34-36. "I, the son of _S_âradvatî [viz. _S_âriputra],
Maudgalyâyana, Kâ_s_yapa, Pûr_n_a, Aniruddha, and Ânanda, we were
the brothers of that time. Utpalâvar_n_â was the sister and
Kub_g_ottarâ was the maid-servant. _K_itra the householder was then
the male slave, Sâtâgiri the Yaksha, Pârileya the elephant,
Madhudâtar the monkey, Kâlodâyin the _S_akra of that time. Retain
well this _g_âtaka thus explained."'
Almost the same verses and names are found in the conclusion of
this story in the Pâli _G_âtaka.
XX. THE STORY OF THE TREASURER.
(Cp. Pâli _G_âtaka, No. 171, Fausb. II, 64, 65.)
An unfounded opinion of their possession of some virtue acts upon the
virtuous like a stirring spur. Considering thus, one ought to strive
after the realisation of virtues; as will be taught in the following.
One time the Bodhisattva is said to have been a king's treasurer,
illustrious for his learning, his noble family and his modest behaviour.
He had lofty aspirations and a clever intellect, loved honest practices
in business, and owing to his thorough study of many branches of
science, attracted notice by his elegance of speech. Compassionate as he
was and in the possession of a large estate, he made the bliss of his
wealth flow in all directions by his great gifts of charity. So he was
considered the jewel of householders.
1. As he was by his nature fond of righteousness, and was adorned by
(acquired) qualities, sacred learning and the like, people were wont to
look upon him as worthy of veneration above all others.
One day, when that Great Being had gone out for some business to the
king's palace, his mother-in-law came to his house to see her daughter.
After the usual welcome and inquiries as to health, there ensued a
conversation, in the course of which, being alone with her daughter, the
wife of the Bodhisattva, she turned to put questions to her such as
these: 'Your husband does not disregard you, my dear, I hope? And does
he know how to show you attention? He does not grieve you by misconduct,
I hope?' And she answered with downcast looks bashfully in a soft tone:
'Virtuous conduct and behaviour such as his are hardly to be met with
even in a mendicant who has renounced the world.' But her mother, whose
hearing and understanding were impaired by old age, did not well catch
the meaning of these words of her daughter, as they were spoken with
shame in a rather low voice, and having heard the mention of a mendicant
who had renounced the world, drew the inference that her son-in-law had
become a religious mendicant. She burst into tears, and overpowered by
the violence of her grief, indulged in lamenting and bewailing her
daughter. 'What virtuous behaviour and conduct is shown by him who
leaves the world in this manner, abandoning his affectionate family?
And what has he to do with world-renunciation, after all?
2. 'What is the reason that such a person as he is, young, handsome,
delicate, accustomed to a life of comfort, a favourite with the king,
should feel a vocation for the forest-life?
3. 'How did it come to pass that without experiencing any wrong from the
side of his family and before the deformity of old age had come, he left
suddenly and without pain his home abounding in wealth?
4. 'He, adorned by a decent behaviour, by wisdom and love of
righteousness, he, full of compassion for others--how is it that he
could come to such a reckless deed without mercy for his own family?
5. 'As he was in the habit of honouring _S_rama_n_as and Brâhmans,
friends and clients, his own family and (that larger family of) the
distressed, and as he considered a spotless conduct his (highest)
wealth, say, could he not attain in the world that which he seeks in the
forest?
6. 'Abandoning his chaste and devoted wife, the companion of his
religious duties, how is it that he does not perceive that by excessive
love of the Law he is here transgressing the path of the Law?
7. 'Alas! It is a pity! Fie upon the bad management of Destiny, that men
can leave their beloved relations without being withheld by Compassion,
or that they can be successful even in the slightest part of the
holiness they pursue!'
When the Bodhisattva's wife heard those piteous and sincere lamentations
of her mother on account of her husband having renounced the world, she
grew alarmed (being impressionable) after the nature of women. Her
disturbed countenance expressed the dejection of her mind shaken by the
sudden assault of sorrow and pain. She wholly forgot the subject and the
connection of the conversation, and reflected: 'My husband has forsaken
the world, and my mother on hearing the sad news has come here in order
to comfort me.' Having thus made up her mind, the young, girlish woman
began to lament and to weep, and with a loud cry swooned away. The other
members of the family and the attendants, hearing the matter, became
utterly distressed, and burst into lamentations. On hearing that noise,
neighbours, friends, kinsmen, and other relations, clients, chiefs of
Brâhmanical families, in short, the bulk of the citizens, as they were
much attached to the treasurer, gathered round his house.
8. As a rule, he had always shared the good and the ill fortune of the
people. In consequence thereof the people, as if they had learnt this
behaviour from him, showed him the like sympathy in both fortunes.
Now, when the Bodhisattva on his return from the king's residence
approached his dwelling-place, he heard the lamentations resounding from
his house, and saw the large multitude there assembled. He ordered his
attendant to go and learn what was the matter, who having got that
information came back and reported it to him.
9. 'It has been rumoured, I do not know in what way, that Your Honour
has given up her wealthy home to become a mendicant. This news has
induced this large body of people to crowd here out of affection.'
Upon hearing these words, the Great Being felt something like shame. His
heart of innate pureness was alarmed by what appeared to him like a
reproof. And he entered upon this reflection: 'Oh! how much am I
honoured by this opinion of the people!
10. 'If after obtaining this high opinion of my virtues from the part of
the citizens, I should cling to the home-life henceforward, should I not
be a coward?
11. 'I should make myself reputed as one attached to vice, ill-behaving
and a despiser of virtues; and would consequently lose the esteem I now
enjoy from the virtuous. So living, life would be insupportable to me.
12. 'For this reason, in return for the honour conferred upon me by
public opinion, I will honour them again by realising it, and affected
with a pious love of the forest-groves, detach myself from my home with
its vice-producing evil passions.'
Having thus considered, the Great Being forthwith turned back, and
caused himself to be announced to the king: 'The treasurer wants to see
Your Majesty once more.' After being admitted to the king's presence,
and after the usual salutations, being asked by the king the reason of
his return, he said: 'I desire to renounce the world, and beg you to
grant me your permission, Your Majesty.'
On hearing this, the king was troubled and alarmed, and said these
affectionate words:
13. 'What ails you that, while I am living who love you more than your
friends and kinsmen, you should want to withdraw to the forest, as if I
were unable to relieve you from that pain either by my wealth or my
policy or my great power?
14. 'Are you in want of money: take it from my side. Is it some grief
that makes you suffer: I will cure it. Or is it for any other purpose
that you desire to withdraw to the forest, leaving your relations and
me, who entreat you in this manner?'
To these affectionate and honorific words of the monarch he answered in
a tone of friendly persuasiveness:
15. 'From whence can there arise grief to those whom your arm protects,
or sadness caused by want of wealth? It is, therefore, not sorrow that
induces me to withdraw to the forest, but another reason. Hear what it
is.
16. 'The report is current, Your Majesty, that I have taken the vows of
a religious mendicant. A crowd of people mourn for it, and weep for
sorrow. It is for this reason that I want to live in the solitude of the
forests, since I have been judged a person capable of conceiving this
virtuous purpose.'
The king replied: 'Your Honour ought not to leave us on account of a
mere rumour. The worth of persons like you does not depend on public
opinion, nor do they acquire their illustrious virtues nor lose them
conformably to idle gossip.
17. 'Rumour is the result of unrestrained imagination. Once abroad, it
runs about free and unchecked. Ridiculous is he who in earnest minds
such gossip, more ridiculous is he who acts up to it!'
The Bodhisattva said: 'No, no, Your Majesty; do not speak so! A high
opinion of men must be acted up to. Will Your Majesty deign to consider
this.
18. 'When a man becomes famous for holiness, Your Majesty, that person
ought not to remain behind his reputation, if in fact he is pious, but,
to say nothing more, his very shame must induce him to take upon himself
the burden of that virtue.
19. 'For, if he is seen in any way acting in accordance with that high
opinion of his virtue, the renown of his glory will shine the more,
whereas he will be like a dried-up well in the opposite case.
20. 'By a false reputation of virtue, which will spread up to the time
when subdued by further knowledge it will disappear, the good renown of
men is utterly destroyed. Once destroyed, it is hardly able to shoot
forth anew.
21. 'Thus considering, I am about to abandon my family and property,
since those goods are the root of strife and trouble, and worth avoiding
like black-hooded snakes with wrath-raised heads. It does not become
you, Your Majesty, to oppose my determination.
22. '(Do not supply me with money.) You are accustomed to show your
attachment and gratitude to your loyal servants, as becomes you, I know;
yet what to a homeless mendicant would be the use of money, which of
necessity involves worldly goods and passions?'
So speaking the Great Being persuaded the king to give him his
permission. After which he immediately set out for the forest.
But his friends, relations, and clients met him, and shedding tears and
embracing his feet, tried to prevent him. Some obstructed his way,
placing themselves before him with respectfully folded hands. Some
again endeavoured to lead him in the direction of his house (with soft
violence), by embraces and similar persuasive practices. Others again
were prompted by their affection to address him in somewhat harsh terms,
expressing their blame in some way or other. Some also tried to persuade
him that he ought to have regard to his friends and family, for whom he
should feel compassion. Others, too, directed their efforts to convince
him by argument, combining sacred texts with deductions of reasoning, to
the effect that the state of a householder must be the holiest one.
There were others again who exerted themselves in different ways to make
him give up his design; partly dwelling on the hardships of the life in
a penance-grove, partly urging him to fulfil his obligations and duties
in the world to the end, partly expressing their doubt as to the
existence of anything like reward in the other world. Now when he looked
on his friends thus opposing his world-renunciation and earnestly
endeavouring to hinder his departure for the forest with faces wet with
tears, surely, this thought arose in his mind:
23. 'If a person acts inconsiderately, it is the duty of those who claim
to be his friends to care for the good of their friend, be it even in a
rough manner. Such, indeed, is acknowledged to be the righteous way of
proceeding among the pious. How much the more, if the good they advise
be at the same time something pleasant.
24. 'But as to them, how is it possible that preferring the home-life
and boldly deterring me from the forest-life as from the contact of some
evil, they should express the judgment of a sound mind?
25. 'A dead man or one in danger of death is a person to be wept for,
likewise one fallen from righteousness. But what may be the meaning of
this weeping for me who am alive but desirous of living in the forest?
26. 'Suppose the separation from me should be the cause of their sorrow,
why will they not dwell in the forest with me? If however they prefer
their homes to me, why are they prodigal of their tears?
27. 'But granted that attachment to their family prevents them from
adopting the state of an ascetic, how is it that the like consideration
did not formerly present itself to them on so many battle-fields?
28. 'I have often experienced the heroism of their sincere friendship in
adversity, and now behold that deep-rooted friendship, as it were,
embodied in their tears. Yet, notwithstanding this, it will seem mere
guile to me, since they do not follow my example.
29, 30. 'As surely as it is great regard for their friend deserving
regard, that makes their eyes full of tears, their heads reverentially
bent, their words interrupted with sobs, while they are exerting
themselves to hinder my departure, so surely ought their love to have
the effect of bringing them to the praiseworthy resolution to go and
wander about with me, lest they should appear like actors in a
theatrical performance, to the shame of the pious!
31. 'If anybody be in distress, be he ever so wicked a person, some two
or three friends will keep with him, at least; but for a man, however
excellent by virtue, it will be oh! so hard, to get one single comrade,
when setting out for the forest!
32. 'Those who in battles, when danger was imminent from furious
elephants, used to set an example (of fearlessness) to me, even they do
not follow me now, when I lead them to the forest. Verily am I, are
they, the same as we were before?
33. 'I do not recollect having done them any wrong that could cause the
ruin of their attachment... So this behaviour of my friends may,
perhaps, issue from the care for what they consider my happiness.
34. 'Or is it rather my lack of virtues that hinders them from being my
companions in the forest? For who may possess the power of loosening
hearts that have been won by virtue?
35. 'But why indulge in idle reflections about these persons? Of a
truth, since they are unable to perceive the evils, however obvious,
inherent in the home-life, nor the virtues to be found in the
penance-groves, the eye of knowledge is shut to them!
36. 'They are not capable of parting with worldly pleasures, the cause
of suffering both in this world and in the next, but forsake both the
penance-grove which frees from those sufferings, and me! Fie upon their
infatuation!
37. 'O, those very sins by the delusions of which these friends of mine
and the whole of the creatures are prevented from tranquillity, I will
crush down forcibly whenever I shall have obtained by residence in the
penance-forest the excellent power of doing so!'
Of such a kind were his reflections. And after thus making up his mind,
he put aside the manifold affectionate entreaties of his friends, made
plain to them his firm resolution in kind and gentle terms, and set out
for the penance-forest.
* * * * *
In this manner, then, an unfounded opinion of their possession of some
virtue acts upon the virtuous in the same way as a stirring spur. Thus
considering, one ought to strive after the realisation of virtues. [For
this reason a pious man, being esteemed for his virtues as a monk or as
a lay-devotee, must strive to be in fact adorned with the virtues fit
for that state. Further, this story may be adduced with the object of
showing the difficulty of finding companions for a religious life.]
XXI. THE STORY OF _K_U_DD_ABODHI.[151]
(Cp. the Pâli _G_âtaka, No. 443, Fausb. IV, 22-27; _K_ariyâpi_t_aka II,
4.)
[151] Though _S_ûra does not mention the Bodhisattva's name which
he bore in this existence, yet it appears from the Pâli redactions,
that _K_u_dd_abodhi, literally = 'Little Bodhi,' is intended as his
proper name.
By keeping down his anger a man appeases his enemies, but doing
otherwise he will inflame them. This will be taught as follows.
One time the Bodhisattva, that Great Being, was born in this world in a
certain noble Brâhmanical family, it is said, who enjoyed great renown
for their practise of virtues in a grand style, owned a large and
well-secured estate, were honoured by the king and favoured by the gods.
In course of time he grew up, and having duly received the sacraments,
as he exerted himself to excel in the virtue of learning, within a short
time he became renowned in the assemblies of the learned.
1. The fame of the learned unfolds itself in the assemblies of the
learned, in the same way as jewels get their reputation with jewellers,
as heroes are known on the battle-field.
Now when the Great-minded One, according to his constant observance of
the Law in previous existences and to the enlightenment of his mind by
wisdom, had familiarised himself with world-renunciation, his house no
longer pleased him. He understood that worldly pleasures are the abode
of many evils and sins, since they are attended by a great deal of
discomfort in consequence of strife, quarrel, infatuation, and subject
to (losses of wealth either from the side of) the king, or (because of)
water, or fire, or thieves, or unfriendly kinsmen; so he was convinced
that they can never yield satisfaction. Accordingly, shunning them like
poisonous food and longing for the Self, he parted with his fair hair
and beard, resigned the delusive brilliancy of a householder's dress,
and putting on the vile orange-coloured robes, embraced that glorious
state of the ascetic life disciplined by rules and restrained by vows.
His wife, who loved him much, likewise cut off her hair, and forsook the
care of apparelling her body and beautifying it with ornaments. Then,
only adorned by the natural beauty of her form and virtues, she covered
her limbs with the orange-coloured robes, and followed her husband.
Now, when the Bodhisattva understood her determination of going with him
to the penance-forest, knowing that the delicate constitution of a
woman is unfit for the ascetic life, he spoke to her: 'My dear, truly,
you have now shown me your sincere affection. Yet this be sufficient. Do
not persist in your determination of being my companion in the forest.
It would rather be suitable for you to take up your abode in such a
place, where other women dwell who have forsaken the world; with them
you should live. It is a hard thing to pass the night in
forest-dwellings. Look here.
2. 'Cemeteries, desert houses, mountains, forests infested by ferocious
animals, are the resting-places of the homeless ascetics; they take
their rest in whatsoever place they are when the sun sets.
3. 'Being intent on meditation, they always like to walk alone, and are
averse even to the sight of a woman. Therefore, make up your mind to
desist from your purpose. What profit may you have from that wandering
life?'
But she who had firmly resolved upon accompanying him, answered him
something like this, while her eyes grew dim with tears:
4, 5. 'If I should suppose my going with you a matter of weariness
rather than of joy, do you think I should desire a thing which causes
suffering to myself and displeasure to you? But it is because I cannot
bear to live without you, that you must pardon this lack of obedience to
your orders.'
And though he repeated his entreaties, she never would turn back. Then
the Bodhisattva gave up his opposition, and silently suffered her
companionship. As the female _k_akravâka goes after her mate, so she
went along with him in his wanderings through villages and towns and
markets.
One day after meal-time he performed the usual rite of profound
meditation (dhyâna) in a lonely part of some forest. It was a splendid
landscape, adorned with many groves of trees affording much shade, and
waited on, as it were, by the sunbeams peeping here and there through
the thick foliage with the softness of the moonlight; the dust of
various flowers overspread the ground; in short, it was a fair spot. In
the afternoon he rose from his profound meditation, and sewed rags
together to make clothes[152]. And at no great distance from him, she,
the companion of his homeless life, embellishing by the splendour of her
beauty the trunk of a tree in whose shade she was seated like a deity,
was meditating on such subject and in such manner as he had enjoined
her. It was the season of spring, when gardens and groves are at their
loveliest. On all sides young and tender shoots abounded; the soft
humming of crowds of bees roaming about was heard, as well as the cries
of joy uttered by the lascivious cuckoos; the lakes and ponds, adorned
with laughing lotuses and waterlilies, were an attraction for the eyes;
there blew soft winds scented with the odours and perfumes of manifold
blossoms. To enjoy that magnificence of spring, the king of that country
made a tour in the groves, and came to that very spot.
[152] Pâ_m_sukûlâni sîvyati sma.
6, 7. It does, indeed, afford gladness to the mind to behold
forest-regions at spring-time, when their various blossoms and
flower-clusters make them bright, as if that season enveloped them with
its pomp, when the he-cuckoo and the peacock sing, the drunken bees make
their buzzing sound, when soft and fresh grass-plots cover the earth and
lotuses fill up the water-basins. Then the groves are the play-grounds
of the Love-god.
On seeing the Bodhisattva, the king respectfully drew near to him, and
after the usual ceremonial greetings and complimentary words, sat down
apart. Then, on perceiving the female ascetic, that very lovely
apparition, the beauty of her figure perturbed his heart, and though
understanding that she must certainly be the companion of his religious
duties, owing to the lasciviousness of his nature, he reflected on some
contrivance to carry her away.
8. But having heard of the transcendent power of the ascetics, that the
fire of their wrath can shoot a curse as its flame, he refrained from a
rash deed of contempt against him, even though the Love-god had
destroyed the moral checks (that might have restrained him).
Then this thought entered his mind: 'Let me examine the extent of his
penance-obtained power. Then I shall be able to act in a proper manner,
not otherwise. If his mind is ruled by passionate affection for her,
surely, he has no power gained by penance. But if he were to prove
dispassionate or to show little interest in her, then he may be supposed
to possess that sublime power.' Having thus considered, the king,
desirous of proving that penance-power, spoke to the Bodhisattva, as if
he wished his good. 'Say, ascetic, this world abounds in rogues and bold
adventurers. Why, it is not fit for Your Reverence to have with you such
a handsome person as this companion of your religious duties in remote
forests, where you are destitute of protection. If she were to be
injured by somebody, certainly people would censure me, too. Look here.
9, 10. 'Suppose, while living in these lonely regions, some man
disregarding both you, a penance-exhausted ascetic, and Righteousness,
were to carry her off by force, what else could you do in that case but
wail on her account? Indulging in anger, forsooth, agitates the mind and
destroys the glory of a religious life, since it tends to the detriment
of it. It is, therefore, best to let her live in an inhabited place. Of
what use, after all, is female company to ascetics?'
The Bodhisattva said: 'Your Majesty has spoken truth. Yet hear to what I
would resort in such circumstances.
11. 'Who were to act in such a case against me,
Should pride incite or thoughtless rashness move him,
In truth, I would, while living, not release him,
A rain-cloud like that never will endure dust.'