Part 15

After taking counsel with her husband, who agreed with her in the matter, she said to the wife, “O sister, I give you my son; take him.” The wife thought, “As she who has a son ranks as the mistress of the house, I will bring him up.”

After she had taken charge of the boy the father died. A dispute arose between the two women as to the possession of the house, each of them asserting that it belonged to her. They had recourse to the king. He ordered his ministers to go to the house and to make inquiries as to the ownership of the son. They investigated the matter, but the day came to an end before they had brought it to a satisfactory conclusion. In the evening they returned to their homes. Viśākhā again questioned Mṛgadhara, who told her everything. Viśākhā said, “What need is there of investigation? Speak to the two women thus: ‘As we do not know to which of you two the boy belongs, let her who is the strongest take the boy.’ When each of them has taken hold of one of the boy’s hands, and he begins to cry out on account of the pain, the real mother will let go, being full of compassion for him, and knowing that if her child remains alive she will be able to see it again; but the other, who has no compassion for him, will not let go. Then beat her with a switch, and she will thereupon confess the truth as to the whole matter. That is the proper test.”

Mṛgadhara told this to the ministers, and so forth, as is written above, down to the words, “The king said, ‘The Champā maiden is wise.’”

After a time Mṛgadhara fell ill. One day the physician gave him a remedy and he obtained relief. The next day the physician gave him something which was not a remedy, and he was the worse for it. Viśākhā thought, “Why does the minister find relief one day and on the next day feel worse?” So she examined the remedy which brought relief, and employed it again. Then she closed the door to the physicians and treated the patient herself. Whereupon he recovered. Mṛgadhara considered why it was that he had felt better one day and worse the next, and that now that no physician came he had recovered, so he asked Viśākhā, and so forth as before.

Prasenajit, king of Kośala, had an overseer of elephants named Śrīvardhana. The king reprimanded him one day. When Viśākhā heard of that she said to Mṛgadhara, “O master, it is right that Śrīvardhana should be pardoned.” He replied, “O daughter, do you bring about the pardon.” Thereupon she said to the king, “O king, Śrīvardhana has been guilty of an error. Be pleased to forgive him.” The king forgave him.

“O king, if you forgive him, be pleased to restore him his position.”

The king did so. Śrīvardhana knew that he had Viśākhā to thank for his pardon, and he resolved to make a return for that.

At another time Mṛgadhara was attacked by a disease of the private parts, and he was ashamed to let Viśākhā treat him for it. She said to herself, “Wherefore is the master ashamed? May not a daughter nurse her father? Still he is ashamed.” Then she thought that, as he would not let himself be nursed by her, he must take to himself a wife. So she betook herself to Śrīvardhana’s house, and there, after a greeting, took a seat. Śrīvardhana, who had one daughter, bade her touch Viśākhā’s feet, but Viśākhā said, “Rather ought I to touch your feet.” And she added thereto, “May it be well! may it be well!” Thereupon Śrīvardhana inquired what it was she asked for.

“For your daughter.”

“On behalf of whom?”

“Of my father-in-law.”

He said nothing in reply.

Śrīvardhana’s wife asked what there was to prevent her being given to him.

“O good wife, as we owe a debt of gratitude to Viśākhā, let her be given.”

“Such being the case, we will give her.”

Thereupon Mṛgadhara, with great pomp, took her to himself as his wife. After which she, and not Viśākhā, nursed him.

Mṛgadhara once said to Viśākhā, “Answer, O daughter.” She said, “O master, have I done anything wrong?”

“O daughter, have you not utterly neglected to obey the directions which your mother gave you?”

“O master, I have obeyed them all. Inasmuch as the words, ‘Honour the sun and the moon,’ signify that the father-in-law and the mother-in-law must be considered by the daughter-in-law as the sun and the moon, therefore have I testified my respect for those relatives. Inasmuch as the words, ‘Pay attention to the fire,’ signify that the husband ought to be valued by the wife like fire, impossible to be too well cared for and fostered, therefore have I taken care of my husband as one would of the fire. Inasmuch as the words, ‘Wipe the mirror clean,’ signify that the house ought to be swept and cleansed like a mirror, therefore have I cleansed the house every day. The words, ‘Wear white clothes,’ signify that when one is engaged in housework one wears other clothes, but must put on white clothes for a sacrifice or when about to pass into the husband’s presence; to all this I have paid attention. The words, ‘You shall take but not give,’ signify that one should never say a bad word to any one. In this matter also I have followed my instructions. The words, ‘Take heed to your speech,’ signify that no secret ought to be divulged. To this also I have adhered. The words, ‘When you stand up, yield not your place to any other person,’ amount to this: ‘As you are a becoming daughter-in-law, you must sit in a special place.’ And I have sat apart. The words, ‘Eat savoury meats,’ mean that one should eat when one has become very hungry. I have never taken any food until after giving theirs to the household. The words, ‘You shall sleep softly,’ mean that at night, after all the household work is finished and all implements put away, as there is no need of staying up, one should sleep. I have acted accordingly, always reflecting that this thing was well done and that thing badly. The words, ‘You shall apply a ladder,’ have this meaning. Like as one who, having in an earlier state followed the path of the ten virtuous works, has arrived among the gods, so must you, born here in the human world, attain to that by deeds, bestowing gifts, gaining merits, and avoiding sins. This treasure-ladder is like unto a staircase to heaven. All this also have I followed as well as I could.”

“Excellent, Viśākhā, excellent! Your mother is a wise mother; and as you have guessed the meaning of what your mother said enigmatically, you are still wiser than she.”

Then Mṛgadhara thought, “If Bhagavant allows it, I will call Viśākhā my mother.” Going to Bhagavant, he touched his feet and said, “O worthy of reverence, is it allowable for a man to call his daughter-in-law his mother?” Bhagavant replied, “If she has five qualities. If she is a nurse to the sick, if she lives in wedlock as a decorous wife, if she protects living creatures, if she is a good guardian of property, and if she has inherited wisdom—in that case she may be called mother.”

Thereupon Mṛgadhara went to King Prasenajit of Kośala and asked for leave to call Viśākhā his mother. The king said, “As Viśākhā has taken care of me also, I will, after consulting my grandmother, call her my sister.” So he asked his grandmother, and she said that he might justly call Viśākhā by that name.

King Araṇemi Brahmadatta had become attached to the daughter of a servant-maid, and that attachment had resulted in the birth of a son, to whom the name of Balamitra was given. Balamitra was banished from the country by his grandfather on account of an offence, and he went to Champā. As Viśākhā was his daughter, she might well be called Prasenajit’s sister.

The king gave orders that Viśākhā should be set upon an elephant, and that public proclamation should be made that she, Viśākhā, was Mṛgadhara’s mother and King Prasenajit’s sister. In what had been a park she built a monastery, and made it over to the community of Bhikshus of the four parts of the world. Accordingly it is stated by the Sthaviras in the Sūtras that the Buddha Bhagavant abode at Śrāvastī in the palace of Mṛgadhara’s mother Viśākhā, in what had been the park (Pūrvārāma). [100]

At another time Viśākhā produced thirty-two eggs. When Mṛgadhara heard of it, he sat for some time absorbed in meditation, resting his head upon his hand. He was inclined to throw away this mass produced by the fairest in the land. But Viśākhā said, “O master, throw them not away, but ask Bhagavant.” He did so, and Bhagavant said that they were not to be thrown away, but that thirty-two cages were to be made and filled with cotton, and that an egg was to be placed in each of the cages, and was to be daily stroked three times with the hand, and that on the seventh day thirty-two sons would come to light. When Viśākhā had done all this, thirty-two boys made their appearance on the seventh day. All of them, when they grew up, were sturdy, very strong, and overcomers of strength.

One day when they had gone out to drive in their chariot and were returning home, they came into collision with the chariot of the Purohita’s son, who had also driven out and was on his way back, so that the poles of the two carriages clashed. The Purohita’s son called out to them to make way, but they bade him do so himself. Then, as the Purohita’s son began to use abusive language, Viśākhā’s sons seized the pole of his chariot and upset him on a heap of rubbish. When he had come to his father, with his robe drawn over his head, he said with tears, “O father, thus have Viśākhā’s sons treated me.”

“O son, wherefore have they done so?”

The son gave a full account of the matter. Then said his father, “O son, as this is so, we must contrive some means for making these men keep their mouths shut and not complain.” So he carefully sought for a pretext for calumniating them.

After a time the hillmen rebelled against King Prasenajit, who sent a general against them, but he was beaten by the rebels and he turned back. After the king had in this way sent out the general seven times, and the general was always beaten and obliged to retire, the king determined to take the field himself with a fourfold army. Viśākhā’s sons, as they came into the city, saw the king, and asked him whither he was going.

“To subdue the hillmen.”

“O king, stay here. We will go forth.”

“Do so.”

The king let them go forth with the fourfold army, and they overcame the hillmen, took from them hostages and tribute, and then came back. Then the Purohita said, “O king, as these men are of remarkably great strength, reflect that they will accomplish what ought to be done only at the king’s command.”

As kings are afraid of being killed, the king took this to heart, and once more asked the Purohita what was to be done. The Purohita said, “What is to be done, O king? If these men desire it, they can deprive you of your regal power and exercise it themselves.” The king, greatly incensed, considered how, if that was going to be the case, he could put them to death. He wished to contrive a means of doing so, but was anxious that the secret should not be betrayed, and so he resolved to undertake the affair without asking any one about it.

Having come to this conclusion, he determined to invite them to his palace and rid himself of them. He informed Viśākhā that her sons would eat with him on the following day. Viśākhā thought, “As my sons are to eat to-morrow at their uncle’s, I will entertain Bhagavant and the clergy.”

So she betook herself to Bhagavant and touched his feet. He gratified her with discourse regarding the doctrine. When Viśākhā rose from her seat, she invited Bhagavant and the clergy into her house.

The king’s messenger invited her sons to come to the palace. Now the king had caused a strong poison to be put into the food. When they were stupefied thereby, he ordered their heads to be cut off.

VIII.

MAHAUSHADHA AND VIŚĀKHĀ. [101]

In olden times Janaka ruled as king in the land of Videhā. He took unto himself a beautiful spouse, who bore him a son, to whom, as food and drink were abundant in the land, the name of Annapāna [Food-Drink] was given. When he had grown up, he proved strong, resolute, and irascible. The queen became arrogant on account of her son, and no longer complied with the king’s wishes. This greatly troubled the king, and he, by the advice of his ministers, determined to choose another wife. The ministers called his attention to the daughter of the king of Aparāntaka. Although he was not on friendly terms with that king, his ministers gave him encouragement, and undertook to arrange the matter. The king of Aparāntaka granted his daughter, on the condition that if she gave birth to a son, that son was to be recognised as the heir to the throne. Her loveliness made her very agreeable to the king, and he promised her the fulfilment of her wishes. So she likewise demanded that the son whom she expected should enjoy the succession to the throne. To the king this was as it were a stab in the heart, and he suffered great disquiet at the thought of how he should pass over Annapāna, his bold and comely son, the fruit of a marriage with one of equal birth. The ministers remarked his anxiety, and he informed them of its cause. They stated that as the king of Aparāntaka had granted his daughter only on this condition, and as it was as yet uncertain whether she would give birth to a son or a daughter, King Janaka ought to grant her the desired promise.

A son was born, to whom the name of Rājyābhinanda was given, on account of the longing for royal power which had been entertained even before his birth. He grew up, but still his father did not proclaim him his successor. At length the youth’s grandfather sent a message to King Janaka, and threatened to make his appearance with a mighty army. The ministers recommended that Rājyābhinanda should be proclaimed successor, and that Annapāna should be put to death. Janaka refused to comply with such a demand. Murderers of fathers, it was true, had been met with, but it was an unheard of thing that a father should kill his son. Nor would he consent to his being mutilated, that being equivalent to death. As little would he agree to his being banished; but he invested the younger prince with the right of succession.

When Annapāna heard of this, he went to his mother, informed her of the evil tidings, and told her that he was about to go to Panchāla. And thither he went. With wearied limbs he lay down to rest in the shade of a tree. There the king’s people found him. Astonished by his beauty, they brought him to the king, to whom he told the story of his fortunes. The king gave him the hand of his daughter, and bestowed lands upon him. The son who was born of this marriage was named Bahvannapāna.

Annapāna fell ill and died, and the king gave his daughter, along with her son, to the Purohita, with whom she lived happily. One day a cock crowed near the house. A Brahman who happened to be there, and who was skilled in omens, heard it crow and said, “He who eats the flesh of this cock will become king.” [102] The Purohita heard these words, and, after asking the Brahman some questions, took the cock and killed it. Then he said to his wife, “Have this cock cooked immediately. I will eat it when I come back from the king’s palace.” Then he betook himself to the palace.

While he was there, the boy Bahvannapāna came back from school hungry, and could not find his mother. He said to himself, “What has been cooked for us? what sort of food?” In his mother’s absence he looked about, and saw the cock in a saucepan with its head uppermost. So he cut off the head and ate it. His mother came in presently and said, “Who has eaten the head?” The boy replied that he had eaten it. His mother gave him some food and sent him to school.

After a time the Purohita also came and asked for food. When he saw that the cock’s head had disappeared, he asked where it was. His wife said, “The boy has eaten it.” He ate up the rest of the cock, but remained in doubt as to which of the two would become king, he who had eaten the bird’s whole body, or he who had eaten only a bird incomplete as to the parts of its body. In order to remove this doubt, he called in for the second time the Brahman who was skilled in omens. The Brahman asserted that he who had eaten the head would become king, but that he also would become king who should kill him who had eaten the head, and should eat his head.

Therefore the Purohita determined to put the boy to death. But as he saw that he could not do this without the boy’s mother remarking it, he resolved to take her opinion about the matter. With many friendly words he addressed her in a cajoling manner: “O good one, is it better that your husband or your son should become king?” Quickly recognising the complicated nature of the situation, she reflected that if she said it would be better for her son to become king, she would be at variance with her husband. So she said, in accordance with his view of the matter, that it would be better for her husband to become king. But as she was very shrewd and intelligent, she perceived that he wished to kill her son on account of the cock’s head, and she determined to save her son at any rate. So she told her son that, as he had acted wrongly in eating the cock’s head, he must leave the country with all speed, and betake himself to his grandfather’s land, where he had relatives. The son fled to Videha, and there, tormented with hunger and thirst, he lay down one day in order to sleep under a tree in a park.

A little before that time Rājyābhinanda had been attacked by a malady of which, in spite of the efforts of the physicians, he could not be cured. He succumbed to it, and thereby was the reigning family brought to an end.

Now it was part of the royal statutes that until a new king had been chosen the corpse of the late king could not be honoured with funeral ceremonies. Accordingly the ministers, the other officials of the court, the Brahmans, and the interpreters of signs, set out to look for a person distinguished by the force of his virtuous merits. Under a tree outside the city, a tree the shadow of which never moved from his body, they found an extremely handsome youth with a lion-like breast. When the six ministers had looked at him, they exclaimed in astonishment, “Never have we seen any one who equalled this man in force of virtuous merit. As he is extremely handsome, and is well provided with signs, we will invest him with the sovereignty.” Having thus spoken, and having agreed thereupon, they aroused him from his sleep. He awoke and asked, “Why must I get up?” They replied, “In order to be proclaimed king.” He said, “Ought a slumbering king to be awakened in this manner?” The ministers said, “How then ought he to be awakened?” The youth replied, “He ought to be awakened with song and cymbals and beat of drum.” On hearing this, they came to the conclusion that he truly sprang, not from an inferior, but from a noble family, and they asked him, “Who are you? whose noble son are you?” Then the youth rose up lion-like and said, “Annapāna was the son of Janaka, king of Videha, and I am Annapāna’s son, Bahvannapāna.” Thereupon the six ministers smiled and said, “We have actually lighted upon our own prince.”

In the midst of a great multitude, with conjurations, and with song and cymbals and beat of drum, they conducted him into the city, and there they consecrated him as king. As the extinct royal family was renewed in him, he also received the name of Janaka, and his former name of Bahvannapāna fell into disuse. After they had thus invested him with the sovereignty, they came to the conclusion that he was of a simple nature, and they despised him to such a degree that he had no power at all.

King Bahvannapāna once went forth in order to inspect his realm. Whenever he asked to whom villages, towns, and hill-places belonged, he was always told that they belonged to the six ministers. Thereupon he perceived that he could command only food and clothing, but that beyond that he had no power. When he had plunged into a sea of thought, trying to think out what he should do, a deity consoled him, saying that he ought not to be sorrowful. In his own country, in the hill-village Pūrṇakatshtshha, a son named Mahaushadha was about to be born to the head-man, Pūrṇa. This son he ought to make his minister, who would gain possession of the realm and restore it to him, and turn out fortunate and advantageous to him. The king sent forth men to seek out this Pūrṇa, and to learn whether his wife had a son or not. The men returned with the information that the village head-man really existed, and that his wife was with child. Then the king wrote to him and made him come to him, conferred upon him the village, and bade him henceforth carefully watch over the child, which was as yet in its mother’s womb, so that none of its limbs might suffer any injury. When the boy came into the world and his birth-feast was celebrated, the name of Mahaushadha (Great Remedy) was given to him at the request of his mother, inasmuch as she, who had long suffered from illness, and had been unable to obtain any relief from the time of the boy’s conception, had been cured by him.

As the boy was sitting on his father’s shoulder one day, and was being carried for a bath from the middle of the street to a tank, the father saw a piece of fish lying before him. Taking it for a precious stone, he tried to lift it up with his toes. Then said Mahaushadha, “Dear father Pūrṇa, you think that a precious stone has been dropped here. Gazing with open eyes at the piece of fish, you fancy that it is a precious stone. Test it, dear father Pūrṇa. It is no precious stone; only a piece of red fish crushed underfoot. Vaiśravaṇa [103] is not accustomed to be so careless.”

When they had come to the tank, and Pūrṇa and Mahaushadha had laid their clothes on the bank and had gone into the water to bathe, the father wanted to lay hold of a crane which was resting on a lotus, but when he drew near the bird flew away. Then Mahaushadha said, “From the lotus flew the crane away. The crane flew away, the lotus remained. Only see, father dear, how the crane flies away from the lotus.”

On another occasion the father went to the river Ganges to bathe, carrying his son as before on his shoulder. When they had left their clothes on the shore and had gone into the water, they saw a metal basin floating on the water with a goose sitting upon it. Then said Mahaushadha, “The river Ganges supports the metal basin, on the metal basin rests a goose. Look, O father dear, at the metal basin with the goose carried along by the river Ganges.”

Another time, when Mahaushadha had gone to the shore to bathe, he saw how a pot, on which was a water-hen, was borne along by the current of the river Ganges. Then he said, “The river Ganges bears along the pot, on the pot sits a water-hen. Only look, father dear, at the pot with the water-hen and the Ganges.”

Again, on another occasion, he saw a ram carried along by the current of the river Ganges with a heron standing upon it, and he said, “The river Ganges bears along a ram, and likewise the heron which stands upon it. Look, father dear, at the ram and the heron borne along by the river Ganges.”

After this it happened one day that Mahaushadha was at play with the children, and they chose him as their king. [104] He named some of the boys as his ministers, and they went on playing together. There came along the road an old Brahman with his young wife, on their way to another country. The Brahman stepped aside for a time, and during his absence a rogue, full of desire for the wife, came up to her and said, “Good woman, whither has your father gone?”

“Who?” said the wife.

“He is apparently your grandfather,” replied the rogue.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“He is apparently your great-grandfather,” said the rogue.

“He is not my father, nor my grandfather, nor yet my great-grandfather, but my husband,” said the wife.