stanza:

You boast of your high status, your high degree,

With a lying tongue. Though I am but a bird, I know

The truth. You'll soon be caught, you runaway.

Do not scorn the milk then, slave Kalaṇḍuka.

Recognizing the parrot, Kalaṇḍuka grew afraid of being exposed. He exclaimed, "Ah! good master, when did you arrive?"

Figure: The Wise Bird Knows

The parrot thought, "It is not friendliness, but a wish to wring my neck that prompts this kindness." So he replied that he did not need Kalaṇḍuka's help, and he flew back to Benares. He told the Lord Treasurer everything he had seen.

"The rascal!" cried the Treasurer. He ordered Kalaṇḍuka to be hauled back to Benares where he had to put up with a slave's fate once more.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "This monk was Kalaṇḍuka in the story, and I was the Treasurer of Benares."

# 128: Biḷāra Jātaka,  
The Cat-like Nature

* * *

It never ceases to amaze me how many of these stories are about misbehaving monks. When the Buddha first started to teach his Dharma, there was no monastic code. This was because all of his students were very dedicated and did not need rules to keep them in line. But as the Saṇgha grew, the quality of the monastics naturally went down. This is why we ended up with so many rules for the monks and nuns. This phenomenon is why some later schools of Buddhism – like today's Thai Forest Tradition – never tried to recruit large numbers. They were content to settle for quality over quantity.

" _Where saintliness._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a hypocrite. When the monk's hypocrisy was reported to him, the Master said, "This is not the first time he has shown himself to be a hypocrite. He was the same in times gone by." So saying he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a rat. He was perfect in wisdom and as big as a young boar.

He lived in the forest and many hundreds of other rats lived under his rule.

Now there was a roving jackal who saw this troop of rats and tried to come up with a way to trick and eat them. He positioned himself near their home with his face to the sun, with his mouth open to the wind, and standing on one leg. The Bodhisatta saw this when he was out on the road in search of food. He thought the jackal must be a saintly being. He went up to him and asked his name.

"'Godly' is my name," the jackal said.

"Why do you stand on one leg?"

"Because if I stood on all four legs at once, the earth could not bear my weight. That is why I stand on one leg only."

"And why do you keep your mouth open?"

"To take the air. I live on air. It is my only food."

"And why do you face the sun?"

"To worship it."

"What virtue!" the Bodhisatta thought. Thereafter he made a point of going along with the other rats to pay his respects every morning and every evening to the saintly jackal. But when the rats were leaving, the jackal seized and devoured the last one to leave. He wiped his lips and acted as though nothing had happened.

Because of this the rats grew fewer and fewer in number, until they noticed the gaps in their ranks. They wondered why this was so, and they asked the Bodhisatta the reason this was happening. He could not figure it out. But he suspected the jackal and determined to put him to the test. So on the next day he let the other rats go out first and he brought up the rear. The jackal sprang on the Bodhisatta who saw him coming. He turned around and cried, "So this is your saintliness, you hypocrite and rascal!" And he repeated the following stanza:

Where saintliness is but a cloak

Whereby to trick innocent folk

And hide a villain's treachery,

The cat-like nature there we see.

( _Although the story is about a jackal, for some reason the stanza refers to a cat. This story also appears in the great Indian epic, the Mahābhārata. The Mahābhārata version also references a cat._ )

Figure: The Rat Discovers a Rat!

So saying, the king of the rats jumped at the jackal's throat and bit his neck just below the jaw so that he died. The other rats came back and gobbled up the body of the jackal with a "crunch, crunch, crunch." That is to say, the first ones to get there did, for they say there was nothing left for those who arrived last. And after that the rats lived happily in peace and quiet.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master made the connection by saying, "This hypocritical monk was the jackal of those days, and I was the king of the rats."

# 129: Aggika Jātaka,  
The Fire Worshipper

* * *

This is basically the same story as the previous one. But in this one, the story uses an old bit of Indian social custom, and that is that many brahmin priests in India have a hair knot as a symbol of their religious orientation.

" _It was greed._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about another hypocrite.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was the king of the rats, and he lived in the forest. Now a fire broke out in the forest, and a jackal who could not run away put his head against a tree as the flames sweep by him. The fire singed the hair off of his body everywhere. It left him completely bald except for a knot of hair where the crown of his head had pressed against the tree.

One day, when he was drinking from a rocky pool, he caught sight of this hair knot reflected in the water. "I now have a way to fool those rats," he thought. He went to the rats' cave where he said to himself, "I'll trick those rats and eat them," and with this purpose in mind he took up his position, just as in the foregoing story.

On his way out in search of food, the Bodhisatta saw the jackal. He crediting the beast with virtue and goodness and went up to him and asked him what his name was.

"Bhāradvāja, Priest of the Fire God."

"Why have you come here?"

"In order to guard you and yours."

"What will you do to guard us?"

"I know how to count, and I will count your numbers both morning and evening to make sure that everyone has returned safely. That is how I will guard you."

"Then stay and watch over us."

Accordingly, as the rats were starting out in the morning, he counted them, "One, two, three..." and likewise he did so when they came back at night. And every time he counted them, he seized and ate the last one.

Figure: Oh, That Evil Jackal!

Everything came to pass as in the previous story, except that here the king of the rats turned and said to the jackal, "It is not goodness, Bhāradvāja, Priest of the Fire God, but gluttony that has decked your crown with that hair knot." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

It was greed, not virtue, that gave you this hair knot.

Our dwindling numbers do not add up.

We've had enough, Fire Priest, of you.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the Birth by saying, "This monk was the jackal of those days, and I was the king of the rats."

# 130: Kosiya Jātaka,  
The Story of Kosiya

* * *

This story does not sound much like something the Buddha would suggest although once again the Jātaka is a story from a previous life. Perhaps then the Bodhisatta would have suggested the "cure" for the lazy wife. Still, the story in the present seems to have been enough to make her reform.

" _You may be sick or eat._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It about a woman of Sāvatthi. She is said to have been the wicked wife of a good and virtuous brahmin, a man who was a lay follower of the Buddha. She spent her nights gallivanting about looking for entertainment. But during the day she did not do a stroke of work. Instead she lay about groaning and pretending to be sick.

"What is the matter with you, my dear?" her husband said.

"My stomach troubles me."

"What can I get for you?"

"Sweets, savory dishes, rich food, rice porridge, boiled rice, oil, and so forth."

The obedient husband did as she wished. He worked like a slave for her. She stayed in bed while her husband was in the house, but as soon as he left, she was in the arms of other men.

"My poor wife doesn't seem to get any better from her illness," the brahmin thought. So he took offerings of perfumes, flowers, and the like, to the Master at Jetavana. Having shown his respect, he stood before the Blessed One who asked him why he had been absent from the monastery for so long.

"Sir," the brahmin said, "My wife is troubled with a stomach illness, and I spend a great deal of time to keep her supplied with every conceivable delicacy. Now she seems strong enough and her complexion is clear, but her digestion is as troublesome as ever. It is because I have been taking care of my wife that I have not had any time to come here, sir."

The Master knew about the wife's wickedness. He said, "Ah! Brahmin, the wise and good of days gone by taught you how to care for a woman suffering like your wife from such a stubborn ailment. But rebirth has confused your memory so that you have forgotten." So saying, he told the following story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a brahmin in a very distinguished family. After completing his education at Takkasilā University, he became a teacher of world-wide fame in Benares. The young nobles and brahmins from all the princely and wealthy families flocked to him.

Now a country brahmin, who had learned the three Vedas and the 18 sciences from the Bodhisatta traveled to Benares to look after his estate. On these excursions he would go to listen to the Bodhisatta's teachings two or three times a day.

( _There are 18 sciences in ancient Indian philosophy. The first four are the Vedas. The second four are the four subsidiary Vedas: Ayurveda [medicine], Dhanurveda [weaponry], Gandharvaveda [music], and Arthasastra [civics]. The last 12 sciences are Purana [stories], Nyaya [logic], Mlmamsa [philosophy], DharmaSastra and Vedanga [dharmas], and the six auxiliary sciences: phonetics, grammar, poetry, astronomy, ritual, and philology._ )

This brahmin had a wife who was a bad, wicked woman. And everything came to pass as above. When the brahmin explained how it was that he could not get away to listen to his Master's teachings, the Bodhisatta, who knew that the brahmin's wife was only pretending to be sick, thought to himself, "I will tell him what medicine will cure the creature."

Figure: Oh, the Tangled Web We Weave!

So he said to the brahmin, "Do not give her any more delicacies, my son. Instead collect some cow manure. Put five different kinds of fruit in it, and let them pickle in a new copper pot until the whole lot smells like the metal. Then take a rope or cord or stick and go to your wife, and tell her plainly she must either swallow the cure you have brought her, or else she must work for her food. (And here you will repeat certain lines which I will tell you.) If she refuses the remedy, then threaten to let her have a taste of the rope or stick, and to drag her about by the hair while you beat her with your fists. You will find that with this threat she will be up and about her work."

So off went the brahmin. He brought his wife the mess prepared as the Bodhisatta had directed.

"Who prescribed this?" she said.

"The Master," her husband said.

"Take it away. I won't have it."

"So you won't have it, eh?" the young brahmin said. He picked up the rope. "Well then, you've either got to take that cure or else work for honest fare." So saying he uttered this stanza:

You may be sick or eat; which shall it be?

For you can't do both, my Kosiyā.

Terrified by this, the woman Kosiyā realized that from the moment the Master interfered, how impossible it was to trick him. So she got up and went about her work. And the Master knew from reading her consciousness that she had given up her wickedness, and she became as good as she had formerly been wicked.

* * *

So ended the story. The brahmin's wife knew that the All-Enlightened Buddha knew what she was. She stood in such awe of him that she never misbehaved again.

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "The husband and wife of today were the husband and wife of the story, and I was the Master."

# 131: Asampadāna Jātaka,  
The Mistreated Gift

* * *

This is a story where one of the heroes is a former servant of the Bodhisatta. It is a wonderful demonstration of kindness and humility for his once powerful owner.

" _If a friend._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at the Bamboo Grove. It is about Devadatta. At that time the monks were discussing the ingratitude of Devadatta in the Dharma Hall, and his inability to recognize the Master's goodness. The Master himself entered and asked what they were discussing. When they told him he said, "Monks, this is not the first time that Devadatta has been ungrateful. He was just as ungrateful in days gone by." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time, when a certain king of Magadha was reigning in Rājagaha, the Bodhisatta was his treasurer. He was worth 800 million rupees and was known as the "Millionaire."

At the same time in Benares there lived a treasurer who was also worth 800 million rupees. His name was Piliya. He was a great friend of the Millionaire.

For some reason or other Piliya of Benares got into difficulties. He lost all of his property, and he was reduced to nothing. In this dire condition he left Benares, and he traveled with his wife on foot to Rājagaha to see the Millionaire. This was his last hope.

The Millionaire embraced his friend and treated him as an honored guest. In due course he asked the reason for his visit. "I am a ruined man," Piliya answered. "I have lost everything, and I have come to ask for your help."

"With all my heart!" the Millionaire said. "Have no fear on that score." He had his strong-room opened, and he gave 400 million rupees to Piliya. Then he divided all of his property in half, livestock and all, and in so doing gave half of his entire fortune to Piliya. Taking this bounty with him, Piliya and his wife went back to Benares to live once more.

Not long after this great misfortune came to the Millionaire, who, in his turn, lost everything he had. When he was trying to decide what to do, he thought about how he had given half of his fortune Piliya. He decided to go to Piliya and ask for his help. So he set out from Rājagaha with his wife and went to Benares.

When he got to the entrance to the city he said to her, "Wife, it is not fitting for you to trudge along the streets with me. Wait here until I can send a carriage with a servant to bring you into the city in a proper way." So saying, he left her under a shelter and went into the city alone.

He went to Piliya's house where he asked to be announced as the Millionaire from Rājagaha who had come to see his friend.

"Well, show him in," Piliya said. But when he saw the condition of the Millionaire, he did not get up to meet him. Nor did he greet him with words of welcome. He only demanded to know why he had come.

"To see you," was the reply.

"Where are you staying?"

"Nowhere, at the moment. I left my wife under a shelter and came straight to see you."

"There's no room here for you. Take a charity of rice, find somewhere to cook and eat it, and then go away and never come to visit me again." Then the rich man ordered a servant to give his unfortunate friend a quarter cup of broken rice tied up in a piece of cloth to take with him. This was even though that very day he had 1,000 wagon-loads of the best rice threshed out and stored in his overflowing granaries. Yes, the rascal, who had coolly taken 400 millions, now doled out a quarter cup of broken rice to his benefactor!

The servant measured out the broken rice in a basket and took it to the Bodhisatta who was trying to decide whether or not to accept it. He thought, "This ingrate ended our friendship because I am a ruined man. Now, if I refuse his paltry gift, I will be as bad as he. But it would be dishonorable to refuse even a modest gift. Therefore, I will uphold my part of the friendship by taking his gift of broken rice."

So he took the small portion of broken rice and went back to the shelter where his wife was.

"What do you have, dear?" she said.

"Our friend Piliya gave us this broken rice, and then he washed his hands of us."

"Oh, why did you take it? Is this a fit return for the 400 million rupees?"

"Don't cry, dear wife," the Bodhisatta said. "I took it simply because I did not want to violate the principle of friendship. You should not cry." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

If a friend plays the miser's part,

A simpleton is cut to the heart;

His dole of rice I will take,

And not for this our friendship break.

But still the wife kept on crying.

Now, at that moment a farm servant whom the Millionaire had given to Piliya was passing by and he heard the weeping of his former mistress. Recognizing his master and mistress, he fell at their feet, and with tears and sobs asked why they were there. And the Bodhisatta told him their story.

"Keep up your spirits," said the man cheerfully. He took them to his house. There he made perfumed baths and a meal for them. Then he let the other servants know that their old master and mistress had come. And after a few days they went as a group to the King's palace where they caused quite a commotion.

The King asked what was going on. They told him the whole story. So he sent for the two men. He asked the Millionaire whether it was true that he had given 400 millions to Piliya.

Figure: The Shame of the Ingrate

"Sir," he said, "when my friend told me about his dire need and came to seek my help, I gave him the half - not only of my money - but of my livestock and everything that I possessed."

"Is this so?" the King said to Piliya.

"Yes, sire," he said.

"And when in turn, your benefactor came to you and asked for your help, did you show him honor and hospitality?"

Here Piliya was silent.

"Did you have a quarter cup of broken rice doled out into a piece of cloth?"

Still Piliya was silent.

Then the King discussed what to do with his ministers. Finally, as a judgment on Piliya, he ordered them to go to Piliya's house and give all of Piliya's wealth to the Millionaire.

"Please, sire," the Bodhisatta said. "I do not need everything that is his. Let me take nothing beyond what I previously gave to him."

Then the King ordered that the Bodhisatta should receive the same portion back that he had given to Piliya. Then the Bodhisatta, with a large retinue of servants, went back with his regained wealth to Rājagaha. There he put his affairs in order, and after a life spent in charity and other good works, passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Devadatta was the Treasurer Piliya of those days, and I was the Millionaire."

# 132: Pañcagaru Jātaka,  
The Five Sense Pleasures

* * *

You can probably guess from this story the gist of the Jātaka Tale (96) that is referenced. In it, the Bodhisatta has to travel to the city of Takksilā. If he can arrive there safely he will become King. But he has to pass some tests in the form of the temptations of the daughters of Māra. These daughters are named "Craving," "Hatred," and "Lust." He does so, and this story picks up where Jātaka 96 leaves off.

The "five sense pleasures" are the five senses.

" _Heeding wise counsels._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the sutta concerning the Temptation by the Daughters of Māra at the Goatherds Banyan-tree. The Master quoted the Sutta, beginning with its opening words:

In all their dazzling beauty on they came,

\--Craving and Hate and Lust. Like cotton-down

Before the wind, the Master made them flee.

( _Mara the Tempter had three daughters: Craving, Hatred, and Lust. According to the PTS edition of the Jātaka Tales, the sutta reference is to the "Palobhana Sutta." This sutta has never been found. However, the story of the temptation of Mara's daughters can be found in a number of places, including the sutta "Mara's Daughters" [SN 4.25]._ )

After he had recited the sutta right through to the end, the monks met together in the Dharma Hall. They spoke of how the Daughters of Māra drew near with their many charms yet failed to seduce the All-Enlightened One. He was so marvelous that he did not so much as open his eyes to look at them.

Entering the hall, the Master asked what they were discussing. "Monks," he said, "it is no marvel that I did not look at Mara's Daughters in this life when I have overcome sensual desire and have attained awakening. In former days when I was still searching for wisdom, when sensual desire still lived in me, I found the strength not to look at divine beauty with lust in violation of virtue. And because of that self-restraint I won a kingdom." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was the youngest of 100 brothers. His adventures are described in the Takkasilā Jātaka (actually the "Telapatta Jātaka", number 96). When the kingdom was offered to the Bodhisatta by the people, and when he had accepted it and had been anointed King, the people decorated the town like a city of the gods and the royal palace like the palace of Indra. ( _In Buddhism, Indra is also called "Sakka" or "Śakra," ruler of the Tāvatiṃsa heaven._ )

When he entered the city the Bodhisatta went into the spacious hall of the palace. There he seated himself - in all his godlike beauty - on his jeweled throne. He sat underneath the white umbrella of his kingship. His ministers and brahmins and nobles stood around him in glittering splendor. 16,000 dancing girls, as fair as the nymphs of heaven, sang and danced and made music. The palace sounded like the arch of heaven filled with thunder-clouds.

Figure: It's Good to Be the King

As he looked around on the majesty of his royal state, the Bodhisatta thought how, had he looked upon the charms of the ogresses, he would have died horribly. He would never have lived to see his present magnificence, which he owed to his following the advice of the Pacceka ( _solitary_ ) Buddhas. And as these thoughts filled his heart, his feelings found expression in these verses:

Heeding wise counsels, firm in my resolve,

With dauntless heart still holding on my course,

I shunned the sirens' dwellings and their snares,

And found a great salvation in my need.

So ended the lesson which these verses taught. And the Great Being ruled his kingdom in righteousness and abounded in charity and other good works until in the end he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "I was the prince of those days who went to Takkasilā and won a kingdom."

# 133: Gathāsana Jātaka,  
The Water Fire

* * *

This is a story about being practical. Larry Rosenberg once said that he was amazed at how many otherwise intelligent, accomplished people leave their common sense at the door when it comes to their spiritual practice.

I think this is often fed by a culture of "Buddhist machismo." You get encouraged to sit through pain, sit through fatigue, to sit through soreness and discomfort. Some of that may be helpful, at least in small doses. But I think that too many meditation teachers encourage you to push yourselves beyond reasonable limits.

I recently heard a German monk echo my personal experience, and that is that I have never gamely sat through pain and found it to be of any benefit. And I cannot recall the Buddha ever saying that, either. And in this story, he admonishes a monk who does not have enough sense to – literally – come in out of the rain.

And finally, it is also worth noting that the Naga King certainly seems to have had a legitimate complaint!

" _Lo! In your stronghold._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a monk who was given a subject for meditation by the Master. He went to the border region and established himself in a hut near a small village. Here he hoped to pass the rainy season.

However, during the very first month his hut burned down while he was seeking alms in the village. With the loss of his shelter, he told his lay friends of his misfortune. They readily agreed to build him another hut. But, in spite of their promises, three months went by without its being built.

Because he did not have a roof to protect him, the monk did not have any success in his meditation. At the end of the rainy season he went back to Jetavana and stood respectfully before the Master. The Master asked him whether his meditation had been successful. The monk told him what had happened. The Master said, "In days gone by, even animals could tell the difference between what was good for them and what was bad. They knew when to leave places that had become dangerous to them. And if beasts were so discerning, how could you fall so far short of them in wisdom?" So saying, at the monk's request the Master told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a bird. When he came of age, good fortune attended him and he became the king of the birds.

He lived with his subjects in a giant tree that stretched its leafy branches over the waters of a lake. And all these birds, roosting in the boughs, dropped their dung into the waters below.

Now that lake was the home of Caṇḍa, the Naga ( _serpent_ ) King. He was enraged by this fouling of his water, and he was determined to get vengeance on the birds and to burn them out. So one night when they were all roosting along the branches, he set to work. First, he made the waters of the lake boil. Then he caused smoke to arise, and finally he made flames shoot up as high as a palm tree.

Figure: Stop Pooping in My Lake!

Seeing the flames shooting up from the water, the Bodhisatta cried to the birds, "Water is used to put out fire. But here the water itself is on fire. This is no place for us. Let us find a home elsewhere." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

Lo! In your stronghold stands the foe,

And even the water does burn.

So from your tree quickly go,

Let trust to fear turn.

And hereupon the Bodhisatta flew off with the birds that followed his advice. But the disobedient birds, who stayed behind, all perished.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master taught the Four Noble Truths, at the end of which that monk became an arahant. The Master identified the birth by saying, "The loyal and obedient birds of those days have now become my disciples, and I myself was the king of the birds."

# 134: Jhānasodhana Jātaka,  
Making It Clear

* * *

This story is reminiscent of Jātaka 101 – Parosata Jātaka – and Jātaka 99 – the Parosahassa Jātaka. In both stories the disciples do not believe Sāriputta's exposition of the Dharma. In those Jātakas as well the Bodhisatta returns from the Brahma Realm to tell the disciples that Sāriputta's interpretation is correct.

" _With conscious._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the interpretation of a problem tersely expounded by the Master by Sāriputta, Captain of the Faith, at the gate of the town of Saṁkassa. And the following was the story of the past he then told.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta, as he passed away in his forest home, exclaimed, "Neither conscious nor unconscious." And the recluses did not believe the interpretation that the Bodhisatta's chief disciple gave of the Master's words. So the Bodhisatta came back from the Brahma Realm, and he recited this stanza from mid-air:

With conscious, with unconscious, too,

Sorrow dwells. Relinquish both ills.

Pure bliss, free from all corruption,

Springs only from the ecstasy of insight.

( _The reference to conscious and unconscious probably refers to the fourth immaterial jhāna, the state of neither-perception-nor-non-perception. The Bodhisatta seems to be saying that even in this advanced state of jhāna there is dukkha, therefore it must be abandoned. For a discussion of the jhānas see "The Little Book of Buddhist Mindfulness and Concentration." Also see the Samanupassanna Sutta: Assumptions [SN 22.47]._ )

His lesson ended, the Bodhisatta praised his disciple and went back to the Brahma Realm. Then the rest of the recluses believed the chief disciple.

Figure: "I told you so."

* * *

His lesson taught, the Master identified the birth by saying, "In those days Sāriputta was the chief disciple, and I was Mahā-Brahma."

# 135: Candābha Jātaka,  
Sun and Moon

* * *

This is the next in the "You-really-gotta-believe-Sāriputta" series.

I am not sure what the meditation on the sun and moon implies. There is no corollary in the rest of the Pāli Canon of which I am aware. There are practices in later forms of Buddhism that may be related, so perhaps this is a later addition.

" _Who meditates wisely._ " This story, too, was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the interpretation of a problem by the Elder Sāriputta at the gate of Saṁkassa.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta, as he passed away in his forest home, answered his disciples' queries with the words, "Moonlight and Sunlight." With these words he died and was reborn in the Radiant Realm ( _the Brahma Realm_ ).

Now when the chief disciple interpreted the Master's words his fellows did not believe him. Then the Bodhisatta returned and from mid-air recited this stanza:

Who wisely meditates on sun and moon,

Shall win (when reason gives way

To rapture) his place in Radiant Realms.

( _These lines imply that by taking the Sun and Moon as a subject for meditation, a meditator will attain jhāna, and as a result will be reborn no lower than the Brahma realm._ )

Such was the Bodhisatta's teaching, and after praising his disciple, he went back to the Brahma Realm.

Figure: Sāriputta... Still the Man

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Sāriputta was the chief disciple of those days, and I was Mahā-Brahmā."

# 136: Suvaṇṇahaṃsa Jātaka,  
The Swan with Golden Feathers

* * *

This story will remind you of the goose that laid the golden egg.

A subtle point that the Buddha makes is that it is through restraint and humility that prosperity comes to you. Throughout Buddhist history the teachers who often ended up with the largest and most successful monasteries were the ones who led the most austere lives. Prosperity also often comes to those who are the most generous. Be humble. Live simply. Be generous. This is the way to be rich.

" _Be contented._ " This story was told by the Master. It is about a nun named Fat Nandā.

A lay brother at Sāvatthi had offered the nuns a supply of garlic. He sent for his chief servant and gave orders that, if they should come, each Sister was to receive two or three handfuls. After that they made a practice of coming to his house or field for their garlic.

Now one holiday the supply of garlic in the house ran out. The Sister Fat Nandā, when she went to the house, was told that there was none left. It had all been used and that she must go to the field and collect it herself. So she went to the field and carried off an excessive amount of garlic.

The chief servant grew angry and remarked what a greedy lot these Sisters were! This annoyed the more moderate Sisters. The monks were also annoyed at the criticism when the Sisters repeated it to them. They told the Blessed One what had happened. The Master rebuked the greed of Fat Nandā. He said, "Monks, a greedy person is harsh and unkind even to the mother who bore him. A greedy person cannot convert the unconverted, or make the converted grow in grace, or cause alms to be offered, whereas the moderate person can do all of these things." In this way the Master pointed out the moral, ending by saying, "Monks, as Fat Nandā is greedy now, so she was greedy in times gone by." And thereupon he told the following story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a brahmin. When he grew up he married a bride of his own rank. She bore him three daughters. They were named Nandā, Nanda-vatī and Sundari-nandā.

When the Bodhisatta died, they were taken in by neighbors and friends. He was born again into the world as a golden mallard endowed with the consciousness of his former lives. When he grew up, the bird viewed its own magnificent size and golden plumage and remembered that previously he had been a human being. When he discovered that his wife and daughters were living on the charity of others, the mallard thought that his plumage was like hammered and beaten gold and how by giving them a golden feather he could enable his wife and daughters to live in comfort.

So he flew away to where they lived and landed on the top of the central beam of the roof. Seeing the Bodhisatta, the wife and girls asked where he had come from. He told them that he was their father who had died and that he had been born as a golden mallard. He had come to visit them and put an end to their poverty. "You shall have my feathers, one by one," he said. They will sell for enough to keep you all living in ease and comfort." So saying, he gave each of them one of his feathers, and then he left.

After that he would return from time to time to give them another feather, and with the proceeds of their sale these brahmin women became prosperous and quite well-to-do. But one day the mother said to her daughters, "There's no trusting animals, my children. Who's to say that your father might not go away one of these days and never come back again? The next time he comes, let's pluck him clean of all his feathers."

Thinking this would cause him pain, the daughters refused. But in her greed the mother called the golden mallard to come to her one day, and then she took him with both hands and plucked him clean.

Figure: Plucked Clean!

Now the Bodhisatta's feathers had this property that if they were plucked out against his wish, they ceased to be golden and became like a crane's feathers. And now the poor bird, though he stretched his wings, could not fly, and the woman threw him into a barrel and gave him food there. As time went on his feathers grew again. but they were plain white ones now. He flew away to his own home and never came back again.

* * *

At the close of this story the Master said, "Thus you see, monks, how Fat Nandā was just as greedy in times past as she is now. And her greed then lost her the gold in the same way that her greed now will lose her the garlic. See how her greed has deprived the whole order of nuns of their supply of garlic. Learn from this to be moderate in your desires and to be content with what is given you, however small that may be." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

Be contented, not craving for further store.

They seized the swan, but had its gold no more.

So saying, the Master soundly rebuked the erring Sister and laid down the precept that any Sister who should eat garlic would have to do penance. Then, making the connection, he said, "Fat Nandā was the brahmin's wife of the story, her three sisters were the brahmin's three daughters, and I was the golden mallard."

# 137: Babbu Jātaka,  
The Cats

* * *

Cats seem to be a favorite target for villains in folk stories. I'm guessing that the kinds of people who make up these stories must be dog people.

This is an interesting story with some unique twists. Four monks were cats in a previous life. Our heroin's mother is so polite that her daughter loses her husband over the mother's generosity and kindness. And it is a cautionary tale to monastics who take advantage of their lay supporters.

" _Give food to one cat._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the precept respecting Kāṇā's mother. She was a lay follower at Sāvatthi known only as "Kāṇā's mother." She had taken the Precepts and was following the Noble Eightfold Path.

Her daughter Kāṇā ( _"one-eyed"_ ) was married to a man of the same rank in another village. While on an errand to her mother's village, she went to see her. A few days went by, and her husband sent a messenger to say he wanted her to come back. The girl asked her mother whether she should go, and the mother said she could not go back empty-handed after such a long absence, so she set about making a cake. Just then a monk on his alms round showed up. The mother sat him down to the cake she had just baked. After he left he told another monk, who arrived just in time to get the second cake that she baked for the daughter to take home with her. That monk told a third monk, and the third told a fourth, and so each fresh cake was taken by another monk.

The result of this was that the daughter did not start on her way home. The husband sent a second and a third messenger after her. And the message he sent by the third was that if his wife did not come back, he would get another wife. And each message had exactly the same result. So the husband took another wife, and when she heard the news, his former wife started to cry.

Knowing all this, the Master put on his robes early in the morning and went with his alms bowl to the house of Kāṇā's mother. He sat down on the seat set for him. Then he asked why the daughter was crying. When he was told what had happened, he spoke words of consolation to the mother. Then he got up and went back to the Monastery.

Now the monks came to know how Kāṇā had been stopped three times from going back to her husband because of the action of the four monks. One day they met in the Dharma Hall and began to discuss the matter. The Master came into the Dharma Hall and asked what they were discussing. When they told him he said, "Monks, do not think that this is the first time those four monks have brought sorrow on Kāṇā's mother by eating her food. They did so in days gone by as well." So saying he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a stonecutter. He grew up to became an expert in working with stone.

Now in the Kāsi country ( _one of the 16 political entities of the Buddha's time_ ) there lived a very rich merchant who had amassed 400 million coins of gold. And when his wife died, her love of money was so strong that she was reborn as a mouse, and she lived over the treasure. Subsequently, one by one the whole family died, including the merchant himself. The village became deserted and forlorn. At the time of our story the Bodhisatta was quarrying and shaping stones on the site of this deserted village, and the mouse used to see him often as she ran about to find food.

Eventually she fell in love with him. She thought how the secret of all her vast wealth would die with her. She came up with an idea about how she could enjoy it with him. So one day she went to the Bodhisatta with a coin in her mouth. Seeing this, he spoke to her kindly, and said, "Mother, why have you brought me this coin?"

"It is for you to use for yourself, and to buy meat for me as well, my son."

So inclined, he took the money and spent half of it on meat which he brought to the mouse. She went off and ate to her heart's content. And this went on, the mouse giving the Bodhisatta a coin every day, and he in return supplying her with meat. But it happened that one day the mouse was caught by a cat.

"Don't kill me," the mouse said.

"Why not?" the cat said. "I'm as hungry as can be, and I really must kill you to satisfy my hunger."

"First, tell me whether you're always hungry, or if you are only hungry today."

"Oh, I am hungry every day."

"Well then, if this is so, I can get you meat every day. Just let me go."

"Make sure that you do," the cat said and let the mouse go.

Because of this the mouse had to divide the supplies of meat she got from the Bodhisatta into two portions. She gave one half to the cat and kept the other for herself.

Now, as luck would have it, the same mouse was caught another day by a second cat, and she had to buy her freedom on the same terms. So now the daily food was divided into three portions. And when a third cat caught the mouse and the same arrangement was made, the supply was divided into four portions. And later a fourth cat caught her, and the food had to be divided among five. The mouse, reduced to such little food, grew so thin as to be nothing but skin and bone. The Bodhisatta saw how emaciated his friend had become and asked the reason for this. Then the mouse told him everything that had happened.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before?" the Bodhisatta said. "Cheer up. I will help you out of your troubles."

So he took a block of the purest crystal. He scooped out a cavity in it and made the mouse get inside. "Now stay there," he said, "and whenever anyone comes by, fiercely threaten and lash out at them."

So the mouse crept into the crystal cell and waited. Up came one of the cats and demanded his meat. "Away, vile feline," the mouse said. "Why should I help you? Go home and eat your kittens!"

Infuriated at these words, and never suspecting that the mouse was inside the crystal, the cat sprang at the mouse to eat her up. He sprang with such fury that he broke the walls of his chest and its eyes stared from its head. So that cat died and its carcass tumbled down out of sight. And the same fate came to all four cats.

Figure: An Ill-Advised Attack

After that the grateful mouse brought the Bodhisatta two or three coins instead of one as before, and in time she thus gave him the whole of the hoard. In unbroken friendship the two lived together, until their lives ended and they passed away to fare according to their karma.

* * *

The story told, the Buddha uttered this stanza:

Give food to one cat, a second appears.

A third and fourth succeed in fruitful line.

\--Witness the four that by the crystal died.

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "These four monks were the four cats of those days. Kāṇā's mother was the mouse, and I was the stonecutter."

# 138: Godha Jātaka,  
The Lizard

* * *

This is another story in which we find an ill-behaved "holy man." It isn't just now that we find people who are supposed to be religious leaders behaving badly. Some things are – sadly - timeless.

" _With matted hair._ " This story was told by the Buddha while he was at Jetavana. It is about a hypocrite. The incidents were like those above related. ( _This apparently refers to Jātaka 128, Biḷāra Jātaka._ )

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a lizard. Nearby a village on the borders there lived a recluse who had attained the Five Knowledges ( _the power of faith, the power of moral shame, the power of moral dread, the power of energy, and the power of wisdom_ ), and he was treated with great respect by the villagers. The Bodhisatta lived in an anthill at the end of the walk where the recluse paced up and down. Two or three times each day he would go to the recluse and hear his teaching and his wisdom. Then he would pay homage to the good man and return to his own home.

After a certain time the recluse bade farewell to the villagers and went away. In his place there came another recluse to live in the hermitage. He was a rascally fellow. Assuming the holiness of the newcomer, the Bodhisatta acted towards him as he did toward the first recluse. One day there was an unexpected storm in the dry season. It drove the ants out from their hills. The lizards came out to eat them. They were caught in great numbers by the village folk. Some were cooked with vinegar and sugar for the recluse to eat.

Pleased with such a tasty dish, he asked what it was. They told him that it was a dish of lizards. He reflected that he had a remarkably fine lizard as his neighbor, and he decided to eat him. Accordingly, he prepared a pot for cooking and made the sauce to serve the lizard in. He sat at the door of his hut with a mallet hidden under his yellow robe waiting for the Bodhisatta to come. He maintained an air of perfect peace.

In the evening the Bodhisatta arrived. As he drew near, he sensed that the recluse did not seem quite the same. He had a look about him that did not bode well. In the wind that was blowing towards him from the recluse's cell, the Bodhisatta smelled the scent of lizard's flesh. He realized at once that the taste of lizard had made the recluse want to kill him with a mallet and eat him. So he headed homeward without calling on the recluse.

When the Bodhisatta started to walk away, the recluse realized that the lizard must have deduced his plot. But he marveled at how he could have discovered it. Determined that the lizard should not escape, he drew out the mallet and threw it, just hitting the tip of the lizard's tail. Quick as a wink the Bodhisatta dashed into his refuge. He stuck his head out by a different hole than the one in which he had gone. He cried, "Rascally hypocrite, your robes of holiness led me to trust you, but now I know your villainous nature. What is a thief like you doing with the clothing of a holy man?" Thus upbraiding the false recluse, the Bodhisatta recited this stanza:

With matted hair and garb of skin

Why mimic a recluse's piety?

A saint without, thy heart within

Is choked with foul impurity

( _This is Dhammapada verse 394._ )

Figure: The Rascally Hypocrite

In this way the Bodhisatta exposed the wicked recluse, after which he ducked back into his ant-hill. And the wicked recluse departed from that place.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "The hypocrite was the wicked ascetic of those days. Sāriputta was the good recluse who lived in the hermitage before him, and I was the lizard."

# 139: Ubhatobhaṭṭha Jātaka,  
The Twofold Failure

* * *

We are back to beating up on Devadatta again.

The story in the present tells us how Devadatta has had a "twofold failure." One "fold" is that he has not had the sense pleasures of the lay life. But he has also failed as a monk.

The Jātaka tale tells us how he tried in a previous life to hide what he thought was a prize fish from his neighbors. But his stinginess comes back to bite not just him but his wife as well. Thus his "twofold failure" was repeated in the past.

" _His blinding and her beating._ " The Master told this story while he was at the Bamboo Grove. It is about Devadatta.

We hear that the monks met together in the Dharma Hall. They spoke with one another, saying that even as a torch from a spent fire, charred at both ends and covered with manure in the middle does not serve as useful wood either in the forest or a hearth, so Devadatta, by giving up the world to follow the Buddha's path had only achieved a twofold shortcoming and failure. He had missed the comforts of a lay life yet had fallen short of his vocation as a monk.

Entering the Hall, the Master asked and was told what the monks were discussing. "Yes, monks," he said, "and so too in days gone by Devadatta came to another such twofold failure." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a tree sprite. There was a certain village where a fisherman lived. And one of these fishermen took his tackle and went off with his little boy. He cast his hook into the most likely waters known to his fellow fishermen.

Now the hook got caught on a snag and the fisherman could not pull it up. "What a fine fish!" he thought. "I'd better send my boy home to tell my wife to quarrel with the neighbors so they will all go home, and then I will not have to share my prize." Accordingly he told the lad to run home and tell his mother what a big fish he had hooked and how she was to distract the neighbors' attention.

Then, afraid that his line might break, he threw off his coat and ran into the water to secure his prize. But as he groped about for the fish, he struck against the snag and put out both of his eyes. Moreover a robber stole his clothes from the bank. In agony, he pressed his hands to his blinded eyes and clambered out of the river, trembling all over his body and trying to find his clothes.

Meantime his wife, to occupy the neighbors by starting an argument, had placed a palm leaf behind one ear. Then she blackened one eye with soot from the saucepan. In this disguise, she came out to call on her neighbors. "Bless me, you've gone mad," said one woman to her. "Not mad at all," retorted the fisherman's wife. "You abuse me without cause with your slanderous tongue. Come with me to the landlord and I'll have you fined eight coins."

So with angry words they went off to the landlord. But when the matter was investigated, it was the fisherman's wife who was fined. And she was tied up and beaten to make her pay the fine.

Now when the tree sprite saw how misfortune had come to the wife in the village and the husband in the forest, he stood in the fork of his tree and exclaimed, "Ah fisherman, both in the water and on land your efforts are in vain, and your failure is twofold." So saying he uttered this stanza:

His blinding and her beating clearly show

A twofold failure and a twofold woe.

Figure: The Twofold Failures and the Tree Sprite

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Devadatta was the fisherman of those days, and I was the tree sprite."

# 140: Kāka Jātaka,  
The Crow

* * *

Many years ago I heard a story on public radio about a nurse who took care of terminally ill children. He used to read them fairy tales. He pointed out the difference between myths and fairy tales. He said that in myths, the heroes are gods and powerful beings. But in fairy tales the heroes are the seemingly weaker characters, and they overcome the seemingly stronger characters. Jack in the Beanstalk is a good example.

Many of the Jātaka Tales have that same quality. In this story, the hero is a simple crow, the Buddha's manifestation in a previous life. This story shows that true power comes from one's kindness, compassion, and good qualities, not from status or physical form.

" _In ceaseless dread._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a wise counselor. The incidents will be related in the twelfth book in connection with the Bhaddasāla Jātaka ( _Jātaka 465_ ).

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a crow. One day the King's chaplain went out from the city to the river. There he bathed, perfumed and garlanded himself, donned his finest clothes, and then went back to the city. On the archway of the city gate there sat two crows. One of them said to his mate, "I am going to foul this brahmin's head."

"Oh, don't do that," the other crow said. "This brahmin is a great man, and it is an evil thing to bring on the hatred of the great. If you anger him, he may destroy the whole of our kind."

"I really must," said the first crow.

"Very well, but you are sure to be discovered," said the other crow, and he flew quickly away.

Just when the brahmin was under the battlements, down dropped the filth on him as if the crow were dropping a string of flowers. The enraged brahmin immediately developed a hatred of all crows.

Now at this time it so happened that a female slave in charge of a granary spread the rice out in the sun at the granary door. She was sitting there to guard it when she fell asleep. Just then a shaggy goat appeared and started to eat the rice until the girl woke up and drove it away. Two or three times the goat came back as soon as she fell asleep and continued to eat the rice. So when she had driven the creature away for the third time she thought that if the goat kept returning, he would eat half of her rice, and that she must do something to scare the animal away for good.

So she took a burning torch, and, sitting down, pretended to fall asleep. When the goat came back, she suddenly sprang up and hit its back with her torch. The goat's shaggy hide immediately caught fire. It ran into a hay shed near the elephant's stable and rolled in the hay. The shed caught fire and the flames spread to the stables. As the stables caught fire, the elephants began to suffer, and many of them were badly burned. It was beyond the skill of the elephant doctors to cure them.

When this was reported to the King, he asked his chaplain whether he knew what would cure the elephants. "Certainly I do, sire," said the chaplain. When he was asked to explain, he said his medicine was crows' fat. So the King ordered crows to be killed and their fat extracted.

As a result, there was a great slaughter of crows, but none of them had any fat on them. So they went on killing until dead crows lay in huge piles everywhere. And there was great fear among all crows.

Now in those days the Bodhisatta lived in a great cemetery. He was the head of 80,000 crows. One of these told him about the fear among the crows. And the Bodhisatta, feeling that he was the only one who could end this dilemma, resolved to free his kinsfolk from their great dread.

Reviewing the Ten Perfections ( _generosity, virtue, renunciation, wisdom, energy, patience, honesty, resolve, loving-kindness, and equanimity_ ) and using kindness as his guide, he flew to the King's palace. He entered at an open window and landed under the King's throne. Immediately a servant tried to catch the bird, but the King entered the chamber and stopped him.

Gathering himself, the Great Being - remembering kindness - came out from under the King's throne. He said to the King, "Sire, a king should remember the maxim that kings should not act from lust and other evil passions in ruling their kingdoms. Before acting, it is proper to first examine and understand the whole matter. Only then should he do that what is beneficial. If kings do not do what is beneficial, they fill thousands with a great fear, even the fear of death. And in prescribing crows' fat, your chaplain was prompted by revenge to lie for crows have no fat."

With these words the crow won over the King's heart. He commanded that the Bodhisatta should be set on a throne of gold. There he was anointed beneath the wings with the choicest oils. He served the Bodhisatta the King's own meats and drink from vessels of gold.

When the Great Being was full and at ease, the King said, "Sage, you say that crows have no fat. Why is that?"

"In this way," the Bodhisatta answered with a voice that filled the whole palace. He proclaimed the Dharma in this stanza:

In ceaseless dread, with all mankind for foes,

Their life is passed, and hence no fat have crows.

This explanation given, the Great Being taught the King, saying, "Sire, kings should never act without examining and having all the facts."

Figure: The Wise Crow Teaches the Dharma

Well pleased, the King laid his kingdom at the Bodhisatta's feet. But the Bodhisatta restored it to the King, whom he established in the Five Precepts. He encouraged the King to protect all living beings from harm. And the King was moved by these words to grant immunity to all living creatures. In particular he was unceasingly protective of crows. Every day he had six bushels of rice cooked for them. And the Great Being was given special food that was for him alone.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Ānanda was King of Benares in those days, and I was the king of the crows."

# 141: Godha Jātaka,  
The Iguana

* * *

In this story the bad guy is a chameleon. This may be for some reason lost to ancient Indian tradition. Not surprisingly we find out at the end of the story that the chameleon is none other than Devadatta!

" _Bad company._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at the Bamboo Grove. It is about a traitorous monk. The introductory incident is the same as that told in the Mahilāmukha Jātaka ( _Jātaka 26: The Elephant Damsel-face_ ).

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as an iguana. When he grew up he lived in a big burrow in the river bank with a following of many hundreds of other iguanas.

Now the Bodhisatta had a son, a young iguana, who was great friends with a chameleon, whom he used to hug and embrace. This intimacy was reported to the iguana king. He sent for his young son and said that such friendship was misplaced, for chameleons were low creatures, and that if he continued to be intimate with the chameleon, disaster would come to the whole tribe of iguanas. He ordered his son to end his relationship with the chameleon.

But the son continued in his intimacy. Again and again the Bodhisatta spoke with his son, but his words were of no avail. Foreseeing danger to the iguanas from the chameleon, he had a tunnel cut on one side of their burrow so that there might be a means of escape if necessary.

Now as time went on, the young iguana grew to a great size while the chameleon never grew any bigger. And as these mountainous embraces of the young giant grew painful indeed, the chameleon saw that they would be the death of him if they went on even a few days longer. So he conspired with a hunter to destroy the whole tribe of iguanas.

One day in the summer the ants came out after a thunderstorm, and the iguanas darted here and there catching them and eating them. Now an iguana trapper came into the forest. He had a shovel and dogs to dig out iguanas. The chameleon thought what a haul he would put in the trapper's way. So he went up to the man, and, lying down before him, asked why he was in the forest.

"To catch iguanas," was the reply.

"Well, I know where there's a burrow of hundreds of them," the chameleon said. "Bring firewood and brushwood and follow me."

And he led the trapper to where the iguanas lived.

"Now," the chameleon said, "put your fuel in there and smoke the iguanas out. Meantime let your dogs stand guard and take a big stick in your hand. Then as the iguanas run out, strike them down and make a pile of the slain."

So saying, the treacherous chameleon went off to a spot nearby where he lay down with his head up, saying to himself, "Today I shall see the rout of my enemy."

The trapper set to work to smoke the iguanas out. Inside the burrow the iguanas feared for their lives. They ran helter-skelter from their burrow. As they came out, the trapper knocked them on the head, and if he missed them, they fell prey to his dogs. And so there was great slaughter among the iguanas.

Figure: Smoked Out

Realizing that this was the chameleon's doing, the Bodhisatta cried, "One should never make friends with the wicked, for such bring disaster in their wake. A single wicked chameleon has proven to be the bane of all these iguanas." So saying, he escaped by the tunnel he had provided, uttering this stanza:

Bad company can never end in good.

Through friendship with one sole chameleon

The tribe of iguanas met their end.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Devadatta was the chameleon of those days. This traitorous monk was the disobedient young iguana, the son of the Bodhisatta, and I myself was the king of the iguanas."

# 142: Sigāla Jātaka,  
(Another) Jackal Story

* * *

In this story the wise being is a lowly jackal and the fool is a human.

" _The tightening grip._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at the Bamboo Grove. It is about Devadatta's going there to kill him. The Master heard the monks talking about this in the Dharma Hall. He said that, just as Devadatta acted now, so he acted in times gone by. And then as now he failed to achieve his wicked purpose and also suffered the consequences of his evil acts. So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a jackal. He lived in a charnel ground as the king of a great following of jackals.

At that time there was a festival being held in Rājagaha. It was a very wet festival with a lot of drinking. Now a group of scoundrels got hold of lots of food and drink. They put on their best clothes and sang and made merry over their fare. By midnight the meat was all gone, but the liquor still held out.

Then one of them asked for more meat. He was told that there was none left. The fellow said, "We will never lack for food while I am about. I'll go to the charnel ground, kill a jackal, and bring back some meat."

So saying he grabbed a club and made his way out of the city by way of the sewer. There he lay down, club in hand, pretending to be dead. Just then, followed by the other jackals, the Bodhisatta came up and saw the pretend corpse. Suspecting the deceit, he determined to investigate the matter. So he went around to the lee side and knew by the scent that the man was not really dead.

Deciding to make the man look foolish, the Bodhisatta crept near to him, grabbed the club with his teeth, and tugged at it. The rascal did not let go, and he tightened his grip. The Bodhisatta stepped back a step or two and said, "My good man, if you had been dead, you would not have tightened the grip on your club when I was tugging at it. You have betrayed yourself." Then he uttered this stanza:

Your tightening grip on thy club does show

Your rank deceit. You are no corpse, I know.

Figure: The Deceit Is Discovered

Seeing that he was discovered, the rogue sprang to his feet and threw his club at the Bodhisatta. But his aim was off. "Be off, you brute," he said. "I missed you this time."

Turning around, the Bodhisatta said, "It is true you missed me, but be assured you will not miss the torments of the Great Hell and the sixteen Lesser Hells."

Empty-handed, the rogue left the cemetery and, after bathing in a ditch, went back into the city by the way from which he had come.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Devadatta was the rogue of those times, and I was king of the jackals."

# 143: Virocana Jātaka,  
The Shining

* * *

This Jātaka references one of the iconic stories in the Pāli Canon. It is how Devadatta tried to take over the Saṇgha from the Buddha. In order to make the Buddha look bad, Devadatta publicly asked the Buddha to institute five new rules in the monastic code. These "five points" were (1) that monks could only live in the forest and not in a village, (2) they could only eat begged-for-almsfood and could not accept an invitation to a meal, (3) they could only wear robes made from rags, (4) they could not live in buildings, and (5) they could not eat fish or meat.

But the Buddha refused. This allowed Devadatta to say that the Buddha's monks were "soft." After this Devadatta converted 500 of the Buddha's monks to be loyal to him. He took them to Gayāsīsa where King Ajātasattu had built a monastery for him. However, eventually Sāriputta and Moggallāna were able to win the monks back.

" _Your mangled corpse._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at the Bamboo Grove. It is about Devadatta's efforts to pose as a Buddha at Gayāsīsa. For when his spiritual faculties left him and he lost the honor and profit which once were his, he asked the Master to concede the Five Points. ( _Devadatta once had supernormal powers, but he lost them when he lost his virtue in betraying the Buddha._ ) This being refused, he caused a schism in the Saṇgha and went to Gayāsīsa with 500 young monks They were students of the Buddha's two chief disciples. However, they had not yet been fully instructed in the Dharma and Discipline.

With this following he created a separate Saṇgha in the same region. Knowing when the wisdom of these young monks should ripen, the Master sent the two Elders ( _Sāriputta and Moggāllana_ ) to them. Devadatta misunderstood why they were there. He thought they had come over to join his Saṇgha.

Devadatta joyfully started speaking far into the night, pretending to have the masterly power of a Buddha. Then he said, "The assembly, reverend Sāriputta, is still alert and sleepless. Will you be so good as to give a Dharma talk to the monks? My back is hurting from my effort, and I must rest awhile." So saying he went away to lie down.

Then those two chief disciples taught the monks, enlightening them as to the Fruitions and the Paths until in the end they won them all over, and they went back to the Bamboo Grove.

Finding the Monastery emptied of the monks, Kokālika ( _one of Devadatta's chief lieutenants_ ) went to Devadatta and told him how the two disciples had broken up his following and left the Monastery empty. "And yet here you still lie sleeping," he said. He stripped off Devadatta's outer robe and kicked him on the chest with as little hesitation as if he were knocking a roof peg into a mud wall. Blood gushed out of Devadatta's mouth, and ever after he suffered from the effects of the blow. ( _The Vinaya account [Cv vii.4] omits the kicking, simply stating that Kokālika "awoke" Devadatta, and that, at the news of the defection, "warm blood gushed out of Devadatta's mouth." In later legends it is stated that Devadatta died then and there._ )

The Master said to Sāriputta, "What was Devadatta doing when you got there?" And Sāriputta answered that, although he was posing as a Buddha, evil had befallen him. The Master said, "Even as now, Sāriputta, so in former times Devadatta imitated me to his own dismay." Then, at the Elder's request, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a lion. He lived at Gold Den in the Himalayas.

Bounding forth one day from his lair, he looked north and west, south and east, and roared out loud as he went in search of prey. He killed a large buffalo and ate the best meat of the carcass. After that he went down to a pool, drank his fill of crystal-clear water, and then turned to go back to his den.

Now a hungry jackal, suddenly meeting the lion, was unable to escape. He threw himself at the lion's feet. Being asked what he wanted, the jackal replied, "Lord, let me be your servant."

"Very well," the lion said. "Serve me and you will eat prime meat."

He went back to the Golden Den with the jackal following behind. After that the lion's leftovers went to the jackal, and the jackal got fat.

Lying one day in his den, the lion told the jackal to scan the valleys from the mountain top, to see whether there were any elephants or horses or buffalos or any other animals of which he, the jackal, was fond. If there were any in sight, the jackal was to report back and say with due obeisance, "Shine forth in your might, Lord." Then the lion promised to kill and eat whatever he wanted, giving a part to the jackal.

So the jackal started to climb the heights, and whenever he saw below animals that he liked, he would report it to the lion. He would fall at his feet and say, "Shine forth in your might, Lord." Then the lion would nimbly bound forth and kill the beast, even if it were a rutting elephant ( _a very belligerent elephant_ ). The he shared the prime meat of the carcass with the jackal. Stuffed with his meal, the jackal would then retire to his den and sleep.

Now as time went on, the jackal grew bigger and bigger until be grew vain and arrogant. "Do I not also have four legs?" he asked himself. "Why do I live off of someone else's leftovers? From here on I will kill elephants and other beasts for my own eating. The lion, king of beasts, only kills them because of the formula, 'Shine forth in your might, Lord.' I'll make the lion call out to me, 'Shine forth in _your_ might, jackal,' and then I'll kill an elephant for myself."

Accordingly, he went to the lion. He pointed out that he had long lived on what the lion had killed. He stated his desire to eat an elephant that he had killed. He ending with a request to the lion to let him, the jackal, rest in the lion's corner in Gold Den while the lion climbed the mountain to look out for an elephant. When he found the quarry, he asked the lion to come to him in the den and say, "Shine forth in your might, jackal." He begged the lion not to begrudge him this much.

The lion replied, "Jackal, only lions can kill elephants. The world has never seen a jackal who is able to kill them. Give up this fantasy and continue to eat what I kill."

But no matter what the lion said, the jackal would not give in. He continued to beg for his request. So at last the lion gave in. He told the jackal to lie down in the den. Then he climbed the peak and there he saw a rutting elephant. Returning to the den, he said, "Shine forth in your might, jackal."

Then the jackal nimbly bounded forth from Gold Den. He looked around him on all four sides and howled three times. He sprang at the elephant, meaning to bite down on its head. But he missed his target and landed at the elephant's feet. The infuriated brute raised its right foot and crushed the jackal's head, trampling the bones into powder. Then he pounded the carcass into a mass, defecated on it, and ran off trumpeting into the forest.

Figure: This Will Not End Well

Seeing all this, the Bodhisatta observed, "Now shine forth in your might, jackal," and uttered this stanza:

Your mangled corpse, your brains smashed into clay,

Prove how you've shone forth in your might today.

Thus spoke the Bodhisatta. And living to a ripe old age he passed away in the fullness of time to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "Devadatta was the jackal of those days, and I was the lion."

# 144: Naṇguṭṭha Jātaka,  
The Tail

* * *

This story concerns the Ājīvikas who were a competing group of samaṇa with the Buddhists and Jains. The Ājīvikas believed that everything is preordained and that there is no free will. They also did ascetic practices that were supposed to prevent the creation of any new karma. They lasted about 2,000 years.

" _Vile Jātaveda._ " ( _Jātaveda is the Vedic god of fire, also called "Agni."_ ) This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the false austerity of the Ājīvikas, or naked ascetics. Tradition tells us that behind Jetavana they used to practice false austerities ( _extreme ascetic practices to which the Buddha was opposed_ ). A number of the monks saw them painfully squatting on their heels, swinging in the air like bats, reclining on thorns, scorching themselves with five fires, and so forth in their various false austerities.

They were moved to ask the Blessed One whether any good resulted from this. "None whatsoever," the Master answered. "In days gone by, the wise and good went into the forest with their birth-fire ( _the fire lit at their birth_ ), thinking that they could benefit from such austerities. But they did not find themselves any better off for all their sacrifices to the fire and similar practices. So they doused the birth-fire with water until it went out. Then by the practice of meditation they attained the Knowledges ( _the power of faith, the power of moral shame, the power of moral dread, the power of energy, and the power of wisdom_ ) and Attainments ( _the eight jhānas_ ), and they earned rebirth in the Brahma Realm." So saying he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a brahmin in the North country. On the day of his birth his parents lit a birth-fire.

In his sixteenth year they said to him, "Son, on the day of your birth we lit a birth-fire for you. Now you must choose. If you wish to lead a family life, learn the Three Vedas. But if you want to earn rebirth in the Brahma Realm, take your fire with you into the forest and tend it. This will win Mahā-Brahmā's favor and you will enter into the Brahma Realm." He told his parents that a family life had no appeal to him. So he went into the forest and lived in a hermitage tending his fire.

One day an ox was given to him as alms in a border village. When he drove it home to his hermitage, he decided to sacrifice the cow to the Lord of Fire. But he did not have any salt. He thought that the Lord of Fire could not eat his meat offering without it. He decided to go back the village to get some salt. He tied up the ox and set off.

While he was gone, a band of hunters came up and saw the ox. They killed it and cooked it for dinner. What they did not eat they took with them, leaving only the tail and the hide and the legs. When the brahmin returned, he found only these sorry remains. The brahmin exclaimed, "As this Lord of Fire cannot so much as look after his own, how shall he look after me? It is a waste of time to serve him. It brings neither good nor profit."

Figure: "This is a complete waste of time."

Having lost all his desire to worship Fire, he said, "My Lord of Fire, if you cannot manage to protect yourself, how shall you protect me? The meat being gone, you must now feast on this waste." He threw the tail and the rest of the robbers' leavings on the fire and uttered this stanza:

Vile Jātaveda, here's the tail for you.

And think yourself lucky to get so much!

The prime meat's gone. Put up with tail today.

So saying the Great Being put the fire out with water and went off to become a recluse. And he won the Knowledges and Attainments and ensured his rebirth in the Brahma Realm.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "I was the ascetic of those days who quenched the fire."

# 145: Rādha Jātaka,  
Rādha's Story

* * *

This story is about the futility of trying to keep someone from misbehaving when they are determined to do so. Anyone who has dealt with an addict or someone with a compulsive behavior will understand this. In this case the misbehaving person is an unfaithful wife, but it could be anyone.

It is also interesting that in this story the wisest and most ethical being is a parrot!

" _How many more?_ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about the infidelity of a man's wife. The incidents of the introductory story will be told in the Indriya Jātaka ( _Jātaka 423_ ).

The Master spoke thus to the monk, "It is impossible to always keep guard over someone. No guard can keep them on the right path. In former days you found that all your safeguards were ineffective. How can you now expect to have more success?"

And so saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a parrot. A certain brahmin in the Kāsi country was like a father to him and his younger brother. He treated them like they were his own children. The Bodhisatta's name was Poṭṭhapāda, and his brother's name was Rādha.

Nov the brahmin had an unfaithful wife. And as he was leaving home on business, he said to the two brothers, "If your mother decides to behave badly, stop her."

"We will, papa," the Bodhisatta said, "if we can. But if we can't, we will hold our peace."

Having thus entrusted his wife to the parrots' charge, the brahmin set out on his business. Every day afterward his wife misbehaved. There was no end to the stream of her lovers in and out of the house. Moved by the sight, Rādha said to the Bodhisatta, "Brother, our father told us to stop his wife's misconduct, and now she does nothing but behave badly. Let us stop her."

"Brother," the Bodhisatta said, "what you suggest is impossible. You might carry her around in your arms and yet you could not prevent her from misbehaving. So do not suggest the impossible." And so saying he uttered this stanza:

How many more shall midnight bring? Your plan

Is idle. Nothing but good faith could curb

Her lust, and good faith is quite lacking.

And so the Bodhisatta did not allow his brother to speak to the brahmin's wife, who continued to gad about to her heart's content during her husband's absence. On his return, the brahmin asked Poṭṭhapāda about his wife's conduct, and the Bodhisatta faithfully related all that had taken place.

Figure: The Disgusted Parrot

"Why, father," he said, "why should you have anything to do with such a wicked a woman?" And he added these words, "My father, now that I have told you about my mother's wickedness, we cannot live here any longer." So saying, he bowed at the brahmin's feet and flew away with Rādha to the forest.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master taught the Four Noble Truths at the close of which the monk was established in the fruition of the first Path ( _stream-entry_ ).

"This husband and wife," said the Master, "were the brahmin and his wife of those days. Ānanda was Rādha, and I was Poṭṭhapāda."

# 146: Kāka Jātaka,  
(Another) Crow Story

* * *

Here is another in the Monks Behaving Badly series.

" _Our throats are tired._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a number of older monks. Before they had ordained, they were rich and wealthy squires of Sāvatthi. They were all friends, and tradition tells us that while they were engaged in good works they heard the Master preach. At once they cried, "We are old. What meaning do a house and home have for us? Let us join the Saṇgha, following the Buddha's lovely doctrine, and make an end of our sorrow."

So they divided their belongings among their children and families, and, leaving their tearful kindred, they went to ask the Master to receive them into the Saṇgha. But once they were admitted, they did not live the life of good monks, and because of their age they failed to master the Dharma. ( _Buddhism combines a reverence for age with mild contempt for older novices who think that they can give up their mundane lives and withstand the rigors of the training. In the Theravāda tradition, you cannot ordain after the age of 55._ )

Just as they had in their lives as householders, now too they lived together. They built a cluster of neighboring huts for themselves on the edge of the monastery. When they went in search of alms, they usually went to their wives' and children's houses and ate there. In particular, all these old men were maintained by the wealth of the wife of one of them, who supplied them with fine sauces and curries.

However, she fell ill and died. The aged monks went back to the monastery. They bemoaned the death of their benefactress, the giver of sauces. The noise of their lamentation caused the other monks to go to them to find out what was going on. The aged men told them how their kind benefactress was dead, and that they cried because they had lost her and would never see anyone like her again.

Shocked at such impropriety, the monks talked together in the Dharma Hall about the cause of the old men's sorrow. When the Master entered the Dharma Hall, he asked what they were discussing and they told him. "Ah, monks," he said, "in times past, this same woman's death made them go about weeping and wailing. In those days she was a crow. She was drowned in the sea. These men were trying to empty all the water out of the sea in order to save her, when the wise of those days saved them."

And so saying he told this story of the past.

Figure: Not Really in the Spirit of the Monk's Life...

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a sea sprite ( _fairy_ ). Now a crow with his mate came down in search of food to the sea-shore. Just before they arrived, some people had offered a sacrifice of milk, and rice, and fish, and meat and strong drink and the like to the Nāgas ( _serpent deities_ ). The crow and his mate ate freely of the sacrifice, and they drank a great deal of the spirits. So they both got very drunk. Then they wanted to frolic in the sea. They were trying to swim on the surf when a wave swept the crow's mate out to sea and a fish came and gobbled her up.

"Oh, my poor wife is dead," cried the crow, bursting into tears. Then a crowd of crows were drawn by his wailing to the spot to find out what was bothering him. When he told them how his wife had been carried out to sea, they all began to weep. Suddenly the thought struck them that they were stronger than the sea and that all they had to do was to empty it out and rescue their comrade! So they set to work with their bills to empty the sea with their mouths, going to rest on dry land when their throats were sore from the salt water.

And so they worked until their mouths and jaws were dry and inflamed and their eyes bloodshot and they were ready to drop from weariness. They turned to one another in despair and said that their efforts were in vain, for no sooner had they got rid of the water in one place than more flowed in. They would never succeed in bailing the water out of the sea. And, so saying, they uttered this stanza:

Our throats are tired, our mouths are sore,

The sea refills itself forevermore.

Then all the crows started to praise the beauty of her beak and eyes, her complexion, her figure and sweet voice. They said that it was her excellent qualities that had provoked the sea to steal her from them. But as they talked this nonsense, the sea sprite made a phantom appear from the sea and cause them to run away. In this way they were saved from their foolishness.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "The aged monk's wife was the hen-crow of those days, and her husband was the male crow. The other aged monks were the rest of the crows, and I was the sea sprite."

# 147: Puppharatta Jātaka,  
The Red Flower

* * *

Have you ever suffered from poor judgment when it comes to romance? If the answer is "yes," then this is your story.

" _I do not count it as pain._ " This story was told by the Master while he was at Jetavana. It is about a monk who was overwhelmed by passion. Being questioned by the Master, he admitted his fault, explaining that he longed for the wife of his worldly life. "For, oh sir!" he said, "she is such a sweet woman that I cannot live without her."

"Brother," the Master said, "she is harmful to you. In former days she was the cause of you being impaled on a stake. And it was for bewailing her at your death that you were reborn in hell. So why do you now long for her?" And so saying, he told the following story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a spirit of the sir. Now in Benares they were holding the night-festival of Kattikā ( _the last month of the rainy season_ ). the city was decorated like a city of the gods, and all of the people were on holiday.

There was a poor man who had only a couple of coarse cloths which he had washed and pressed until they were in 100, even 1,000 creases. But his wife said, "My husband, I want a safflower-colored ( _red_ ) cloth to wear as I go about at the festival with you."

"How are poor people like us to get safflowers?" said he. "Put on your nice clean clothing and come along."

"If I can't have my clothes dyed with safflower, I don't want to go at all," his wife said. "Get some other woman to go to the festival with you."

"Why are you torturing me like this? How are we to get safflowers?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way," the woman retorted. "Are there no safflowers in the King's greenhouses?"

"Wife," he said, "the King's conservatories are like a pool haunted by an ogre. There's no getting in there with such a strong guard on the watch. Give up this fantasy and be content with what you have."

"But when it's night-time and dark," she said, "what's to keep a man from going where he wants?"

As she persisted in her pleading, his love for her at last made him give in. He promised that she should have her wish. Risking his life, he went out of the city at night and got into the greenhouses by breaking down the fence. But the noise he made breaking down the fence alerted the guards who went off to catch the thief. They soon caught him and. They beat him, cursed him, and put him in chains.

In the morning he was brought before the King who ordered him to be impaled alive. He was hauled off with his hands tied behind his back. They led him out of the city to his execution to the sound of the drum, and then he was impaled alive.

Figure: A Woeful Lack of Good Judgment

His pain was agonizing. And to make it worse, crows settled on his head and pecked out his eyes with their dagger-like beaks. Yet, heedless of his pain and thinking only of his wife, the man murmured to himself, "Alas, I shall miss going to the festival with my wife arrayed in safflower-colored cloths with her arms wrapped around my neck." So saying, he uttered this stanza:

I do not count it as pain that, here impaled,

I am torn by crows. My heartfelt pain is this,

That my dear wife will not keep holiday

Attired in gay clothing of red hue.

And as he was babbling about his wife, he died and was reborn in hell.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master identified the birth by saying, "This husband and wife were the husband and wife of those days also, and I was the spirit of the air who made their story known."

# 148: Sigāla Jātaka,  
(Still Another) Jackal Story

* * *

There is a twist in this story. We get a fairly conventional tale about lust. The twist is that it is the Bodhisatta who is the lustful jackal. But this also shows how through various lifetimes the Bodhisatta is – as Larry Rosenberg puts it – learning his way out of suffering.

There is some lovely poetic imagery in this story. While it makes it a little harder to understand, I have left it largely un-edited.

" _Once bitten, twice shy._ " This story was told by the Master when he was at Jetavana. It is about subduing sensual desires.

We are told that some 500 rich friends, sons of merchants of Sāvatthi, were inspired by the Master's teachings to give their lives and hearts to the Dharma. They joined the Saṇgha and lived in Jetavana in the park that Anāthapiṇḍika paved with gold.

( _After Anāthapiṇḍika first met the Buddha, he wanted to build a monastery for him. He came across a park that belonged to Prince Jeta, the son of King Pasenadi of Kosala. Anāthapiṇḍika offered to buy the park from the prince but the prince refused. When Anāthapiṇḍika persisted, the prince joked that he would only sell him the park if he covered it with gold coins, which Anāthapiṇḍika did._ )

Now in the middle of one night they began to feel lustful. In their distress, they decided to give in to the lust even though as monks they had renounced it. The Master raised aloft the lamp of his omniscience to see the passion that had gotten hold of the monks in Jetavana.

Reading their hearts, he perceived their lust and desire. Like a mother who watches over her only child or a one-eyed man cares for the one eye that he still had, the Master watches over his disciples. In the morning or in the evening, at whatever hour their passions overwhelm them, he will not let his faithful be overpowered. In the same hour he subdues the raging lusts that overcome them. The thought came to him, "This is like when thieves break into the city of an emperor. I will reveal the Dharma straightway to these monks. In subduing their lust, I will raise them up to arhatship."

So he came out from his perfumed chamber, and in sweet tones he called for the venerable Elder, Ānanda, Treasurer of the Faith. The Elder came forward and with due respect and stood before the Master to know his pleasure. Then the Master told him to assemble all of the monks who lived in that quarter of Jetavana in his perfumed chamber. Tradition says that the Master thought that if he summoned only those 500 lustful monks, they would know that he was aware of their lust, and this would prevent them from hearing the Dharma. Accordingly, he summoned all the monks, not just those who were lustful.

Ānanda went from cell to cell summoning the monks until they were all assembled in the perfumed chamber. Then he prepared the Buddha-seat. In stately dignity like Mount Sineru ( _Mount Sineru/Meru/Sumeru is the name of the central world-mountain in Buddhist cosmology_ ) resting on the solid earth, the Master seated himself on the Buddha-seat. Glory shined around him with paired garlands upon garlands of six-colored light. They divided and divided into masses the size of a platter, the size of a canopy, and the size of a tower, until, like shafts of lightning, the rays reached to the heavens above. It was like a brilliant sunrise stirring the ocean to the depths.

With reverent obeisance and reverent hearts, the monks entered and took their seats around him. They surrounded him like an orange curtain. Then in a beautiful voice like Mahā-Brahma the Master said, "A monk should not harbor three evil thoughts: lust, hatred, and cruelty. Never think that wicked desires are a trivial matter. Such desires are like an enemy, and an enemy is no trivial matter. Given the opportunity, they bring only destruction. Even if a desire is small when it first arises, it only has to be allowed to grow in order to work utter destruction. Desire is like poison in food, like the itch in the skin, like a viper, like the thunderbolt of Indra, to be always rejected, ever to be feared. Whenever desire arises, immediately, without allowing it to harbor even for a moment in the heart, it should be expelled by thought and reflection like a raindrop that rolls off the leaf of the lotus. The wise of former times so hated even the smallest desire that they crushed it out before it could grow larger." And so saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was reborn as a jackal. He lived in the forest along the river.

Now an old elephant died by the banks of the Ganges. The jackal, finding the carcass, congratulated himself on finding such a fine source of meat. First he bit the trunk, but that was like biting a plough handle. "There's nothing to eat there," the jackal said. Then he took a bite at a tusk. But that was like biting bones. Then he tried an ear, but that was like chewing the rim of a basket. So he tried the stomach, but that was as tough as a grain basket. The feet were no better, for they were like a mortar. Next he tried the tail, but that was like the pestle.

"That won't do either," the jackal said. Having failed to find an edible part, he tried the rear and that was like eating a soft cake.

"At last," he said, "I've found the right place." He ate his way right into the belly where he made a plentiful meal off the kidneys, the heart, and the rest. He satisfied his thirst with the blood.

When night came he lay down inside. As he lay there, the jackal thought, "This carcass is both food and a house to me. Why should I leave it?" So he stayed there, living in the elephant's innards and eating away.

Time went on until the summer sun and the summer winds dried and shrank the elephant's hide. The entrance by which the jackal had got in closed and the interior was in darkness. Thus the jackal was, as it were, cut off from the world and confined in the inner space between the worlds.

Figure: Trapped Inside an Elephant Carcass!

After the hide, the flesh dried up and the blood was exhausted. In a frenzy of despair, he rushed back and forth beating against his prison walls in a fruitless attempt to escape. But as he bobbed up and down inside like a ball of rice in a boiling saucepan. Finally a tempest broke and the downpour moistened the shell of the carcass and restored it to its former state.

Light shone like a star through the way by which the jackal had got in. "Saved! saved!" the jackal cried. He backed into the elephant's head and rushed head-first at the outlet. He managed to get through, but he lost all his hair along the way. He sat down and surveyed his hairless body, which was now as smooth as a palm-stem. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "this misfortune has happened to me because of my greed and my greed alone. From now on I will not be greedy or get into the carcass of an elephant ever again." And he expressed his terror in this stanza:

Once bitten, twice shy. Ah, great was my fear!

Of elephants' innards from now on I'll steer clear.

And with these words the jackal ran off. Never again did he look at that or at any other elephant's carcass. And from then on he was never greedy again.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master said, "Monks, never let desires take root in the heart but pluck them out whenever they spring up." He preached the Four Noble Truths at the end of which those 500 monks won arhatship, and the rest won varying lesser degrees of liberation. The Master identified the birth as follows, "I was the jackal of those days."

# 149: Ekapaṇṇa Jātaka,  
The Single Leaf

* * *

This is a lovely story with a lovely metaphor. In the main story, the Bodhisatta uses the example of a single, poisonous leaf to show a wicked prince the error of his ways.

Some people object to folk stories and myths as being "lies." But as Joseph Campbell said, myths are metaphors. And the lessons you learn from stories like this are much more likely to leave an impact that simply being told to do something.

Some people object to the notion that doing evils results in being reborn in hell. This is from our Judeo-Christian heritage which uses hell as a bludgeon. It is a fine line, but Buddhists have a similar notion but with an important difference. There is no God who issues punishment. Instead it is the simple consequences of our actions that determines our future. If we are kind and wise, we are likely to be happy in the future and to have a good rebirth. The converse is also true.

" _If poison lurks._ " This story was told by the Master when he was living in the gabled house in the great forest near Vesālī in the kingdom of Licchavi. It is about Prince Wicked.

In those days Vesālī enjoyed marvelous prosperity. A triple wall encompassed the city. Each wall was 5 kilometers from the next one. There were three gates with watch-towers. In that city there were 7,707 kings to govern the kingdom and an equal number of viceroys, generals, and treasurers.

Among the kings' sons was one known as Wicked Licchavi Prince. He was a fierce, passionate, and cruel young man. He was always punishing people like an enraged viper. He had such a passionate nature that no one could say more than two or three words in his presence. Not his parents, family, or friends could control him.

So at last his parents decided to bring the uncontrollable youth to the All-Wise Buddha realizing that he was the only one who could possibly tame their son's fierce spirit. So they brought him to the Master, whom, with due respect, they asked to teach the youth a lesson.

Then the Master addressed the prince and said, "Prince, human beings should not be passionate or cruel or ferocious. The fierce man is one who is harsh and unkind alike to the mother that bore him, to his father and child, to his brothers and sisters, and to his wife, friends and family. He inspires fear like a viper darting forward to bite, like a robber springing on his victim in the forest, like an ogre attacking. The fierce man will be reborn after this life in hell or another place of punishment. Even in this life, no matter how magnificently he is adorned, he will look ugly. Even if his face is as beautiful as the circle of the full moon, it is like a lotus that is scorched by flames or a disc of gold covered with filth. It is such rage that drives men to kill themselves with the sword, to take poison, to hang themselves, and to throw themselves from high cliffs. And so it comes to pass that, meeting their death by reason of their own rage, they are reborn into torment. So too they who hurt others are hated even in this life, and because of their evil when the body dies they pass into hell and punishment. Once more they are born as men, disease and sickness of eye and ear and of every kind will beset them from their birth onward. Therefore, let all men show kindness and be doers of good, and then most assuredly hell and punishment hold no fear for them."

This one lecture had such power on the prince that his pride was humbled immediately. His arrogance and selfishness passed from him and his heart turned to kindness and love. Never again did he abuse or strike, and he became gentle as a snake with drawn fangs, like a crab with broken claws, as a bull with broken horns.

Seeing this change of mood, the monks talked together in the Dharma Hall about how the Licchavi Prince Wicked, whom the ceaseless pleading of his parents could not control, had been subdued and humbled with a single exhortation by the All-Wise Buddha, and how this was like taming six rutting elephants at once. It has been well-said that, "The elephant-tamer, monks, guides the elephant he is breaking in, making it to go to right or left, backward or forward, according to his will. In the same way the animal-tamer trains horses and oxen. So too the Blessed One, the All-Wise Buddha, guides the man he would train, guides who he wills along any of the eight directions, and makes his pupil to see what is outside himself. Such is the Buddha and he alone is hailed as chief of the trainers of men, supreme in bowing men to the yoke of Dharma. For, sirs," said the monks, "there is no trainer of men like the Supreme Buddha."

Just then the Master entered the Dharma Hall and asked what they were discussing. Then they told him and he said, "Monks, this is not the first time that a single exhortation of mine has conquered the prince. This has happened before."

And so saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as a brahmin in the North country. When he grew up he first learned the Three Vedas and all learning at Takkasilā University. And for a while he lived a worldly life.

But when his parents died he became a recluse, living in the Himalayas. He attained the mystic Attainments ( _the jhānas_ ) and Knowledges ( _the power of faith, the power of moral shame, the power of moral dread, the power of energy, and the power of wisdom_ ). There he lived for a long time, until the need of salt and other necessities brought him back to the paths of men. He went to Benares where he took up his residence in the royal pleasure garden.

On the next day he dressed himself with care, and in the best garb of an ascetic went in search for alms in the city. He came to the King's gate. The King was sitting down and saw the Bodhisatta from the window. He noticed how the hermit, wise in heart and soul, fixing his gaze immediately before him, moved in lion-like majesty. It was as if at every footstep he was giving the gift of a thousand gold pieces. "If goodness lives anywhere," the King thought, "it must be in this man's heart."

So he summoned a courtier. He told him to bring the recluse into his presence. The courtier went up to the Bodhisatta and with due respect, took his alms bowl from his hand. "What do you want, your excellency?" the Bodhisatta said. "The King requests the pleasure of your company," replied the courtier. "My home," the Bodhisatta said, "is in the Himalayas, and I do not have the King's favor."

So the courtier went back and reported this to the King. Thinking that he had no confidential adviser at the time, the King asked that the Bodhisatta be brought to him, and the Bodhisatta finally agreed.

The King greeted him with great courtesy. He asked him to sit on a golden throne underneath the royal parasol. And the Bodhisatta was fed on great delicacies that had been made for the King himself.

Then the King asked where the recluse lived and learned that his home was in the Himalayas.

"And where are you going now?"

"In search, sire, of a place to stay for the rainy season."

"Why not live in my pleasure garden?" the King suggested. The Bodhisatta consented, and having eaten himself, the King went to the pleasure garden with his guest. There he had a hermitage built with one room for the day and one room for the night. This dwelling was provided with the eight requisites of an ascetic. ( _The eight requisites are 1) an outer robe, 2) an inner robe, 3) a thick double robe for winter, 4) an alms bowl, 5) a razor, 6) a needle and thread, 7) a belt and 8) a water strainer._ )

Having established the Bodhisatta, the King put him under the protection of the gardener and went back to the palace. This is how it came to pass that the Bodhisatta lived from then on in the King's pleasure garden, and two or three times every day the King would go to visit him.

Now the King had a fierce and passionate son who was known as Prince Wicked. He was beyond the control of his father and family. Councilors, brahmins, and citizens all pointed out to the young man the error of his ways, but these efforts were all in vain. He did not pay any attention to any of them. The King felt that the only hope of reclaiming his son lay with the virtuous recluse. So as a last resort he took the prince and handed him over to the Bodhisatta to deal with.

The Bodhisatta walked with the prince in the pleasure garden until they came to where a seedling Nimb tree (an Indian lilac) was growing. On the tree there were only two leaves. One was growing on one side, and one was growing on the other side.

"Taste a leaf of this little tree, prince," the Bodhisatta said, "and see what it is like."

The young man did so, but he had barely put the leaf in his mouth when he spit it out with a curse, and he coughed and spit to get the taste out of his mouth.

"What is the matter, prince?" the Bodhisatta asked.

"Sir, today this tree only has a little deadly poison. But if it is left to grow, it will prove to be the death of many people," the prince said. And with that he pulled up the tiny growth and crushed it in his hands, reciting these lines:

If poison lurks in the baby tree,

What will the full growth prove to be?

Then the Bodhisatta said to him, "Prince, dreading what the poisonous seedling might become, you have torn it up and ripped it to pieces. Even as you acted to the tree, so the people of this kingdom, dreading what a prince so fierce and passionate may become when King, will not place you on the throne. They will uproot you like this Nimb tree. They will drive you into exile. Therefore, take warning from this tree. From here on show mercy and abound in loving-kindness."

Figure: The Bitter Taste of Bad Behavior

From that time on the prince's mood changed. He grew humble and meek, merciful, and overflowing with kindness. Abiding by the Bodhisatta's counsel, when he became King at his father's death, he abounded in charity and other good works, and in the end he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended, the Master said, "So, monks, this is not the first time that I have taught Prince Wicked. I did the same in days gone by." Then he identified the birth by saying, "The Licchavi Prince Wicked of today was the Prince Wicked of the story. Ānanda was the King, and I was the recluse who exhorted the prince to goodness."

# 150: Sañjīva Jātaka,  
The Story of Sañjīva

* * *

This is one of the iconic stories in the Pāli Canon. King Bimbisara was a good man, a good king, and a devoted supporter of the Buddha. He was killed by his son, Ajātasattu, who could not wait to become king. Ajātasattu also conspired with Devadatta to take over the Buddha's Saṇgha, and was even involved in attempting to assassinate the Buddha. In this story, in a moment of contrition, Ajātasattu wants to consult the Buddha and perhaps gain some favor with him.

" _Befriend a villain._ " The Master told this story at the Bamboo Grove. It is about King Ajātasattu's adherence to false teachers. He believed in that rancorous foe of the Buddhas, the base and wicked Devadatta. In his infatuation with Devadatta and in order to honor him, he spent a large amount of money to build a monastery for Devadatta at Gayāsīsa. And following Devadatta's wicked advice, he killed the good and virtuous old King, his father ( _Bimbisara_ ), who was a devoted supporter of the Buddha. In doing so, Ajātasattu destroyed his own chance of winning goodness and virtue, and he brought great misfortune to himself.

Hearing that the earth had swallowed up Devadatta ( _According to the texts, this is how Devadatta died. It may have been an earthquake._ ), he feared a similar fate for himself. And such was the frenzy of his terror that he did not spend his time concerned with his kingdom's welfare. He did not even sleep on his bed, but spent the nights roaming about, shaking in every limb like a young elephant in an agony of pain. In his fantasies he saw the earth yawning for him and the flames of hell darting forth. He could see himself tied down on a bed of burning metal with iron spears being thrust into his body. Like a wounded cock, he could not find peace for a single instant.

He finally decided to see the All-Wise Buddha, to reconcile with him and to ask for his guidance. But because of the magnitude of his transgressions he shied away from going into the Buddha's presence.

When the Kattikā ( _the lunar month that comes between October and November_ ) festival came around, and by night Rājagaha was illuminated and adorned like a city of the gods, the King, as he sat high on a throne of gold, saw Jīvaka Komārabhacca sitting near. ( _Jīvaka was the court physician and a devoted follower of the Buddha._ ) The idea flashed across his mind to go with Jīvaka to the Buddha. But he felt like he could not say outright that he would not go alone but wanted Jīvaka to take him. The better course he thought would be to praise the beauty of the night and then propose sitting at the feet of some sage or brahmin. Then he would ask the courtiers what teacher could give the heart peace. Of course, they would all praise their own masters, but Jīvaka would be sure extol the All-Enlightened Buddha. Then he would go to the Buddha with Jīvaka.

So he burst into many praises of the night, saying, "How fair, sirs, is this clear cloudless night! How beautiful! How charming! How delightful! How lovely! What sage or brahmin shall we seek out, to see if he may happily give our hearts peace?"

Then one minister recommended Pūraṇa Kassapa, another Makkhali Gosāla, and others Ajita Kesakambala, Kakudha Kaccāyana, Sañjaya Belaṭṭhiputta, or Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta. The King heard all these names in silence, waiting for his chief minister Jīvaka to speak. But Jīvaka, suspecting that the King's real object was to make him speak, kept silent in order to make sure. At last the King said, "Well, my good Jīvaka, why do you have nothing to say?"

With that Jīvaka rose from his seat and with hands clasped in adoration towards the Blessed One, cried, "Sire, over there in my mango grove the All-Enlightened Buddha lives with 1,350 monks. This is the great fame that has come to him." Jīvaka then proceeded to recite the nine titles of honor ascribed to him ( _1. Tathāgata, 2. Arhat, 3. fully-enlightened Buddha, 4. endowed with wisdom and conduct, 5. Well-Farer, 6. Knower of the worlds, 7. incomparable Trainer of men to be tamed, 8. Teacher of gods and humans, 9. enlightened and blessed. [DN 2.40]_ ), beginning with "Venerable." When he had further shown how from his birth onwards the Buddha's powers had surpassed all the earlier signs and expectations, Jīvaka said, "Let the King go to him, the Blessed One, to hear the Dharma and to ask questions."

His objective having been obtained, the King asked Jīvaka to have the elephants prepared, and he went in a royal procession to Jīvaka's mango grove. There he found the Buddha in a perfumed pavilion among the Saṇgha. It was as tranquil as the ocean in perfect repose. Wherever he looked, the King saw only the endless ranks of monks. They exceeding in numbers any following he had ever seen.

Pleased with the demeanor of the monks, the King bowed low and spoke words of praise. Then saluting the Buddha, he seated himself, and asked him, "What is the fruit of the holy life?"

The Blessed One gave utterance to the Sāmaññaphala Sutta ( _"The Fruits of the Holy Life" [DN 2]_ ) in two sections. ( _The division of the Sāmaññaphala Sutta into two parts has been lost._ ) Glad at heart, the King made his peace with the Buddha at the close of the Sutta. He rose up and departed with solemn obeisance.

Soon after the King had left, the Master addressed the Saṇgha and said, "Monks, this King is uprooted. If this King had not killed the righteous ruler, his father, in lust for the kingdom, he would have won the arhat's clear vision of the Dharma before he got up from his seat. But for his evil favoring of Devadatta, he has missed the fruit of stream-entry."

On the next day the monks discussed all this and said that Ajātasattu's crime of patricide, which was due to that wicked and sinful Devadatta, had cost him liberation, and that Devadatta had been the King's ruin. At this point the Master entered the Dharma Hall and asked the topic of their conversation. Being told, the Master said, "This is not the first time, monks, that Ajātasattu has suffered for favoring the wicked. Similar conduct in the past cost him his life." So saying, he told this story of the past.

* * *

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into the family of a wealthy brahmin. When he came of age, he went to study at Takkasilā University. There he received a complete education. He became a teacher in Benares, and he enjoyed world-wide fame. He had 500 young brahmins as pupils. Among these was one named Sañjīva, to whom the Bodhisatta taught a spell for raising the dead to life. But though the young man was taught this spell, he was not taught the counter charm. Proud of his new power, he went to the forest with his fellow pupils to gather wood. There they came upon a dead tiger.

"Now watch me bring the tiger to life again," he said.

( _This can't end well..._ )

"You can't," they said.

"You watch and you will see me do it."

"Well, if you can, do it," they said, and they climbed up a tree to watch.

Sañjīva chanted his charm and struck the dead tiger with a potsherd. The tiger jumped up and sprang at Sañjīva as quick as lightning. The tiger bit him on the throat, killing him outright. Then the tiger fell dead right then and there on the same spot as Sañjīva. So there the two lay dead side by side.

Figure: Let Dead Tigers Lie

The young brahmins took their wood and went back to their master to whom they told the story. "My dear pupils," he said, "see how by being wicked and showing favor to the evil, he brought this calamity on himself." And so saying he uttered this stanza:

Befriend a villain, aid him in his need,

And, like that tiger which Sañjīva raised

To life, he devours you straight for your pains.

Such was the Bodhisatta's lesson to the young brahmins. And after a life of almsgiving and other good deeds, he passed away to fare according to his karma.

* * *

His lesson ended the Master identified the birth by saying, "Ajātasattu was the young brahmin of those days who brought the dead tiger to life, and I was the world-renowned teacher."

