Chapter XIV: Book VIII (2)

“O Sāriputta! you don’t understand the hearts and motives of men. Do you go now; but return in the evening, and you shall take your co-resident with you.”

Thus dismissing Sāriputta, the Teacher had the monk provided with a better suit of robes, kept him near himself on the begging-round, and had pleasant food given to him. On his return with the monks he spent the rest of the day in his apartment, and in the evening took that brother with him on his walk round the monastery. There, in a mango-grove, he created a pond, and in it a large cluster of lotuses, and among them one flower of surpassing size and beauty. And telling the monk to sit down there and watch that flower, he returned to his apartment.

The monk gazed at the flower again and again. The Blessed One made that very flower decay; and even as the monk was watching it, it faded away and lost its colour. Then the petals began to fall off, beginning with the outermost, and in a minute they had all dropped on the ground. At last the heart fell to pieces, and the centre knob only remained.

As the monk saw this, he thought, “But now this lotus-flower was exquisitely beautiful! Now its colour has gone; its petals and filaments have fallen away, and only the centre knob is left! If such a flower can so decay, what may not happen to this body of mine! Verily nothing that is composite is enduring!” And the eyes of his mind were opened. Then the Master knew that he had attained to spiritual insight; and without leaving his apartment, sent out an appearance as of himself, saying:

“Root out the love of self,
As you might the autumn lotus with your hand.
Devote yourself to the Way of Peace alone--
To the Nirvāna which the Blessed One has preached!”[307]

As the stanza was over the monk reached to Arahatship; and at the thought of now being delivered from every kind of future life, he gave utterance to his joy in the hymn of praise beginning--

He who has lived his life, whose heart is fixed,
Whose evil inclinations are destroyed;
He who is wearing his last body now,
Whose life is pure, whose senses well controlled--
He has gained freedom!--as the moon set free,
When an eclipse has passed, from Rahu’s jaws.

The utter darkness of delusion,
Which reached to every cranny of his mind,
He has dispelled; and with it every sin--
Just as the thousand-ray’d and mighty sun
Sheds glorious lustre over all the earth,
And dissipates the clouds!

* * * * *

And he returned to the Blessed One, and paid him reverence. The Elder also came; and when he took leave of the Teacher, he took his co-resident junior back with him.

And the news of this was noised abroad among the brethren. And they sat together in the evening in the Lecture Hall, extolling the virtues of the Sage, and saying, “Brethren, Sāriputta the Venerable, not possessing the knowledge of hearts and motives, ignored the disposition of the monk under his charge; but the Master, having that knowledge, procured in one day for that very man the blessing of Arahatship, with all its powers! Ah! how great is the might of the Buddhas!”

When the Teacher had come there and had taken his seat, he asked them what they were talking about. And they told him.

“It is not so very wonderful, O monks,” said he, “that I now, as the Buddha, should know this man’s disposition; formerly also I knew it.”

And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Once upon a time Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, and the Bodisat was his adviser in things spiritual and temporal.

Now somebody took a common hack to be rubbed down at the ford where the king’s state charger used to be bathed. The charger was offended at being led down into the water where a hack had been rubbed down, and refused to step into it.

The horsekeeper went and said to the king, “Your majesty! the state charger won’t enter the water.”

The king sent for the Bodisat, and said, “Do you go, Paṇḍit, and find out why the horse won’t go into the water when he is led down to the ford.”

“Very well, my Lord!” said he; and went to the ford, and examined the horse, and found there was nothing the matter with it. Then, reflecting what might be the reason, he thought, “Some other horse must have been watered here just before him; and offended at that, he must have refused to enter the water.”

So he asked the horsekeepers whether anything had been watered at the ford just before.

“A certain hack, my Lord!” said they.

Then the Bodisat saw it was his vanity that made him wish not to be bathed there, and that he ought to be taken to some other pond. So he said, “Look you, horsekeeper, even if a man gets the finest milky rice with the most delicious curry to eat, he will tire of it sooner or later. This horse has been bathed often enough at the ford here, take him to some other ford to rub him down and feed him.” And so saying, he uttered the verse--

“Feed the horse, then, O charioteer,
Now at one ford, now at another.
If one but eat it oft enough,
The finest rice surfeits a man!”

When they heard what he said, they took the horse to another ford, and there bathed and fed him. And as they were rubbing down the horse after watering him, the Bodisat went back to the king.

The king said, “Well, friend! has the horse had his bath and his drink?”

“It has, my Lord!”

“Why, then, did it refuse at first?”

“Just in this way,” said he; and told him all.

The king gave the Bodisat much honour, saying, “He understands the motives even of such an animal as this. How wise he is!” And at the end of this life he passed away according to his deeds. And the Bodisat too passed away according to _his_ deeds.

When the Master had finished this discourse in illustration of his saying (“Not now only, O mendicants, have I known this man’s motive; formerly also I did so”), he made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, by saying, “The state charger of that time was this monk, the King was Ānanda, but the wise minister was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE FORD.

No. 26.

MAHILĀ-MUKHA JĀTAKA.

Evil communications corrupt good manners.

_“By listening first to robbers’ talk,” etc._[308]--This the Master told when at Jetavana, about Devadatta. Devadatta became well-pleasing to Prince Ajāta-sattu, and had great gain and honour. The Prince had a monastery built for him at Gayā-sīsa, and five hundred vessels-full of food made of the finest old fragment-rice provided for him daily. Through this patronage Devadatta’s following increased greatly, and he lived with his disciples in that monastery.

At that time there were two friends living at Rājagaha; and one of them took the vows under the Teacher, the other under Devadatta. And they used to meet in different places, or go to the monasteries to see one another.

Now one day Devadatta’s adherent said to the other, “Brother! why do you go daily with toil and trouble to beg your food? Ever since Devadatta was settled at the Gayā-sīsa Monastery he is provided with the best of things to eat. That’s the best way to manage. Why do you make labour for yourself? Wouldn’t it be much better for you to come in the morning to Gayā-sīsa and enjoy really good food--drinking our excellent gruel, and eating from the eighteen kinds of dishes we get?”

When he had been pressed again and again, he became willing to go; and thenceforward he used to go to Gayā-sīsa and take his meal, and return early to the Bambu Grove. But it was impossible to keep it secret for ever; and before long it was noised abroad that he went to Gayā-sīsa and partook of the food provided for Devadatta.

So his friends asked him if that were true.

“Who has said such a thing?” said he.

“Such and such a one,” was the reply.

“Well, it is true, brethren, that I go and take my meals at Gayā-sīsa; but it is not Devadatta, it is the others who give me to eat.”

“Brother! Devadatta is a bitter enemy of the Buddhas. The wicked fellow has curried favour with Ajāta-sattu, and won over his patronage by his wickedness. Yet you, who took the vows under a system so well able to lead you to Nirvāna, now partake of food procured for Devadatta by his wickedness. Come! we must take you before the Master!” So saying, they brought him to the Lecture Hall.

The Master saw them, and asked, “What, then! are you come here, O mendicants! bringing this brother with you against his will?”

“Yes, Lord,” said they. “This brother took the vows under you, and yet he partakes of the food which Devadatta’s wickedness has earned for him.”

The Teacher asked him whether this was true what they said.

“Lord!” replied he, “it is not Devadatta, but the others who give me food: _that_ I do eat.”

Then said the Teacher, “O monk, make no excuse for it. Devadatta is a sinful, wicked man. How then can you, who took the vows here, eat Devadatta’s bread, even while devoting yourself to my religion? Yet you always, even when right in those whom you honoured, used to follow also any one you met.” And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the Bodisat became his minister. At that time the king had a state elephant, named ‘Girly-face,’ who was good and gentle, and would hurt nobody.

Now one day, robbers came at night-time to a place near his stall, and sat down not far from him, and consulted about their plans, saying, “Thus should a tunnel be broken through; thus should housebreaking be carried out; goods should be carried off only after the tunnel or the breach has been made clear and open as a road or a ford; the taker should carry off the things, even with murder, thus no one will be able to stand up against him; robbery must never be united with scruples of conduct, but with harshness, violence, and cruelty.” Thus advising and instructing one another, they separated.

And the next day likewise, and so for many days they assembled there, and consulted together. When the elephant heard what they said, he thought, “It is me they are teaching. I am in future to be harsh, violent, and cruel.” And he really became so.

Early in the morning an elephant keeper came there. Him he seized with his trunk, dashed to the ground, and slew. So, likewise, he treated a second and a third, slaying every one who came near him.

So they told the king that ‘Girly-face’ had gone mad, and killed every one he caught sight of. The King sent the Bodisat, saying, “Do you go, Paṇḍit, and find out what’s the reason of his having become a Rogue!”[309]

The Bodisat went there, and finding he had no bodily ailment, thought over what the reason could be; and came to the conclusion that he must have become a Rogue after overhearing some conversation or other, and thinking it was meant as a lesson for _him_. So he asked the elephant keepers, “Has there been any talking going on at night time, near the stable?”

“O yes, sir! Some thieves used to come and talk together,” was the reply.

The Bodisat went away, and told the king, “There is nothing bodily the matter with the elephant, your Majesty; it is simply from hearing robbers talk that he has become a Rogue.”

“Well; what ought we to do now?”

“Let holy devotees, venerable by the saintliness of their lives,[310] be seated in the elephant stable and talk of righteousness.”

“Then do so, my friend,” said the king. And the Bodisat got holy men to sit near the elephant’s stall, telling them to talk of holy things.

So, seated not far from the elephant, they began: “No one should be struck, no one killed. The man of upright conduct ought to be patient, loving, and merciful.”

On hearing this, he thought, “It is me these men are teaching; from this time forth I am to be good!” And so he became tame and quiet.

The king asked the Bodisat, “How is it, my friend? Is he quieted?”

“Yes, my Lord! The elephant, bad as he was, has, because of the wise men, been re-established in his former character.” And so saying, he uttered the stanza:

By listening first to robbers’ talk,
’Girly-face’ went about to kill.
By listening to men with hearts well trained,
The stately elephant stood firm once more
In all the goodness he had lost.

Then the king gave great honour to the Bodisat for understanding the motives even of one born as an animal. And he lived to a good old age, and, with the Bodisat, passed away according to his deeds.

* * * * *

The Teacher having finished this discourse, in illustration of what he had said (“Formerly also, O monk, you used to follow any one you met. When you heard what thieves said, you followed thieves; when you heard what the righteous said, you followed them”), he made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka by saying, “He who at that time was ‘Girly-face’ was the traitor-monk, the king was Ānanda, and the minister was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY ABOUT ‘GIRLY-FACE.’[311]

No. 27.

ABHIṆHA JĀTAKA.

The Elephant and the Dog.

_“No longer can he take a morsel even,” etc._--This the Master told when at Jetavana about an old monk and a lay convert.

At Sāvatthi, the story goes, there were two friends. One of them entered the Order, and went every day to get his meal at the house of the other. The other gave him to eat, and ate himself; and went back with him to the monastery, sat there chatting and talking with him till sunset, and then returned to the city. The other, again, used to accompany him to the city gate, and then turn back. And the close friendship between them became common talk among the brethren.

Now one day the monks sat talking in the Lecture Hall about their intimacy. When the Teacher came, he asked them what they were talking about, and they told him. Then he said, “Not now only, O mendicants, have these been close allies; they were so also in a former birth.” And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the Bodisat became his minister.

At that time a dog used to go to the state elephant’s stable, and feed on the lumps of rice which fell where the elephant fed. Being attracted there by the food, he soon became great friends with the elephant, and used to eat close by him. At last neither of them was happy without the other; and the dog used to amuse himself by catching hold of the elephant’s trunk, and swinging to and fro.

But one day there came a peasant who gave the elephant-keeper money for the dog, and took it back with him to his village. From that time the elephant, missing the dog, would neither eat nor drink nor bathe. And they let the king know about it.

He sent the Bodisat, saying, “Do you go, Paṇḍit, and find out what’s the cause of the elephant’s behaviour.”[312]

So he went to the stable, and seeing how sad the elephant looked, said to himself, “There seems to be nothing bodily the matter with him. He must be so overwhelmed with grief by missing some one, I should think, who had become near and dear to him.” And he asked the elephant-keepers, “Is there any one with whom he is particularly intimate?”

“Certainly, Sir! There was a dog of whom he was very fond indeed!”

“Where is it now?”

“Some man or other took it away.”

“Do you know where the man lives?”

“No, Sir!”

Then the Bodisat went and told the king, “There’s nothing the matter with the elephant, your majesty; but he was great friends with a dog, and I fancy it’s through missing it that he refuses his food.”

And so saying, he uttered the stanza:

No longer can he take a morsel even
Of rice or grass; the bath delights him not!
Because, methinks, through constant intercourse,
The elephant had come to love the dog.

When the king heard what he said, he asked what was now to be done.

“Have a proclamation made, O king, to this effect: ’A man is said to have taken away a dog of whom our state elephant was fond. In whose house soever that dog shall be found, he shall be fined so much!’”

The king did so; and as soon as he heard of it, the man turned the dog loose. The dog hastened back, and went close up to the elephant. The elephant took him up in his trunk, and placed him on his forehead, and wept and cried, and took him down again, and watched him as he fed. And then he took his own food.

Then the king paid great honour to the Bodisat for knowing the motives even of animals.

* * * * *

When the Teacher had finished this discourse, and had enlarged upon the Four Truths,[313] he made the connexion and summed up the Jātaka, “He who at that time was the dog was the lay convert, the elephant was the old monk, but the minister Paṇḍit was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY ON CONSTANCY.

No. 28.

NANDI-VISĀLA JĀTAKA.

The Bull who Won the Bet.

“_Speak kindly._”--This the Master told when at Jetavana concerning the abusive language of the Six.[314]

For on one occasion the Six made a disturbance by scorning, snubbing, and annoying peaceable monks, and overwhelming them with the ten kinds of abuse. The monks told the Blessed One about it. He sent for the Six, and asked them whether it was true. And on their acknowledging it, he reproved them, saying, “Harsh speaking, O mendicants, is unpleasant, even to animals. An animal once made a man who addressed him harshly lose a thousand.” And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago a king of Gandhāra was reigning in Takkasilā, in the land of Gandhāra. The Bodisat came to life then as a bull.

Now, when he was yet a young calf, a certain Brāhman, after attending upon some devotees who were wont to give oxen to priests, received the bull. And he called it Nandi Visāla, and grew very fond of it; treating it like a son, and feeding it on gruel and rice.

When the Bodisat grew up, he said to himself, “This Brāhman has brought me up with great care; and there’s no other ox in all the continent of India can drag the weight I can. What if I were to let the Brāhman know about my strength, and so in my turn provide sustenance for him!”

And he said one day to the Brāhman, “Do you go now, Brāhman, to some squire rich in cattle, and offer to bet him a thousand that your ox will move a hundred laden carts.”

The Brāhman went to a rich farmer, and started a conversation thus:

“Whose bullocks hereabout do you think the strongest?”

“Such and such a man’s,” said the farmer; and then added, “but of course there are none in the whole countryside to touch my own!”

“I have one ox,” said the Brāhman, “who is good to move a hundred carts, loads and all!”

“Tush!” said the squire. “Where in the world is such an ox?”

“Just in my house!” said the Brāhman.

“Then make a bet about it!”

“All right! I bet you a thousand he can.”

So the bet was made. And he filled a hundred carts (small waggons made for two bullocks) with sand and gravel and stones, ranged them all in a row, and tied them all firmly together, cross-bar to axle-tree.

Then he bathed Nandi Visāla, gave him a measure of scented rice, hung a garland round his neck, and yoked him by himself to the front cart. Then he took his seat on the pole, raised his goad aloft, and called out, “Gee up! you brute!! Drag ‘em along! you wretch!!”

The Bodisat said to himself, “He addresses me as a wretch. I am no _wretch_!” And keeping his four legs as firm as so many posts, he stood perfectly still.

Then the squire that moment claimed his bet, and made the Brāhman hand over the thousand pieces. And the Brāhman, minus his thousand, took out his ox, went home to his house, and lay down overwhelmed with grief.

Presently Nanda Visāla, who was roaming about the place, came up and saw the Brāhman grieving there, and said to him,

“What, Brāhman! are you asleep?”

“Sleep! How can I sleep after losing the thousand pieces?”

“Brāhman! I’ve lived so long in your house, and have I ever broken any pots, or rubbed up against the walls, or made messes about?”

“Never, my dear!”

“Then why did you call me a wretch? It’s your fault. It’s not my fault. Go now, and bet him two thousand, and never call me a wretch again--I, who am no wretch at all!”

When the Brāhman heard what he said, he made the bet two thousand, tied the carts together as before, decked out Nandi Visāla, and yoked him to the foremost cart.

He managed this in the following way: he tied the pole and the cross-piece fast together; yoked Nandi Visāla on one side; on the other he fixed a smooth piece of timber from the point of the yoke to the axle-end, and wrapping it round with the fastenings of the cross-piece, tied it fast; so that when this was done, the yoke could not move this way and that way, and it was possible for one ox to drag forwards the double bullock-cart.

Then the Brāhman seated himself on the pole, stroked Nandi Visāla on the back, and called out, “Gee up! my beauty!! Drag it along, my beauty!!”

And the Bodisat, with one mighty effort, dragged forwards the hundred heavily-laden carts, and brought the hindmost one up to the place where the foremost one had stood!

Then the cattle-owner acknowledged himself beaten, and handed over to the Brāhman the two thousand; the bystanders, too, presented the Bodisat with a large sum; and the whole became the property of the Brāhman. Thus, by means of the Bodisat, great was the wealth he acquired.

* * * * *

So the Teacher reproved the Six, saying, “Harsh words, O mendicants, are pleasant to no one;” and uttered, as Buddha, the following stanza, laying down a rule of moral conduct:

Speak kindly; never speak in words unkind!
He moved a heavy weight for him who kindly spake.
He gained him wealth; he was delighted with him!

When the Teacher had given them this lesson in virtue (“Speak kindly,” etc.), he summed up the Jātaka, “The Brāhman of that time was Ānanda, but Nandi Visāla was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE BULL WHO WON THE BET.

No. 29.

KAṆHA JĀTAKA.

The Old Woman’s Black Bull.

“_Whene’er the load be heavy._”--This the Master told while at Jetavana, about the Double Miracle. That and the Descent from Heaven will be explained in the Birth Story of the Sarabha Antelope, in the Thirteenth Book.

The Supreme Buddha performed on that occasion the Double Miracle, remained some time in heaven, and on the Great Day of the Pavāraṇā Festival[315] descended at the city of Saŋkassa, and entered Jetavana with a great retinue.

When the monks were seated in the Lecture Hall, they began to extol the virtue of the Teacher, saying, “Truly, Brethren! unequalled is the power of the Tathāgata. The yoke the Tathāgata bears none else is able to bear. Though the Six Teachers kept on saying, ‘We will work wonders! We will work wonders!’ they could not do even one. Ah! how unequalled is the power of the Tathāgata!”

When the Teacher came there, he asked them what they were discussing, and they told him. Then he said, “O mendicants! who should now bear the yoke that I can bear? For even when an animal in a former birth I could find no one to drag the weight I dragged.” And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the Bodisat returned to life as a bull.

Now, when it was still a young calf, its owners stopped a while in an old woman’s house, and gave him to her when they settled their account for their lodging. And she brought him up, treating him like a son, and feeding him on gruel and rice.

He soon became known as “The old woman’s Blackie.” When he grew up, he roamed about, as black as collyrium, with the village cattle, and was very good-tempered and quiet. The village children used to catch hold of his horns, or ears, or dewlaps, and hang on to him; or amuse themselves by pulling his tail, or riding about on his back.

One day he said to himself, “My mother is wretchedly poor. She’s taken so much pains, too, in bringing me up, and has treated me like a son. What if I were to work for hire, and so relieve her distress!” And from that day he was always on the look out for a job.

Now one day a young caravan owner arrived at a neighbouring ford with five hundred bullock-waggons. And his bullocks were not only unable to drag the carts across, but even when he yoked the five hundred pair in a row they could not move one cart by itself.

The Bodisat was grazing with the village cattle close to the ford. The young caravan owner was a famous judge of cattle, and began looking about to see whether there were among them any thoroughbred bull able to drag over the carts. Seeing the Bodisat, he thought he would do; and asked the herdsmen--

“Who may be the owners, my men, of this fellow? I should like to yoke him to the cart, and am willing to give a reward for having the carts dragged over.”

“Catch him and yoke him then!” said they. “He has no owner hereabouts.”

But when he began to put a string through his nose and drag him along, he could not get him to come. For the Bodisat, it is said, wouldn’t go till he was promised a reward.

The young caravan owner, seeing what his object was, said to him, “Sir! if you’ll drag over these five hundred carts for me, I’ll pay you wages at the rate of two pence for each cart--a thousand pieces in all.”

Then the Bodisat went along of his own accord. And the men yoked him to the cart. And with a mighty effort he dragged it up and landed it safe on the high ground. And in the same manner he dragged up all the carts.

So the caravan owner then put five hundred pennies in a bundle, one for each cart, and tied it round his neck. The bull said to himself, “This fellow is not giving me wages according to the rate agreed upon. I shan’t let him go on now!” And so he went and stood in the way of the front cart, and they tried in vain to get him away.

The caravan owner thought, “He knows, I suppose, that the pay is too little;” and wrapping a thousand pieces in a cloth, tied them up in a bundle, and hung that round his neck. And as soon as he had got the bundle with a thousand inside he went off to his ‘mother.’

Then the village children called out, “See! what’s that round the neck of the old woman’s Blackie?” and began to run up to him. But he chased after them, so that they took to their heels before they got near him; and he went straight to his mother. And he appeared with eyes all bloodshot, utterly exhausted from dragging over so many carts.

“How did you got this, dear?” said the good old woman, when she saw the bag round his neck. And when she heard, on inquiry from the herdsmen, what had happened, she exclaimed, “Am I so anxious, then, to live on the fruit of your toil, my darling! Why do you put yourself to all this pain?”

And she bathed him in warm water, and rubbed him all over with oil, and gave him to drink, and fed him up with good food. And at the end of her life she passed away according to her deeds, and the Bodisat with her.

* * * * *

When the Teacher had finished this lesson in virtue, in illustration of that saying of his (“Not now only, O mendicants, has the Bodisat been excellent in power; he was so also in a former birth”), he made the connexion, and, as Buddha, uttered the following stanza:

Whene’er the load be heavy,
Where’er the ruts be deep,
Let them yoke ‘Blackie’ then,
And he will drag the load!

Then the Blessed One told them, “At that time, O mendicants, only the Black Bull could drag the load.” And he then made the connexion and summed up the Jātaka: “The old woman of that time was Uppala-vaṇṇā, but ‘the old woman’s Blackie’ was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE OLD WOMAN’S BLACK BULL.[316]

No. 30.

MUṆIKA JĀTAKA.

The Ox who Envied the Pig.

“_Envy not Muṇika._”--This the Master told while at Jetavana, about being attracted by a fat girl. That will be explained in the Birth Story of Nārada-Kassapa the Younger, in the Thirteenth Book.

On that occasion the Teacher asked the monk, “Is it true what they say, that you are love-sick?”

“It is true, Lord!” said he.

“What about?”

“My Lord! ‘tis the allurement of that fat girl!”

Then the Master said, “O monk! she will bring evil upon you. In a former birth already you lost your life on the day of her marriage, and were turned into food for the multitude.” And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the Bodisat came to life in the house of a landed proprietor in a certain village as an ox, with the name of ’Big-red.’ And he had a younger brother called ‘Little-red.’ And all the carting work in the household was carried on by means of the two brothers.

Now there was an only daughter in that family, and she was asked in marriage for the son of a man of rank in a neighbouring city. Then her parents thinking, “It will do for a feast of delicacies for the guests who come to the girl’s wedding,” fattened up a pig with boiled rice. And his name was ‘Sausages.’

When Little-red saw this, he asked his brother, “All the carting work in the household falls to our lot. Yet these people give us mere grass and straw to eat; while they bring up that pig on boiled rice! What can be the reason of that fellow getting that?”

Then his brother said to him, “Dear Little-red, don’t envy the creature his food! This poor pig is eating the food of death! These people are fattening the pig to provide a feast for the guests at their daughter’s wedding. But a few days more, and you shall see how these men will come and seize the pig by his legs, and drag him off out of his sty, and deprive him of his life, and make curry for the guests!” And so saying, he uttered the following stanza:

“Envy not ‘Sausages!’
’Tis deadly food he eats!
Eat your chaff, and be content;
’Tis the sign of length of life!”

And, not long after, those men came there; and they killed ‘Sausages,’ and cooked him up in various ways.

Then the Bodisat said to Little-red, “Have you seen ’Sausages,’ my dear?”

“I have seen, brother,” said he, “what has come of the food poor Sausages ate. Better a hundred, a thousand times, than his rice, is our food of only grass and straw and chaff; for it works no harm, and is evidence that our lives will last.”

Then the Teacher said, “Thus then, O monk, you have already in a former birth lost your life through her, and become food for the multitude.” And when he had concluded this lesson in virtue, he proclaimed the Truths. When the Truths were over, that love-sick monk stood fast in the Fruit of Conversion. But the Teacher made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, by saying, “He who at that time was ‘Sausages’ the pig was the love-sick monk, the fat girl was as she is now, Little-red was Ānanda, but Big-red was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE OX WHO ENVIED THE PIG.[317]