To King Ānanda there were born five sons. The youngest of these,
inasmuch as his face resembled a mirror, was named Ādarśamukha or
Mirror-face. All five sons grew up. Prince Ādarśamukha was very gentle
and modest, but the others were rash, rude, and hot-tempered. Their
father called them together one day on a matter of business. The minds
of the elder brothers were incapable of deciding the smallest of its
points, but Prince Ādarśamukha answered with intelligence the difficult
questions which were proposed to him.
Being attacked by illness, King Ānanda considered as to whom he should
invest with the sovereign power. “If I invest one of my four elder sons
with the power,” he thought, “inasmuch as they are rash, rude, and
hot-tempered, misfortunes will unduly increase among men; but if I
invest Prince Ādarśamukha with the power, then my kinsmen will reproach
me for having passed over my elder sons and given the power to the
youngest. It is necessary, therefore, that I should devise some way of
escape.”
With that intention he decided in his mind on three precious things,
and on a recognition by the women, and on six objects to be recognised
by insight. Then he said to his ministers, “Give ear, O chieftains!
After my death ye are to test each of the princes in turn. Him among
them whom the jewel-shoes fit when they are tried on, under whom the
throne remains steadfast when he is set upon it, on whom the diadem,
rests unshaken when it is placed upon his head, whom the women
recognise, and who guesses the six objects to be divined by his
insight, namely, the inner treasure, the outer treasure, the inner and
outer treasure, the treasure of the tree-top, the treasure of the
hill-top, and the treasure of the river shore—him by whom all these
conditions are fulfilled shall ye invest with the sovereign power.”
Then, according to the proverb which says that all which has been
accumulated dwindles, and all that is high will meet with a fall, he
died. Now when the ministers tried to place the jewel-shoes on the feet
of the eldest prince, the shoes did not fit. When he was set upon the
throne, it moved. When the diadem was placed upon his head, it shook
greatly. Moreover the women did not recognise him. And when he was told
the names of the six objects which were to be divined by his insight,
he did not guess them. The fate of three of his younger brothers was
just the same. But when the jewel-shoes were placed upon Prince
Ādarśamukha’s feet, they fitted him perfectly. When he was set upon the
throne, it remained unmoved. When he was crowned with the diadem, his
head looked forth from beneath it proudly. Moreover the women
recognised him. Then the ministers said, “Now you must find out the six
objects to be divined by insight, namely, the inner treasure, the outer
treasure, the inner and outer treasure, the treasure of the tree-top,
the treasure of the hill-top, and the treasure of the river shore.”
Ādarśamukha replied, “If the question is which is the inner treasure,
that is the treasure which is inside the threshold. If the question is
which is the outer treasure, that is the treasure which is outside the
threshold. If the question is which is the treasure of the tree-top,
that is the treasure which is at the spot on which the tree planted by
the king casts its shadow at midday. If the question is which is the
treasure of the hill-top, that is the treasure which is under the stone
at the bottom of the tank wherein the king used to take delight. If the
question is which is the treasure of the river shore, that is the
treasure which is at the end of the channel by which the water flows
out of the house.” As all the problems were solved, the ministers made
Ādarśamukha king, and he became a mighty monarch.
In a certain place among the hills there lived a Brahman named Daṇḍin,
who borrowed a pair of oxen from a householder. After ploughing his
land, he went with the oxen to the householder’s dwelling. As the man
was at his dinner, the Brahman Daṇḍin let the oxen go to their stall;
but they went out again by another door. When the householder arose
from his meal and found that the oxen had disappeared, he seized Daṇḍin
and asked where the oxen were. Daṇḍin replied, “Did not I bring them
back to your house?” “As you have stolen my oxen, give them back to
me,” said the other. Daṇḍin replied, “I have not stolen them.” The
other said, “King Ādarśamukha is wise. Let us go to him; he will settle
this affair for us, separating the right from the wrong.” So they both
set out on their way.
A man from whom a mare had run away called out to Daṇḍin to stop it. He
asked how he was to stop it. The man told him to do so in any way he
could. Daṇḍin picked up a stone and flung it at the mare’s head, the
consequence of which was that the mare was killed. The man said, “As
you have killed my mare, give me another one.” Daṇḍin said, “Why should
I give you a mare?” The man replied, “Come, let us go to King
Ādarśamukha; he will settle our business for us.” So they set off to go
to him.
Daṇḍin tried to run away. As he sprang down from a wall, he fell on a
weaver who was at his work below, in consequence of which the weaver
died. The weaver’s wife laid hands upon Daṇḍin and demanded that he, as
he had killed her husband, should restore him to her. “Where am I to
get your husband from for you?” he said. “Come, let us go to King
Ādarśamukha,” she replied; “he will settle our business for us.” So
they went their way.
About half-way they came to a deep river, which a carpenter was
fording, his axe in his mouth. Daṇḍin asked him if the river was deep
or shallow. The carpenter, letting his axe drop, said, “The river is
deep.” Then, as his axe had fallen into the water, he seized Daṇḍin and
said, “You have flung my axe into the water.”
“No, I have not.”
“Come, let us go to King Ādarśamukha; he will settle our business for
us.”
By and by they who were leading Daṇḍin along came to a drinking-house.
In it Daṇḍin sat down upon the landlady’s new-born babe, which was
lying asleep under a dress. “There’s a child lying there! There’s a
child lying there!” cried the mother. But when she looked at it, the
child was dead. She seized on Daṇḍin and demanded that he, who had
killed her child, should give it back to her. He replied, “I did not
kill it. Why should I give you a child?” She said, “Come, let us go to
King Ādarśamukha.” So they set out on their way.
At a certain spot a crow which sat on a withered tree saw Daṇḍin, and
asked him whither he was going. He replied, “I am not going anywhere,
but I am being taken by these people.”
“Whither?”
“To King Ādarśamukha’s.”
“Then take charge of a commission from me, and say to King Ādarśamukha,
‘At such and such a spot there stands a tree with dry leaves. On this
tree sits a crow which wants to ask you what is the reason why it
remains upon that tree, and takes no delight in other trees which are
green and full of sap.’”
They went farther, and some gazelles saw Daṇḍin and asked him whither
he was going. He replied, “I am not going anywhere, but am being taken
by these people.”
“Whither?”
“To King Ādarśamukha’s.”
“Then take charge of a commission from us, and ask the king what is the
reason why we find no pleasure in any other place than this, though
other places possess meadows and green grass.”
They went on farther. A partridge saw them and asked whither they were
going, and all went on as above up to the words, “Then take charge of a
commission from me also, and ask the king why I call like a partridge
at one spot, and at another spot I have a different kind of voice.”
Elsewhere they saw a snake, and just the same as before happened up to
the utterance of the words, “Then take charge of a commission from me
also, and ask the king why I creep out of my hole with ease, but creep
back into it only with pain.”
A snake and an ichneumon, which had quarrelled and were fighting with
one another, likewise begged that the king might be asked on what
account they, as soon as they saw each other, day by day became angry
and began to fight. A young wife also commissioned them to ask
wherefore she, so long as she lived in her father’s house, longed after
the house of her father-in-law, but now, since she entered her
father-in-law’s house, longed after the house of her father.
They went on and came to King Ādarśamukha’s; then Daṇḍin wished the
king long life and victory, and took a seat at a certain spot, and the
others also seated themselves. After they had paid reverence with their
heads to the king’s feet, the king asked Daṇḍin, “Wherefore have you
come?”
“O king, I have been brought hither.”
“On what account?”
Daṇḍin related the whole story of why the householder had quarrelled
with him. The king said to the householder, “Did you see the oxen, or
did you not see them? Did Daṇḍin drive your oxen into the stalls?”
“Yes, O king.”
The king said, “As Daṇḍin gave this man no information, his tongue
shall be cut off. As this man did not tie up his oxen, his eyes shall
be put out.”
The householder said, “First I lost my oxen, in the second place my
eyes are to be put out. Sooner than that, I prefer not to win my suit
against Daṇḍin.”
The owner of the mare said, “O king, Daṇḍin has killed my mare.”
“How did he kill it?”
The man told the whole story in full. The king said, “As this man told
him he might stop the mare by any means whatsoever, his tongue shall be
cut off; but Daṇḍin shall have his hand cut off, because he thought it
impossible to stop the mare except by throwing a stone at it.”
The man said to himself, “First my mare died, now my tongue is to be
cut off. Sooner than that, I prefer not to gain my suit against
Daṇḍin.”
The weaver’s wife told her story in full, and the king said, “Then you
shall receive this man as your husband.” She said, “First of all this
man killed my husband, and now he is to be my husband. Sooner than
that, I prefer not to win my suit against Daṇḍin.”
The carpenter fully explained his case. The king said, “As the
carpenter spoke in the middle of the river and let his axe fall, his
tongue shall be cut off; but Daṇḍin’s eyes shall be put out, because
he, although he saw that the river was deep, asked the carpenter about
it.” The carpenter said, “First I lost my axe, now my tongue is to be
cut off. Sooner than that, I prefer not to win my suit against Daṇḍin.”
The landlady told her story in full, and the king said, “As the
landlady left her child sleeping with a dress completely hiding it, her
hand shall be cut off; but Daṇḍin shall have his eyes put out, because
he sat down on an unfamiliar seat without making any investigation.”
The landlady said, “First my child died, now my hand is to be cut off.
Sooner than that, I prefer not to win my suit against Daṇḍin.”
Daṇḍin presented the crow’s petition. The king said, “O Daṇḍin, say
this to the crow: ‘At that spot there is a treasure, which was hidden
away under the withered tree by you when you were the head man of the
village. Give it to some one or other and then go away, and you will
fare well.’”
Daṇḍin executed the commission of the gazelles. The king said, “Tell
the gazelles this: ‘O gazelles, there stands a tree on that spot from
the top of which honey drops down. Thereby are the meadows and the
grass rendered sweet. But as the bees have now been driven out, do not
tarry any longer on the spot, otherwise ye will suffer pain beyond
measure.’”
Daṇḍin brought forward the request of the partridge. The king said,
“Tell the partridge this: ‘Where you possess a partridge’s voice, there
no treasure is to be found; but where you have a different voice, there
a treasure is to be found. Point out this treasure to some one or
other, and then, as it is not right that you should suffer pain beyond
measure, betake yourself somewhere else.’”
Daṇḍin mentioned the request of the snake and the ichneumon, and the
king said, “Tell both of them this: ‘When ye were men, ye were born as
two brothers. One of the two said, “Let us divide our property.” But
the other, overcome by envy, would not consent to the division. On that
account the one, being too covetous, was born again as a snake; but the
other, inasmuch as he was excessively covetous and clung to the
property, was born as an ichneumon. Do ye then give these treasures to
the Śramaṇas or the Brahmans, and then leave that spot. By that means
will ye fare well.’”
Daṇḍin brought forward the snake’s request, and the king said, “Say
this to the snake: ‘When hungry and in a state of collapse, you can
easily creep out of your hole. But when you have partaken of copious
food, then it is only with pain that you can creep back into the hole.
If you can content yourself with so much food as is fit for you, you
will fare well.’”
Daṇḍin mentioned the young wife’s request, and the king said, “Tell the
young wife this: ‘In your father’s house there is a friend. When you
are in your father-in-law’s house, you long after that friend; but when
you are in your father’s house, you long after your husband. As it is
not right that you should suffer pain beyond measure, give up the one
place of residence and take up your abode permanently in the other.’”
The young wife and the snake did what they were told to do. The snake
and the ichneumon, as well as the crow, made over their treasures to
Daṇḍin. The others likewise acted in accordance with the instructions
given to them.