Part 24

Nanda asked, “What do you want it for?” The actor replied, “Venerable sir, I wish to compose a drama.” Nanda said, “Wretched man, do you wish us to portray the Teacher for you? Begone, for I will tell you nothing.” Then the actor betook himself to Upananda, but received from him the same answer, and the result was the same when he had recourse to Āśuga, Ravata, Chhanda, and Udayin. Thereupon the actor betook himself to where the company of Twelve Bhikshuṇīs was. First of all he had recourse to Sthūlanandā. When she had inquired what he wanted the information for, and he had replied that it was for a drama, she asked whether he would give her a recompense for her trouble. He promised that he would. Then as Sthūlanandā was very learned, and knew the Tripiṭaka thoroughly, she related everything to him in full out of the Abhinishkramaṇa-Sūtra, how Bhagavant the Bodisat, while dwelling in the Tushita region, appointed the five meditations with respect to caste, race, country, time, and wife, and having appointed these considerations, and having allowed the six Kāmāvachara gods to receive purification three times, he consciously entered the mother’s womb, transformed into the shape of an elephant. Whereupon the great earth quaked greatly, and the intervals of the world in which the sun and moon are looked upon as great wonders, and the darkness is exceedingly great, inasmuch as no light is enjoyed there, were profusely illumined anew, so that the beings born therein, which had not been able to see their own hands when they stretched them out, looking upon one another by means of this light, exclaimed, “Honoured sirs, other beings also have been born here.” Then she related to him all that had taken place up to the time, when at midnight Bhagavant the Bodisat overcame Māra and the attending three hundred and sixty millions of demons by the force of mildness, and attained to supreme insight.

The actor then composed his drama, and, as he knew that by means of it he could exalt the faith still higher, amid the masses of believers, he considered how he might create faith also among unbelievers. And, as he bore a grudge against the Six Bhikshus, and desired to find a cause of reproach against them, he betook himself to them. Now Āyushmant Chhanda had just prepared some food, but let it stand over. With the hope, however of partaking of sweet food, in case he met with any, he had washed his hands. With such food Āyushmant Udayin had supplied himself, so Chhanda sat down before him with crossed legs and begged him to think of him, saying, “I, the Bhikshu Chhanda, had prepared food, but I let it stand over, as I was fully satisfied. But now that I have found food, I desire to eat, and I beg you to leave me something,” After taking two or three morsels of the food, Udayin said, “Take and go.”

When the actor heard that, he thought that he might thereby convert even unbelievers to the faith. So he pitched a booth in Rāajagṛiha on the day when the festival of the Nāgarājas Girika and Sundara was celebrated, and sounded a drum. And when a great crowd had collected, he exhibited in a drama the above-mentioned events in the life of Bhagavant, in harmony with the Abhinishkramaṇasūtra. Thereby the performers and the assembled crowds were confirmed in the faith. And they uttered sounds of approval, and he made a large profit.

In order that among the unbelievers also he might excite faith, he introduced one actor under the guise of Udayin, and another under that of Chhanda. And he filled a dish with ashes, on the top of which he placed two or three lumps of sugar. In front of him who played the part of Udayin, the other sat down cross-legged, and said, “Venerable Udayin, remember me. I am the Bhikshu Chhanda, and I have let my food stand over, for I was quite satisfied. But now that I have met with food, I want to eat, and I beg you will leave me something.” Then he who played the part of Udayin ate up the two or three lumps of sugar, and upset the ashes which were in the dish over the head of him who played the part of Chhanda, and said, “Take and go.” The crowd burst out laughing loudly, and even the unbelieving became believing, saying that it was a mad prank. And the actor made a large profit.

Now when men’s talk had made the Six Bhikshus aware that the actor had taken them off they resolved to take counsel with the Bhikshuṇīs and make things unpleasant for him. So they betook themselves to the company of Twelve and asked them if they still retained any recollection of the play composed by them on the life of the Bodisat named Kuru. When they had gone out together into the park, and it was found that they had not forgotten even the least part of it, they supplied themselves with ornaments and raiment from the palace, and they set up a booth close to that of the actor. Then Upananda covered up his head with a cloth and beat the drum. A great crowd assembled, and in it was the actor, who thought that he was witnessing a divine drama, and was of opinion that it was performed by Gods, Nāgas, Yakshas, Gandharvas, Kinnaras, or Mahoragas. [136] So great was his astonishment.

When the Six went away, after finishing the performance and changing their clothes, the actor followed after them, in order to find out who they were, waiting for them at the door as they went out. When Udayin came forth, whose ears seemed to be smeared as though with orpiment, the actor asked him if he had been performing in the play. Udayin replied that they had wished to do him a hurt in that way, saying, “You wretch, who live by our art! as you have brought us on to the stage, we will go to every place where you perform, and we will annoy you. We have no need to provide ourselves with drums and strange properties.”

The actor begged for pardon, for he got his living by his performances. Udayin demanded in return for this that the actor should give up to him the whole of his receipts. To which demand the actor yielded, from fear of farther interference.

XIV.

THE DUMB CRIPPLE. [137]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XV.

ṚSHYAŚRINGA. [138]

In very remote times, in a forest region free from villages and richly provided with flowers, fruits, water, and roots, there lived a penance-performing Rishi, who fed upon roots, fruit, and water, and clothed himself with leaves and skins. As he had attained the five kinds of insight, the wild gazelles themselves were wont to dwell in the hermitage keeping him company. One day a gazelle doe came to a spot where he had lately been. And as the results of human actions are beyond mental comprehension it came to pass that she became pregnant. When the time came for her to bring forth, she went to that place and there gave birth to a boy. When she had smelt it, and perceived that it was a creature that did not resemble herself, she was terrified, and deserted it. When the Rishi came to that place and saw the child, he began to consider whose child it could be, and perceived that it was his own child. So he took it with him into his hermitage and there brought it up. When the boy had grown up, gazelle horns appeared on his head, on which account the Rishi gave him the name of Ṛshyaśringa (Gazelle-horn).

The Rishi fell ill, and was treated with fitting remedies, but the illness would not abate. When he saw that he must die, he spake shortly before his decease to the boy as follows:—

“O son, as from time to time many Rishis come to this hermitage from all manner of regions, you must from love to me welcome them with the customary greeting, receive them in a friendly manner, invite them to repose on the couch, and set before them roots and fruits according to your means.”

Then, according as it is said that the end of collection is diffusion, the end of the high is to fall, the end of coming together is separation, and the end of life is death, so he discharged his obligations to this law. The youth burnt the Rishi’s corpse in the usual manner, and then, as he mourned, being depressed by grief at the loss of his father, he became possessed of the five kinds of insight.

One day, when he had gone to fetch water in a pitcher, the deity began to let rain fall. As he walked along with the pitcher, which was quite full of water, he let it fall, so that it broke. Rishis are very quickly moved to wrath. So spilling the little water there was left, he reproached the deity, saying, “As my full water pitcher has been broken in consequence of your bad behaviour, you shall not let rain fall for twelve years from this day.” On account of this curse the deity let no rain fall. A great famine consequently arose in Vārāṇasī, and its inhabitants emigrated in all directions. The king sent for the diviners and said to them, “Honoured sirs, to whose power is it due that the deity sends no rain?” They replied, “To a Rishi’s anger. If he can be disturbed in his penances the deity will again send rain. Otherwise it is not possible.” The king sat absorbed in thought. His wives, the princes, and the ministers asked him, “Wherefore, O king, are you displeased?” He replied, “On account of a Rishi’s anger the deity sends no rain. The diviners have declared that if the Rishi can be disturbed in his penances the deity will send rain again, but that otherwise it is impossible.”

One of the king’s daughters, Śāntā by name, said, “O king, if that be the case, be not disturbed. I will contrive so that the Rishi shall be completely distracted from this penance.” The king said, “By what means?” She replied, “Let me and other women be taught mystic lore by the Brahmans. And let a hermitage, provided with flowers, fruits, and water, be prepared on a ferry-boat.” The king allowed her and other women to be taught mystic lore by the Brahmans, and a hermitage to be constructed on a ferry-boat. Then she gave orders for the preparation of tempting objects, and fruits filled with wine, and other very bright fruits of various kinds. And she made herself look like a Rishi, dressed herself in bark and grass, and betook herself to that Rishi’s hermitage, attended by the women to whom the Brahmans had taught mystic lore. His pupils said to the Rishi, “O teacher, many Rishis have come to the hermitage.” He replied, “It is well that Rishis should have come; bring them in.” When they had come in and he had looked at them, he said in verse, “Alas! a Rishi’s appearance was never like this of old—a loosely flowing step, a face free from beard, a rising and falling breast.” His mind a prey to doubt, he offered his visitors roots and fruit. They partook of them, and said to the Rishi, “Your fruits are harsh and acid. The fruits which are to be found in our hermitage on the water are Amṛita-like. Therefore do we invite you to our hermitage.”

He accepted their invitation and went with them to the pleasure-ground on board the ferry-boat. There they spread before him stupefying substances, cocoa-nuts filled with wine, and other fruits. When he had become intoxicated with wine, and seduced by the alluring substances, he gave himself up to pleasure with the women, and his magic power vanished. The deity rejoicing in rain called the clouds together from every side and got the better of the Rishi. Śāntā said, “Now, do you know what the power is?” Having fettered the Rishi with amorous bonds she brought him to the king and said, “O king, this is the man.”

As the deity now began to send rain a good harvest ensued. The king gave Śāntā to the Rishi as his wife, together with her attendants. But when the Rishi, deserting her, began to indulge in love with other women, she also began to treat him with small respect, her good humour being destroyed by jealousy. One day, when during a wrangle with him, she hit him a blow on the head with a shoe, he said to himself—

“I, who used not to allow power to the thunder of the cloud, must now, being fettered by love bonds, allow myself to be set at nought by a woman!”

Thereupon he again devoted himself to ascetic exertion, and once more became possessed of the five kinds of insight.

XVI.

VIŚVAṆTARA. [139]

In long past times King Viśvāmitra reigned in the city of Viśvanāgara. As a king of the law, according to the law he ruled over that city, which was blest with wealth, plenty, prosperity, fruitfulness, and a large population, richly provided with rice, sugar-cane, oxen, and buffaloes, and free from disease, discord, quarrels, uproar, strife, and robbery. The king’s faith was pure and his mind virtuous, he bethought himself of his own welfare and that of others, he was full of compassion, constant in magnanimity, and kindly towards mankind.