Chapter XIV: The Dumb Cripple. 137

In long past days, King Brahmadatta lived in the city of Vārāṇasī. His wife’s name was Brahmavatī, and a lake also bore the same name. Now the king was childless, and longed to have a son. With that intent he implored the gods in all manner of ways. At length his entreaties were heard, and a being of firm resolve, departing from hell, entered into the queen’s womb. At her desire the king ordered presents to be given at all the gates of the city. Later on he had to go with her into the penance forest, and in the third place to embark with her on board a ship, which was constructed at her request, and placed in the above-named lake. There she gave birth to a fine boy, who was endowed with recollection of his previous existence. As he was born on the water, the name of Abja (water-born) was given to him.

As he rapidly grew up under the care of nurses and female attendants, he reflected that, if he were to be invested with sovereign power, this would not be a good thing, seeing that in consequence of a sixty years reign which he had accomplished in a previous state of existence, he had been born again in hell, and that he now ran the risk of going to hell a second time. So he determined to evade the sovereignty by means of an artifice, and he pretended to be a cripple. As the five hundred ministers’ sons who were his playfellows, having all been born at the same time with him, were in the habit of running and jumping, King Brahmadatta reflected that his son, if he were not a cripple, would take part in those exercises. However, he determined to invest him with the sovereign power, although he was a cripple. When Prince Abja heard of this, he thought that it was very unkind of his father to do him such an injury, and he determined to pretend he was dumb. So he was commonly called “The Dumb Cripple.”

When his father heard the five hundred sons of ministers speak, while his son remained dumb, he became exceedingly sad. When the ministers remarked this sadness of his, he explained to them that it was his son’s dumbness which was troubling him. The ministers consulted the doctor, who declared that the prince was in perfect health, and was troubled by no complaint, and that he must be acted upon by threats. So King Brahmadatta sent for the executioners, and let them know privately that he was going to hand over the prince to them in the presence of a great assemblage, but that they were not to put him to death. In obedience to the king’s commands, the executioners put the prince in a cart, and took him out of the city. When the prince saw the extent and the wealth of Vārāṇasī, he asked: “Is this city of Vārāṇasī deserted or inhabited?” The executioners took the prince back to his father, to whom they reported the words he had uttered. King Brahmadatta threw his arms around his son and said to him: “O youth, whom ought one to kill? Whom ought one to order to be killed? From whom ought life to be taken? To whom ought a gift to be granted, and what sort of a gift?” To these questions his son made no reply, but remained dumb. Then King Brahmadatta spake again to the executioners, saying, “I deliver unto you this prince, do ye carry him away.” The executioners again, in obedience to the king’s commands, set the prince in a cart and conveyed him out of the city. The prince saw four men carrying a corpse, and said, “Is this corpse that of a dead man or of a living man?” Again did the executioners take the prince back to his father, and repeat the words which he had uttered. King Brahmadatta folded his son in his arms, and put the same questions to him as before. But again did the son make no reply, persisting in his silence. The king then renewed his orders to the executioners to carry away the prince. When they had set him in a cart and conveyed him out of the city, the prince espied a great heap of grain, and said, “If this heap of grain were not continually devoured at its base, it would become great.” Again did the executioners take the prince back to the king, and report the words which he had spoken. The king once more repeated the questions he had asked before, but his son left them unanswered. Then said King Brahmadatta to the executioners, “I deliver unto you the prince, go, bury him in a hole in the forest.” In obedience to the king’s commands, the executioners set the prince on a cart, took him into the forest, and there set to work to dig a hole. Then spake the prince the following śloka:

“Wherefore, O waggon-driver, dost thou deliberately dig a hole? Wherefore do ye dig a hole? Answer the question quickly.”

The waggon-driver replied, “Because the king’s son, dumb and a cripple from birth, does not speak, therefore will he soon, according to our commands, be put into the hole in the forest.”

Then was the prince horrified at the thought that the cruel, red-handed, life-destroying executioners, men familiar with blows and deathstrokes, producers of fear by executions, should now proceed to kill him also, and he said, “If the king will grant me the fulfilment of one wish, I will go to the city on foot, and moreover I will speak.” The executioners went to the king and told him all that had occurred. The king said, “If the prince wishes for the sovereignty, that also will I yield to him.” Joyfully did he give orders to the ministers to clear the city with all speed of stones, and to provide incense, perfumes, flags, standards, and flowers of all kinds. The ministers carried out the king’s commands, and many hundreds of thousands of people crowded together in order to witness the entry of the prince, and to hear him speak. The prince entered the city on foot, and when he came to where the king was, he showed him reverence, and said in ślokas—

“I am neither dumb nor crippled, I am neither dull nor senseless. With clear words am I able to speak, O prince of men. I am neither dumb nor crippled, I am neither dull nor senseless. Sound and clear and bright is my mind, O prince of men!”

When the king asked him why he had not spoken before, and why he had not used his legs, he replied—

“Hearken unto me, O king! In a former life I reigned as a king for sixty years, and then for sixty thousand years I suffered incessant tortures in hell. Remembering those terrible pangs, I do not wish to reign again, and therefore I beseech you, O my father, to allow me to renounce the world.”

The father replied, “But, my son, it is for the sake of supremacy that the Rishis undertake penance and offer sacrifice. Wherefore will you, my son, give up that which is in your hands, and renounce the world?”

The prince replied that he did not wish to live in enjoyment, which is provocative of discord and contest, and that he preferred a life of penance; the former resembled the Kimpāka fruit, the latter possessed the Amṛita flavour. The king observed that the royal power guaranteed the enjoyment of all good things, and asked why he wished to give up the throne, and take to the ascetic life. The son replied that we ought to consider that as true pleasure from which pain ensues, and should in like manner esteem that as pain from which pleasure ensues, and that his father ought to allow him to go into the forest of penance. The king represented to him all the comforts of life in the palace, with incense, and odorous powders and flowers, with repose, free from all perils, on a soft couch, with awaking to the sound of music, with soft clothing, and savoury food and drink. On the other hand, he brought before his eyes the life of penance in the forest, the resting on leaves spread under a tree, amid all sorts of dangers, among wild gazelles, the awaking to the sound of the jackal’s howl, the raiment of bark, the nourishment composed of roots and fruits, and the tepid, turbid water. The son replied that it would be better to live in the forest with raiment of bark, and roots and fruits for food, and wild gazelles as companions, that the wise prefer all this to a sovereignty, the characteristics of which are killing, binding, and smiting, and which is accompanied by danger with respect to the life to come; and that his father ought therefore to allow him to go into the forest of penance. The king said, “O son! answer these three questions of mine. Then you may renounce the world. When you saw the wealth and the extent of Vārāṇasī, you asked, ‘Is Vārāṇasī deserted, or is the city inhabited?’ For what reason did you say this?”

“Hear, O king, wherefore I said that. It was because, when you had condemned me to death without any cause, no one ventured to put the direct question as to how that came about.”

“O son, you were right. But when you saw a corpse being carried along, you asked whether it was the body of a living or a dead person. For what reason did you ask that?”

“Hear, O king, the reason why. I said that because the corpse of him who has committed a crime is the corpse of one who is dead. But the corpse of him who has accomplished a good action is the corpse of one who is alive.”

“O son, you were right. But when you saw the heap of grain you said, ‘If this heap of grain were not continually consumed at its base, it would wax great.’ Wherefore did you then say that?”

“Hear, O king, the reason why. I said that because the tillers of the soil, after they have borrowed corn, and have used it, are obliged to give a large heap of corn to the faithful after the labours of the field, so soon as the corn is ripe, and therefore do they consume it at its base. In like manner, when man has reached the path of the ten works of virtue, but continues on it no further, the roots of his earlier virtue are severed, and when they are severed, he passes from the path of bliss into perdition. For that reason have I thus spoken.”

When the king heard these words of his son he embraced him with tearful eyes, and not only bade him behave according to his wish, but also allowed him to take all his young companions with him into the forest. There he who had hitherto been called the Dumb Cripple received the name of the Dumb Teacher. On the death of the Rishi under whom he had taken the vows he succeeded to his privileges, and he was able to manage so that his disciples, who had too great a quantity of mats, clothes, and utensils, at last followed his example, and contented themselves with that only which was most necessary.