The Goat and the Brahmin

From The Jataka, Volume I, translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts.

Notes. This is the Matakabhatta Jataka; the title means "the food offered for the dead," as referred to in the story's "Feast for the Dead." This is a great fable about how karma always finds a way!

Summary: The goat both laughs and weeps at the prospect of dying in a sacrifice at the Feast for the Dead.

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THE GOAT AND THE BRAHMIN

(Indian goat)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, a brahmin, Who was versed in the Three Vedas and world-famed as a teacher, being minded to offer a Feast for the Dead, had a goat fetched and said to his pupils, "My sons, take this goat down to the river and bathe it; then hang a garland round its neck, give it a pottle of grain to eat, groom it a bit, and bring it back."

"Very good," said they, and down to the river they took the goat, where they bathed and groomed the creature and set it on the bank.

The goat, becoming conscious of the deeds of its past lives, was overjoyed at the thought that on this very day it would be freed from all its misery, and laughed aloud like the smashing of a pot. Then at the thought that the brahmin by slaying it would bear the misery which it had borne, the goat felt a great compassion for the brahmin, and wept with a loud voice.

"Friend goat," said the young brahmins, "your voice has been loud both in laughter and in weeping; what made you laugh and what made you weep?"

"Ask me your question before your master."

So with the goat they came to their master and told him of the matter. After hearing their story, the master asked the goat why it laughed and why it wept.

Hereupon the animal, recalling its past deeds by its power of remembering its former existences, spoke thus to the brahmin, "In times past, brahmin, I, like you, was a brahmin versed in the mystic texts of the Vedas, and I, to offer a Feast for the Dead, killed a goat for my offering. All through killing that single goat, I have had my head cut off five hundred times all but one. This is my five hundredth and last birth; and I laughed aloud when I thought that this very day I should be freed from my misery. On the other hand, I wept when I thought how, whilst I, who for killing a goat had been doomed to lose my head five hundred times, was to-day being freed from my misery, you, as a penalty for killing me, would be doomed to lose your head, like me, five hundred times. Thus it was out of compassion for you that I wept."

"Fear not, goat," said the brahmin; "I will not kill you."

"What is this you say, brahmin?" said the goat. "Whether you kill me or not, I cannot escape death to-day."

"Fear not, goat; I will go about with you to guard you."

"Weak is your protection, brahmin, and strong is the force of my evil-doing."

Setting the goat at liberty, the brahmin said to his disciples, "Let us not allow anyone to kill this goat;" and, accompanied by the young men, he followed the animal closely about.

The moment the goat was set free, it reached out its neck to browse on the leaves of a bush growing near the top of a rock. And that very instant a thunderbolt struck the rock, rending off a mass which hit the goat on the outstretched neck and tore off its head. And people came crowding round.

In those days the Bodhisatta had been born a Tree-Fairy in that selfsame spot. By his supernatural powers he now seated himself cross-legged in mid-air while all the crowd looked on. Thinking to himself, "If these creatures only knew the fruit of evil-doing, perhaps they would desist from killing," in his sweet voice he taught them the Truth in this stanza:

If folk but knew the penalty would be
Birth unto sorrow, living things would cease
From taking life. Stern is the slayer's doom.

Thus did the Great Being preach the Truth, scaring his hearers with the fear of hell; and the people, hearing him, were so terrified at the fear of hell that they left off taking life.

And the Bodhisatta after establishing the multitude in the Commandments by preaching the Truth to them, passed away to fare according to his deserts.

The people, too, remained steadfast in the teaching of the Bodhisatta and spent their lives in charity and other good works, so that in the end they thronged the City of the Devas.

0172. The Lion and the Doe

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Vissasabhojana Jataka.

Summary: The lion is undone by his love for a doe.

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THE LION AND THE DOE

(MaxPixel)

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a very wealthy merchant. He had a herdsman who, when the corn was growing thick, drove his cows to the forest and kept them there at a shieling, bringing the produce from time to time to the merchant.

Now hard by the shieling in the forest there dwelt a lion; and so afraid of the lion were the cows that they gave but little milk. So when the herdsman brought in his ghee one day, the merchant asked why there was so little of it. Then the herdsman told him the reason.

"Well, has the lion formed an attachment to anything?"

"Yes, master; he's fond of a doe."

"Could you catch that doe?"

"Yes, master."

"Well, catch her, and rub her all over with poison and sugar, and let her dry. Keep her a day or two, and then turn her loose. Because of his affection for her, the lion will lick her all over with his tongue, and die. Take his hide with the claws and teeth and fat, and bring them back to me."

So saying, he gave deadly poison to the herdsman and sent him off. With the aid of a net which he made, the herdsman caught the doe and carried out the Bodhisatta's orders.

As soon as he saw the doe again, the lion, in his great love for her, licked her with his tongue so that he died.

And the herdsman took the lion's hide and the rest, and brought them to the Bodhisatta, who said, "Affection for others should be eschewed. Mark how, for all his strength, the king of beasts, the lion, was led by his sinful love for a doe to poison himself by licking her and so to die."

So saying, he uttered this stanza for the instruction of those gathered around:

Trust not the trusted, nor th’ untrusted trust;
Trust kills; through trust the lion bit the dust.

0166. The Drummer in the Forest

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Bherivada Jataka. Compare the story of the Boddhisatta trying to teach a wayward young deer in The Self-Willed Deer.

Summary: A drummer's foolish son comes to grief in a forest infested by robbers.

THE DRUMMER IN THE FOREST

(maddalam drum)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life as a drummer, and dwelt in a village. Hearing that there was to be a festival at Benares, and hoping to make money by playing his drum to the crowds of holiday-makers, he made his way to the city, with his son. And there he played, and made a great deal of money.

On his way home with his earnings he had to pass through a forest which was infested by robbers; and as the boy kept beating away at the drum without ever stopping, the Bodhisatta tried to stop him by saying, "Don't behave like that, beat only now and again, as if some great lord were passing by."

But in defiance of his father's bidding, the boy thought the best way to frighten the robbers away was to keep steadily on beating away at the drum.

At the first notes of the drum, away scampered the robbers, thinking some great lord was passing by. But hearing the noise keep on, they saw their mistake and came back to find out who it really was. Finding only two persons, they beat and robbed them.

"Alas!" cried the Bodhisatta; "by your ceaseless drumming you have lost all our hard-earned takings!"

And, so saying, he repeated this stanza:
Go not too far, but learn excess to shun;
For over-drumming lost what drumming won.

0163. The Farmer and the Bar of Gold

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Kancanakkhandha Jataka.

Summary: A farmer finds a bar of gold in a field so heavy that he cannot carry it.

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THE FARMER AND THE BAR OF GOLD

(farmer in southern India)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life as a farmer in a village, and was ploughing one day in a field where once stood a village.

Now, in bygone days, a wealthy merchant had died leaving buried in this field a huge bar of gold, as thick round as a man's thigh, and four whole cubits in length. And full on this bar struck the Bodhisatta's plough, and there stuck fast. Taking it to be a spreading root of a tree, he dug it, out; but discovering its real nature, he set to work to clean the dirt off the gold.

The day's work done, at sunset he laid aside his plough and gear, and essayed to shoulder his treasure-trove and walk off with it. But, as he could not so much as lift it, he sat down before it and fell a-thinking what uses he would put it to.

"I'll have so much to live on, so much to bury as a treasure, so much to trade with, and so much for charity and good works," thought he to himself, and accordingly cut the gold into four.

Division made his burthen easy to carry; and he bore home the lumps of gold. After a life of charity and other good works, he passed away to fare thereafter according to his deserts.

0157. The Clever Deer

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Tipallattha Miga Jataka. There is a Wikipedia article about animals playing dead.

Summary: As taught by the Bodhisatta, a young deer learns a series of tricks he can use to escape from a hunter.

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THE CLEVER DEER

(Indian deer)

Once on a time a certain king of Magadha was reigning in Rājagaha; and in those days the Bodhisatta, having been born a stag, was living in the forest at the head of a herd of deer.

Now his sister brought her son to him, saying, "Brother, teach your nephew here the ruses of deer."

"Certainly," said the Bodhisatta; "go away now, my boy, and come back at such and such a time to be taught." Punctually at the time his uncle mentioned, the young stag was there and. received instruction in the ruses of deer.

One day as he was ranging the woods he was caught in a snare and uttered the plaintive cry of a captive. Away fled the herd and told the mother of her son's capture. She came to her brother and asked him whether his nephew had been taught the ruses of deer.

"Fear not; your son is not at fault," said the Bodhisatta. "He has learnt thoroughly deer's ruses, and will come back straightway to your great rejoicing." And so saying, he repeated this stanza:

In all three postures--on his back or sides
Your son is versed; he's trained to use eight hoofs,
And save at midnight never slakes his thirst;
As he lies couched on earth, he lifeless seems,
And only with his under-nostril breathes.
Six tricks my nephew knows to cheat his foes.

Thus did the Bodhisatta console his sister by shewing her how thoroughly her son had mastered the ruses of deer.

Meantime the young stag on being caught in the snare did not struggle, but lay down at full length on his side, with his legs stretched out taut and rigid. He pawed up the ground round his hoofs so as to shower the grass and earth about; relieved nature; let his head fall; lolled out his tongue; beslavered his body all over; swelled himself out by drawing in the wind; turned up his eyes; breathed only with the lower nostril, holding his breath with the upper one; and made himself generally so rigid and so stiff as to look like a corpse. Even the blue-bottles swarmed round him; and here and there crows settled.

The hunter came up and smacked the stag on the belly with his hand, remarking, "He must have been caught early this morning; he's going bad already."

So saying, the man loosed the stag from his bonds, saying to himself, "I'll cut him up here where he lies, and take the flesh home with me."

But as the man guilelessly set to work to gather sticks and leaves to make a fire with, the young stag rose to his feet, shook himself, stretched out his neck, and, like a little cloud scudding before a mighty wind, sped swiftly back to his mother.

0155. The Mountain-Stag and the Doe

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Kandina Jataka.

Summary: A stag, for love of a doe, willingly enters into danger.

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THE MOUNTAIN-STAG AND THE DOE

(Sambar stag)

Once on a time in the kingdom of Magadha the king was reigning in Rajagaha, and when the crops were grown the deer were exposed to great perils, so that they retired to the forest.

Now a certain mountain-stag of the forest, having become attached to a doe who came from near a village, was moved by his love for her to accompany her when the deer returned home from the forest.

Said she, "You, sir, are but a simple stag of the forest, and the neighbourhood of villages is beset with peril and danger. So don't come down with us."

But he because of his great love for her would not stay, but came with her.

When they knew that it was the time for the deer to come down from the hills, the Magadha folk posted themselves in ambush by the road; and a hunter was lying in wait just by the road along which the pair were travelling.

Scenting a man, the young doe suspected that a hunter was in ambush, and let the stag go on first, following herself at some distance. With a single arrow the hunter laid the stag low, and the doe seeing him struck was off like the wind.

Then that hunter came forth from his hiding place and skinned the stag and lighting a fire cooked the sweet flesh over the embers. Having eaten and drunk, he took off home the remainder of the bleeding carcass on his carrying-pole to regale his children.

Now in those clays the Bodhisatta was a fairy dwelling in that very grove of trees, and he marked what had come to pass. "’Twas not father or mother, but passion alone that destroyed this foolish deer. The dawn of passion is bliss, but its end is sorrow and suffering, the painful loss of hands, and the misery of the five forms of bonds and blows. To cause another's death is accounted infamy in this world; infamous too is the land which owns a woman's sway and rule; and infamous are the men who yield themselves to women's dominion."

And therewithal, while the other fairies of the wood applauded and offered perfumes and flowers and the like in homage, the Bodhisatta wove the three infamies into a single stanza, and made the wood re-echo with his sweet tones as he taught the truth in these lines:

Cursed be the dart of love that works men pain!
Cursed be the land where women rule supreme!
And cursed the fool that bows to woman's sway!

Thus in a single stanza were the three infamies comprised by the Bodhisatta, and the woods re-echoed as he taught the Truth with all the mastery and grace of a Buddha.

0182. The Cock who Crowed at the Wrong Time

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Akalaravi Jataka.

Summary: Things do not turn out well for the rooster who crows at the wrong time.

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THE COCK WHO CROWED AT THE WRONG TIME

(MaxPixel)

This story was told by the Master while at Jetavana, about a Brother who used to be noisy at wrong seasons. He is said to have come of a good Sāvatthi family and to have given up the world for the Truth, but to have neglected his duties and despised instruction. He never took count of the hours for duties, for ministry or for reciting the texts. Throughout the three watches of the night, as well as the hours of waking, he was never quiet; so that the other Brethren could not get a wink of sleep. Accordingly, the Brethren in the Hall of Truth censured his conduct. Entering the Hall and learning on enquiry what they were talking about, the Master said, "Brethren, as now, so in past times, this Brother was noisy out of season, and for his unseasonable conduct was strangled."

So saying he told this story of the past.
_____________________________

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into a northern brahmin family, and when he grew up, learned all knowledge and became a teacher of world-wide fame with five hundred young brahmins studying under him.

Now these young brahmins had a cock who crowed betimes and roused them to their studies. And this cock died.

So they looked all about for another, and one of their number, when picking up firewood in the cemetery-grove, saw a cock there which he brought home and kept in a coop. But, as this second cock had been bred in a cemetery, he had no knowledge of times and seasons, and used to crow casually, at midnight as well as at daybreak.

Roused by his crowing at midnight, the young brahmins fell to their studies; by dawn they were tired out and could not for sleepiness keep their attention on the subject; and when he fell a-crowing in broad day they did not get a chance of quiet for repeating their lesson. And as it was the cock's crowing both at midnight and by day which had brought their studies to a standstill, they took the bird and wrung his neck. Then they told their teacher that they had killed the cock that crowed in and out of season.

Said their teacher, for their edification, "It was his bad bringing up that brought this cock to his end."

So saying, he uttered this stanza:
No parents trained, no teacher taught this bird:
Both in and out of season was he heard.

Such was the Bodhisatta's teaching on the matter; and when he had lived his allotted time on earth, he passed away to fare according to his deserts.
_____________________________

His lesson ended, the Master identified the Birth as follows, "This Brother was the cock of those times, who did not know when not to crow; my disciples were the young brahmins; and I their teacher."

0173. Names and Destiny

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Namasiddhi Jataka. Chalmers used the English word "Quick" below (as in the archaic phrase "the quick and the dead"), but I have replaced that with "Lively" to make the meaning more clear, and I have replaced his use of "Base" with "Shabby" since "base" has so many meanings in English.

Summary: A young brahmin learns that a name is not destiny.

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NAMES AND DESTINY

(Ghandaran Buddhist sculpture)

Once on a time the Bodhisatta was a teacher of world-wide fame at Takkasilā, and five hundred young brahmins learnt the Vedas from his lips.

One of these young men was named Shabby. And from continually hearing his fellows say, "Go, Shabby" and "Come, Shabby," he longed to get rid of his name and to take one that had a less ill-omened ring about it. So he went to his master and asked that a new name of a respectable character might be given him.

Said his master, "Go, my son, and travel through the land till you have found a name you fancy. Then come back and I will change your name for you."

The young man did as he was bidden, and taking provisions for the journey wandered from village to village till he came to a certain town. Here a man named Lively had died, and the young brahmin seeing him borne to the cemetery asked what his name was.

"Lively," was the reply.

"What, can Lively be dead?"

"Yes, Lively is dead; both Lively and Dead die just the same. A name only serves to mark who's who. You seem a fool."

Hearing this he went on into the city, feeling neither satisfied nor dissatisfied with his own name.

Now a slave-girl had been thrown down at the door of a house, while her master and mistress beat her with rope-ends because she had not brought home her wages. And the girl's name was Rich. Seeing the girl being beaten, as he walked along the street, he asked the reason, and was told in reply that it was because she had no wages to shew.

"And what is the girl's name?"

"Rich," said they.

"And cannot Rich make good a paltry day's pay?"

"Be she called Rich or Poor, the money's not forthcoming any the more. A name only serves to mark who's who. You seem a fool."

More reconciled to his own name, the young brahmin left the city and on the road found a. man who had lost his way. Having learnt that he had lost his way, the young man asked what his name was. "Guide," was the reply.

"And has Guide lost his way?"

"Guide or Misguide, you can lose your way just the same. A name only serves to mark who's who. You seem a fool."

Quite reconciled now to his name, the young brahmin came back to his master.

"Well, what name have you chosen?" asked the Bodhisatta.

"Master," said he, "I find that death comes to 'Lively' and 'Dead' alike, that 'Rich' and 'Poor' may be poor together, and that 'Guide' and 'Misguide' alike miss their way. I know now that a name serves only to tell who is who, and does not govern its owner's destiny. So I am satisfied with my own name, and do not want to change it for any other."

Then the Bodhisatta uttered this stanza, combining what the young brahmin had done with the sights he had seen:
Seeing Lively dead, Guide lost, Rich poor,
Shabby learned content nor travelled more.

0171. The Poisoned Dice

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Litta Jataka.

Summary: A gambler almost loses his life as a result of his cheating at dice.

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THE POISONED DICE

(ancient dice from Mohenjo Daro)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into a well-to-do family, and when he grew up, he became a dice-player. With him used to play a sharper, who kept on playing while he was winning, but, when luck turned, broke up the game by putting one of the dice in his mouth and pretending it was lost, after which he would take himself off.

"Very good," said the Bodhisatta when he realised what was being done; "we'll look into this." So he took some dice, anointed them at home with poison, dried them carefully, and then carried them with him to the sharper, whom he challenged to a game. The other was willing, the dice-board was got ready, and play began.

No sooner did the sharper begin to lose than he popped one of the dice into his mouth. Observing him in the act, the Bodhisatta remarked, "Swallow away; you will not fail to find out what it really is in a little time."

And he uttered this stanza of rebuke:
He bolts the die quite boldly, knowing not
What burning poison thereon lurks unseen.
Aye, bolt it, sharper! Soon you'll burn within.

But while the Bodhisatta was talking away, the poison began to work on the sharper; he grew faint, rolled his eyes, and bending double with pain fell to the ground.

"Now," said the Bodhisatta, "I must save the rascal's life." So he mixed some simples and administered an emetic until vomiting ensued. Then he administered a draught of ghee with honey and sugar and other ingredients, and by this means made the fellow all right again. Then he exhorted him not to do such a thing again.

After a life spent in charity and other good works, the Bodhisatta passed away to fare thereafter according to his deserts.

0170. The Hermit, The Gold, and the Straw

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Kuhaka Jataka.

Summary: The Bodhisatta is not fooled by a greedy hermit's false honesty.

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THE HERMIT, THE GOLD, AND THE STRAW

(Kushan gold coins)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, there lived hard by a certain little village a shifty rascal of an ascetic, of the class which wears long, matted hair. The squire of the place had a hermitage built in the forest for him to dwell in, and used to provide excellent fare for him in his own house.

Taking the matted-haired rascal to be a model of goodness, and living as he did in fear of robbers, the squire brought a hundred pieces of gold to the hermitage and there buried them, bidding the ascetic keep watch over them.

"No need to say that, sir, to a man who has renounced the world; we hermits never covet other folks' goods."

"It is well, sir," said the squire, who went off with full confidence in the other's protestations.

Then the rascally ascetic thought to himself, "There's enough here to keep a man all his life long." Allowing a few days to elapse first, he removed the gold and buried it by the wayside, returning to dwell as before in his hermitage.

Next day, after a meal of rice at the squire's house, the ascetic said, "It is now a long time, sir, since I began to be supported by you; and to live long in one place is. like living in the world, which is forbidden to professed ascetics. Wherefore I must needs depart." And though the squire pressed him to stay, nothing could overcome this determination.

"Well, then, if it must be so, go your way, sir," said the squire; and he escorted the ascetic to the outskirts before he left him.

After going a little way the ascetic thought that it would be a good thing to cajole the squire; so, putting a straw in his matted hair, back he turned again.

"What brings you back?" asked the squire.

"A straw from your roof, sir, had stuck in my hair; and, as we hermits may not take anything which is not bestowed upon us, I have brought it back to you."

"Throw it down, sir, and go your way," said the squire, who thought to himself, "Why, he won't take so much as a straw which does not belong to him! What a sensitive nature!" Highly delighted with the ascetic, the squire bade him farewell.

Now at that time it chanced that the Bodhisatta, who was on his way to the border-district for trading purposes, had halted for the night at that village. Hearing what the ascetic said, the suspicion was aroused in his mind that the rascally ascetic must have robbed the squire of something; and he asked the latter whether he had deposited anything in the ascetic's care.

"Yes, a hundred pieces of gold."

"Well, just go and see if it's all safe."

Away went the squire to the hermitage, and looked, and found his money gone. Running back to the Bodhisatta, he cried, "It's not there."

"The thief is none other than that long-haired rascal of an ascetic," said the Bodhisatta; "let us pursue and catch him."

So away they hastened in hot pursuit. When they caught the rascal they kicked and cuffed him, till he discovered to them where he had hidden the money.

When he procured the gold, the Bodhisatta, looking at it, scornfully remarked to the ascetic, "So a hundred pieces of gold didn't trouble your conscience so much as that straw!"

And he rebuked him in this stanza:
How plausible the story that the rascal told!
How heedful of the straw! How heedless of the gold!

When the Bodhisatta had rebuked the fellow in this wise, he added, "And now take care, you hypocrite, that you don't play such a trick again."

When his life ended, the Bodhisatta passed away to fare thereafter according to his deserts.

0169. The Hermit and the Caravan

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Asamkiya Jataka.

Summary: Thanks to his ascetic lifestyle, the hermit is able to save the caravan from being robbed.

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THE HERMIT AND THE CARAVAN

(ascetic Buddha)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life as a brahmin. Arriving at years of discretion, he became aware of the evils that spring from Lusts, and so forsook the world to live as a recluse in the country round the Himalayas.

Need of salt and vinegar having led him to make a pilgrimage for alms through the countryside, he travelled in the course of his wanderings with a merchant's caravan. When the caravan halted at a certain spot in the forest, he paced to and fro at the foot of a tree, hard by the caravan, enjoying the bliss of Insight.

Now after supper five hundred robbers surrounded the caravan to plunder it; but, noticing the ascetic, they halted, saying, "If he sees us, he'll give the alarm; wait till he drops off to sleep, and then we'll plunder them."

But all through the livelong night the ascetic continued to pace up and down; and never a chance did the robbers get!

So they flung away their sticks and stones and shouted to the caravan-folk; "Hi, there! You of the caravan! If it hadn't been for that ascetic walking about under the tree, we'd have plundered the lot of you. Mind and fēte him tomorrow!" And so saying, they made off.

When the night gave place to light, the people saw the clubs and stones which the robbers had cast away, and came in fear and trembling to ask the Bodhisatta with respectful salutation whether he had seen the robbers.

"Oh, yes, I did, sirs," he replied.

"And were you not alarmed or afraid at the sight of so many robbers?"

"No," said the Bodhisatta; "the sight of robbers causes what is known as fear only to the rich. As for me, I am penniless; why should I be afraid? Whether I dwell in village or in forest, I never have any fear or dread."

And therewithal, to teach them the Truth, he repeated this stanza:
The village breeds no fear in me;
  No forests me dismay.
I've won by love and charity
  Salvation's perfect way.

When the Bodhisatta had thus taught the Truth in this stanza to the people of the caravan, peace filled their hearts, and they shewed him honour and veneration. All his life long he developed the Four Excellences, and then was re-born into the Brahma Realm.

0168. The Fish who Brought the Rain

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Maccha Jataka, the "Fish" Jataka. The Pajjunna invoked in this story is a rain-god. The god Vishnu also took form as a fish in order to save the world: Matsya.

Summary: When drought threatens the fish and other water creatures, the Bodhisatta brings the rain.

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THE FISH WHO BROUGHT THE RAIN

(dragon-eye fish)

Once on a time, in this selfsame kingdom of Kosala and at Sāvatthi too, there was a pond where the tank of Jetavana now is, a pond fenced in by a tangle of climbing plants. Therein dwelt the Bodhisatta, who had come to life as a fish in those days.

And, then as now, there was a drought in the land; the crops withered; water gave out in tank and pool; and the fishes and tortoises buried themselves in the mud. Likewise, when the fishes and tortoises of this pond had hidden themselves in its mud, the crows and other birds, flocking to the spot, picked them out with their beaks and devoured them.

Seeing the fate of his kinsfolk, and knowing that none but he could save them in their hour of need, the Bodhisatta resolved to make a solemn Profession of Goodness, and by its efficacy to make rain fall from the heavens so as to save his kinsfolk from certain death. So, parting asunder the black mud, he came forth, a mighty fish, blackened with mud as a casket of the finest sandal-wood which has been smeared with collyrium.

Opening his eyes which were as washen rubies, and looking up to the heavens he thus bespoke Pajjunna, King of Devas, "My heart is heavy within me for my kinsfolk's sake, my good Pajjunna. How comes it, pray, that, when I who am righteous am distressed for my kinsfolk, you send no rain from heaven? For I, though born where it is customary to prey on one's kinsfolk, have never from my youth up devoured any fish, even of the size of a grain of rice; nor have I ever robbed a single living creature of its life. By the truth of this my Protestation, I call upon you to send rain and succour my kinsfolk."

Therewithal, he called to Pajjunna, King of Devas, as a master might call to a servant, in this stanza:
Pajjunna, thunder! Baffle, thwart, the crow!
Breed sorrow's pangs in him; ease me of woe!

In such wise, as a master might call to a servant, did the Bodhisatta call to Pajjunna, thereby causing heavy rains to fall and relieving numbers from the fear of death. And when his life closed, he passed away to fare according to his deserts.

0167. The Abodes of the Tree Fairies

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Rukkhadhamma Jataka. You can read another jataka story about a Shal tree here: The Spirit That Lived in a Tree.

Summary: The wise tree fairies find homes that can survive the tempest, unlike the foolish tree fairies.

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THE ABODES OF THE TREE FAIRIES

(Indian forest)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the first King Vessavaṇa died, and Sakka sent a new king to reign in his stead. After the change, the new King Vessavaṇa sent word to all trees and shrubs and bushes and plants, bidding the tree-fairies each choose out the abode that liked them best.

In those days the Bodhisatta had come to life as a tree-fairy in a Sāl-forest in the Himalayas. His advice to his kinsfolk in choosing their habitations was to shun trees that stood alone in the open, and to take up their abodes all round the abode which he had chosen in that Sāl-forest. Hereon the wise tree-fairies, following the Bodhisatta's advice, took up their quarters round his tree.

But the foolish ones said, "Why should we dwell in the forest? Let us rather seek out the haunts of men, and take up our abodes outside villages, towns, or capital cities. For fairies who dwell in such places receive the richest offerings and the greatest worship." So they departed to the haunts of men, and took up their abode in certain giant trees which grew in an open space.

Now it fell out upon a day that a mighty tempest swept over the country. Naught did it avail the solitary trees that years had rooted them deep in the soil and that they were the mightiest trees that grew. Their branches snapped; their stems were broken; and they themselves were uprooted and flung to earth by the tempest.

But when it broke on the Sāl-forest of interlacing trees, its fury was in vain; for, attack where it might, not a tree could it overthrow.

The forlorn fairies whose dwellings were destroyed, took their children in their arms and journeyed to the Himalayas. There they told their sorrows to the fairies of the Sāl-forest, who in turn told the Bodhisatta of their sad return.

"It was because they hearkened not to the words of wisdom, that they have been brought to this," said he; and he unfolded the truth in this stanza:
United, forest-like, should kinsfolk stand;
The storm o’erthrows the solitary tree.

So spake the Bodhisatta; and when his life was spent, he passed away to fare according to his deserts.

0165. The Monkey who Gathered Lotuses

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Tayodhamma Jataka. You can find out more about yakshas, the "lake ogre" of this story, at Wikipedia.

Summary: A wise monkey, sent on a deadly errand by his father, manages to escape the danger.

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THE MONKEY WHO GATHERED LOTUSES

(Pixabay)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, Devadatta came to life again as a monkey, and dwelt near the Himalayas as the lord of a tribe of monkeys all of his own begetting. Filled with forebodings that his male offspring might grow up to oust him from his lordship, he used to geld them all with his teeth.

Now the Bodhisatta had been begotten by this same monkey; and his mother, in order to save her unborn progeny, stole away to a forest at the foot of the mountain, where in due season she gave birth to the Bodhisatta. And when he was full-grown and had come to years of understanding, he was gifted with marvellous strength.

"Where is my father?" said he one day to his mother.

"He dwells at the foot of a certain mountain, nay son," she replied, "and is king of a tribe of monkeys."

"Take me to see him, mother."

"Not so, my son; for your father is so afraid of being supplanted by his sons that he gelds them all with his teeth."

"Never mind; take me there, mother," said the Bodhisatta; "I shall know what to do."

So she took him with her to the old monkey. At sight of his son, the old monkey, feeling sure that the Bodhisatta would grow up to depose him, resolved by a feigned embrace to crush the life out of the Bodhisatta.

"Ah! my boy!" he cried; "where have you been all this long time?"

And, making a show of embracing the Bodhisatta, he hugged him like a vice. But the Bodhisatta, who was as strong as an elephant, returned the hug so mightily that his father's ribs were like to break.

Then thought the old monkey, "This son of mine, if he grows up, will certainly kill me."

Casting about how to kill the Bodhisatta first, he bethought him of a certain lake hard by, where an ogre lived who might eat him. So he said to the Bodhisatta, "I'm old now, my boy, and should like to hand over the tribe to you; to-day you shall be made king. In a lake hard by grow two kinds of water-lily, three kinds of blue-lotus, and five kinds of white-lotus. Go and pick me some."

"Yes, father," answered the Bodhisatta; and off he started.

Approaching the lake with caution, he studied the footprints on its banks and marked how all of them led down to the water, but none ever came back. Realising that the lake was haunted by an ogre, he divined that his father, being unable himself to kill him, wished to get him killed by the ogre.

"But I'll get the lotuses," said he, "without going into the water at all."

So he went to a dry spot, and taking a run leaped from the bank. In his jump, as he was clearing the water, he plucked two flowers which grew up above the surface of the water, and alighted with them on the opposite bank. On his way back, he plucked two more in like manner, as he jumped; and so made a heap on both sides of the lake, but always keeping out of the ogre's watery domain.

When he had picked as many as he thought he could carry across, and was gathering together those on one bank, the astonished ogre exclaimed, "I've lived a long time in this lake, but I never saw even a human being so wonderfully clever! Here is this monkey who has picked all the flowers he wants, and yet has kept safely out of range of my power."

And, parting the waters asunder, the ogre came up out of the lake to where the Bodhisatta stood, and addressed him thus, "O king of the monkeys, he that has three qualities shall have the mastery over his enemies; and you, methinks, have all three." And, so saying, he repeated this stanza in the Bodhisatta's praise:
Whose, like you, O monkey-king, combines
Dexterity and Valour and Resource,
Shall see his routed foemen turn and flee.

His praises ended, the ogre asked the Bodhisatta why he was gathering the flowers.

"My father is minded to make me king of his tribe," said the Bodhisatta, "and that is why I am gathering them."

"But one so peerless as you ought not to carry flowers," exclaimed the ogre; "I will carry them for you." And so saying, he picked up the flowers and followed with them in the rear of the Bodhisatta.

Seeing this from afar, the Bodhisatta's father knew that his plot had failed.

"I sent my son to fall a prey to the ogre, and here he is returning safe and sound, with the ogre humbly carrying his flowers for him! I am undone!" cried the old monkey, and his heart burst asunder into seven pieces, so that he died then and there.

And all the other monkeys met together and chose the Bodhisatta to be their king.

0164. The Monkey and the Rock in the River

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Vanarinda Jataka. You can read about the treacherous Devadatta at Wikipedia, and here is Chalmers' note about the crocodile's wife: "Her identification here as the crocodile's wicked wife is due to the fact that Ciñcā, who was a 'female ascetic of rare beauty,' was suborned by Gotama's enemies to simulate pregnancy and charge him with the paternity. How the deceit was exposed is told in Dhammapada."

Summary: The monkey uses his wits to escape the crocodile that lies in wait for him in the river.

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THE MONKEY AND THE ROCK IN THE RIVER

(crocodile in India)

This story was told by the Master, while at the Bamboo-grove, about Devadatta's going about to kill him. Being informed of Devadatta's murderous intent, the Master said, "This is not the first time, Brethren, that Devadatta has gone about seeking to kill me; he did just the same in bygone days, but failed to work his wicked will." And so saying, he told this story of the past.

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Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life again as a monkey. When full-grown, he was as big as a mare's foal and enormously strong. He lived alone on the banks of a river, in the middle of which was an island whereon grew mangoes and bread-fruits, and other fruit-trees. And in mid-stream, half-way between the island and the river-bank, a solitary rock rose out of the water. Being as strong as an elephant, the Bodhisatta used to leap from the bank on to this rock and thence on to the island. Here he would eat his fill of the fruits that grew on the island, returning at evening by the way he came. And such was his life from day to day.

Now there lived in those days in that river a crocodile and his mate; and she, being with young, was led by the sight of the Bodhisatta journeying to and fro to conceive a longing for the monkey's heart to eat. So she begged her lord to catch the monkey for her. Promising that she should have her fancy, the crocodile went off and took his stand on the rock, meaning to catch the monkey on his evening journey home.

After ranging about the island all day, the Bodhisatta looked out at evening towards the rock and wondered why the rock stood so high out of the water. For the story goes that the Bodhisatta always marked the exact height of the water in the river, and of the rock in the water. So, when he saw that, though the water stood at the same level, the rock seemed to stand higher out of the water, he suspected that a crocodile might be lurking there to catch him. And, in order to find out the facts of the case, he shouted, as though addressing the rock, "Hi! rock!" And, as no reply came back, he shouted three times, "Hi! rock!" And as the rock still kept silence, the monkey called out, "How comes it, friend rock, that you won't answer me to-day?"

"Oh!" thought the crocodile; "so the rock's in the habit of answering the monkey. I must answer for the rock to-day." Accordingly, he shouted, "Yes, monkey; what is it?"

"Who are you?" said the Bodhisatta.

"I'm a crocodile."

"What are you sitting on that rock for?"

"To catch you and eat your heart."

As there was no other way back, the only thing to be done was to outwit the crocodile. So the Bodhisatta cried out, "There's no help for it then but to give myself up to you. Open your mouth and catch me when I jump."

Now you must know that when crocodiles open their mouths, their eyes shut. So, when this crocodile unsuspiciously opened his mouth, his eyes shut. And there he waited with closed eyes and open jaws!

Seeing this, the wily monkey made a jump on to the crocodile's head, and thence, with a spring like lightning, gained the bank. When the cleverness of this feat dawned on the crocodile, he said, "Monkey, he that in this world possesses the four virtues overcomes his foes. And you, methinks, possess all four."

And, so saying, he repeated this stanza:
Whose, O monkey-king, like you, combines
Truth, foresight, fixed resolve, and fearlessness,
Shall see his routed foemen turn and flee.

And with this praise of the Bodhisatta, the crocodile betook himself to his own dwelling-place.

_____________________________

Said the Master, "This is not the first time then, Brethren, that Devadatta has gone about seeking to kill me; he did just the same in bygone days too." And, having ended his lesson, the Master shewed the connexion and identified the Birth by saying, "Devadatta was the crocodile of those days, the brahmin-girl Ciñcā was the crocodile's wife, and I myself the Monkey-King."

0162. The Carpenter and the Mosquito

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Makasa Jataka.

Summary: An old carpenter tells his son to get rid fo the mosquito that has landed on his head.

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THE CARPENTER AND THE MOSQUITO

(MaxPixel)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta gained his livelihood as a trader.

In those days in a border-village in Kāsi there dwelt a number of carpenters. And it chanced that one of them, a bald grey-haired man, was planing away at some wood, with his head glistening like a copper bowl, when a mosquito settled on his scalp and stung him with its dart-like sting.

Said the carpenter to his son, who was seated hard by, "My boy, there's a mosquito stinging me on the head; do drive it away."

"Hold still then, father," said the son; "one blow will settle it."

(At that very time the Bodhisatta had reached that village in the way of trade, and was sitting in the carpenter's shop.)

"Rid me of it," cried the father.

"All right, father," answered the son, who was behind the old man's back, and, raising a sharp axe on high with intent to kill only the mosquito, he cleft his father's head in twain.

So the old man fell dead on the spot.

Thought the Bodhisatta, who had been an eye-witness of the whole scene, "Better than such a friend is an enemy with sense, whom fear of men's vengeance will deter from killing a man."

And he recited these lines:
Sense-lacking friends are worse than foes with sense;
Witness the son that sought the gnat to slay,
But cleft, poor fool, his father's skull in twain.

So saying, the Bodhisatta rose up and departed, passing away in after days to fare according to his deserts. And as for the carpenter, his body was burned by his kinsfolk.

0161. The Monk and the Viper

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Veluka Jataka.

Summary: A foolish monk keeps a deadly viper as a pet.

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THE MONK AND THE VIPER

(Wikimedia)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into a wealthy family in the Kingdom of Kāsi. Having come to years of discretion, he saw how from passion springs pain and how true bliss comes by the abandonment of passion. So he put lusts from him, and going forth to the Himalayas became a hermit, winning by fulfilment of the ordained mystic meditations the five orders of the Higher Knowledge and the eight Attainments. And as he lived his life in the rapture of Insight, he came in after times to have a large following of five hundred hermits, whose teacher he was.

Now one day a young poisonous viper, wandering about as vipers do, came to the hut of one of the hermits; and that Brother grew as fond of the creature as if it were his own child, housing it in a joint of bamboo and shewing kindness to it. And because it was lodged in a joint of bamboo, the viper was known by the name of "Bamboo." Moreover, because the hermit was as fond of the viper as if, it were his own child, they called him "Bamboo's Father."

Hearing that one of the Brethren was keeping a viper, the Bodhisatta sent for that Brother and asked whether the report was true. When told that it was true, the Bodhisatta said, "A viper can never be trusted; keep it no longer."

"But," urged the Brother, "my viper is dear to me as a pupil to a teacher; I could not live without him."

"Well then," answered the Bodhisatta, "know that this very snake will lose you your life."

But heedless of the master's warning, that Brother still kept the pet he could not bear to part with.

Only a very few days later all the Brethren went out to gather fruits, and coming to a spot where all kinds grew in plenty, they stayed there two or three days. With them went "Bamboo's Father," leaving his viper behind in its bamboo prison.

Two or three days afterwards, when he came back, he bethought him of feeding the creature, and, opening the cane, stretched out his hand, saying, "Come, my son; you must be hungry."

But angry with its long fast, the viper bit his outstretched hand, killing him on the spot, and made its escape into the forest.

Seeing him lying there dead, the Brethren came and told the Bodhisatta, who bade the body be burned. Then, seated in their midst, he exhorted the Brethren by repeating this stanza:
The headstrong man, who, when exhorted, pays
No heed to friends who kindly counsel give,
Like 'Bamboo's father,' shall be brought to nought.

0160. The Brave Quail Chick

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Vattaka Jataka, and the Jātaveda referred to in the story is Agni, the god of fire. The "act of truth" is known as Saccakiriya in Pali, Satyakriya in Sanskrit, and as you will see, it has miraculous powers.

Summary: A small quail uses the power of righteousness to confront a forest fire.

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THE BRAVE QUAIL CHICK

(quail in flight)

Once upon a time in this selfsame spot in Magadha, it was as a quail that the Bodhisatta came to life once more. Breaking his way out of the shell of the egg in which he was born, he became a young quail, about as big as a large ball. And his parents kept him lying in the nest, while they fed him with food which they brought in their beaks. In himself, he had not the strength either to spread his wings and fly through the air, or to lift his feet and walk upon the ground.

Year after year that spot was always ravaged by a jungle-fire; and it was just at this time that the flames swept down on it with a mighty roaring. The flocks of birds, darting from their several nests, were seized with the fear of death, and flew shrieking away. The father and mother of the Bodhisatta were as frightened as the others and flew away, forsaking the Bodhisatta.

Lying there in the nest, the Bodhisatta stretched forth his neck, and seeing the flames spreading towards him, he thought to himself, "Had I the power to put forth my wings and fly, I would wing my way hence to safety; or, if I could move my legs and walk, I could escape elsewhere afoot. Moreover, my parents, seized with the fear of death, are fled away to save themselves, leaving me here quite alone in the world. I am without protector or helper. What, then, shall I do this day?"

Then this thought came to him: "In this world there exists what is termed the Efficacy of Goodness, and what is termed the Efficacy of Truth. There are those who, through their having realised the Perfections in past ages, have attained beneath the Bo-tree to be All-Enlightened; who, having won Release by goodness, tranquillity and wisdom, possess also discernment of the knowledge of such Release; who are filled with truth, compassion, mercy, and patience; whose love embraces all creatures alike; whom men call omniscient Buddhas. There is an efficacy in the attributes they have won. And I too grasp one truth; I hold and believe in a single principle in Nature. Therefore, it behoves me to call to mind the Buddhas of the past, and the Efficacy they have won, and to lay hold of the true belief that is in me touching the principle of Nature; and by an Act of Truth to make the flames go back, to the saving both of myself and of the rest of the birds."

Accordingly, the Bodhisatta, calling to mind the efficacy of the Buddhas long since past away, performed an Act of Truth in the name of the true faith that was in him, repeating this stanza:
With wings that fly not, feet that walk not yet,
Forsaken by my parents, here I lie!
Wherefore I conjure thee, dread Lord of Fire,
Primaeval Jātaveda, turn! go back!

Even as he performed his Act of Truth, Jātaveda went back a space of sixteen lengths; and in going back the flames did not pass away to the forest devouring everything in their path. No; they went out there and then, like a torch plunged in water.

Therefore it has been said:
I wrought my Act of Truth, and therewithal
The sheet of blazing fire left sixteen lengths
Unscathed, like flames by water met and quenched.

And as that spot escaped being wasted by fire throughout a whole aeon, the miracle is called an 'aeon-miracle.'

When his life closed, the Bodhisatta, who had performed this Act of Truth, passed away to fare according to his deserts.

0159. The Dancing Peacock

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Nacca Jataka. You can read about the ritual of the swayamvara, or self-choice where the bride selects a husband from among the suitors, at Wikipedia.

Summary: The peacock aspires to marry the daughter of the king of the birds; he does not succeed.

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THE DANCING PEACOCK

(photo by Madison Berndt)

Once on a time, in the first cycle of the world's history, the quadrupeds chose the Lion as their king, the fishes the monster-fish Ananda, and the birds the Golden Mallard.

Now the King Golden Mallard had a lovely young daughter, and her royal father granted her any boon she might ask. The boon she asked for was to be allowed to choose a husband for herself; and the king in fulfilment of his promise mustered all the birds together in the country of the Himalayas.

All manner of birds came, swans and peacocks and all other birds; and they flocked together on a great plateau of bare rock. Then the king sent for his daughter and bade her go and choose a husband after her own heart.

As she reviewed the crowd of birds, her eye lighted on the peacock with his neck of jewelled sheen and tail of varied hue; and she chose him, saying, "Let this be my husband."

Then the assembly of the birds went up to the peacock and said, "Friend peacock, this princess, in choosing her husband from among all these birds, has fixed her choice on you."

Carried away by his extreme joy, the peacock exclaimed, "Until this clay you have never seen how active I am;" and in defiance of all decency he spread his wings and began to dance; and in dancing he exposed himself.

Filled with shame, King Golden Mallard said, "This fellow has neither modesty within his heart nor decency in his outward behaviour; I certainly will not give my daughter to one so shameless."

And there in the midst of all that assembly of the birds, he repeated this stanza:
A pleasing note is yours, a lovely back,
A neck in hue like lapis lazuli;
A fathom's length your outstretched feathers reach.
Withal, your dancing loses you my child.

Right in the face of the whole gathering King Royal Mallard gave his daughter to a young mallard, a nephew of his. Covered with shame at the loss of the mallard princess, the peacock rose straight up from the place and fled away. And King Golden Mallard too went back to his dwelling-place.

0158. The Cautious Antelope

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Kurunga Jataka. For Buddhist hell and its punishments, see the Naraka article at Wikipedia. You can also learn about the sepanni tree.

Summary: A hunter tries to lure an antelope by hiding in a tree and casting down fruit for the antelope to eat.

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THE CAUTIOUS ANTELOPE

(sepanni fruit)

Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life as an antelope, and used to live on fruits in his haunts in the forest.

At one period he was subsisting on the fruit of a sepaṇṇi-tree. And there was a village hunter, whose method was to build a platform in trees at the foot of which he found the track of deer, and to watch aloft for their coming to eat the fruits of the trees. When the deer came, he brought them down with a javelin, and sold the flesh for a living.

This hunter one day marked the tracks of the Bodhisatta at the foot of the tree, and made himself a platform up in the boughs. Having breakfasted early, he went with his javelin into the forest and seated himself on his platform.

The Bodhisatta, too, came abroad early to eat the fruit of that tree; but he was not in too great a hurry to approach it. "For," thought he to himself, "sometimes these platform-building hunters build themselves platforms in the boughs. Can it be that this cell have happened here?"

And he halted some way off to reconnoitre. Finding that the Bodhisatta did not approach, the hunter, still seated aloft on his platform, threw fruit down in front of the antelope.

Said the latter to himself, "Here's the fruit coming to meet me; I wonder if there is a hunter up there."

So he looked, and looked, till he caught sight of the hunter in the tree; but, feigning not to have seen the man, he shouted, "My worthy tree, hitherto you have been in the habit of letting your fruit fall straight to the ground like a pendant creeper; but to-day you have ceased to act like a tree. And therefore, as you have ceased to behave as becomes a tree, I too must change, and look for food beneath another tree."

And so saying, he repeated this stanza:
The antelope knows well the fruit you drop.
I like it not; some other tree I'll seek.

Then the hunter from his platform hurled his javelin at the Bodhisatta, crying, "Begone! I've missed you this time."

Wheeling round, the Bodhisatta halted and said, "You may have missed me, my good man; but depend upon it, you have not missed the reward of your conduct, namely, the eight Large and the sixteen Lesser hells and all the five forms of bonds and torture."

With these words the antelope bounded off on its way; and the hunter, too, climbed down and went his way.