Chapter IV: Part 2: Corrupt fruit from a good tree Jā. 186: ii. 104 (3)

The Future Buddha, snared five times, stuck fast in five places, dangled from the ogre’s body. But for all that, he was unafraid, undaunted. As for the ogre, he thought: “This is some lion of a man, some man of noble birth,--no mere man! For although he has been caught by an ogre like me, he appears neither to tremble nor to quake! In all the time I have harried this road, I have never seen a single man to match him! Why, pray, is he not afraid?” Not daring to eat him, he asked: “Youth, why are you not afraid? why are you not terrified with the fear of death?”

“Ogre, why should I be afraid? for in one state of existence one death is absolutely certain. What’s more, I have in my belly a thunderbolt for weapon. If you eat me, you will not be able to digest that weapon. It will tear your insides into tatters and fragments and will kill you. In that case we’ll both perish. That’s why I’m not afraid!” (In these terms, we are told, the Future Buddha referred to the Weapon of Knowledge within himself.)

Hearing this, the ogre thought: “What this youth says is true, every word of it. From the body of this lion of a man, my stomach would not be able to digest a fragment of flesh even so small as a kidney bean. I’ll let him go!” Terrified with the fear of death, he let the Future Buddha go, saying: “Youth, you’re a lion of a man! I’ll not eat your flesh. Do you, this moment released from my hand, even as the moon is released from the Jaws of Rāhu, go gladden the circle of your kinsfolk and well-wishers!”

Then said the Future Buddha to the ogre: “Ogre, I’ll go presently. But you, because in a former state of existence also you wrought evil, have been reborn as an ogre, cruel, red-handed, feeding on the flesh and blood of others. If in this state of existence also, so long as you live, you do evil deeds, you will go from darkness to darkness. But from the moment you saw me, it has been impossible for you to do evil deeds. Such a crime as taking the life of living beings means rebirth in hell, in the animal kingdom, in the region of the fathers, in the world of the fallen deities; should you be reborn in the world of men, you will live but a short time and soon pass away.”

In such wise did the Future Buddha recite the disadvantages of doing deeds contrary to the Precepts, and the advantages of keeping the Five Precepts. With one reason after another he terrified the ogre, preached the Doctrine to him, subdued him, made him self-denying. Having established him in the Five Precepts, he bade him practice them. Then he transformed him into a spirit entitled to receive offerings in the forest, and having admonished him to be heedful, departed from the forest. At the mouth of the forest he told his story to human beings. Then, girded with the five weapons, he went to Benāres and visited his mother and father. After a time becoming established in the kingdom, he ruled righteously, gave alms and performed the other works of merit, and passed away according to his deeds.

_10. Vedabbha and the Thieves._

_Cupidity is the root of ruin._

Jātaka 48: i. 252-256.

_Whoever seeks advantage by wrong means._ This was said by the
Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to a
disobedient monk. For to this monk the Teacher said: “Monk, not only
in your present state of existence are you disobedient, but in a
previous state of existence also you were just as disobedient. And
through this same habit of disobedience, because you disregarded the
words of wise men, you were cleft in twain with a sharp sword and
left lying on the road. And through your own fault, and yours alone,
a thousand men met destruction.” So saying, he related the following
Story of the Past:

In times past, when Brahmadatta ruled at Benāres, there lived in a certain little village a certain Brahman who knew a charm called the Vedabbha charm. This charm, we are told, was beyond price, of great worth. When the moon was in conjunction with a certain constellation, the Brahman would look up at the sky and recite that charm, and straightway the Rain of the Seven Jewels would rain from the sky.

At that time the Future Buddha was learning the arts and crafts in the house of that Brahman. Now one day the Brahman, accompanied by the Future Buddha, departed from his own village and set out for the kingdom of Cetiya on some business or other. Along the road, at a certain place in the forest, five hundred Despatcher-thieves were in the habit of committing outrages on travelers. They captured both the Future Buddha and Brahman Vedabbha.

(But why were these thieves called _Despatcher-thieves_? We are told that whenever they captured two persons, they would _despatch_ one of them to fetch ransom-money; therefore they were appropriately called _Despatcher-thieves_. For example, if they captured father and son, they would say to the father: “Fetch us ransom-money first; then you may take your son and go.” Similarly, if they captured mother and daughter, they would despatch the mother; if they captured an older and a younger brother, they would despatch the older; if they captured teacher and pupil, they would despatch the pupil.)

So it was on this occasion. Having captured the Brahman Vedabbha, they despatched the Future Buddha. The Future Buddha bowed to his teacher and said: “I will return in the course of a day or two. Have no fear. However, do as I tell you. To-day will occur the conjunction of the moon which causes the Rain of Riches. Under no circumstances, because you cannot endure your misfortune, must you recite the charm and cause the Rain of Riches. If you do so, you will yourself come to ruin, and these five hundred thieves likewise.” Having thus admonished his teacher, he went for the ransom-money.

When the sun had set, the thieves bound the Brahman and laid him down. At that very moment, from the eastern quarter rose the disk of the full moon. The Brahman surveyed the constellations and reflected: “The conjunction of the moon which causes the Rain of Riches is at hand. Why should I endure misfortune? I will recite the charm, cause the Rain of Riches, give the riches to the thieves, and go where I please.”

Accordingly he addressed the thieves: “Well, thieves, for what purpose did you capture me?” “For ransom-money, noble sir.” “If you want ransom-money, quickly free me from my bonds, bathe my head, clothe me with new garments, perfume me with scents, deck me with flowers, and set me on my feet.” The thieves, hearing his words, did so. The Brahman, noting the conjunction of the moon, recited the charm and looked up at the sky. Straightway jewels fell from the sky.

The thieves gathered up that wealth, wrapped it in folds of their upper garments, and went their way. The Brahman followed close behind them. Now a second pack of five hundred thieves captured the first pack of thieves. “For what purpose did you capture us?” inquired the first. “For ransom-money,” replied the second. “If you want money, capture this Brahman. It was he who, by looking up at the sky, caused a Rain of Riches; he is the man who gave us this wealth.”

The second pack released the first, captured the Brahman, and said to him: “Give us wealth too.” Said the Brahman: “I would gladly give you wealth. But the conjunction of the moon which causes the Rain of Riches will not occur for a year yet. If you want money, have patience, and I will cause the Rain of Riches then.” At this the thieves became enraged and said: “Oh, you rascally Brahman! You caused a Rain of Riches for others but a moment ago, but you tell us to hold our patience for another year!” So saying, they cleft the Brahman in twain with a sharp sword and left him lying on the road.

Then the second pack pursued the first pack hotly, fought with; them, killed every man of them, and took the spoils. Again dividing into two packs, they fought with each other until one pack of two hundred and fifty had killed the other. Continuing in this wise, they killed each other off until there were only two men left. Thus those thousand men came to ruin. Now those two men, having gotten away with the spoils by a ruse, hid the spoils in a thicket near a certain village. One sat guarding the spoils with sword in hand; the other, having procured rice, entered the village to have some porridge cooked.

“Cupidity is the root of ruin!”

The man sitting by the spoils reflected: “When this fellow returns, this wealth will have to be divided into two portions. Suppose I were to strike him with the sword and kill him the very moment he returns!” So girding on his sword, he sat watching for his companion to return.

His companion reflected: “That wealth will have to be divided into two portions. Suppose I were to put poison in the porridge, let that fellow eat it, cause his death, and get the spoils for myself alone!” So when the porridge was done, he ate some himself, put poison in the rest, and then took it and went to the thicket.

The moment the second thief took that porridge out and set it down, the first thief cleft him in twain with his sword and flung his remains away in a secluded spot. Then he ate that porridge and himself died on the spot. Thus, by reason of that wealth, every one of those men came to ruin.

As for the Future Buddha, he returned in the course of a day or two with the ransom-money. Not seeing his teacher where he had left him, but seeing the spoils scattered all about, he reflected: “It must be that my teacher disregarded my words and caused the Rain of Riches; it must be that all of those men have come to ruin.” And he continued his walk along the highway.

As he proceeded, he saw his teacher lying on the highway, cleft in twain. Thought he: “My teacher disregarded my words and is dead.” Then he gathered firewood, built a pyre, cremated his teacher, and honored him with forest-flowers.

As he proceeded, he saw farther on five hundred thieves who had met destruction; farther on yet, two hundred and fifty; and so on until finally he came upon two. Thought he: “These thousand thieves have come to ruin save only two. There must be two thieves besides. They also could never have restrained themselves. Where can they be?”

As he proceeded, he saw the footprints of the two thieves who had entered the thicket with the spoils. Proceeding farther, he saw first a heap of riches wrapped up in a bundle, and then one of the two thieves dead with a porridge-bowl overturned beside him. Then he knew all. “Such-and-such they must have done,” thought he. Then he reflected: “Where can that fellow be?” Making a search, he found his body also flung away in a secluded spot. Then he reflected:

“Our teacher, because he disregarded my words, through his own habit of disobedience, through his own fault, has come to ruin. Moreover through him a thousand men besides have perished. Alas! By employing wrong means, for no reason at all, seeking gain for themselves, these thieves, like our teacher, must all have come to a fearful end indeed!” And he recited the following stanza:

Whoever seeks advantage by wrong means, comes to grief.
Thieves slew Vedabbha, and all met destruction.

Thus, by the recitation of this stanza, did the Future Buddha preach the Doctrine. And the spirits of the forest made the forest ring with their applause. Then said the Future Buddha: “Just as our teacher, putting forth effort by wrong means, at the wrong time, caused the Rain of Riches, and thus himself met destruction and became the cause of others’ ruin, precisely so whoever else besides shall exert himself, seeking advantage for himself by wrong means, shall himself come to ruin and shall become the cause of others’ ruin.”

Employing right means, the Future Buddha removed that wealth to his own home, and during the remainder of the term of life allotted to him gave alms and performed the other works of merit. And when his life came to an end, he passed away, fulfilling the Path to Heaven.

Said the Teacher: “Monk, not only in your present state of existence
are you disobedient, but in a previous state of existence also you
were disobedient. And because of your habit of disobedience you came
to a fearful end.” And having completed this parable, he identified
the personages in the Birth-story as follows: “At that time the
Brahman Vedabbha was the disobedient monk, but the pupil was I
myself.”

_11. The Anger-Eating Ogre._

_Refrain from anger._

Saṁyutta i. 237-238.

Thus have I heard: Once upon a time the Exalted One was in residence
at Jetavana. At that time the Exalted One addressed the monks:
“Monks!” “Reverend Sir!” said those monks to the Exalted One in
reply. The Exalted One said this:

In former times, monks, a certain ogre, ill-favored, dwarfish, sat in the seat of Sakka king of gods. Thereat, monks, the gods of the Thirty-three became annoyed, offended, indignant: “O how wonderful, O how marvelous, that this ogre, ill-favored, dwarfish, should sit in the seat of Sakka king of gods!”

The more, monks, the gods of the Thirty-three became annoyed, offended, indignant, the more did that ogre become handsome and pleasing to look upon and gracious. Then, monks, the gods of the Thirty-three approached Sakka king of gods. And having approached, they said this to Sakka king of gods:

“Here, Sire, a certain ogre, ill-favored, dwarfish, sits in your seat. Thereat, Sire, the gods of the Thirty-three are annoyed, offended, indignant: ‘O how wonderful, O how marvelous, that this ogre, ill-favored, dwarfish, should sit in the seat of Sakka king of gods!’ The more, Sire, the gods of the Thirty-three become annoyed, offended, indignant, the more does that ogre become handsome and pleasing to look upon and gracious. For, Sire, of a surety he must be an anger-eating ogre!”

Thereupon, monks, Sakka king of gods approached that anger-eating ogre. And having approached, he adjusted his upper robe so as to cover one shoulder only, touched his right kneepan to the ground, bent his joined hands in reverent salutation before that anger-eating ogre, and thrice proclaimed his name: “Sire, I am Sakka king of gods! Sire, I am Sakka king of gods! Sire, I am Sakka king of gods!”

The more, monks, Sakka king of gods proclaimed his name, the more did that ogre become ill-favored and dwarfish. And having become more ill-favored and dwarfish, he then and there disappeared.

Then, monks, Sakka king of gods sat down in his own seat, and appealing to the gods of the Thirty-three, uttered at that time the following stanzas:

I am not easily vexed in spirit,
I am not easily led into a turning,
I do not cherish anger long, be sure;
Anger has no abiding-place in me.

I speak no harsh words in anger,
I do not praise my own virtues,
I restrain myself,
Intent on my own good.

_12. The Patient Woman._

_Patient is as patient does._

Majjhima i. 125-126.

On a certain occasion the Exalted One addressed the monks as follows:
“Monks, put away evil; devote yourselves to good works: so shall
you obtain increase, growth, development, in this Doctrine and
Discipline.”

In olden times, in this very city of Sāvatthi, lived a house-mistress named Vedehikā. Of Mistress Vedehikā prevailed the following excellent reputation: “Gentle is Mistress Vedehikā, meek is Mistress Vedehikā, tranquil is Mistress Vedehikā.” And Mistress Vedehikā had a servant named Blackie who was capable and industrious and performed her duties well.

Now to Servant Blackie occurred the following thought: “Of my lady mistress prevails the following excellent reputation: ‘Gentle is Mistress Vedehikā, meek is Mistress Vedehikā, tranquil is Mistress Vedehikā.’ But has her ladyship, in point of fact, an inward temper which she does not reveal, or has she not? Or is it solely because I have performed these duties well that her ladyship does not reveal an inward temper which, in point of fact, she does possess;--not because she does not possess it? Suppose I were to test her ladyship!”

Accordingly Servant Blackie got up late in the day. And Mistress Vedehikā said this to Servant Blackie: “See here, Blackie!” “What is it, my lady?” “Why did you get up so late?” “For no reason at all, my lady.” “For no reason at all, worthless servant, you got up so late!” And Mistress Vedehikā frowned in anger and displeasure.

Then to Servant Blackie occurred the following thought: “Her ladyship does, in point of fact, possess an inward temper which she does not reveal;--it is not because she does not possess it. It is solely because I have performed these duties well that her ladyship does not reveal an inward temper which, in point of fact, she does possess;--it is not because she does not possess it. Suppose I were to test her ladyship further!”

Accordingly Servant Blackie got up later in the day. And Mistress Vedehikā said this to Servant Blackie: “See here, Blackie!” “What is it, my lady?” “Why did you get up so late?” “For no reason at all, my lady.” “For no reason at all, worthless servant, you got up so late!” And in anger and displeasure Mistress Vedehikā gave vent to her displeasure in words.

Then to Servant Blackie occurred the following thought: “Her ladyship does, in point of fact, possess an inward temper which she does not reveal;--it is not because she does not possess it. It is solely because I have performed these duties well that her ladyship does not reveal an inward temper which, in point of fact, she does possess;--it is not because she does not possess it. Suppose I were to test her ladyship further!”

Accordingly Servant Blackie got up even later in the day. And Mistress Vedehikā said this to Servant Blackie: “See here, Blackie!” “What is it, my lady?” “Why did you get up so late?” “For no reason at all, my lady.” “For no reason at all, worthless servant, you got up so late!” And in anger and displeasure Mistress Vedehikā seized the pin of the door-bolt and gave her a blow on the head, breaking her head.

Thereupon Servant Blackie, with broken head streaming with blood, complained to the neighbors: “See, my lady, the work of the gentle woman! See, my lady, the work of the meek woman! See, my lady, the work of the tranquil woman! For this is the way a lady acts who keeps but a single servant: ‘You got up too late!’ says she. So what must she do but seize the pin of the door-bolt and give you a blow on the head and break your head!”

The result was that after a time Mistress Vedehikā acquired the following evil reputation: “Cruel is Mistress Vedehikā, no meek woman is Mistress Vedehikā, no tranquil woman is Mistress Vedehikā!”

“Precisely so, monks, here in this world, many a monk is ever so
gentle, ever so meek, ever so tranquil, so long as unpleasant remarks
do not reach him. But when, monks, unpleasant remarks reach a monk,
that is the time to find out whether he is really gentle, really
meek, really tranquil.”

_13. Blind Men and Elephant._

_Avoid vain wrangling._

Udāna vi. 4: 66-69.

Thus have I heard: Once upon a time the Exalted One was in residence
at Jetavana, near Sāvatthi. Now at that time there entered Sāvatthi
for alms a company of heretics, both monks and Brahmans, wandering
ascetics, holding heretical views, patient of heresy, delighting in
heresy, relying upon the reliance of heretical views. There were some
monks and Brahmans who held this doctrine, who held this view: “The
world is eternal. This view alone is truth; any other is folly.” But
there were other monks and Brahmans who held this view: “The world is
not eternal. This view alone is truth; any other is folly.” Some held
that the world is finite, others that the world is infinite. Some
held that the soul and the body are identical, others that the soul
and the body are distinct.

They quarreled and brawled and wrangled and struck one another with
the daggers of their tongues, saying: “This is right, that is not
right;” “This is not right, that is right.”

Now in the morning a company of monks put on their under-garments,
took bowl and robe, and entered Sāvatthi for alms. And when they had
made their alms-pilgrimage in Sāvatthi, they returned from their
pilgrimage. And when they had eaten their breakfast, they approached
the Exalted One. And having approached, they saluted the Exalted
One and sat down on one side. And sitting on one side, those monks
reported the matter to the Exalted One.

“The heretics, O monks, the wandering ascetics, are blind, without
eyes; know not good, know not evil; know not right, know not wrong.
Knowing not good, knowing not evil, knowing not right, knowing not
wrong, they quarrel and brawl and wrangle and strike one another with
the daggers of their tongues, saying: ‘This is right, that is not
right;’ ‘This is not right, that is right.’”

In olden times, in this very city of Sāvatthi, there was a certain king. And that king ordered a certain man: “Come, my man, assemble in one place all the men in Sāvatthi who are blind from birth.” “Yes, your majesty,” said that man to that king. And when, in obedience to the king’s command, he had laid hands on all the men in Sāvatthi who were blind from birth, he approached that king. And having approached, he said this to that king: “Your majesty, the blind from birth in Sāvatthi are assembled for you.” “Very well! Now let the blind men feel of the elephant.” “Yes, your majesty,” said that man to that king. And in obedience to the king’s command he let the blind men feel of the elephant, saying: “This, O blind men, is what an elephant is like.”

Some of the blind men he let feel of the elephant’s head, saying: “This, O blind men, is what an elephant is like.” Some of the blind men he let feel of the elephant’s ears, saying: “This, O blind men, is what an elephant is like.” Some of the blind men he let feel of the elephant’s tusks, saying: “This, O blind men, is what an elephant is like.” Others he let feel of the trunk, saying the same. Others he let feel of the belly, others of the legs, others of the back, others of the tail, saying to each and to all: “This, O blind men, is what an elephant is like.”

Now when that man had let the blind men feel of the elephant, he approached that king. And having approached, he said this to that king: “Your majesty, those blind men have felt of the elephant; do as you think fit.”

Then that king approached those blind men. And having approached, he said this to those blind men: “Blind men, have you felt of the elephant?” “Yes, your majesty, we have felt of the elephant.” “Tell me, blind men, what is an elephant like?”

The blind men who had felt of the elephant’s head, said: “Your majesty, an elephant is like a water-pot.” The blind men who had felt of the elephant’s ears, said: “Your majesty, an elephant is like a winnowing-basket.” The blind men who had felt of the elephant’s tusks, said: “Your majesty, an elephant is like a plow-share.” Those who had felt of the trunk, said: “An elephant is like a plow-pole.” Those who had felt of the belly, said: “An elephant is like a granary.” Those who had felt of the legs, said: “An elephant is like pillars.” Those who had felt of the back, said: “An elephant is like a mortar.” The blind men who had felt of the elephant’s tail, said: “Your majesty, an elephant is like a fan.”

And they fought among themselves with their fists, saying: “This is what an elephant is like, that is not what an elephant is like;” “This is not what an elephant is like, that is what an elephant is like.” And thereat that king was delighted.

“Precisely so, O monks, the heretics, the wandering ascetics, are
blind, without eyes; know not good, know not evil; know not right,
know not wrong. Knowing not good, knowing not evil, knowing not
right, knowing not wrong, they quarrel and brawl and wrangle and
strike one another with the daggers of their tongues, saying: ‘This
is right, that is not right;’ ‘This is not right, that is right.’”

_14. King and Boar._

_Evil communications corrupt good manners._

Jātaka 186: ii. 101-106.

On a certain occasion the Teacher addressed the monks as follows:
“Monks, contact with the corrupt is a bad thing, an injurious thing.
Indeed, why should it be necessary to discuss the injurious effect on
human beings of contact with the corrupt, when in times past even a
senseless mango tree, with flavor as sweet as the flavor of celestial
fruit, through contact with sour, unpalatable nimbs, turned sour and
bitter?”

_Part. 1. Gem, hatchet, drum, and bowl._

In times past, when Brahmadatta ruled at Benāres, four Brahman brothers in the kingdom of Kāsi adopted the life of ascetics, and building a row of leaf-huts in the Himālaya region, took up their abode there. The eldest of the four brothers died and was reborn as Sakka, king of gods. Knowing who he had been, he went from time to time, every seven or eight days, and ministered to his former brothers.

One day he saluted the eldest ascetic, sat down on one side, and asked: “Reverend Sir, is there anything you need?” The ascetic, who was suffering from jaundice, said: “I need fire.” Sakka gave him a little hatchet. Said the ascetic: “Who will take this and fetch me wood?” Then Sakka said to him: “When, Reverend Sir, you need wood, just rub this hatchet with your hand and say: ‘Please fetch me wood and make me a fire.’ And the hatchet will fetch wood, make a fire, and turn it over to you.”

Having given him the little hatchet, Sakka went to the second ascetic and asked: “Reverend Sir, what do you need?” Past his leaf-hut ran an elephant-track. Since the elephants bothered him, he said: “The elephants annoy me; drive them away.” Sakka presented a drum to him, saying, “Reverend Sir, if you beat this side, your enemies will flee; if you beat that, they will become kindly disposed and will surround you with a fourfold army.”

Having given him the drum, Sakka went to the youngest ascetic and asked: “Reverend Sir, what do you want?” He also was afflicted with jaundice; therefore he said: “I want curds.” Sakka gave him a bowl of curds, saying: “If you invert this and make a wish, the curds will turn into a mighty river, will set flowing a mighty flood, and will even be able to get and give you a kingdom.” So saying, he went his way.

From that time on the little hatchet made fire for the eldest brother; when the second brother beat the drum, the elephants fled; the youngest brother enjoyed his curds.

At that time a boar, rooting among the ruins of a village, caught sight of a gem endowed with magical power. He bit the gem, and by its magical power rose into the air. Seeing a little island in mid-ocean, he thought: “There now is the place for me to live.” So he descended and made his home in a pleasant place under a fig tree.

One day the boar lay down at the foot of that tree, placed the gem in front of him, and fell asleep.

Now a certain man who lived in the kingdom of Kāsi, driven from home by his mother and father with the remark, “He’s no good to us,” went to a certain seaport, hired himself out to mariners, and embarked on a ship. In mid-ocean the ship sprang a leak, and he floated to that island on a plank. While seeking wild fruits he saw that boar. Creeping up, he seized the gem. By its magical power he rose into the air. Seating himself on the fig tree, he thought: “This boar, become an air-voyager by the magical power of this gem, lives here, I suppose. But I must not go back without first of all killing him and eating his flesh.” He broke off a twig and let it fall on the boar’s head. The boar woke up, but not seeing the gem, ran this way and that, all of a tremble. The man sitting in the tree laughed. The boar looked, and seeing him, ran his head against the tree, and died then and there. The man came down, made a fire, and cooked the boar’s flesh and ate it. Then he rose into the air and passed over the tops of the Himālayas.

Seeing a region of hermitages, he descended at the hermitage of the eldest ascetic. He lived there for two or three days, performed the major and minor duties for the ascetic, and saw the magical power of the little hatchet. “This I must get,” thought he. Accordingly, after demonstrating to the ascetic the magical power of the gem, he said: “Reverend Sir, take this gem and give me the little hatchet.” The ascetic, having a desire to travel through the air, took the gem and gave him the little hatchet.

The man took the little hatchet and went a short distance. Then he rubbed the little hatchet and said: “Little hatchet, chop off the ascetic’s head and bring me the gem.” The little hatchet went and chopped off the ascetic’s head and brought him the gem. The man put the little hatchet in a secret place, and then went to the second ascetic and lived with him for a few days. Seeing the magical power of the drum, he gave the second ascetic the gem, took the drum, and in the same way as before caused his head also to be cut off. Then he approached the youngest ascetic. Seeing the magical power of the bowl of curds, he gave the youngest ascetic the gem, took the bowl of curds, and in the same way as before caused his head to be cut off.

Then he took the gem and the little hatchet and the drum and the bowl of curds, and rose into the air. Halting not far from Benāres, he sent, by the hand of a certain man, the following message to the king of Benāres: “Give me battle or the kingdom!” As soon as the king heard the message, he said: “Let’s catch the bandit;” and sallied forth. The man beat the proper side of the drum, and a fourfold army surrounded him. Perceiving that the king had deployed his forces, he turned the bowl of curds loose. A mighty river began to flow, and the multitude sank down in the curds and were unable to extricate themselves. Then he rubbed the little hatchet and said: “Bring me the king’s head.” The little hatchet went and brought the king’s head and laid it at his feet. Not a single soldier had the power to lift a weapon. Accompanied by a mighty force, the man entered the city and caused himself to be sprinkled king. Having become king under the name King of the Curds, he ruled with righteousness.

_Part 2. Corrupt fruit from a good tree._

One day, while he was amusing himself in the mighty river, in an enclosure formed by a net, there floated up and lodged in the net a single mango fruit fit for the gods. When they lifted the net they saw it and gave it to the king. It was of large size, as big as a water-pot, perfectly round, and of a golden color. The king asked his foresters: “What is that the fruit of?” “The fruit of a mango tree.” Having eaten it, he caused the stone to be planted in his own garden, and to be sprinkled with milk and water. The tree sprouted, and in the third year bore fruit.

Great was the honor rendered to the mango. They sprinkled it with milk and water, they made marks of the spread hand with scented ointment on it, they festooned it with wreaths and ropes of flowers, they burned lamps with perfumed oil before it, and round about it they hung a curtain of fine cloth.

The fruit was sweet and of a golden color. When the king sent the fruit of the mango to other kings, he pierced with a thorn the spot where the sprout starts, for fear a tree might sprout from the stone. When, after eating the mango fruit, they planted the stone, nothing happened. “What, pray, can be the cause of this?” they inquired, and discovered the cause.

Now a certain other king summoned his gardener and asked: “Can you spoil the flavor of my rival’s mango fruit and make it bitter?” “Yes, your majesty.” “Very well, go.” So saying, he gave him a thousand pieces of money and sent him off. The gardener went to Benāres, caused the king to be informed that a gardener had arrived, managed to have himself summoned by the king, and entering the palace, made obeisance to the king. “Are you the gardener?” asked the king. “Yes, your majesty,” said the gardener, and described his own marvelous powers. Said the king: “Go, assist our gardener.”

From that time on the two men cared for the garden. The newly arrived gardener caused flowers to blossom out of season and fruits to grow out of season, and made the garden a charming place. The king, pleased with the new gardener, dismissed the old gardener, and gave the new gardener exclusive charge of the garden. The new gardener, realizing that the garden was in his own hands, planted nimbs and pot-herbs and creepers all around the mango tree.

In the course of time the nimbs grew up. Roots with roots, branches with branches, were in contact, entangled, intertwined. Merely through this contact with the sour, unpalatable nimbs, the sweet fruit of the mango turned bitter, and its flavor became like the flavor of the leaves of the nimbs. The gardener, knowing that the fruit of the mango had turned bitter, fled.

The king went to the garden and ate a mango fruit. As soon as he put the mango into his mouth, perceiving that the juice tasted like the vile juice of the nimb, he was unable to swallow it, and coughing it up, spat it out. Now at that time the Future Buddha was his counsellor in temporal and spiritual matters. The king addressed the Future Buddha: “Wise man, this tree is just as well cared for now as it was of old. But in spite of this, its fruit has turned bitter. What, pray, is the reason?” And by way of inquiry he uttered the first stanza:

Color, fragrance, flavor, had this mango before.
Receiving the same honor, why has the mango bitter fruit?

Then the Future Buddha told him the reason by uttering the second stanza:

Your mango, O king, is surrounded with nimbs,
Root touches root, branches entwine about branches.
Through contact with the bad, therefore your mango has bitter fruit.

The king, hearing his words, had every one of the nimbs and pot-herbs chopped down, the roots pulled up, the sour earth round about removed, sweet earth put in its place, and the mango fed with milk and water, sweetened water, and perfumed water. Through contact with sweet juices the mango became perfectly sweet again. The king gave the regular gardener sole charge of the garden, and after living out his allotted term of life, passed away according to his deeds.

15. _A Buddhist Henny-Penny._

_Much ado about nothing._

Jātaka 322: iii. 74-78.

On a certain occasion the Teacher, referring to the
self-mortification of the Hindu ascetics, said to the monks: “Monks,
there is no value, no merit, in their self-mortification. It is like
the ‘rat-a-tat’ the little hare heard.” Said the monks: “We do not
understand what you mean by saying that it is like the ‘rat-a-tat’
the little hare heard. Tell us about it, Reverend Sir.” So in
response to their request the Teacher related the following Story of
the Past:

In times past, when Brahmadatta ruled at Benāres, the Future Buddha was reborn as a lion, and when he grew up, lived in a forest. At that time, near the Western Ocean, grew a grove of cocoanut trees intermingled with Vilva trees. There, at the foot of a Vilva tree, under a cocoanut sapling, lived a little hare. One day, returning with food, he lay down under a cocoanut leaf and thought: “If this earth should collapse, what would ever become of me?”

At that very instant a Vilva fruit fell on top of the cocoanut leaf. At the sound of it the little hare thought: “This earth is certainly collapsing!” And springing to his feet, back he ran, without so much as taking a look. As he was running away as fast as he could in fear of death, another little hare saw him and asked: “Why, pray, are you running away in such a fright?” “Oh, don’t ask me!” And he kept right on running, in spite of the fact that the other little hare kept asking: “Oh! what is it? Oh! what is it?” The other little hare turned around, and without so much as taking a look, said: “The earth is collapsing here!” He also ran away, following the first.

In the same way a third little hare saw the second, and a fourth the third, until finally there were a hundred thousand little hares running away together. A deer saw them,--also a boar, an elk, a buffalo, an ox, a rhinoceros, a tiger, a lion, and an elephant. Seeing, each asked: “What’s this?” “The earth is collapsing here!” Each ran away. Thus, in the course of time, there was an army of animals a league in size.

At that time the Future Buddha, seeing that army running away, asked: “What’s this?” “The earth is collapsing here!” When the Future Buddha heard this, he thought: “No such thing! The earth is collapsing nowhere! It must certainly be that they failed to understand something they heard. But if I do not put forth effort, they will all perish. I will grant them their lives.”

With the speed of a lion he preceded them to the foot of a mountain and thrice roared the roar of a lion. Terrified with fear of the lion, they turned around and stood all huddled together. The lion made his way in among them and asked: “Why are you running away?” “The earth is collapsing!” “Who saw it collapsing?” “The elephants know.” He asked the elephants. Said the elephants: “We don’t know; the lions know.” Said the lions: “We don’t know; the tigers know.” The tigers: “The rhinoceroses know.” The rhinoceroses: “The oxen know.” The oxen: “The buffaloes.” The buffaloes: “The elks.” The elks: “The boars.” The boars: “The deer.” The deer: “We don’t know; the little hares know.”

When the little hares were asked, they pointed out that little hare and said: “He’s the one that told us.” So the lion asked the little hare: “Friend, is it true, as you say, that the earth is collapsing?” “Yes, master, I saw it.” “Where were you living when you saw it?” asked the lion. “Near the Western Ocean, in a grove of cocoanut trees mingled with Vilva trees. For there, at the foot of a Vilva tree, under a cocoanut sapling, beneath a cocoanut leaf, I lay and thought: ‘If the earth collapses, where shall I go?’ That very instant I heard the sound of the earth collapsing. So I ran away.”

The lion thought: “Evidently a Vilva fruit fell on top of that cocoanut leaf and made a ‘rat-a-tat,’ and this hare here, hearing that sound, came to the conclusion: ‘The earth is collapsing!’ I will find out for a fact.” So the lion, taking the little hare with him, reassured the throng, saying: “I am going to find out for a fact whether or not the earth collapsed at the spot where the little hare saw what he saw; having so done, I will return. Until I return, all of you remain right here.”

So taking the little hare on his back, he sprang forward with the speed of a lion. And setting the little hare down in the cocoanut grove, he said: “Come, show me the spot where you saw what you saw.” “I don’t dare, master.” “Come, don’t be afraid.” The little hare, not daring to approach the Vilva tree, stood no great distance off and said: “That, master, is the spot where it went ‘rat-a-tat.’” So saying, he uttered the first stanza:

“Rat-a-tat” it went,--I wish you luck,--
In the region where I dwell.
But as for me, I do not know
What made that “rat-a-tat.”

When the little hare said this, the lion went to the foot of the Vilva tree, looked at the spot beneath the cocoanut leaf where the little hare had lain, and observed that a Vilva fruit had fallen on top of the cocoanut leaf. And knowing for a fact that the earth had not collapsed, he took the little hare on his back, went quickly, with the speed of a lion, to the assemblage of animals, informed them of all the facts, reassured the throng of animals by saying, “Fear not,” and released the little hare.

For if, at that time, the Future Buddha had not come to the rescue, they would all have run down into the sea and perished. It was through the Future Buddha that they obtained their lives.

Hearing a Vilva fruit fall,--“rat-a-tat,”--the hare ran.
Hearing the hare’s words, a host of animals were frightened.

Those who have not attained consciousness of their portion,
Those who follow the voice of others,
Those who are given to heedlessness,--the foolish,--
They attain what others attain.

But those who are endowed with morality,
Those who delight in the tranquillity of wisdom,
Those who abstain and refrain from worldly delights,--the wise,--
They attain what others attain not.

(These three stanzas were uttered by the Supremely Enlightened One.)

When the Teacher had related this parable, he identified the
personages in the Birth-story as follows: “At that time the lion was
I myself.”

_16. The Birds._

_Nobody loves a beggar._

Vinaya iii. 147-148.

On a certain occasion the Exalted One reproved the monks for begging.
Said he:

In olden times a certain monk dwelt on a slope of Himavat in a certain forest-grove. Not far from that forest-grove was a great marsh, a swamp. Now a large flock of birds sought food in that swamp in the daytime, returning to that forest-grove at eventide to roost. Now that monk, driven away by the noise of that flock of birds, approached me, and having approached, saluted me and sat down on one side. And as he sat on one side, I said this to that monk:

“I trust, monk, that you have suffered no discomfort. I trust that you have received sufficient sustenance. I trust that you have made your journey without fatigue. And, monk, whence have you come?”

“I have suffered no discomfort, Exalted One. I have received sufficient sustenance. I have made my journey without fatigue. Reverend Sir, on a slope of Himavat is a large forest-grove. And not far from that forest-grove is a great marsh, a swamp. Now a large flock of birds seek food in that swamp in the daytime, returning to that forest-grove at eventide to roost. Thence, Reverend Sir, do I come, driven away by the noise of that flock of birds.”

“But, monk, do you wish that flock of birds never to come back again?” “I wish that flock of birds never to come back again.”

“Well then, monk, go there, plunge into that forest-grove, and throughout the watches of the night cry out: ‘Let the pretty birds hear me, as many as roost in this forest-grove! I want feathers! Let the pretty birds each give me a feather!’”

So that monk went there, plunged into that forest-grove, and throughout the watches of the night cried out: “Let the pretty birds hear me, as many as roost in this forest-grove! I want feathers! Let the pretty birds each give me a feather!”

Thereupon that flock of birds, reflecting, “The monk begs feathers, the monk wants feathers,” departed from that forest-grove. When they departed, they departed indeed, and never came back again.

“For, monks, to living beings in the form of animals, begging is said
to have been offensive, hinting is said to have been offensive. How
much more so must it be to human beings!”

_17. Dragon Jewel-Neck._

_Nobody loves a beggar._

_A. Canonical version._

Vinaya iii. 145-147.

On a certain occasion the Exalted One reproved the monks for begging.
Said he:

In olden times two ascetics, brothers, lived by the Ganges river. Now Jewel-neck, a dragon-king, came out of the Ganges, approached the younger ascetic, and having approached, encircled the younger ascetic seven times with his coils and rose and spread his huge hood over his head. And the younger ascetic, for fear of that dragon, became lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, his body strewn with veins.

The older ascetic saw the younger ascetic lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, his body strewn with veins. Seeing, he said this to the younger ascetic: “Why are you lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, your body strewn with veins?” “While I was here, Jewel-neck, a dragon-king, came out of the Ganges river, approached me, and having approached, encircled me seven times with his coils and rose and spread his huge hood over my head. For fear of him I am lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, my body strewn with veins.”

“But do you wish that dragon never to come back again?” “I wish that dragon never to come back again.” “Well, but do you see anything on that dragon?” “I see he wears a jewel on his neck.” “Well then, ask that dragon for the jewel, saying: ‘Give me the jewel! I want the jewel!’”

Now Jewel-neck the dragon-king came out of the Ganges river, approached the younger ascetic, and having approached, stood aside. As he stood aside, the younger ascetic said this to Jewel-neck the dragon-king: “Give me the jewel! I want the jewel!” Thereupon Jewel-neck the dragon-king, reflecting, “The monk begs the jewel, the monk wants the jewel,” quickly enough departed.

Three times did the younger ascetic beg the jewel of Jewel-neck the dragon-king, and three times did Jewel-neck the dragon-king depart. The third time, Jewel-neck the dragon-king addressed the younger ascetic with stanzas:

My food and drink, abundant, choice,
I get by the power of this jewel.
This I will not give you,--you ask too much;
Nor will I even come back again to your hermitage.

Like a lad with sand-washed sword in hand,
You frighten me, asking for the stone.
This I will not give you,--you ask too much;
Nor will I even come back again to your hermitage.

Thereupon Jewel-neck the dragon-king, reflecting, “The monk begs the jewel, the monk wants the jewel,” departed. When he departed, he departed indeed, and never came back again. And the younger ascetic, because he saw no more that dragon so fair to see, became more than ever lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, his body strewn with veins.

When the older ascetic saw the younger ascetic altered in appearance, he inquired the reason. The younger ascetic told him. Then the older ascetic addressed the younger ascetic with a stanza:

One should not beg or seek to get what is dear to another.
Odious does one become by asking overmuch.
When the Brahman asked the dragon for the jewel,
Never again did the dragon let himself be seen.

“For, monks, to living beings in the form of animals, begging is said
to have been offensive, hinting is said to have been offensive. How
much more so must it be to human beings!”

_B. Uncanonical version._

Jātaka 258: ii. 283-286.

On a certain occasion the Exalted One reproved the monks for begging.
Said he: “Monks, begging is offensive even to dragons, though the
World of Dragons wherein they dwell is filled to overflowing with the
Seven Jewels. How much more so must it be to human beings, from whom
it is as difficult to wring a penny as it is to skin a flint!” So
saying, he related the following Story of the Past:

In times past, when Brahmadatta ruled at Benāres, the Future Buddha was reborn in a Brahman household of great wealth. When he was old enough to walk and could run hither and thither, another being of merit also received a new existence as his brother. When both brothers reached manhood, their mother and father died. In agitation of heart over their death, both brothers adopted the life of ascetics, and building leaf-huts on the bank of the Ganges, took up their residence there. The older brother’s hut was up the Ganges; the younger brother’s hut was down the Ganges.

Now one day a dragon-king named Jewel-neck came forth from the World of Dragons, walked along the bank of the Ganges disguised as a Brahman youth, came to the hermitage of the younger ascetic, bowed, and sat down on one side. The dragon-king and the younger ascetic greeted each other in a cordial manner, and became fast friends and inseparable companions.

Every day Jewel-neck would come to the hermitage of the younger ascetic and sit down and talk and converse with him. When it was time for him to go, out of affection for the ascetic he would lay aside his human form, encircle the ascetic with his coils, and embrace him, holding his huge hood over his head. Having remained in this position for a time, and having dispelled his affection, he would unwind his body, bow to the ascetic, and go back again to his own abode.

The ascetic, for fear of him, became lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, his body strewn with veins. One day he went to visit his brother. The latter asked him: “Why are you lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, your body strewn with veins?” He told him the facts. The older ascetic asked: “But do you or do you not wish that dragon never to come back again?” The younger ascetic said: “I do not.” “But when that dragon-king comes to your hermitage, what ornament does he wear?” “A jewel.”

“Well then, when that dragon-king comes to your hermitage, before he has a chance to sit down, ask, saying: ‘Give me the jewel.’ If you do so, that dragon-king will depart without so much as encircling you with his coils. On the next day you must stand at the door of your hermitage and ask him just as he approaches. On the third day you must stand on the bank of the Ganges and ask him just as he comes out of the water. If you do so, he will not come back to your hermitage.”

“Very well,” assented the ascetic, and went to his own leaf-hut. On the next day the dragon-king came and stopped at the hermitage. The moment he stopped, the ascetic asked: “Give me this jewel you wear.” Without so much as sitting down, the dragon-king fled. On the second day the ascetic, standing at the door of the hermitage, said to the dragon-king just as he approached: “Yesterday you would not give me the jewel; to-day I must have it.” Without so much as entering the hermitage, the dragon-king fled. On the third day the ascetic said to the dragon-king just as he came out of the water: “This is the third day I have asked; give me this jewel now.” The dragon-king, still remaining in the water, refused the ascetic, reciting these two stanzas:

My food and drink, abundant, choice,
I get by the power of this jewel.
This I will not give you,--you ask too much;
Nor will I even come back again to your hermitage.

Like a lad with sand-washed sword in hand,
You frighten me, asking for the stone.
This I will not give you,--you ask too much;
Nor will I even come back again to your hermitage.

So saying, that dragon-king plunged into the water, went back to his own World of Dragons, and never came back again. And that ascetic, because he saw no more that dragon-king so fair to see, became more than ever lean, dried-up, pale, yellow as ever was yellow, his body strewn with veins.