Part 12

Thereupon Gopāla informed his brother Sim̃ha that King Bimbisāra’s chief wife was dead, and that he ought to send his daughter Upavāsavī, as she would in that case become the king’s chief wife. Sim̃ha wrote to him in reply, “What this will come to I will not ask you. But you, who understand the measure of things, will know what ought to be done. As the people have made a law that no maiden of Vaiśālī may be given in marriage to an outsider, you must come yourself and wait in the park. I will go to the park with my daughter, and you can carry her off from there.”

Thereupon Gopāla took leave of the king, mounted his chariot, and set off for Vaiśālī. Having arrived there, he waited in the park. At that time one of the gatekeepers of Vaiśālī had died and had been born again among the demons. He gave to the inhabitants of Vaiśālī the following instructions: “As I have been born again among the demons, confer on me the position of a Yaksha and hang a bell round my neck. Whenever any foe to the inhabitants of Vaiśālī appears, I will make the bell sound until he is arrested or has taken his departure.” So they caused a Yaksha statue to be prepared and hung a bell round its neck. Then they set it up in the gatehouse, provided with oblations and garlands, along with dance and song, and to the sound of musical instruments.

Gopāla sent word to Sim̃ha to come to him, as he was waiting in the park. Taking the people of Vaiśālī into consideration, Sim̃ha went home and said to Upavāsavī, “You are to be given to King Bimbisāra as his wife, so take your ornaments and go forth to the park.” When she began collecting her ornaments, Vāsavī saw her and asked why she was doing that.

“I am going to be married.”

“To whom?”

“To King Bimbisāra.”

Vāsavī said this could not be done, seeing that she was the elder sister.

“In that case do you take the ornaments.”

While they were still discoursing the bell began to sound. The inhabitants of Vaiśālī were in great commotion, supposing that an enemy had come to Vaiśālī. Full of anxiety, Sim̃ha took with him his elder daughter, Vāsavī, under the impression that she was Upavāsavī, and went hastily to the park. There Gopāla, equally full of anxiety, received Vāsavī into his chariot and drove away.

The people of Vaiśālī set out in pursuit of him, overtook him, and began to fight with him. But as he was versed in the five arts of battle, he pierced five hundred Liććhavis to the heart, and said, “Honoured sirs, as I have pierced five hundred of your number to the heart, but am ready to leave the rest of you alive, do ye now turn back.”

“No living being among us has been killed.”

“Take off your armour.”

When they had taken off their armour, five hundred of them fell to the ground and died. Thereupon the survivors thought that this man must be a Rākshasa, and they fled away full of terror. When they returned to Vaiśālī they began to take counsel together, and they said, “Honoured sirs, on this foe of ours we will let King Bimbisāra’s sons take vengeance. Let us inscribe this on a tablet, place the tablet in a chest, seal up the chest, and put it away.” All of which they did.

After a time Gopāla arrived at Rājagṛha and cried, “Upavāsavī, come forth.”

She replied, “Uncle, I am not Upavāsavī, but Vāsavī.”

“Why did not you tell me so before?”

She uttered no word in reply. Displeased and troubled, he went to the king, and the king, as soon as he saw him, said, “Have you come, Gopāla? You are welcome.”

“I have come, O king.”

“Have you brought Upavāsavī along with you?”

“O king! I have brought her and have not brought her.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have brought Vāsavī, thinking that she was Upavāsavī.”

“Bring her here, that I may see her.”

Now when Vāsavī was brought, and the king saw her perfect youth and beauty, he was attracted by her to such an extent that he fell in love with her at first sight, and said, “Honoured one, a son who kills his father must do so merely for the sake of the sovereignty. Therefore, in case a son is born unto me, I will confer the diadem on him immediately after his birth.”

Thereupon he took her as his wife. As she came from Videha, she received the name of Vaidehī.

Now there lived in a hermitage a Rishi endowed with five kinds of insight. One day when the king had gone to the chase, a gazelle terrified by the shooting of arrows took refuge in the Rishi’s hermitage, and being seen there, was struck by the king’s arrow. The Rishi said in his wrath, “Will you, O king of evil, kill the gazelle which had placed itself under my protection, when even beasts of prey respect my hermitage?”

While the Rishi was calling the king to account with such words as these, the king’s troops came up and asked to whom these words were being addressed. The king said that they were levelled at him, and asked what ought to be the punishment for such a calling to account. The answer was that the proper punishment was that of death. “In that case,” said the king, “I abandon the Rishi to it.” When the preparations were being made for putting the Rishi to death, he formulated a curse, desiring that he, wheresoever he should be born again, might take the king’s life, inasmuch as that king of evil had ordered him to be put to death without his having committed any fault or done any harm. Moreover, he reflected that as such kings keep very much out of the way, and are greatly watched over and guarded, he would scarcely be able to find a fit opportunity if he were born again anywhere else, and that he must therefore be brought into the world by this king’s chief wife. By means of this curse he was brought into the world by Vāsavī.

On the day of his conception a rain of blood fell. Vāsavī was seized by a desire to cut flesh from the king’s back and eat it. When she had told the king of this, he called the soothsayers together and consulted them about it. They decided that it was caused by the influence of a being which had entered into his wife’s womb. The king sat absorbed in thought, meditating how he could satisfy her longing. Some sagacious persons advised him to have a cotton garment lined with raw meat, and to put it on, and then to offer the meat to his wife. Thereupon the king ordered a cotton garment to be lined with raw meat, and he put it on, and then offered Vāsavī the meat. She thought that it was the king’s own flesh, and so ate it, whereby she was freed from her longing.

Afterwards a longing came upon her to drink of her husband’s blood, and she told this to the king. The king had the veins opened in five of his limbs, and gave her the blood to drink, whereby she was freed from her longing.

When nine months had passed by, a fine, good-looking boy was born, and on the day of his birth there fell a rain of blood. The king called the soothsayers together and consulted them. They said, “O king, so far as we can learn from the words of wisdom, this son will undoubtedly deprive his father of life, and then set the diadem on his own head and seize the sovereignty for himself.” The king thought, “As it could only be for the sake of the sovereignty that he would deprive me of life, he would surely not do so if I were myself to hand over the sovereignty to him.”

At that time there lived in Vaiśālī a Liććhavi named Mahānāman. In his park there was an Āmra grove, in which the park-watchers saw that a Kadalī tree had suddenly grown up. As it immediately began to put forth blossoms, the watchers were greatly astonished, and they told Mahānāman. He sent for the soothsayers and consulted them. They decided that he ought to have the tree watched, for it would burst open at the end of seven days, and from within it a maiden would come forth. The householder Mahānāman, marvelling greatly at this decision, set careful watchers over the grove and kept count of the days. When seven days had elapsed, he caused the park to be cleared of all stones, gravel, and rubble, and to be sprinkled with sandal-water, very fragrant incense to be provided, many silken hangings to be set up, and flowers to be freely strewn around. Then he and his wife went out in great state to the park, surrounded by friends and acquaintances, to the sound of song and all kinds of music. After he had there sported, rejoiced, and enjoyed himself, the stem of the Kadalī tree burst, and there came into sight out of it a beautiful maiden, lovely to look upon, perfect in all parts of her body. Mahānāman handed her over to his good wife, who said, “My lord, be pleased to give her a name.” Mahānāman said, “As this girl has been obtained from the Āmra grove, her name ought to be Āmrapālī.” Mahānāman returned home and took charge of Āmrapālī.

She grew up, and there came to woo her, from the Krauncha land and the Śākya land and many other lands, many kings’ sons, ministers’ sons, merchants, traders, and caravan leaders. The householder Mahānāman reflected that those among them who did not obtain her would be offended, and that he had better ask the people for a legal decision. So when the people of Vaiśālī were gathered together he said, “Honourable Brahmans and householders, give ear! Having obtained a girl from my park, I have brought her up. As I am now thinking of giving her in marriage to some man of a family corresponding with my own, so let the people consider the matter.” The men of Vaiśālī replied, “O householder, the people long ago passed a law that a pearl of a woman was not to be given in marriage, but should be placed at the disposal of the people. Therefore you must bring forward the maiden, in order that we may see what she is like.”

After a time he came into the assembly with her. When the perfection of her youth and beauty was seen, all the people opened their eyes wide with astonishment, and when they had critically examined her, some of them cried, “O householder, this is a pearl of a woman, and therefore she belongs to the enjoyments of the people, and must not be married to any one.”

When Mahānāman had returned home in displeasure, and was sitting absorbed in thought, his cheek leaning upon his arm, Āmrapālī saw him, and asked why he was so dejected.

“O daughter, you have been recognised as a pearl of a woman, and therefore you belong to the enjoyments of the people, so that my wishes will not be fulfilled.”

“O father, are you dependent upon any one?”

“O daughter, as the people formerly made a law that she who is really a pearl of a woman shall belong to the enjoyments of the people, and as you have now been recognised as a pearl of a woman, I am powerless.”

Then she said, “If the people will grant five wishes of mine, I will belong to their enjoyments. A house must be allotted to me in the first district. When a man has entered my house, no one else must be allowed the right of entry. Whoever enters must bring with him five hundred Kārshāpaṇas. At the time when houses are searched, my house must not be searched till seven days have elapsed. And no heed is to be taken of those who enter or leave my house.” Mahānāman laid Āmrapālī’s proposal before the people, and they agreed to it, saying, “If she asks for a house in the first district, a house in the first district befits a pearl of a woman. If she asks that when one man has entered into her house, no other man should have the right of entry, that also is just; for as no wrath is so bad as wrath on account of a woman, in case one man entered in and another came in after him, assuredly one of them might kill the other. If she makes a stipulation that every one who comes in must bring with him five hundred Kārshāpaṇas, this likewise is reasonable; she doubtless requires the money for clothing and ornament. If she asks that her house shall not be searched till after seven days have elapsed, that also is reasonable; what danger can arise, whether the search takes place sooner or later? If she wishes no heed to be taken of the men who enter or leave her house, that again is just. As she is to be a courtesan, no man would enter her house if he knew that all who went in or came out would be watched.” So when the people had granted her five wishes, she became the property of the people for enjoyment.

After a time, [94] Āmrapālī sent for painters living in various regions, and ordered them to paint on her walls the portraits of the kings, ministers, capitalists, merchants, traders, and caravan leaders whom they had seen. When the painters had completed the portraits, Āmrapālī put on ornaments of various kinds and inspected the portraits one after the other, asking the while, “Honoured sirs, who is this?”

“King Pradyota.”

“Who is that?”

“That is Prasenajit, king of Kośala.”

“And this?”

“Udajana, king of Vatsa.”

“And that?”

“Śreṇi Bimbisāra, king of Magadha.”

In this way she went on asking, and the painters told her all the names. When she had looked at all the portraits, her eyes remained fixed on that of Bimbisāra, and she began to reflect whether a man of such port and stature would devote himself to love with her.

It happened one day that King Bimbisāra of Magadha went out on the roof of his palace, and there, surrounded by his band of ministers, he indulged in light talk, asking them what courtesans they had seen. Gopāla said, “O king, there are others besides, but in Vaiśālī there is one of exquisite youth and beauty, Āmrapālī by name. She is versed in the sixty-four arts of love, and deserves, O king, to be enjoyed by thee.” The king replied, “If that be so, Gopāla, I will betake myself to Vaiśālī and enjoy myself with her.” Gopāla called his attention to the fact that danger might threaten him on the part of the Liććhavis, who had long entertained hostile sentiments towards him. The king was of opinion that men who possessed manly hearts might always go anywhere. Gopāla said, “O king, if a man attaches importance to matters of small account, let him go.” The king mounted his chariot and betook himself with Gopāla to Vaiśālī.

When they arrived there, Gopāla remained in the park, but the king went to Āmrapālī’s house. Then the bell began to sound. The Liććhavis of Vaiśālī became greatly excited, thinking that as the bell had rung an enemy must have penetrated into the city. A great uproar arose, and King Bimbisāra asked Āmrapālī what it meant.

“O king, the houses are being searched.”

“On what account?”

“On your account, O king!”

“What is to be done, then? Shall I take to flight?”

“O king, be not troubled. As my house will not be searched till seven days have elapsed, you can go on enjoying yourself for seven days; therefore enjoy yourself. When seven days are over, you will know that it is time to go.” So he enjoyed himself with her, and she became with child by him. When she informed him of that, he gave her a robe and a ring, and said, “If it be a daughter, let her remain with you. But if it be a son, put on him this robe, press the seal of this ring on his neck, and send him to me.”

After leaving Āmrapālī’s house, the king mounted his chariot and drove away with Gopāla. But the bell sounded. The Liććhavis, under the impression that an enemy had appeared, gave orders that he should be searched for, and sent after him five hundred men armed with arrows and spears. [95] When Gopāla saw them, he asked the king whether he would do the fighting or conduct the chariot. The king replied, “I am weary, so I will conduct the chariot, but do you fight with them.” When Gopāla began to enter into combat with them, the inhabitants of Vaiśālī recognised him, and said, “Honoured sirs, this is a Rākshasa of a man, let us turn back.” So they returned to Vaiśālī, and passed a resolution that they would let the children of Bimbisāra take vengeance on this foe of theirs.

Now when nine months had gone by, Āmrapālī gave birth to a fine, good-looking boy. While he was a growing lad, he was playing one day with the sons of the Liććhavis of Vaiśālī, and they addressed him with scoffing words, saying, “Son of a female slave, born from among the many hundreds of thousands, who is your father?” He went in tears to his mother. She asked him why he wept, and he told her the whole story. She said to him, “If any one asks you that again, reply, ‘There is not one among you who has such a father as I have.’ If they inquire who he is, tell them that he is King Bimbisāra.”

So when the children were again at play, and they questioned him as before, he replied that there was no one among them who had such a father as he had. “Who is he?” they cried. When he had mentioned the name of King Bimbisāra, they ill treated him all the more, because his father was their enemy. He told all this with tears to his mother, who reflected that the Liććhavis of Vaiśālī were very fierce and strong, and that they might find an opportunity of putting him to death.

After thinking over all this, she found out that a number of merchants were travelling with goods to Rājagṛha, so she said to them, “You and your packages will be able to pass in without paying duty if they are sealed with the seal of this ring. Take the boy with you to the king’s palace, and place him, after stamping the seal of this ring on his neck, at the gate of Rājagṛha.” The merchants promised to act in accordance with these instructions. Then she gave the boy a string of pearls, and said, “O son, betake yourself in the way of business to the king; lay the string of pearls at his feet and climb up to his breast. Should any one say, ‘This is a boy who knows no fear,’ ask whether a son has anything to fear from his father?”

When the merchants had arrived at Rājagṛha with the boy, they gave him a bath, stamped him with the seal, and took him to the gate of the palace. The boy made his way to where the king was, laid the string of pearls at the king’s feet, and climbed up to his breast. The king said, “This boy seems to be without fear.” The boy replied, “Has a son anything to fear from his father?”

As the king had in this way given utterance to the words “without fear,” the boy was named Prince Abhaya [or fearless.]

King Bimbisāra, who was always longing after strange women, used to mount his elephant and roam through the streets of the city, turning his eyes this way and that. There lived at that time in Rājagṛha a very rich merchant, who told his wife one day that he was obliged to go into foreign parts with merchandise. After he had gone away, his wife, who fed delicately and dressed in fine raiment, was affected by desire. So when King Bimbisāra came riding on his elephant near her house, she seated herself at the window and threw him a wreath of flowers. The king caught sight of her and called on her to come down, but she said, “O king, I am afraid. It were better that you should come in here.”

The king entered her house and took his pleasure therein; and as all things were propitious, she became with child. When she had made the king aware of this, he gave her a signet ring and a motley robe, and said to her, “If a son is born unto you, clothe him in this robe, stamp this seal on his neck, and send him to me. But if a girl is born unto you, she can remain with you.” Having thus spoken, he went his way.

Now when the merchant had finished his business and had arrived in the neighbourhood of Rājagṛha, he sent a message to his wife saying, “Rejoice, good wife! I have arrived here after finishing my business, and I shall return home on such and such a day.” Then she reflected that she had committed so great a fault, and she knew not what she was to do when her husband arrived. In her trouble she sent tidings thereof to the king. The king sent her back word that she should be of good cheer, for he would manage in such a way that her husband would not return home so soon. Accordingly he sent a messenger to the caravan leader, letting him know that such and such precious stones were required, and that he must not come back without bringing them. So the merchant was obliged to make a long journey on account of those precious stones.

When nine months had elapsed, the merchant’s wife gave birth to a fine, good-looking boy. As women, even without receiving instruction, are full of knowledge, she fed the babe on butter and honey, stamped the seal of the ring on his neck, wrapped him in the robe, laid him in a chest, and ordered her serving-maid to deposit the chest at the gate of the king’s palace, after having set lamps around it and lighted them, and then to keep watch till some one should take the child in.

All this the maid did. When the king had come out on the roof of his palace, and was standing there with Prince Abhaya, he perceived the lamps at the door of his palace. So he ordered his servants to find out what was the meaning of there being lamps burning at the palace door. The servants brought back word that there was a chest there. The king ordered it to be fetched, but Prince Abhaya besought the king to give to him whatever should be found within the chest. The king acceded to his request. When the chest had been fetched and laid before the king, he gave orders that it should be opened. When it was opened a boy was seen inside it. The king asked if the child was alive or dead. He was told that it was alive. Then the king recognised the seal and the robe, and he made over the child to Prince Abhaya. The prince brought him up, and as the king had asked if he was alive, and as Prince Abhaya had looked after his maintenance, the boy received the name of Jīvaka Kumārabhaṇḍa. [96]

When Jīvaka had grown up, he was sitting one day conversing with Abhaya. Abhaya said that it was incumbent on them to learn some craft, whereby they might gain their bread later on. For even before the birth of Ajātaśatru it had been predicted that the sovereign power would appertain to him. When the two had considered this matter, a white-clad coachmaker, surrounded by a number of men clad in white, entered the king’s palace. When Prince Abhaya saw him, he asked the king’s people who that man was. They replied that he was a coachmaker.

“How much does he earn?”

“He earns his living.”

Thereupon he thought that he too, after he had asked the king, would learn coachmaking. So he went to the king and told him that he wished to learn coachmaking. The king asked whether he desired to earn his bread in that way.

“Father, kings’ sons are in the habit of learning all arts.”

“In that case, O son, learn coachmaking.”

So he began to study coachmaking.

Jīvaka also, having seen a white-clad physician, surrounded by several men clad in white, entering the king’s palace, asked who that was.

“He is a physician,” was the reply.

“What does he do?”

“He cures.”

“What does he earn?”

“When he cures a patient he receives his fee; but if the patient dies, he receives nothing, for nothing is given.”

Thereupon Jīvaka resolved to study the healing art. He went to his father and said, “O king, allow me to study the healing art.”

“O son, you are a king’s son. What do you want to do with the healing art?”

“O king, kings’ sons are in the habit of learning all arts.”

“In that case, O son, learn this art.”

So Jīvaka began to study the healing art.

When he had studied it well, but had not as yet learnt how to open skulls, he had recourse to the king of physicians, Ātreya in Takshaśilā, of whom he had heard that he understood the art of skull-opening. Going to the king, he told him that he was about to journey to Takshaśilā.

“What for?”

“The king of physicians, Ātreya, lives there, who understands the art of opening the skull. It is in order to learn that art that I wish to go there.”

“Do you desire, O son, to make a living thereby?”

“O king, a man must either not study the art of healing at all, or he must study it thoroughly.”

“In that case, O son, go thither.”

The king wrote a letter to King Pushkarasārin, saying, “My son is going to Ātreya in order to study the healing art. Provide him with all things which he may require.”