Jataka Vol. I: Book I.--Ekanipāta: No. 92. Mahāsāra-Jātaka
No. 92.
[381] MAHĀSĀRA-JĀTAKA.
"For war men crave."--This story was told by the Master while at Jetavana, about
the venerable Ānanda.
Once the wives of the King of Kosala thought among themselves, as follows, "Very
rare is the coming of a Buddha; and very rare is birth in a human form with all
one's faculties in perfection. Yet, though we have happened on a human form in a
Buddha's lifetime, we cannot go at will to the Monastery to hear the
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truth from his own lips, to do obeisance, and to make offerings to him. We live
here as in a box. Let us ask the King to send for a fitting Brother to come here
and teach us the truth. Let us learn what we can from him, and he charitable and
do good works, to the end that we may profit by our having been born at this
happy juncture." So they all went in a body to the King, and told him what was
in their minds; and the King gave his consent.
Now it fell out on a day that the King was minded to take his pleasure in the
royal pleasaunce, and gave orders that the grounds should be made ready for his
coming. As the gardener was working away, he espied the Master seated at the
foot of a tree. So he went to the King and said, "The pleasaunce is made ready,
sire; but the Blessed One is sitting there at the foot of a tree." "Very good,"
said the King, "we will go and hear the Master." Mounting his chariot of state,
he went to the Master in the pleasaunce.
Now there was then seated at the Master's feet, listening to his teaching, a
lay-brother named Chattapāṇi, who had entered the Third Path. On catching sight
of this lay-brother, the King hesitated; but, on reflection that this must be a
virtuous man, or he would not be sitting by the Master for instruction, he
approached and with a bow seated himself on one side of the Master. Out of
reverence for the supreme Buddha, the lay-brother neither rose in the King's
honour nor saluted his majesty; and this made the King very angry. Noticing the
King's displeasure, the Master proceeded to extol the merits of that
lay-brother, saying, "Sire, this lay-brother is master of all tradition; he
knows by heart the scriptures that have been handed down; and he has set himself
free from the bondage of passion." "Surely," thought the King, "he whose praises
the Master is telling can be no ordinary person." And he said to him, "Let me
know, lay-brother, if you are in need of anything." "Thank you," said the man.
Then the King listened to the Master's teaching, and at its close rose up and
ceremoniously withdrew.
Another day, meeting that same lay-brother going after breakfast umbrella in
hand to Jetavana, the King had him summoned to his presence and said, "I hear,
lay-brother, that you are a man of great learning. Now my wives are very anxious
to hear and learn the truth; I should be glad if you would teach them." "It is
not meet, sire, that a layman [382] should expound or teach the truth in the
King's harem; that is the prerogative of the Brethren."
Recognising the force of this remark, the King, after dismissing the layman,
called his wives together and announced to them his intention of sending to the
Master for, one of the Brethren to come as their instructor in the doctrine.
Which of the eighty chief disciples would they have? After talking it over
together, the ladies with one accord chose Ānanda 1 the Elder, surnamed the
Treasurer of the Faith. So the King went to the Master and with a courteous
greeting sat down by his side, after which he proceeded to state his wives'
wish, and his own hope, that Ānanda might be their teacher. The Master, having
consented to send Ānanda, the King's wives now began to be regularly taught by
the Elder and to learn from him.
One day the jewel out of the King's turban was missing. When the King heard of
the loss he sent for his ministers and bade them seize everyone who had access
to the precincts and find the jewel. So the Ministers searched everybody, women
and all, for the missing jewel, till they had worried everybody almost out of
their lives; but no trace of it could they find. That day Ānanda came to the
palace, only to find the King's wives as dejected as they had hitherto been
delighted when he taught them. "What has made you like this to-day?" asked the
Elder. "Oh, sir," said they, "the King has lost the jewel out of his turban; and
by his orders the ministers are worrying everybody, women and all, out of their
lives, in order to find it. We can't say what may not happen to anyone of us;
and that is why we are so sad." "Don't think
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any more about it," said the Elder cheerily, as he went to find the King. Taking
the seat set for him, the Elder asked whether it was true that his majesty had
lost his jewel. "Quite true, sir," said the King. "And can it not be found?" "I
have had all the inmates of the palaces worried out of their lives, and yet I
can't find it." "There is one way, sire, to find it, without worrying people out
of their lives." "What way is that, sir?" "By wisp-giving, sire." "Wisp-giving?
What may that be, pray?" "Call together, sire, all the persons you suspect, and
privately give each one of them separately a wisp of straw, or a lump of clay
will do, saying, 'Take this and put it in such and such a place to-morrow at
daybreak.' The man that took the jewel will put it in the straw or clay, and so
bring it back. If it be brought back the very first day, well and good. If not,
the same thing must be done on the second and third clays. In this way, a large
number of persons will escape worry, and you will get your jewel back." With
these words the Elder departed.
Following the above counsel, the King caused the straw and clay to be dealt out
for three successive days; but yet the jewel was not recovered. [383] On the
third day the Elder came again, and asked whether the jewel had been brought
back. "No, sir," said the King. "Then, sire, you must have a large water-pot set
in a retired corner of your courtyard, and you must have the pot filled with
water and a screen put up before it. Then give orders that all who frequent the
precincts, men and women alike, are to put off their outer-garments, and one by
one wash their hands behind the screen and then come back." With this advice the
Elder departed. And the King did as he bade.
Thought the thief, "Ānanda has seriously taken the matter in hand; and, if he
does not find the jewel, he'll not let things rest here. The time has really
come to give the jewel up without more ado." So he secreted the jewel about his
person, and going behind the screen, dropped it in the water before he went
away. When everyone had gone, the pot was emptied, and the jewel found. "It's
all owing to the Elder," exclaimed the King in his joy, "that I have got my
jewel back, and that without worrying a host of people out of their lives." And
all the persons about the precincts were equally grateful to Ānanda for the
trouble he had saved them from. The story how Ānanda's marvellous powers had
found the jewel, spread through all the city, till it reached the Brotherhood.
Said the Brethren, "The great knowledge, learning, and cleverness of the Elder
Ānanda have been the means at once of recovering the lost jewel and of saving
many persons from being worried out of their lives." And as they sate together
in the Hall of Truth, singing the praises of Ānanda, the Master entered and
asked the subject of their conversation. Being told, he said, "Brethren, this is
not the first time that what had been stolen has been found, nor is Ānanda the
only one who has brought about such a discovery. In bygone days too the wise and
good discovered what had been stolen away, and also saved a host of people from
trouble, sheaving that the lost property had fallen into the hands of animals."
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, having
perfected his education, became one of the King's ministers. One day the King
with a large following went into his pleasaunce, and, after walking about the
woods, felt a desire to disport himself in the water. So he went down into the
royal tank and sent for his harem. The women of the harem, removing the jewels
from their heads and necks and so forth, laid them aside with their upper
garments in boxes under the charge of female slaves, and then went down into
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the water. Now, as the queen was taking off her jewels and ornaments, and laying
them with her upper robe on a box, she was watched by a female monkey, which was
hidden in the branches of a tree hard by. Conceiving a longing to wear the
queen's pearl necklace, this monkey watched for the slave in charge to be off
her guard. At first the girl kept looking all about her in order to keep the
jewels [384] safe; but as time wore on, she began to nod. As soon as the monkey
saw this, quick as the wind she jumped down, and quick as the wind she was up
the tree again, with the pearls round her own neck. Then, for fear the other
monkeys should see it, she hid the string of pearls in a hole in the tree and
sat on guard over her spoils as demurely as though nothing had happened. By and
by the slave awoke, and, terrified at finding the jewels gone, saw nothing else
to do but to scream out, "A man has run off with the queen's pearl necklace." Up
ran the guards from every side, and hearing this story fold it to the King.
"Catch the thief," said his majesty; and away went the guards searching high and
low for the thief in the pleasaunce. Hearing the din, a poor superstitious
rustic 1 took to his heels in alarm. "There he goes," cried the guards, catching
sight of the runaway; and they followed him up till they caught him, and with
blows demanded what he meant by stealing such precious jewels.
Thought he, "If I deny the charge, I shall die with the beating I shall get from
these ruffians. I'd better say I took it." So he confessed to the theft and was
hauled off a prisoner to the King. "Did you take those precious jewels?" asked
the King. "Yes, your majesty." "Where are they now?" "Please your majesty, I'm a
poor man; I've never in my life owned anything, even a bed or a chair, of any
value,--much less a jewel. It was the Treasurer who made me take that valuable
necklace; and I took it and gave it to him. He knows all about it."
Then the King sent for the Treasurer, and asked whether the rustic had passed
the necklace on to him. "Yes, sire," was the answer. "Where is it then?" "I gave
it to your majesty's Chaplain." Then the Chaplain was sent for, and interrogated
in the same way. And he said he had given it to the Chief Musician, who in his
turn said he had given it to a courtesan [385] as a present. But she, being
brought before the King, utterly denied ever having received it.
Whilst the five were thus being questioned, the sun set. "It's too late now,"
said the King; "we will look into this to-morrow." So he handed the five over to
his ministers and went back into the city. Here-upon the Bodhisatta fell
a-thinking. "These jewels," thought he, "were lost inside the grounds, whilst
the rustic was outside. There was a strong guard at the gates, and it was
impossible for anyone inside to get away
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with the necklace. I do not see how anyone, whether inside or out, could have
managed to secure it. The truth is this poor wretched fellow must have said he
gave it to the Treasurer merely in order to save his own skin; and the Treasurer
must have said he gave it to the Chaplain, in the hope that he would get off if
he could mix the Chaplain up. in the matter. Further, the Chaplain must have
said he gave it to the Chief Musician, because he thought the latter would make
the time pass merrily in prison; whilst the Chief Musician's object in
implicating the courtesan, was simply to solace himself with her company during
imprisonment. Not one of the whole five has anything to do with the theft. On
the other hand, the grounds swarm with monkeys, and the necklace must have got
into the hands of one of the female monkeys."
When he had arrived at this conclusion, the Bodhisatta went to the King with the
request that the suspects might be handed over to him and that he might be
allowed to examine personally into the matter. "By all means, my wise friend,"
said the King; "examine into it."
Then the Bodhisatta sent for his servants and told them where to lodge the five
prisoners, saying, "Keep strict watch over them; listen to everything they say,
and report it all to me," And his servants did as he bade them. As the prisoners
sat together, the Treasurer said to the rustic, "Tell me, you wretch, where you
and I ever met before this day; tell me when you gave me that necklace."
"Worshipful sir," said the other, "it has never been mine to own aught so
valuable even as a stool or bedstead that wasn't rickety. I thought that with
your help I should get out of this trouble, and that's why I said what I did. Be
not angry with me, my lord." Said the Chaplain [386] in his turn to the
Treasurer, "How then came you to pass on to me what this fellow had never given
to you?" "I only said so because I thought that if you and I, both high officers
of state, stand together, we can soon put the matter right." "Brahmin," now said
the Chief Musician to the Chaplain, "when, pray, did you give the jewel to me?"
"I only said I did," answered the Chaplain, "because I thought you would help to
make the time pass more agreeably." Lastly the courtesan said, "Oh, you wretch
of a musician, you know you never visited me, nor I you. So when could you have
given me the necklace, as you say?" "Why be angry, my dear?" said the Musician,
"we five have got to keep house together for a bit; so let us put a cheerful
face on it and be happy together."
This conversation being reported to the Bodhisatta by his agents, he felt
convinced the five were all innocent of the robbery, and that a female monkey
had taken the necklace. "And I must find a means to make her drop it," said he
to himself. So he had a number of bead necklaces made. Next he had a number of
monkeys caught and turned loose again, with strings of beads on their necks,
wrists and ancles. Meantime, the guilty
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monkey kept sitting in the trees watching her treasure. Then the Bodhisatta
ordered a number of men to carefully observe every monkey in the grounds, till
they saw one wearing the missing pearl necklace, and then frighten her into
dropping it.
Tricked out in their new splendour, the other monkeys strutted about till they
came to the real thief, before whom they flaunted their finery. Jealousy
overcoming her prudence, she exclaimed, "They're only beads!" and put on her own
necklace of real pearls. This was at once seen by the watchers, who promptly
made her drop the necklace, which they picked up and brought to the Bodhisatta.
He took it to the King, saying, "Here, sire, is the necklace. The five prisoners
are innocent; it was a female monkey in the pleasaunce that took it." "How came
you to find that out?" asked the King; "and how did you manage to get possession
of it again?" Then the Bodhisatta told the whole story, and the King thanked
[387] the Bodhisatta, saying, "You are the right man in the right place." And he
uttered this stanza in praise of the Bodhisatta:--
For war men crave the hero's might,
For counsel sage sobriety,
Boon comrades for their jollity,
But judgment when in parlous plight.
[paragraph continues] Over and above these words of praise and gratitude, the
King showered treasures upon the Bodhisatta like a storm-cloud pouring rain from
the heavens. After following the Bodhisatta's counsels through a long life spent
in charity and good works, the King passed away to fare thereafter according to
his deserts.
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His lesson ended, the Master, after extolling the Elder's merits, identified the
Birth by saying, "Ānanda was the King of those clays and I his wise counsellor."
Footnotes
223:1 Ānanda held 'advanced views on the woman question.' It was he who
persuaded the reluctant Buddha into admitting women to the Order, as recorded in
the Vinaya (S. B. E. XX, 320 et seqq.).
225:1 Or perhaps "a taxpaying ryot."
Next: No. 93. Vissāsabhojana-Jātaka
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