Chapter II: Part 2

Then the King sent for that Knight and said to him: “Can you fight the seven kings, my dear Knight?” Said he: “Give me but your noble Destrier, and then I could fight not only seven kings but all the kings in India.” “My dear Knight, take my Destrier or any horse you please, and do battle.” “Very good, my Sovereign Lord,” said the Knight, and with a bow he passed down from the upper chambers of the palace.

Then he had the noble Destrier led out and sheathed in mail, arming himself too and girding on his sword.

Mounted on his noble steed he passed out of the City Gate, and with a lightning charge broke down the first camp, taking one king alone, and bringing him back a prisoner to the soldiers’ custody.

... And this went on until six kings had been made prisoner. Then the noble Horse received a wound which streamed with blood and caused him much pain. Perceiving that the Horse was wounded, the Knight made it lie down at the King’s gate, loosened its mail, and set about arming another horse.

But the Horse perceiving this, said: “The other horse will _not_ be able to break down the seventh camp and capture the seventh king: he will lose all that I have accomplished. The peerless Knight will be slain, and the King will fall into the hands of the foe. I alone and no other horse can break down the seventh camp and capture the seventh king.”

So he called to the Knight and repeated these words, and added: “I will not throw away what I have already done. Only have me set upon my feet, and clad again in my armor, and I will accomplish my work.”

The Knight had the Horse set upon his feet, bound up his wound, and armed him again in proof. Mounted on the Destrier, he broke down the seventh camp, and brought back alive the seventh king.

They led the Horse to the King’s gate, and the King came up to look at him.

Then said the Great Being: “Great King, slay not these seven kings: bind them by an oath, and let them go. Let the Knight enjoy the honor due to us both. As for you, exercise charity, keep the Ornaments, and rule your kingdom in righteousness and justice.” When the Horse had thus exhorted the King, they took off his mail, but as they were taking it off piecemeal, he passed away.

The King had the body buried with due respect, bestowed great honors on the Knight, and sent the kings to their homes, after exacting from each an oath never to war upon him any more. And he ruled his kingdom in righteousness and justice, passing away when his life closed, to fare thereafter according to his deserts.

The story was told by the Master about a brother who gave up persevering.

“Brethren, in bygone days the wise and good persevered even in hostile surroundings, and even when they were wounded they did not give in. Whereas you who have devoted yourself to so saving a doctrine, how comes it that you give up persevering?”

THE MONKEY THAT SAVED THE HERD

It came to pass that the Buddha was re-born as the King of the monkeys. He lived with his herd of 80,000 monkeys in a thick forest, near a lake. In this lake there lived an ogre who used to devour all those who went down to the water.

The Buddha spoke to his subjects and said: “My friends, in this forest there are trees that are poisoned, and lakes that are haunted by ogres. Eat no fruit and drink no water of which you have not already tasted without consulting me.”

This they agreed to. And one day, having arrived at a spot which they had never visited before, they found a great lake. They did not drink, but awaited the return of their King.

Now when he arrived he went round the lake, and found that all the footsteps led down to the lake, but none came up again. And he said: “Without doubt this is the haunt of an ogre.”

When this water-ogre saw that they were not invading his domain he appeared in the form of a terrible monster with a blue belly, a white face, and bright red hands and feet. In this shape he came out of the water and said to the King: “Why are you seated here? Go down to the lake to drink.” But the King said: “Are you not the ogre of this water?” “Yes, I am,” was the answer. “Do you take as your prey all those who go down into this water?” “Yes, I do, from small birds upwards. I never let anything go which comes down into this water. I will eat the lot of you, too.” “But we shall not let you eat us.” “Just drink the water.” “Yes, we will drink the water, and yet not fall into your power.” “How do you propose to drink the water, then?” “Ah, you think we shall have to go down to the water to drink; whereas we shall not enter the water at all, but the whole eighty thousand of us will take a cane each and drink therewith from your lake as easily as through the hollow stalk of a lotus. And so you will not be able to eat us.”

So saying the King had a cane brought to him, and in true belief that the miracle would take place he blew down the cane, which straightway became hollow throughout, without a single knot being left in its length. In this fashion he had another, and another brought, and blew down them. Then he made the tour of the lake, and commanded, saying, “Let all canes growing here become hollow throughout.” Now, thanks to the saving goodness of their re-born chiefs, their commands are always fulfilled. And henceforth every single cane that grew round that lake became hollow throughout. After giving his commands the King seated himself with a cane in his hand. All the other 80,000 monkeys, too, seated themselves round the lake each with a cane in his hands. At the same moment when the King sucked up the water through his cane, they all drank in the same manner as they sat on the bank. This was the way they drank, and the ogre could get no power over any one of them, so he went off in a rage to his habitation. The King, with his following of 80,000 monkeys, went back into the forest.

THE MALLARD THAT ASKED FOR TOO MUCH

And it came to pass that the Buddha (to be) was born a Brahmin, and growing up was married to a bride of his own rank, who bore him three daughters.

After his death he was born again as a Golden Mallard, and he determined to give his golden feathers one at a time to enable his wife and daughters to live in comfort. So away he flew to where they dwelt, and alighted on the central beam of the roof.

Seeing the Bodisat, the wife and girls asked where he had come from, and he told them that he was their father who had died and been born a Golden Mallard, and that he had come to bring them help. “You shall have my golden feathers, one by one,” he said. He gave them one and departed. From time to time he returned to give them another feather, and they became quite wealthy.

But one day the mother said: “There’s no trusting animals, my children. Who’s to say your father might not go away one of these days and never return? Let us use our time, and pluck him clean the next time he comes, so as to make sure of all his feathers.” Thinking this would pain him, the daughters refused. The mother in her greed plucked the Mallard herself, and as she plucked them against his wish, they ceased to be golden and became like a crane’s feathers. His wings grew again, but they were plain white; he flew away to his own abode and never came back.

THE MERCHANT WHO OVERCAME ALL OBSTACLES

Once upon a time the Buddha (to be) was born in a merchant’s family; and when he grew up he went about trafficking with five hundred carts.

One day he arrived at a sandy desert twenty leagues across. The sand in that desert was so fine that when taken in the closed fist it could not be kept in the hand. After the sun had risen it became as hot as a mass of charcoal, so that no man could walk on it. Those, therefore, who had to travel over it took wood and water and oil and rice in their carts, and traveled during the night. And at daybreak they formed an encampment, and spread an awning over it, and, taking their meals early, they passed the day sitting in the shade. At sunset they supped; and when the ground had become cool, they yoked their oxen and went on. The traveling was like a voyage over the sea: a so-called land-pilot had to be chosen, and he brought the caravan safe to the other side by his knowledge of the stars.

On this occasion the merchant of our story traversed the desert in that way. And when he had passed over fifty-nine leagues, he thought: “Now in one more night we shall get out of the sand.” And after supper he directed the wood and water to be thrown away, and the wagons to be yoked, and so set out. The pilot had cushions arranged on the foremost cart, and lay down looking at the stars, and directing them where to drive. But, worn out by want of rest during the long march, he fell asleep, and did not perceive that the oxen had turned around and taken the same road by which they had come.

The oxen went on the whole night through. Towards dawn the pilot woke up, and, observing the stars, called out: “Stop the wagons! Stop the wagons!” The day broke just as they had stopped, and were drawing up the carts in a line. Then the men cried out: “Why, this is the very encampment we left yesterday! Our wood and water is all gone! We are lost!” And unyoking the oxen, and spreading the canopy over their heads, they lay down in despondency, each one under his wagon.

But the Bodisat, saying to himself, “If I lose heart, all these will perish,” walked about while the morning was yet cool. And on seeing a tuft of Kusa grass, he thought: “This must have grown by attracting some water which there must be beneath it.”

And he made them bring a hoe and dig in that spot. And they dug sixty cubits deep. And when they had got thus far, the spade of the diggers struck on a rock, and as soon as it struck, they all gave up in despair.

But the Bodisat thought, “There must be water under that rock,” and, stooping down, applied his ear to it and tested the sound of it. And he heard the sound of water gurgling beneath. And he got out and called his page. “My lad, if you give up now, we shall all be lost. Don’t you lose heart. Take this iron hammer, and go down into the pit and give the rock a good blow.”

The lad obeyed, and though they all stood by in despair, he went down full of determination, and struck at the stone. And the rock split in two and fell below, and no longer blocked up the stream. And water rose till its brim was the height of a palm-tree in the well. And they all drank of the water, and bathed in it. Then they split up their extra yokes and axles, and cooked rice and ate it, and fed their oxen with it. And when the sun set, they put up a flag by the well and went to the place appointed. There they sold their merchandise at double and treble profit, and returned to their own home, and lived to a good old age, and then passed away according to their deeds. And the Bodisat gave gifts, and did other virtuous acts, and passed away according to his deeds.

THE ELEPHANT THAT WAS HONORED IN OLD AGE

And the Buddha as Prime Minister served the King. Now there was a certain She-Elephant endowed with great might which enabled her to go a hundred leagues a day. She did the duties of messenger to the King, and in battle she fought and crushed the enemy. The King said: “She is very serviceable to me.”

He gave her ornaments, and caused all honor to be shown her. Then, when she was weak from age, the King took away all the honor he had bestowed.

From that time she was unprotected, and lived by eating grass and leaves in the forest.

And one day the chief Potter had not enough oxen to yoke to the carts which carried the material for making clay. And the King said: “Where is our She-Elephant?”

“O King! she is wandering at her will in the forest.”

And the King said: “Do thou yoke her to the cart.”

And the Potter said: “Good, O King!” And he did even as the King commanded.

But when this insult was offered to the Elephant, she came to the Prime Minister and said: “O Wise Being! I pray you listen to my tale. When I was young, great strength was mine; and I did walk a hundred leagues to bear the King’s messages, and, with weapons bound upon my body, I did take part in battle, crushing the enemy beneath my feet. And now I am old, and the King hath withdrawn all the honors he bestowed upon me, and not content with allowing me to wander and feed on grass, unprotected in my old age, he has _even caused me to be yoked to_ the Potter’s cart as are the oxen.”

Then the Buddha promised that he would plead her cause, and appearing before the King, he asked: “Great King, did not a She-Elephant covered with weapons do battle for thee; and on such and such a day, with a writing upon her neck, did she not go a hundred leagues on a message? Thou didst bestow upon her great honor. I pray thee tell me, where is she now?”

And the King, in some confusion, made answer: “Behold, she is yoked to a cart.”

Then did the Buddha speak in sorrowful anger to the King, and rebuked him, saying: “Thou hast yoked this Elephant to a cart after all the services she has rendered. Then was the honor only bestowed because of more services expected?”

And all who heard him received his instruction, and the King restored the She-Elephant to her former place of honor.

THE FAITHFUL FRIEND

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, Pandit, and find out what’s the cause of the elephant’s behavior.”

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.”

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 honor to the Bodisat for knowing the motives even of animals.

THE HAWK AND THE OSPREY

There lived once, on the shores of a natural lake, a Hawk on the south shore, a She-Hawk on the west shore, on the north a Lion, the king of beasts, on the east the Osprey, the king of birds, in the middle a Tortoise on a small island.

Now the Hawk asked the She-Hawk to become his wife. She asked him: “Have you any friends?” “No, madam,” he replied. “But,” she said, “we must have some friends who can defend us against any danger or trouble that may arise. Therefore I beg of you to find some friends.” “But,” said the Hawk, “with whom shall I make friends?” “Why, with King Osprey, who lives on the eastern shore, with King Lion on the north, and with the Tortoise who lives in the middle of the lake.”

And he took her advice. And all these creatures formed a bond of friendship, and promised to protect each other in time of danger.

Now in time the Mother-Hawk had two sons. One day when the wings of the young birds were not yet callow, some of the country-folk went foraging through the woods all day and found nothing.

They went down to the lake to catch fish or a tortoise, and, in order to drive away the gnats, they made a fire by rubbing sticks together. The smoke annoyed the young birds, and they uttered a cry. The men said: “’Tis the cry of birds—we will make a fire and eat their flesh.” They made the fire blaze and built it up.

But the Mother-Bird heard the sound, and thought: “These men will eat our young ones. I will send my mate to the Great Osprey.” This she did, and the bird promised to help. He sat upon a tree-top near that in which the Hawks had built their nests, and no sooner did the men begin to climb up the tree than the Osprey dived into the lake, and from wings and back sprinkled water upon the brands and put the fire out. Down came the men and made another fire, but again the Osprey put it out, and this went on until midnight.

And the bird was tired out and his eyes were bloodshot. And the Mother-Bird whispered to her mate: “My Lord, the Osprey is worn out! Go and tell the Tortoise, that this weary bird may have a rest.”

But the Osprey in a loud voice said he would gladly give his life to guard the tree. And the grateful Hawk said: “I pray thee, friend Osprey, rest awhile.” Then he went for help to the Tortoise, who said he would gladly help, but his son said: “I would not have my old father troubled, but I will gladly go in his stead.”

And the Tortoise collected mud and quenched the flame. Then said the men: “Let us kill the Tortoise: he will be enough for all.” But when they plucked creepers to bind him and tried to turn him over, he dragged them into the water. And they said: “What strange things have happened to us! Half the night the Osprey has put out our fire, and now the Tortoise has dragged us in after him and made us swallow water. Let us light another fire, and at sunrise we will eat these young Hawks.”

The Hen-Bird heard the noise and said: “My husband—sooner or later these men will devour our young and depart. You go and tell our friend the Lion.” At once the Hawk went to the Lion, who asked him why he came at such an unreasonable hour. But when the whole matter was put before him, he said: “Go and comfort your young ones, for I will save them.” And then he came forth with a mighty tread, and the men were terrified.

“Alas!” they cried. “The Osprey hath put out our fire. The Tortoise dragged us into the water. But now we are done for: the Lion will destroy us at once.” They ran this way and that, and when the noble beast stood at the foot of the tree, no trace could be found of the frightened men.

Then the Osprey, the Hawk, the She-Hawk, and the Tortoise came up to greet him, and they discoursed for a long time on the value of friendship. And this company of friends lived all their lives without breaking their bond. And they passed away according to their deeds.

GRANDMOTHER’S GOLDEN DISH

Long ago the Bodisat was a dealer in tin and brass ware, named Seriva, in the country of that name. This Seriva, together with another dealer in tin and brass ware, who was an avaricious man, crossed the river Tēlavāha, and entered the town called Andhapura. And, dividing the streets of the city between them, the Bodisat went round selling his goods in the street allotted to him, while the other took the street that fell to him.

Now in that city there was a wealthy family reduced to abject poverty. All the sons and brothers in the family had died, and all its property had been lost. Only one girl and her grandmother were left; and those two gained their living by serving others for hire. There was indeed in the house the vessel of gold out of which the head of the house used to eat in the days of its prosperity; but it was covered with dirt, and had long lain neglected and unused among the pots and pans. And they did not even know that it was of gold.

At that time the avaricious hawker, as he was going along, calling out, “Buy my water-pots! Buy my water-pots!” came to the door of their house. When the girl saw him, she said to her grandmother: “Mother! do buy me an ornament.”

“But we are poor, dear. What shall we give in exchange for it?”

“This dish of ours is no use to us; you can give that away and get one.”

The old woman called the hawker, and, after asking him to take a seat, gave him the dish, and said: “Will you take this, Sir, and give something to your little sister for it?”

The hawker took the dish, and thought: “This must be gold!” And turning it round, he scratched a line on its back with a needle, and found that it was so. Then, hoping to get the dish without giving them anything, he said: “What is this worth? It is not even worth a halfpenny!” And throwing it on the ground, he got up from his seat and went away.

Now, it was allowed to either hawker to enter the street which the other had left. And the Bodisat came into that street, and calling out, “Buy my water-pots,” came up to the door of that very house. And the girl spoke to her grandmother as before. But the grandmother said: “My child, the dealer who came just now threw the dish on the floor, and went away; what have I now got to give him in exchange?”

“That merchant, mother dear, was a surly man; but this one looks pleasant, and has a kind voice: perchance he may take it.”

“Call him, then,” said she.

So she called him. And when he had come in and sat down, they gave him the dish. He saw that it was gold, and said: “Mother! this dish is worth a hundred thousand. All the goods in my possession are not equal to it in value!”

“But, Sir, a hawker who came just now threw it on the ground, and went away, saying it was not worth a halfpenny. It must have been changed into gold by the power of your virtue, so we make you a present of it.”

The Bodisat gave them all the cash he had in hand (five hundred pieces), and all his stock-in-trade, worth five hundred more. He asked of them only to let him keep eight pennies, and the bag and the yoke that he used to carry his things with. And these he took and departed.

And going quickly to the river-side, he gave those eight pennies to a boatman, and got into the boat.

But the covetous hawker came back to the house, and said: “Bring out that dish, I’ll give you something for it.”

Then she scolded him, and said: “You said our gold dish, worth a hundred thousand, was not worth a halfpenny. But a just dealer, who seems to be your master, gave us a thousand for it, and has taken it away.”

When he heard this he called out: “Through this fellow I have lost a golden pot worth—Oh, worth a hundred thousand! He has ruined me altogether!” And bitter sorrow overcame him, and he was unable to retain his presence of mind, and he lost all self command. And scattering the money he had, and all the goods, at the door of the house, he seized as a club the yoke by which he had carried them, and tore off his clothes, and pursued after the Bodisat.

When he reached the river-side, he saw the Bodisat going away, and he cried out: “Hallo, Boatman! stop the boat!”

But the Bodisat said: “Don’t stop!” and so prevented that. And as the other gazed and gazed at the departing Bodisat, he was torn with violent grief; his heart grew hot, and blood flowed from his mouth until his heart broke—like tank-mud in the heat of the sun.

Thus harboring hatred against the Bodisat, he brought about on that very spot his own destruction. This was the first time that Devadatta harbored hatred against the Bodisat.

But the Bodisat gave gifts, and did other good acts, and passed away according to his deeds.

THE ELEPHANT THAT SPARED LIFE

At that time the Bodisat was born 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 Brahmin.”

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 Brahmin 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 harbor 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 unfaithfulness, 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 defense, 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.

HOW THE ANTELOPE WAS CAUGHT

Once upon a time the King of Benares had a gardener named Sanjaya. Now, a swift antelope who had come to the garden took to flight as soon as it saw Sanjaya. But Sanjaya did not frighten it away; and when it had come again and again it began to walk about in the garden. And day by day the gardener used to pluck the various fruits and flowers in the garden and take them away to the King.

Now, one day the King asked him: “I say, friend gardener, is there anything strange in the garden so far as you’ve noticed?”

“I’ve noticed nothing, O King, save that an antelope is in the habit of coming and wandering about there. That I often see.”

“But could you catch it?”

“If I had a little honey I could bring it right inside the palace here!”

The King gave him the honey; and he took it, went to the garden, smeared it on the grass at the spot the antelope frequented, and hid himself. When the deer came and had eaten the honey-smeared grass, it was bound with the lust of taste; and from that time went nowhere else, but came exclusively to the garden. And as the gardener saw that it was allured by the honey-smeared grass, he in due course showed himself. For a few days the antelope took to flight on seeing him. But after seeing him again and again it acquired confidence, and gradually came to eat grass from the gardener’s hand. And when the gardener saw that its confidence was gained, he strewed the path right up to the palace as thick with branches as if he were covering it with mats, hung a gourdful of honey over his shoulder, carried a bundle of grass at his waist, and then kept sprinkling honey-smeared grass in front of the antelope till he led him within the palace.

As soon as the deer had got inside, they shut the door. The antelope, seeing men, began to tremble and quake with the fear of death, and ran hither and thither about the hall. The King came down from his upper chamber, and, seeing the trembling creature, said: “Such is the nature of an antelope, that it will not go for a week afterwards to a place where it has seen men, nor its life long to a place where it has been frightened. Yet this one, with just such a disposition, and accustomed only to the jungle, has now, bound by the lust of taste, come to just such a place. Verily, there is nothing worse in the world than this lust of taste!”

And when in other words he had shown the danger of greed, he let the antelope go back to the forest.

THE BANYAN DEER

Long ago the Bodisat came to life as a deer. When he was born he was of a golden color; his eyes were like round jewels; his horns were white as silver; his mouth was red as a cluster of kamala flowers; his hoofs were as bright and hard as lacquer-work; his tail as fine as the tail of a Thibetan ox; and his body as large in size as a foal’s.

He lived in the forest with an attendant herd of five hundred deer, under the name of the King of the Banyan Deer; and not far from him there dwelt another deer, golden as he, under the name of the Monkey Deer, with a like attendant herd.

The King of that country was devoted to hunting, never ate without meat, and used to summon all the townspeople to go hunting every day to the destruction of their ordinary work. The people thought, “This King puts an end to all our work. Suppose we make a park, provide food and drink for the deer. Then we will drive them into the park, close the entrance and deliver them to the King.”

This they did, surrounding the very place where the Banyan Deer and the Monkey Deer were living. When the King heard this, he went to the park, and seeing there the two golden-colored deer, he granted them their lives. But henceforth he would go himself to shoot the deer and bring it home. Sometimes his cook would go and shoot one. The deer, as soon as they saw the bow, would quake with fear of Death, and run away; but when they had been hit once or twice, they became weary or wounded and were killed. And the herd told their King, who sent for the Monkey Deer and said: “Friend, almost all the Deer are being destroyed. Now, though they certainly must die, yet henceforth let them not be wounded with arrows. Let the deer take it by turns to go to the place of execution. One day let the lot fall on my herd, and the next day on yours.”

He agreed, and thenceforth the deer whose turn it was used to go down and lie down after placing his neck on the block of execution. And the cook used to come and carry off the one he found lying there.

But one day the lot fell upon a roe in the Monkey Deer who was with young. She went to the Monkey Deer and said: “Lord! I am with young. When I have brought forth my son, we will both take our turn. Order the bows to pass me by.”

“I cannot make your lot,” said he, “fall upon the others. You know well enough it has fallen upon you. Go away!” Receiving no help from him, she went to the Bodisat and told him the matter. He listened to her quietly and said: “Be it so! Do you go back. I will relieve you of your turn.” And he went himself and laid his head on the block of execution.

The cook, seeing him, exclaimed: “The King of the Deer whose life was promised to him is lying in the place of execution. What does it mean?” And he went hastily, and told the King.

The King no sooner heard it than he mounted his chariot and proceeded with a great retinue to the place, and beholding the Bodisat, said: “My friend, the King of the Deer! Did I not grant you your life? Why are you lying here?”

“O great King! A roe with young came and told me that the lot had fallen upon her. Now I could not ask another to take her place, so I, giving my life for her, have lain down. Harbor no further suspicion, O great King!”

“My Lord, the golden-colored King of the Deer! I never yet saw, even among men, one so full of forbearance, kindness and compassion. I am pleased with thee in this matter! Rise up. I grant your lives, both to you and to her!”

“But though we be safe, what shall the rest do, O King of men?”

“Then I grant their lives to the rest, my Lord.”

“Thus, then, great King, the deer in the park will have gained security, but what will the others do?”

“They also shall not be molested.”

“Great King! even though the deer dwell secure, what shall the rest of the four-footed creatures do?”

“They shall also be free from fear.”

“Great King, even though the quadrupeds are in safety, what shall the flock of birds do?”

“Well, I grant the same boon to them.”

“Great King! the birds then will obtain peace; but what of the fish who dwell in the water?”

“They shall have peace as well.”

Then the Great Being having interceded with the King for all creatures, said:

“Walk in righteousness, O great King! Doing justice to fathers and mothers, to townsmen and landsmen, you shall enter, when your body is dissolved, the happy world of Heaven.”

* * * * *

The roe gave birth to a son as beautiful as buds of flowers; and he went to playing about with the Monkey Deer’s herd. But when its mother saw that, she said, “My son, henceforth go not in his company. You may keep to the Banyan Deer’s herd.”

Now after that, the deer, secure of their lives, began to eat men’s crops. And the men dared not strike them or drive them away, recollecting how it had been granted to them that they should dwell secure. So they met together in front of the King’s palace, and told the matter to the King.

“When I was well pleased, I granted to the leader of the Banyan herd a boon,” said he. “I may give up my kingdom but not my oaths! Begone with you! Not a man in my kingdom shall be allowed to hurt the deer.”

When the Banyan King heard that, he assembled his herd, and said:

“Henceforth you are not allowed to eat other people’s crops.” And so forbidding them, he sent a message to the men: “Henceforth let the husbandmen put up no fence to guard their crops: but let them tie leaves round the edge of the field as a sign.”

From that time, they say, the sign of the tying of the leaves was seen in the fields, and from that time not a single deer trespassed beyond it: for such was the instruction they received from (their King) the Bodisat.

And the Bodisat continued thus his life long to instruct the deer, and passed away with his herd, according to his deeds.

THE PUPIL WHO TAUGHT HIS TEACHER

And the Buddha was re-born in a Brahmin family and was known as Dhamapala or Law Keeper.

When he came of age he was sent by his father to study with a world famed teacher at Takasila and became the chief pupil in a company of five hundred youths.

At that time the eldest son of the teacher died and the father, surrounded by his pupils, in the midst of his kith and kin, buried his son—and all the pupils wept and wailed, but Dhamapala was silent and shed no tear, but when the company returned from the cemetery Dhamapala asked, “Why did your son die? It is not right that children should die; only when people grow old can this happen.” And they asked him, “Is it the custom of your family that the young do not die?” And he said: “Yes, that is the custom in my family.” The lads told this conversation to their teacher.

Now when the teacher heard this, he said to them, “That is a most marvelous thing that he says. I will make a journey to his father and ask him about it, and if it be true I will live according to his rule of right.”

And he said to the young man: “I am going on a journey. Do thou, in my absence, instruct these youths.”

So saying, he procured the bones of a wild goat, washed and scented them, and put them into a bag. Then taking with him a little page boy he started for the village in which lived the father of his pupil.

When the house was reached, and the teacher had rested and taken food, and the host had washed the feet of his guest, the teacher said: “Brahmin, your son when full of wisdom has by an unhappy chance lost his life. Grieve not for him.” The Brahmin laughed loudly. “Why do you laugh, Brahmin?” asked the other. “Because,” he said, “it is _not_ my son who is dead; it must be some other.”

“No, Brahmin, your son is dead, and no other. Look on his bones, and believe.” So saying, he unwrapped the bones. “There are your son’s bones,” he said.

“A wild goat’s bones, perhaps,” quoth the Brahmin, “or a dog’s, but my son is not dead. In our family for seven generations, no such thing has been known as a death in tender years, and you are speaking falsehood.” Then they all clapped their hands and laughed aloud.

The teacher, when he beheld this wonderful thing, was much pleased and said: “Brahmin, this custom in your family line cannot be without cause, that the young do not die. Why _is_ it that you do not die young? Of what good and holy deed is this the fruit?”

Then the Brahmin made answer:

“We walk in righteousness. We speak no ill. We flee from things that are evil. We take no heed of the foolish. We follow the counsel of the wise. We delight in giving gifts. We feed the hungry. We are faithful in our marriage vows. We are versed in sacred knowledge. Therefore, the young amongst us never die.”

On hearing this, the teacher replied: “A happy journey is this of mine and fruitful. I came hither, O wise Brahmin, to test you. Your son is safe and well. I pray you impart to me your rule of preserving life.”

Then the other wrote it on a leaf and returned to his pupils.

THE MAN WHO TOLD A LIE

On one occasion four divine beings made their appearance on the Earth to attend a festival of the Gods.

And they bore in their hands wreaths of the strangest flowers that had ever been seen, and those around asked: “What are these flowers?” And the Gods made answer and said: “These divine flowers are fit for those possessed of great powers: for the base, the foolish, the faithless, the sinful beings within the world of men, they are _not_ fitted. But, whosoever amongst men is endowed with certain virtues—to them is due the honor of wearing these flowers.

“He who steals no thing from another,
Who uttereth no lie,
Who doth not lose his head at the height of Fame—
He may wear the flowers.”

Now there was a certain false Teacher or Priest who thought to himself: “I do not possess one of these qualities, but, by appearing to possess them, I shall obtain permission to wear the wreaths, and the people will believe that I really am what I appear to be, and they will place their confidence in me.”

Then, with exceeding boldness, he came to the first of the Gods and exclaimed with great solemnity: “Behold, _I_ am endowed with these qualities of which you speak—

“I have stolen from no man, never have I uttered a lie, nor has fame ever caused me to be proud or haughty.”

And when he had uttered these words, the wreath was placed upon his brow. And, emboldened by his success, he came with the same pride and confidence into the presence of the second God, and asked that the second wreath should be bestowed upon him.

And the God said:

“He who earns wealth honestly, and shuns dishonest means,
Who takes but sparingly of the Cup of Pleasure,
To him shall be awarded this second wreath.”

And the false Priest bowed his head and said: “Behold all that I have earned is honestly gotten, and all pleasure have I shunned. Give me the wreath!”

And the wreath was placed upon his brow.

Then, with boldness increased by his success, he approached the third God, and asked that the third wreath should encircle his brow.

And the God said:

“He who scorns choice food,
Who never turneth from his purpose,
Who keepeth his faith unchanged,
To him shall be given the wreath.”

And the false Priest said: “I have ever lived on the simplest fare. I have been ever steadfast of purpose, and loyal in my faith. Therefore give _me_ the wreath.”

And the third wreath was bestowed upon him.

Then did the pride of the false Priest know no bounds, and he went hastily to the fourth God and demanded the fourth wreath.

And the God said:

“He who will attack no good man to his face or behind his back,
And who keeps his word in all things,
To him belongs this wreath.”

Then the false Priest cried out in a loud voice: “I have attacked no man, good or evil, and never have I broken my word to any.”

The God looked at him sadly, but he placed the wreath upon his brow, and the four divine beings disappeared from the sight of man. But no sooner had they left the earth than the Priest felt a violent pain. His head seemed to be crushed by spikes, and, writhing in agony, he made full confession and begged that the flowers should be removed from his head; but though all pitied his condition, none could remove the flowers, for they seemed to be fastened on with an iron band.

And he called aloud to the Gods, saying

“O ye great powers, forgive my pride and spare my life!” And they answered: “These flowers are not meet for the wicked. You have received the reward of your false words.” Then, having rebuked him in the presence of the people, they removed the flowers from the head of the repentant man and returned to the abode of the Blest.

THE CROW THAT THOUGHT IT KNEW

Once upon a time, while Brahma-datta reigned as king in Benares, the Bodhisatta became a marsh crow, and dwelt by a certain pool. His name was Viraka, the Strong.

There arose a famine in Kasi. Men could not spare food for the crows, nor make offering to goblins and snakes. One by one the crows left the famine-stricken land, and betook them to the woods.

A certain crow named Savitthaka, who lived at Benares, took with him his lady crow and went to the place where Viraka lived, making his abode beside the same pool.

One day, this crow was seeking food about the pool. He saw how Viraka went down into it, and made a meal off some fish; and afterwards came up out of the water again, and stood drying his feathers. “Under the wing of that crow,” thought he, “plenty of fish are to be got. I will become his servant.” So he drew near.

“What is it, Sir?” asked Viraka.

“I want to be your servant, my Lord!” was the reply.

Viraka agreed, and from that time the other served him. And from that time, Viraka used to eat enough fish to keep him alive, and the rest he gave to Savitthaka as soon as he had caught them; and when Savitthaka had eaten enough to keep him alive, he gave what was over to his wife.

After a while pride came into his heart. “This crow,” said he, “is black, and so am I: in eyes and beak and feet, too, there is no difference between us. I don’t want his fish; I will catch my own!” So he told Viraka that for the future he intended to go down to the water and catch fish himself. Then Viraka said, “Good friend, you do not belong to a tribe of such crows as are born to go into water and catch fish. Don’t destroy yourself!”

But in spite of this attempt to dissuade him, Savitthaka did not take the warning to heart. Down he went to the pool, into the water; but he could not make his way through the weeds and come out again—there he was, entangled in the weeds, with only the tip of his beak appearing above the water. So not being able to breathe he perished there beneath the water.

His mate noticed that he did not return, and went to Viraka to ask news of him. “My Lord,” she asked, “Savitthaka is not to be seen: where is he?” And as she asked him this, she repeated the first stanza:—

“O have you seen Savitthaka, O Viraka, have you seen
My sweet-voiced mate whose neck is like the peacock in its sheen?”

When Viraka heard it, he replied, “Yes, I know where he is gone,” and recited the second stanza:—

“He was not born to dive beneath the wave,
But what he could not do he needs must try;

So the poor bird has found a watery grave,
Entangled in the weeds, and left to die.”

When the lady-crow heard it, weeping, she returned to Benares.

THE JUDAS TREE

Once upon a time Brahmadatta, the king of Benares, had four sons. One day they sent for the charioteer, and said to him:

“We want to see a Judas tree; show us one!”

“Very well, I will,” the charioteer replied. But he did not show it to them all together. He took the eldest at once to the forest in the chariot, and showed him the tree at the time when the buds were just sprouting from the stem. To the second he showed it when the leaves were green, to the third at the time of blossoming, and to the fourth when it was bearing fruit.

After this it happened that the four brothers were sitting together, and some one asked, “What sort of a tree is the Judas tree?” Then the first brother answered:

“Like a burnt stump!”

And the second cried, “Like a banyan tree!”

And the third—“Like a piece of meat!”

And the fourth said, “Like the acacia!”

They were vexed at each other’s answers, and ran to find their father. “My Lord,” they asked, “what sort of a tree is the Judas tree?”

“What did you say to that?” he asked. They told him the manner of their answers. Said the king:

“All four of you have seen the tree. Only when the charioteer showed you the tree, you did not ask him, 'What is the tree like at such a time?’ or 'at such another time?’ You made no distinctions, and that is the reason for your mistake.” And he repeated the first stanza:—