Chapter IV: Kulāvakavagga (1)

No. 31.

KULĀVAKA JĀTAKA.

On Mercy to Animals.

“_Let the Nestlings in the wood._”--This the Master told while at Jetavana, about a monk who drank water without straining it.

Two young monks who were friends, it is said, went into the country from Sāvatthi; and after stopping as long as it suited them in a certain pleasant spot, set out again towards Jetavana, with the intention of joining the Supreme Buddha.

One of them had a strainer, the other had not; so they used to strain water enough at one time for both to drink.

One day they had a dispute; and the owner of the strainer would not lend it to the other, but strained water himself, and drank it. When the other could not get the strainer, and was unable to bear up any longer against his thirst, he drank without straining. And in due course they both arrived at Jetavana; and after saluting the Teacher, took their seats.

The Teacher bade them welcome, saying, “Where are you come from?”

“Lord! we have been staying in a village in the land of Kosala; and we left it to come here and visit you.”

“I hope, then, you are come in concord.”

The one without a strainer replied, “Lord! this monk quarrelled with me on the way, and wouldn’t lend me his strainer!”

But the other one said, “Lord! this monk knowingly drank water with living things in it without straining it!”

“Is it true, O monk, as he says, that you knowingly drank water with living creatures in it?”

“Yes, Lord! I drank the water as it was.”

Then the Teacher said, “There were wise men once, O monk, ruling in heaven, who, when defeated and in full flight along the mighty deep, stopped their car, saying, ’Let us not, for the sake of supremacy, put living things to pain;’ and made sacrifice of all their glory, and even of their life, for the sake of the young of the Supaṇṇas.”

And he told a tale.[318]

* * * * *

Long ago a king of Magadha was reigning in Rājagaha, in the land of Magadha.

At that time the Bodisat (just as he who is now Sakka was once born in the village of Macala in Magadha) was born in that very village as a nobleman’s son. On the naming-day they gave him the name of Prince Magha, and when he grew up he was known as ‘Magha the young Brāhman.’

His parents procured him a wife from a family of equal rank; and increasing in sons and daughters, he became a great giver of gifts, and kept the Five Commandments.

In that village there were as many as thirty families; and one day the men of those families stopped in the middle of the village to transact some village business. The Bodisat removed with his feet the lumps of soil on the place where he stood, and made the spot convenient to stand on; but another came up and stood there. Then he smoothed out another spot, and took his stand there; but another man came and stood upon it. Still the Bodisat tried again and again with the same result, until he had made convenient standing-room for all the thirty.

The next time he had an open-roofed shed put up there; and then pulled that down, and built a hall, and had benches spread in it, and a water-pot placed there. On another occasion those thirty men were reconciled by the Bodisat, who confirmed them in the Five Commandments; and thenceforward he continued with them in works of piety.

Whilst they were so living they used to rise up early, go out with bill-hooks and crowbars in their hands, tear up with the crowbars the stones in the four high roads and village paths, and roll them away, take away the trees which would be in the way of vehicles, make the rough places plain, form causeways, dig ponds, build public halls, give gifts, and keep the Commandments--thus, in many ways, all the dwellers in the village listened to the exhortations of the Bodisat, and kept the Commandments.

Now the village headman said to himself, “I used to have great gain from fines, and taxes, and pot-money, when these fellows drank strong drink, or took life, or broke the other Commandments. But now Magha the young Brāhman has determined to have the Commandments kept, and permits none to take life or to do anything else that is wrong. I’ll make them keep the Commandments with a vengeance!”

And he went in a rage to the king, and said, “O king! there are a number of robbers going about sacking the villages!”

“Go, and bring them up!” said the king in reply.

And he went, and brought back all those men as prisoners, and had it announced to the king that the robbers were brought up. And the king, without inquiring what they had done, gave orders to have them all trampled to death by elephants!

Then they made them all lie down in the courtyard, and fetched the elephant. And the Bodisat exhorted them, saying, “Keep the Commandments in mind. Regard them all--the slanderer, and the king, and the elephant--with feelings as kind as you harbour towards yourselves!”

And they did so.

Then men led up the elephant; but though they brought him to the spot, he would not begin his work, but trumpeted forth a mighty cry, and took to flight. And they brought up another and another, but they all ran away.

“There must be some drug in their possession,” said the king; and gave orders to have them searched. So they searched, but found nothing, and told the king so.

“Then they must be repeating some spell. Ask them if they have any spell to utter.”

The officials asked them, and the Bodisat said there was. And they told the king, and he had them all called before him, and said, “Tell me that spell you know!”

Then the Bodisat spoke, and said, “O king! we have no other spell but this--that we destroy no life, not even of grass; that we take nothing which is not given to us; that we are never guilty of unchastity, nor speak falsehood, nor drink intoxicants; that we exercise ourselves in love, and give gifts; that we make rough places plain, dig ponds, and put up rest-houses--this is our spell, this is our defence, this is our strength!”

Then the king had confidence in them, and gave them all the property in the house of the slanderer, and made him their slave; and bestowed too the elephant upon them, and made them a grant of the village.

* * * * *

Thenceforward they were left in peace to carry on their works of charity; and they sent for a builder and had a large rest-house put up at the place where the four roads met. But as they no longer took delight in womankind, they allowed no woman to share in the good work.

Now at that time there were four women in the Bodisat’s household, named Piety, Thoughtful, Pleasing, and Well-born. Piety took an opportunity of meeting the builder alone, and gave him a bribe, and said to him, “Brother! manage somehow to give me a share in this rest-house.”

This he promised to do, and before doing the other work he had a piece of timber dried and planed; and bored it through ready for the pinnacle. And when it was finished he wrapped it up in a cloth and laid it aside. Then when the hall was finished, and the time had come for putting up the pinnacle, he said,--

“Dear me! there’s one thing we haven’t provided for!”

“What’s that?” said they.

“We ought to have got a pinnacle.”

“Very well! let’s have one brought.”

“But it can’t be made out of timber just cut; we ought to have had a pinnacle cut and planed, and bored some time ago, and laid aside for use.”

“What’s to be done now then?” said they.

“You must look about and see if there be such a thing as a finished pinnacle for sale put aside in any one’s house.”

And when they began to search, they found one on Piety’s premises; but it could not be bought for money.

“If you let me be partaker in the building of the hall, I will give it you?” said she.

“No!” replied they, “it was settled that women should have no share in it.”

Then the builder said, “Sirs! what is this you are saying? Save the heavenly world of the Brahma-angels, there is no place where womankind is not. Accept the pinnacle; and so will our work be accomplished!”

Then they agreed; and took the pinnacle and completed their hall with it.[319] They fixed benches in the hall, and set up pots of water in it, and provided for it a constant supply of boiled rice. They surrounded the hall with a wall, furnished it with a gate, spread it over with sand inside the wall, and planted a row of palmyra-trees outside it.

And Thoughtful made a pleasure ground there; and so perfect was it that it could never be said of any particular fruit-bearing or flowering tree that it was not there!

And Pleasing made a pond there, covered with the five kinds of water-lilies, and beautiful to see!

Well-born did nothing at all.[320]

And the Bodisat fulfilled the seven religious duties--that is, to support one’s mother, to support one’s father, to pay honour to age, to speak truth, not to speak harshly, not to abuse others, and to avoid a selfish, envious, niggardly disposition.

That person who his parents doth support,
Pays honour to the seniors in the house,
Is gentle, friendly-speaking, slanders not;
The man unselfish, true, and self-controlled,
Him do the angels of the Great Thirty Three
Proclaim a righteous man!

Such praise did he receive; and at the end of his life he was born again in the heaven of the Great Thirty Three, as Sakka, the king of the Gods, and there, too, his friends were born again.

* * * * *

At that time there were Titans dwelling in the heaven of the Great Thirty Three.

And Sakka said, “What is the good to us of a kingdom shared by others?”

And he had ambrosia given to the Titans to drink, and when they became like drunken men, he had them seized by the feet and thrown headlong upon the precipices of Mount Sineru.

They fell just upon “The abode of the Titans;” a place so called, upon the lowest level of Sineru, equal in size to the Tāvatiŋsa heaven. In it there is a tree, like the coral-tree in Sakka’s heaven, which stands during a kalpa, and is called “The variegated Trumpet-Flower Tree.”

When they saw the Trumpet-Flower Tree in bloom, they knew, “This is not our heaven, for in heaven the Coral-Tree blossoms.”

Then they said, “That old Sakka has made us drunk, and thrown us into the great deep, and taken our heavenly city!”

Then they made resolve, “We’ll war against him, and win our heavenly city back again!”

And they swarmed up the perpendicular sides of Sineru like so many ants!

When Sakka heard the cry, “The Titans are up!” he went down the great deep to meet them, and fought with them from the sky. But he was worsted in the fight, and began to flee away along the summit of the southern vault of heaven in his famous Chariot of Glory a hundred and fifty leagues in length.[321]

Now as his chariot went rapidly down the great deep, it passed along the Silk Cotton Tree Forest, and along its route the silk cotton trees were cut down one after another like mere palmyra palms, and fell into the great deep. And as the young ones of the Wingéd Creatures tumbled over and over into the great deep, they burst forth into mighty cries. And Sakka asked his charioteer, Mātali--

“What noise is this, friend Mātali? How pathetic is that cry!”

“O Lord! as the Silk Cotton Tree Forest falls, torn up by the swiftness of your car, the young of the Wingéd Creatures, quaking with the fear of death, are shrieking all at once together!”

Then answered the Great Being, “O my good Mātali! let not these creatures suffer on our account. Let us not, for the sake of supremacy, put the living to pain. Rather will I, for their sake, give my life as a sacrifice to the Titans. Stop the car!”

And so saying, he uttered the stanza--

“Let the Nestlings in the Silk Cotton Wood
Escape, O Mātali, our chariot pole.
Most gladly let me offer up my life:
Let not these birds, then, be bereft of offspring!”

Then Mātali, the charioteer, on hearing what he said, stopped the car, and returned towards heaven by another way. But as soon as they saw him stopping, the Titans thought, “Assuredly the Archangels of other world-systems must be coming; he must have stopped his car because he has received reinforcements!” And terrified with the fear of death, they took to flight, and returned to the Abode of the Titans.

And Sakka re-entered his heavenly city, and stood in the midst thereof, surrounded by the hosts of angels from both the heavens.[322] And that moment the Palace of Glory burst through the earth and rose up a thousand leagues in height. And it was because it arose at the end of this glorious victory that it received the name of the Palace of Glory.

Then Sakka placed guards in five places, to prevent the Titans coming up again,--in respect of which it has been said--

Between the two unconquerable cities
A fivefold line of guards stands firmly placed
Of Snakes, of Wingéd Creatures, and of Dwarfs,
Of Ogres, and of the Four Mighty Kings.

* * * * *

When Sakka had thus placed the guards, and was enjoying the happiness of heaven as king of the angels, Piety changed her form of existence, and was reborn as one of his attendants. And in consequence of her gift of the pinnacle there arose for her a jewelled hall of state under the name of ‘Piety,’ where Sakka sat as king of the angels, on a throne of gold under a white canopy of state, and performed his duties towards the angels and towards men.

And Thoughtful also changed her form of existence, and was reborn as one of his attendants. And in consequence of her gift of the pleasure-ground, there arose for her a pleasure-ground under the name of ‘Thoughtful’s Creeper Grove.’

And Pleasing also changed her form of existence, and was reborn as one of his attendants. And in consequence of her gift of the pond, there arose for her a pond under the name of ‘Pleasing.’

But since Well-born had done no act of virtue, she was reborn as a female crane in a pool in a certain forest. And Sakka said to himself, “There’s no sign of Well-born. I wonder where she can have got to!” And he considered the matter till he discovered her.

Then he went to the place, and brought her back with him to heaven, and showed her the delightful city with the Hall of Piety, and Thoughtful’s Creeper Grove, and the Pond of Pleasing. And he then exhorted her, and said--

“These did works of charity, and have been born again as my attendants; but you, having done no such works, have been reborn as an animal. Henceforward live a life of righteousness!”

And thus confirming her in the Five Commandments, he took her back, and then dismissed her. And from that time forth she lived in righteousness.

A few days afterwards, Sakka went to see whether she was able to keep good, and he lay on his back before her in the form of a fish. Thinking it was dead, the crane seized it by the head. The fish wagged its tail.

“It’s alive, I think!” exclaimed she, and let it go.

“Good! Good!” said Sakka, “You are well able to keep the Commandments.” And he went away.

When she again changed her form of existence, she was born in a potter’s household in Benares. Sakka, as before, found out where she was, and filled a cart with golden cucumbers, and seated himself in the middle of the village in the form of an old woman, calling out, “Buy my cucumbers! Buy my cucumbers!”

The people came up and asked for them.

“I sell,” said she, “only to those who live a life of righteousness. Do you live such a life?”

“We don’t know anything about righteousness. Hand them over for money!” said they.

“I want no money; I will only give to the righteous,” was her reply.

“This must be some mad woman!” said they, and left her.

But when Well-born heard what had happened, she thought, “This must be meant for me!” and went and asked for some cucumbers.

“Do you live a righteous life, lady?” was the question.

“Certainly, I do,” said she.

“It’s for your sake that I brought these here,” replied the old woman; and leaving all the golden cucumbers, and the cart too, at the door of the house, she departed.

* * * * *

And Well-born still continued in righteousness to the end of that life; and when she changed her existence, she became the daughter of a Titan named ‘The Son of Misunderstanding;’ but in consequence of her virtue she became exceeding beautiful.

When she was grown up, her father assembled the Titans together that his daughter might choose for a husband the one she liked best. Sakka was looking about as before to find out where she was; and when he discovered it, he took the form of a Titan, and went to the place,--thinking that when choosing a husband, she might take him.

Then they led Well-born in fine array to the meeting place, and told her to choose whomsoever she liked as her husband. And when she began to look at them, she saw Sakka, and by reason of her love to him in the former birth, she was moved to say, “This one is my husband,” and so chose him.

And he led her away to the heavenly city, and gave her the post of honour among great multitudes of houris; and at the end of his allotted time, he passed away according to his deeds.

* * * * *

When the Teacher had finished this discourse, he reproved the monk, saying, “Thus, O monk, formerly wise men, though they held rule in heaven, offered up their lives rather than destroy life; but you, though you have taken the vows according to so saving a faith, have drunk unstrained water with living creatures in it!” And he made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, by saying, “He who at that time was Mātali the charioteer was Ānanda, but Sakka was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY ON MERCY TO ANIMALS.[323]

No. 32.

NACCA JĀTAKA.

The Dancing Peacock.

“_Pleasant is your cry._”--This the Master told when at Jetavana, about the luxurious monk. The occasion is as above in the Story on True Divinity.[324]

The Teacher asked him, “Is this true, O monk, what they say, that you are luxurious?”

“It is true, Lord,” said he.

“How is it you have become luxurious?” began the Teacher.

But without waiting to hear more, he flew into a rage, tore off his robe and his lower garment, and calling out, “Then I’ll go about in this way!” stood there naked before the Teacher!

The bystanders exclaimed, “Shame! shame!” and he ran off, and returned to the lower state (of a layman).

When the monks were assembled in the Lecture Hall, they began talking of his misconduct. “To think that one should behave so in the very presence of the Master!” The Teacher then came up, and asked them what they were talking about, as they sat there together.

“Lord! we were talking of the misconduct of that monk, who, in your presence, and in the midst of the disciples, stood there as naked as a village child, without caring one bit; and when the bystanders cried shame upon him, returned to the lower state, and lost the faith!”

Then said the Teacher, “Not only, O monks, has this brother now lost the jewel of the faith by immodesty; in a former birth he lost a jewel of a wife from the same cause.” And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago, in the first age of the world, the quadrupeds chose the Lion as their king, the fishes the Leviathan, and the birds the Golden Goose.[325]

Now the royal Golden Goose had a daughter, a young goose most beautiful to see; and he gave her her choice of a husband. And she chose the one she liked the best.

For, having given her the right to choose, he called together all the birds in the Himālaya region. And crowds of geese, and peacocks, and other birds of various kinds, met together on a great flat piece of rock.

The king sent for his daughter, saying, “Come and choose the husband you like best!”

On looking over the assembly of the birds, she caught sight of the peacock, with a neck as bright as gems, and a many-coloured tail; and she made the choice with the words, “Let this one be my husband!”

So the assembly of the birds went up to the peacock, and said, “Friend Peacock! this king’s daughter having to choose her husband from amongst so many birds, has fixed her choice upon you!”

“Up to to-day you would not see my greatness,” said the peacock, so overflowing with delight that in breach of all modesty he began to spread his wings and dance in the midst of the vast assembly,--and in dancing he exposed himself.

Then the royal Golden Goose was shocked!

And he said, “This fellow has neither modesty in his heart, nor decency in his outward behaviour! I shall not give my daughter to him. He has broken loose from all sense of shame!” And he uttered this verse to all the assembly--

“Pleasant is your cry, brilliant is your back,
Almost like the opal in its colour is your neck,
The feathers in your tail reach about a fathom’s length,
But to such a dancer I can give no daughter, sir, of mine!”

Then the king in the midst of the whole assembly bestowed his daughter on a young goose, his nephew. And the peacock was covered with shame at not getting the fair gosling, and rose straight up from the place and flew away.

But the king of the Golden Geese went back to the place where he dwelt.

* * * * *

When the Teacher had finished this lesson in virtue, in illustration of what he had said (“Not only, O monks, has this brother now lost the jewel of the faith by immodesty, formerly also he lost a jewel of a wife by the same cause”), he made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, by saying, “The peacock of that time was the luxurious monk, but the King of the Geese was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY ABOUT THE DANCING PEACOCK.[326]

No. 33.

SAMMODAMĀNA JĀTAKA.

The sad Quarrel of the Quails.

“_So long as the birds but agree._”--This the Master told while at the Banyan Grove, near Kapilavatthu, concerning a quarrel about a _chumbat_ (a circular roll of cloth placed on the head when carrying a vessel or other weight).

This will be explained in the Kuṇāla Jātaka. At that time, namely, the Master admonishing his relations, said, “My lords! for relatives to quarrel one against another is verily most unbecoming! Even animals once, who had conquered their enemies so long as they agreed, came to great destruction when they fell out with one another.” And at the request of his relatives he told the tale.

* * * * *

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the Bodisat came to life as a quail; and lived in a forest at the head of a flock many thousands in number.

At that time there was a quail-catcher who used to go to the place where they dwelt, and imitate the cry of a quail; and when he saw that they had assembled together, he would throw his net over them, get them all into a heap by crushing them together in the sides of the net, and stuff them into his basket; and then going home, he used to sell them, and make a living out of the proceeds.

Now one day the Bodisat said to the quails, “This fowler is bringing our kith and kin to destruction! Now I know a stratagem to prevent his catching us. In future, as soon as he has thrown the net over you, let each one put his head through a mesh of the net, then _all_ lift it up _together_, so as to carry it off to any place we like, and then let it down on to a thorn bush. When that is done, we shall each be able to escape from his place under the net!”

To this they all agreed; and the next day, as soon as the net was thrown, they lifted it up just in the way the Bodisat had told them, threw it on a thorn bush, and got away themselves from underneath. And whilst the fowler was disentangling his net from the bush, darkness had come on. And he had to go empty-handed away.

From the next day the quails always acted in the same manner: and he used to be disentangling his net till sundown, catching nothing, and going home empty-handed.

At last his wife said to him in a rage, “Day after day you come here empty-handed! I suppose you’ve got another establishment to keep up somewhere else!”

“My dear!” said the fowler, “I have no other establishment to keep up. But I’ll tell you what it is. Those quails are living in harmony together; and as soon as I cast my net, they carry it away, and throw it on a thorn bush. But they can’t be of one mind for ever! Don’t you be troubled about it. As soon as they fall out, I’ll come back with every single one of them, and that’ll bring a smile into your face!” And so saying, he uttered this stanza to his wife:

“So long as the birds but agree,
They can get away with the net;
But when once they begin to dispute,
Then into my clutches they fall!”

And when only a few days had gone by, one of the quails, in alighting on the ground where they fed, trod unawares on another one’s head.

“Who trod on _my_ head?” asked the other in a passion.

“I didn’t mean to tread upon you; don’t be angry,” said the other; but he was angry still. And as they went on vociferating, they got to disputing with one another in such words as these: “Ah! it was you then, I suppose, who did the lifting up of the net!”

When they were so quarrelling, the Bodisat thought, “There is no depending for safety upon a quarrelsome man! No longer will these fellows lift up the net; so they will come to great destruction, and the fowler will get his chance again. I dare not stay here any more!” And he went off with his more immediate followers to some other place.

And the fowler came a few days after, and imitated the cry of a quail, and cast his net over those who came together. Then the one quail cried out:

“The talk was that the very hairs of your head fell off when you heaved up the net. Lift away, then, now!”

The other cried out, “The talk was that the very feathers of your wings fell out when you heaved up the net. Lift away, then, now!”

But as they were each calling on the other to lift away, the hunter himself lifted up the net, bundled them all in in a heap together, crammed them into his basket, and went home, and made his wife to smile.

* * * * *

When the Master had finished this lesson in virtue, in illustration of what he had said (“Thus, O king, there ought to be no such thing as quarrelling among relatives; for quarrels are the root of misfortune”), he made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, “He who at that time was the foolish quail was Devadatta, but the wise quail was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE SAD QUARREL OF THE QUAILS.[327]

No. 34.

MACCHA JĀTAKA.

The Fish and his Wife.

“_’Tis not the heat, ‘tis not the cold._”--This the Master told when at Jetavana, about being tempted back by one’s former wife.

For on that occasion the Master asked the monk, “Is it true, then, that you are love-sick?”

“It is true, Lord!” was the reply.

“What has made you sad?”

“Sweet is the touch of the hand, Lord! of her who was formerly my wife. I cannot forsake her!”

Then the Master said, “O Brother! this woman does you harm. In a former birth also you were just being killed through her when I came up and saved you.” And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Once upon a time, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benāres, the Bodisat became his private chaplain.

At that time certain fishermen were casting their nets into the river. Now a big fish came swimming along playing lustily with his wife. She still in front of him smelt the smell of a net, and made a circuit, and escaped it. But the greedy amorous fish went right into the mouth of the net.

When the fishermen felt his coming in they pulled up the net, seized the fish, and threw it alive on the sand, and began to prepare a fire and a spit, intending to cook and eat it.

Then the fish lamented, saying to himself;

“The heat of the fire would not hurt me, nor the torture of the spit, nor any other pain of that sort; but that my wife should sorrow over me, thinking I must have deserted her for another, that is indeed a dire affliction!”

And he uttered this stanza--

“’Tis not the heat, ‘tis not the cold,
’Tis not the torture of the net;
But that my wife should think of me,
’He’s gone now to another for delight.’”

Now just then the chaplain came down, attended by his slaves, to bathe at the ford. And he understood the language of all animals. So on hearing the fish’s lament, he thought to himself:

“This fish is lamenting the lament of sin. Should he die in this unhealthy state of mind, he will assuredly be reborn in hell. I will save him.”

And he went to the fishermen, and said--

“My good men! don’t you furnish a fish for us every day for our curry?”

“What is this you are saying, sir?” answered the fishermen. “Take away any fish you like!”

“We want no other: only give us this one.”

“Take it, then, sir.”

The Bodisat took it up in his hands, seated himself at the river-side, and said to it, “My good fish! Had I not caught sight of you this day, you would have lost your life. Now henceforth sin no more!”

And so exhorting it, he threw it into the water, and returned to the city.

* * * * *

When the Teacher had finished this discourse, he proclaimed the Truths. At the end of the Truths the depressed monk was established in the fruit of conversion. Then the Teacher made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka: “She who at that time was the female fish was the former wife, the fish was the depressed monk, but the chaplain was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE FISH AND HIS WIFE.[328]

No. 35.

VAṬṬAKA JĀTAKA.

The Holy Quail.

“_Wings I have that will not fly._”--This the Master told when journeying through Magadha about the going out of a Jungle Fire.

For once, when the Master was journeying through Magadha, he begged his food in a certain village in that land; and after he had returned from his rounds and had finished his meal, he started forth again, attended by the disciples. Just then a great fire arose in the jungle. Many of the monks were in front, many of them behind. And the fire came spreading on towards them, one mass of smoke and flame. Some of the monks being unconverted were terrified with the fear of death; and called out--

“Let’s make a counter-fire, so that the conflagration shall not spread beyond the space burnt out by that.”

And taking out their fire-sticks they began to get a light.

But the others said, “Brethren, what is this you are doing? ‘Tis like failing to see the moon when it has reached the topmost sky, or the sun as it rises with its thousand rays from the eastern quarter of the world; ‘tis like people standing on the beachy shore and perceiving not the ocean, or standing close to Sineru and seeing not that mighty mountain, for you--when journeying along in company with the greatest Being in earth or heaven--to call out, ‘Let _us_ make a counter fire,’ and to take no notice of the supreme, the Buddha! You know not the power of the Buddhas! Come, let us go to the Master!”

And they all crowded together from in front, and from behind, and went up in a body near to the Mighty by Wisdom.

There the Master stopped, surrounded by the whole body of disciples.

The jungle fire came on roaring as if to overwhelm them. It came right up to the place where the Great Mortal stood, and then--as it came within about sixteen rods of that spot--it went out, like a torch thrust down into water, leaving a space of about thirty-two rods in breadth over which it could not pass!

Then the monks began to magnify the Teacher, saying;

“Oh! how marvellous are the qualities of the Buddhas! The very fire, unconscious though it be, cannot pass over the place where the Buddhas stand. Oh! how great is the might of the Buddhas!”

On hearing this the Teacher said--

“It is not, monks, through any power I have now that the fire goes out on reaching this plot of ground. It is through the power of a former act of mine. And in all this spot no fire will burn through the whole kalpa, for that was a miracle enduring through a kalpa.”[329]

Then the venerable Ānanda folded a robe in four, and spread it as a seat for the Teacher. The Teacher seated himself; and when he had settled himself cross-legged, the body of disciples seated themselves reverently round him, and requested him, saying--

“What has now occurred, O Lord, is known to us. The past is hidden from us. Make it known to us.”

And the Teacher told the tale.

Long ago the Bodisat entered upon a new existence as a quail in this very spot, in the land of Magadha; and after having been born in the egg, and having got out of the shell, he became a young quail, in size like a big partridge.[330] And his parents made him lie still in the nest, and fed him with food they brought in their beaks. And he had no power either to stretch out his wings and fly through the air, nor to put out his legs and walk on the earth.

Now that place was consumed year after year by a jungle fire. And just at that time the jungle fire came on with a mighty roar and seized upon it. The flocks of birds rose up, each from his nest, and flew away shrieking. And the Bodisat’s parents too, terrified with the fear of death, forsook the Bodisat, and fled.

When the Bodisat, lying there as he was, stretched forth his neck, and saw the conflagration spreading towards him, he thought: “If I had the power of stretching my wings and flying in the air, or of putting out my legs, and walking on the ground, I could get away to some other place. But I can’t! And my parents too, terrified with the fear of death, have left me all alone, and flown away to save themselves. No other help can I expect from others, and in myself I find no help. What in the world shall I do now!”

But then it occurred to him, “In this world there is such a thing as the efficacy of virtue; there is such a thing as the efficacy of truth. There are men known as omniscient Buddhas, who become Buddhas when seated under the Bo-tree through having fulfilled the Great Virtues in the long ages of the past; who have gained salvation by the wisdom arising from good deeds and earnest thought, and have gained too the power of showing to others the knowledge of that salvation; who are full of truth, and compassion, and mercy, and longsuffering; and whose hearts reach out in equal love to all beings that have life. To me, too, the Truth is one, there seems to be but one eternal and true Faith. It behoves me, therefore--meditating on the Buddhas of the past and on the attributes that they have gained, and relying on the one true faith there is in me--to perform an Act of Truth; and thus to drive back the fire, and procure safety both for myself, and for the other birds.”

Therefore it is said (in the Scriptures)--

“There’s power in virtue in the world--
In truth, and purity, and love!
In that truth’s name I’ll now perform
A mystic Act of Truth sublime.

Then thinking on the power of the Faith,
And on the Conquerors in ages past,
Relying on the power of the Truth,
I then performed the Miracle!”

Then the Bodisat called to mind the attributes of the Buddhas who had long since passed away; and, making a solemn asseveration of the true faith existing in himself, he performed the Act of Truth, uttering the verse--

“Wings I have that will not fly,
Feet I have that will not walk;
My parents, too, are fled away!
O All-embracing Fire--go back!”[331]

Then before him and his Act of Truth the Element went back a space of sixteen rods; but in receding it did not return to consume the forest; it went out immediately it came to the spot, like a torch plunged into water.

Therefore it is said--

“For me and for my Act of Truth
The great and burning fire went out,
Leaving a space of sixteen rods,
As fire, with water mixed, goes out.”

And as that spot has escaped being overwhelmed by fire through all this _kalpa_, this is said to be ‘a kalpa-enduring miracle.’ The Bodisat having thus performed the Act of Truth, passed away, at the end of his life, according to his deeds.

* * * * *

When the Teacher had finished this discourse, in illustration of what he had said (“That this wood is not passed over by the fire is not a result, O monks, of my present power; but of the power of the Act of Truth I exercised as a new-born quail”), he proclaimed the Truths. At the conclusion of the Truths some were Converted, some reached the Second Path, some the Third, some the Fourth. And the Teacher made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, “My parents at that time were my present parents, but the King of the Quails was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE HOLY QUAIL.[332]

No. 36.

SAKUṆA JĀTAKA.

The Wise Bird and the Fools.

“_The earth-born tree._”--This the Master told when at Jetavana, about a monk whose hut was burned.

A certain monk, says the tradition, received from the Teacher a subject for meditation, and leaving Jetavana, took up his abode in a dwelling in a forest near a border village, belonging to the people of Kosala.

Now in the very first month his hut was burned down; and he told the people, saying, “My hut is burnt down, and I live in discomfort.”

“Our fields are all dried up now,” said they; “we must first irrigate the lands.” When they were well muddy, “We must sow the seed,” said they. When the seed was sown, “We must put up the fences,” was the excuse. When the fences were up, they declared, “There will be cutting, and reaping, and treading-out to do.” And thus, telling first of one thing to be done and then of another, they let three months slip by.

The monk passed the three months in discomfort in the open air, and concluded his meditation, but could not bring the rest of his religious exercise to completion. So when Lent was over he returned to the Teacher, and saluting him, took his seat respectfully on one side.

The Teacher bade him welcome, and then asked him, “Well, brother, have you spent Lent in comfort? Have you brought your meditation to its conclusion?”

He told him what had happened, and said, “As I had no suitable lodging, I did not fully complete the meditation.”

“Formerly, O monk,” said the Teacher, “even animals were aware what was suitable for them, and what was not. Why did not you know it?”

And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benāres, the Bodisat came to life again as a bird, and lived a forest life, attended by a flock of birds, near a lofty tree, with branches forking out on every side.

Now one day dust began to fall as the branches of the tree rubbed one against another. Then smoke began to rise. The Bodisat thought, on seeing this,--

“If these two branches go on rubbing like that they will send out sparks of fire, and the fire will fall down and seize on the withered leaves; and the tree itself will soon after be consumed. We can’t stop here; we ought to get away at once to some other place.” And he addressed the flock in this verse:

“The earth-born tree, on which
We children of the air depend,
It, even it, is now emitting fire.
Seek then the skies, ye birds!
Behold! our very home and refuge
Itself has brought forth danger!”

Then such of the birds as were wise, and hearkened to the voice of the Bodisat, flew up at once with him into the air, and went elsewhere. But such as were foolish said one to another, “Just so! Just so! He’s always seeing crocodiles in a drop of water!” And paying no attention to what he said, they stopped there.

And not long afterwards fire was produced precisely in the way the Bodisat had foreseen, and the tree caught fire. And smoke and flames rising aloft, the birds were blinded by the smoke; they could not get away, and one after another they fell into the fire, and were burnt to death!

* * * * *

When the Teacher had finished this discourse with the words, “Thus formerly, O monk, even the birds dwelling on the tree-tops knew which place would suit them and which would not. How is it that you knew it not?” he proclaimed the Truths. At the conclusion of the Truths the monk was established in Conversion. And the Teacher made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, “The birds who at that time listened to the voice of the Bodisat were the followers of the Buddha, but the Wise Bird was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE WISE BIRD AND THE FOOLS.

No. 37.

TITTIRA JĀTAKA.

The Partridge, Monkey, and Elephant.

“_’Tis those who reverence the aged._”--This the Master told on the road to Sāvatthi about Sāriputta being kept out of a night’s lodging.

For when Anātha Piṇḍika had finished his monastery, and sent word to the Teacher, the latter left Rājagaha and arrived at Vesali; and after resting there a short time, he set out again on the road to Sāvatthi.[333]

On that occasion the pupils of the Six went on in front, and before lodgings had been taken for the Elders, occupied all the places to be had, saying,--

“This is for our superior, this for our instructor, and these for us.”

The Elders who came up afterwards found no place to sleep in. Even Sāriputta’s pupils sought in vain for a lodging-place for the Elder. So the Elder having no lodging passed the night either walking up and down, or sitting at the foot of a tree, not far from the place where the Teacher was lodged.

In the early morning the Teacher came out and coughed. The Elder coughed too.

“Who’s there?” said the Teacher.

“’Tis I, Lord; Sāriputta,” was the reply.

“What are you doing here, so early, Sāriputta?” asked he.

Then he told him what had happened; and on hearing what the Elder said, the Teacher thought,--

“If the monks even now, while I am yet living, show so little respect and courtesy to one another, what will they do when I am dead?” And he was filled with anxiety for the welfare of the Truth.

As soon as it was light he called all the priests together, and asked them--

“Is it true, priests, as I have been told, that the Six went on in front, and occupied all the lodging-places to the exclusion of the Elders?”

“It is true, O Blessed One!” said they.

Then he reproved the Six, and addressing the monks, taught them a lesson, saying,--

“Who is it, then, O monks, who deserves the best seat, and the best water, and the best rice?”

Some said, “A nobleman who has become a monk.” Some said, “A Brāhman, or the head of a family who has become a monk.” Others said, “The man versed in the Rules of the Order; an Expounder of the Law; one who has attained to the First Jhāna, or the Second, or the Third, or the Fourth.” Others again said, “The Converted man; or one in the Second or the Third Stage of the Path to Nirvāna; or an Arahat; or one who knows the Three Truths; or one who has the Sixfold Wisdom.”[334]

When the monks had thus declared whom they each thought worthy of the best seat, and so on, the Teacher said:

“In my religion, O monks, it is not the being ordained from a noble, or a priestly, or a wealthy family; it is not being versed in the Rules of the Order, or in the general or the metaphysical books of the Scriptures; it is not the attainment of the Jhānas, or progress in the Path of Nirvāna, that is the standard by which the right to the best seat, and so on, is to be judged. But in my religion, O monks, reverence, and service, and respect, and civility, are to be paid according to age; and for the aged the best seat, and the best water, and the best rice are to be reserved. This is the right standard; and therefore the senior monk is entitled to these things. And now, monks, Sāriputta is my chief disciple; he is a second founder of the Kingdom of Righteousness, and deserves to receive a lodging immediately after myself. He has had to pass the night without a lodging at the foot of a tree. If you have even now so little respect and courtesy, what will you not do as time goes on?”

And for their further instruction he said:

“Formerly, O monks, even animals used to say, ‘It would not be proper for us to be disrespectful and wanting in courtesy to one another, and not to live on proper terms with one another. We should find out who is eldest, and pay him honour.’ So they carefully investigated the matter, and having discovered the senior among them, they paid him honour; and so when they passed away, they entered the abode of the gods.”

And he told a tale.

* * * * *

Long ago there were three friends living near a great Banyan-tree, on the slope of the Himālaya range of mountains--a Partridge, a Monkey, and an Elephant. And they were wanting in respect and courtesy for one another, and did not live together on befitting terms.

But it occurred to them, “It is not right for us to live in this manner. What if we were to cultivate respect towards whichever of us is the eldest?”

“But which is the eldest?” was then the question; until one day they thought, “This will be a good way for finding it out;” and the Monkey and the Partridge asked the Elephant, as they were all sitting together at the foot of the Banyan-tree--

“Elephant dear! How big was this Banyan Tree at the time you first knew it?”

“Friends!” said he, “When I was little I used to walk over this Banyan, then a mere bush, keeping it between my thighs; and when I stood with it between my legs, its highest branches touched my navel. So I have known it since it was a shrub.”

Then they both asked the Monkey in the same way. And he said, “Friends! when I was quite a little monkey I used to sit on the ground and eat the topmost shoots of this Banyan, then quite young, by merely stretching out my neck. So that I have known it from its earliest infancy.”

Then again the two others asked the Partridge as before. And he said--

“Friends! There was formerly a lofty Banyan-tree in such and such a place, whose fruit I ate and voided the seeds here. From that this tree grew up: so that I have known it even from before the time when it was born, and am older than either of you!”

Thereupon the Elephant and the Monkey said to the clever Partridge--

“You, friend, are the oldest of us all. Henceforth we will do all manner of service for you, and pay you reverence, and make salutations before you, and treat you with every respect and courtesy, and abide by your counsels. Do you in future give us whatever counsel and instruction we require.”

Thenceforth the Partridge gave them counsel, and kept them up to their duty, and himself observed his own. So they three kept the Five Commandments; and since they were courteous and respectful to one another, and lived on befitting terms one with another, they became destined for heaven when their lives should end.

* * * * *

“The holy life of these three became known as ‘The Holiness of the Partridge.’ For they, O monks, lived in courtesy and respect towards one another. How then can you, who have taken the vows in so well-taught a religion, live without courtesy and respect towards one another? Henceforth, O monks, I enjoin upon you reverence, and service, and respect, according to age; the giving of the best seats, the best water, and the best food according to age; and that the senior shall never be kept out of a night’s lodging by a junior. Whoever so keeps out his senior shall be guilty of an offence.”

It was when the Teacher had thus concluded his discourse that he, as Buddha, uttered the verse--

“’Tis those who reverence the old
That are the men versed in the Faith.
Worthy of praise while in this life,
And happy in the life to come.”

When the Teacher had thus spoken on the virtue of paying reverence to the old, he established the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, by saying, “The elephant of that time was Moggallāna, the monkey Sāriputta, but the partridge was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE PARTRIDGE, THE MONKEY, AND THE ELEPHANT.[335]

No. 38.

BAKA JĀTAKA.

The Cruel Crane Outwitted.

“_The villain though exceeding clever._”--This the Master told when at Jetavana about a monk who was a tailor.

There was a monk, says the tradition, living at Jetavana, who was exceeding skilful at all kinds of things that can be done to a robe, whether cutting out, or piecing together, or valuing, or sewing it. Through this cleverness of his he was always engaged in making robes, until he became known as ‘The robe-maker.’

Now what used he to do but exercise his handicraft on some old pieces of cloth, so as to make out of them a robe soft and pleasant to the touch; and when he had dyed it, he would steep it in mealy water, and rub it with a chankshell so as to make it bright and attractive, and then lay it carefully by. And monks who did not understand robe work, would come to him with new cloths, and say--

“We don’t understand how to make robes. Be so kind as to make this into a robe for us.”

Then he would say, “It takes a long time, Brother, before a robe can be made. But I have a robe ready made. You had better leave these cloths here and take that away with you.”