Mṛgadhara, the first minister of King Prasenajit of Kośala, after he
had married a wife of birth like unto his own, had seven sons. To six
of these he gave names at his pleasure, but the youngest one he called
Viśākha.
After his wife’s death he arranged marriages for his six elder sons,
but they and their wives gave themselves up to dress, and troubled
themselves in no wise with household affairs.
The householder Mṛgadhara was sitting one day absorbed in thought,
resting his cheek upon his arm. A Brahman, who was on friendly terms
with him, saw him sitting thus absorbed in thought, and asked him what
was the cause of his behaviour. He replied, “My sons and their wives
have given themselves up to dress, and do not trouble themselves about
household affairs, so that the property is going to ruin.”
“Why do you not arrange a marriage for Viśākha?”
“Who can tell whether he will make things better, or bring them to
still greater ruin?”
“If you will trust to me, I will look for a maiden for him.”
The minister consented, and the Brahman went his way. In the course of
his researches he came to the land of Champā. In it there lived a
householder named Balamitra, whose daughter Viśākhā was fair to see,
well proportioned, in the bloom of youth, intelligent and clever. Just
as the Brahman arrived, she and some other girls who were in quest of
amusement were setting out for a park. On seeing the girls, he thought
that he would like to look at them a little. So he followed slowly
after them, occupied in regarding them. The girls, who were for the
most part of a frivolous nature, sometimes ran, sometimes skipped,
sometimes rolled about, sometimes laughed, sometimes spun round,
sometimes sang, and did other undignified things. But Viśākhā, with the
utmost decorum, at an even pace walked slowly along with them. When
they came to the park, the other girls undressed at the edge of the
tank, entered into it, and began to sport. But Viśākhā lifted up her
clothes by degrees as she went into the water, and by degrees let them
down again as she came out of the water, so circumspect was she in her
behaviour. After their bath, when the girls had assembled at a certain
spot, they first partook of food themselves, and then gave to their
attendants to eat; but Viśākhā first of all gave food to the persons in
attendance, and then herself began to eat.
When the girls had finished their eating and drinking and had enjoyed
the charm of the park, they went away. As there was water to be waded
through on the road, the girls took off their boots and walked through
it, but Viśākhā kept her boots on. They went a little farther and came
to a wood. Into this Amra wood she entered, keeping her parasol up,
though the others had discarded theirs. Presently a wind arose together
with rain, and the other girls took shelter in a temple, but Viśākhā
remained in the open air. The Brahman, who had followed her, and had
noted her characteristics and her behaviour, marvelled greatly and
began to question her, saying—
“O maiden, whose daughter are you?”
“I am Balamitra’s daughter.”
“O maiden, be not angry if I ask you a few questions.”
She smiled at first, and then said, “O uncle, why should I be angry?
Please to ask them.”
“While these girls, as they went, were all running, skipping, rolling,
turning round, singing, and doing other undignified things, you wended
your way slowly, decorously, and in a seemly manner, reaching the park
together with them.”
Viśākhā replied, “All girls are a merchandise which their parents vend.
If in leaping or rolling I were to break an arm or a leg, who then
would woo me? I should certainly have to be kept by my parents as long
as I lived.”
“Good, O maiden; I understand.”
He said to her next, “These girls took off their clothes at a certain
place, and went into the water and sported in it unclothed, but you
lifted up your clothes by degrees as you went deeper into the water.”
“O uncle, it is necessary that women should be shame-faced and shy, and
so it would not be well that any one should look upon me unclothed.”
“O maiden, who would see you there?”
“O uncle, you would have seen me there yourself.”
“Good, O maiden; that also I comprehend.”
He said to her further, “These girls first took food themselves and
then gave to the persons in attendance; but you first gave food to the
persons in attendance, and then took your own.”
“O uncle, that was for this reason: we, reaping the fruits of our
merits, constantly have feast-days; but they, reaping the fruits of
their trouble, very seldom obtain great things.”
“Good, O maiden; I comprehend this also.”
He asked her, moreover, “While all the world wears boots on dry land,
why did you keep yours on in the water?”
“O uncle, the world is foolish. It is precisely when one is in water
that one should wear boots.”
“For what reason?”
“On dry land one can see tree-stems, thorns, stones, prickles,
fragments of fish-scales or shells of reptiles, but in the water none
of these things can be seen. Therefore we ought to wear boots in the
water and not upon dry land.”
“Good, O maiden; this also I understand.”
Then he asked her this question: “These girls kept their parasols up in
the sun; you kept yours up in the wood under the shade of the trees.
What was the meaning of that?”
“O uncle, the world is foolish. It is precisely when in a wood that one
must keep a parasol up.”
“For what reason?”
“Because a wood is always full of birds and monkeys. The birds let fall
their droppings and pieces of bones, and the monkeys their muck and
scraps of the fruit they eat. Besides, as they are of a wild nature,
they go springing from bough to bough, and bits of wood come falling
down. When one is in the open this does not happen, or, if it takes
place, it is but seldom. Therefore a parasol must be kept open in a
wood; in the open it is not necessary to do so.”
“Good, O maiden; this also I comprehend.”
Presently he said, “These girls took refuge in a temple when the wind
arose with rain, but you remained in the open air.”
“O uncle, one certainly ought to remain in the open air and not take
refuge in a temple.”
“O maiden, what is the reason for that?”
“O uncle, such empty temples are never free from orphans, bastards, and
sharpers. If one of them were to touch me on a limb or joint as I
entered such a temple, would not that be unpleasant to my parents?
Moreover, it is better to lose one’s life in the open than to enter an
empty temple.”
Full of delight at the demeanour of the maiden, the Brahman betook
himself to the dwelling of the householder Balamitra and said, desiring
to obtain the maiden, “May it be well! May it be good!”
The people of the house said, “O Brahman, it is not yet the time for
asking; but what do you ask for?”
“I ask for your daughter.”
“On whose behalf?”
“On behalf of the son, Viśākha by name, of Mṛgadhara, the first
minister of Śrāvastī.”
They replied, “It is true that we and he are of the same caste, but his
country lies too far away.”
The Brahman said, “It is precisely in a far-away country that a man
should choose a husband for his daughter.”
“How so?”
“If she is married in the neighbourhood, joy increases when news comes
that she is prosperous; but if a misfortune occurs, a man’s property
may be brought to nought, he being exhausted by gifts, sacrifices, and
tokens of reverence.”
They said, “This being so, we will give our daughter.”
Thereupon the Brahman, having uttered a wish for a happy result,
returned to Śrāvastī, and there, after recovering from the fatigue of
the journey, went to see the minister, Mṛgadhara, and described to him
the maiden’s youth, beauty, and intelligence, as well as her demeanour
and manner of eating. Then he said, “With great toil have I wandered
through many lands and cities, and with much trouble have I found her.
Now go and fetch her.”
The first minister, Mṛgadhara, took note of the day and hour, and found
that the stars were propitious. Then he set forth and fetched away
Viśākhā with great pomp as his son’s spouse. The mother gave her
daughter, when she was leaving for her husband’s land, the following
counsel: “O daughter, always honour the sun and the moon, pay attention
to the fire, wipe dirt off the mirror, and wear white clothes. You
shall take but not give. You shall keep your word. When you rise up,
you shall yield your place to none. You shall partake of savoury food.
You shall sleep tranquilly. You shall apply a ladder.”
When Mṛgadhara heard this, he thought that the girl had received a
quite wrong piece of advice, and that he must dissuade her from
following it and give her proper directions. The loving mother, with
troubled heart and eyes full of tears, embraced her daughter, and said
with sorrowful voice, “O daughter, this is the last time that I shall
see you.”
Viśākhā replied by way of admonition, “O mother, were you born here? Is
not the maiden rather born in the house of her relatives? Is that house
your home? Is it not rather this one here? Although I was born here, I
shall live there. As that which unites undoubtedly underlies
separation, be pleased not to wail but rather to keep silence.”
After that Mṛgadhara went his way.
Viśākhā and her husband with the attendants from her house went on
board a ship. Soon afterwards a mare which had thrown a foal was to be
brought on board the ship. As it felt that its foal would be restless
on land, it resisted, and could not be got on board. This gave rise to
much noise. When Viśākhā heard it she asked what was the cause. Being
told how it arose, she gave directions that the foal should be brought
on board first, in which case the mare would follow of its own accord.
Her orders were obeyed, and the mare went on board. Mṛgadhara asked the
men why they had come so late.
“Because the mare would not come on board.”
“Then how was it induced to come?”
“It did so after the Champā maiden had told us how to manage, and we
had embarked the foal before the mare.”
“The Champā maiden is wise.”
On their way, the travellers had on one occasion chosen their quarters
for the night, and Mṛgadhara’s tent was pitched under the projecting
part of a hill. When Viśākhā saw it she asked to whom it belonged. “To
Mṛgadhara,” was the reply. “Move it away from there,” she said. “Why
should it be moved?” “Because,” she replied, “if the projecting part of
the hill were to fall while he was asleep, he would certainly be
crushed to death. Then I should all my life be exposed to the annoyance
of having people say that my husband married a wife, whose
father-in-law died on the way before she entered his house.”
After the bed had been moved away the projecting mass of the hill fell
down. A great crowd came running together, full of anxiety lest the
householder should have been crushed. But he exclaimed, “Honoured sirs,
here am I; be not afraid, but look after my bed.” “It has been
removed,” was the reply. “Who did that?” he asked. “Viśākhā,” they
replied. He said, “The Champā maiden is wise.”
Later on, when they had taken up their quarters in an old park, and
Mṛgadhara’s couch had been prepared in an empty temple, Viśākhā saw it
and asked whose it was. “That is the master’s couch,” was the reply.
“Move it away,” she said. “Why so?” “Because,” she replied, “if the
temple were to fall down he would be crushed to death, and trouble
would come upon me.”
After the couch had been removed the temple fell down, and people came
running up, and so forth as before.
By and by they reached Śrāvastī, and after they had recovered from the
fatigues of the journey and presented ornaments to friends, relatives,
and connections, Viśākhā began to attend to the domestic affairs of the
family. As Mṛgadhara’s daughters-in-law took it in turns to look after
the food for the household, Viśākhā received instructions to provide it
on the seventh day. As the time drew near for her turn to come, she
daily rolled into pellets and desiccated what remained over of the
perfumes used by her husband and his parents. Of the powder which she
thus each day obtained she took some out of the box; the rest she mixed
with oil and divided it into equal portions. When her turn came next
day, she took care that spirituous liquors were prepared, and she
renewed the freshness of her own and her husband’s faded garlands. When
the morning came, she bestowed upon the labourers oranges, perfumes,
flowers, and meat and drink. They were greatly pleased, and thought
that, after a long time, the householder’s old wife had looked after
them. And in the course of the day they did a double amount of work.
When Mṛgadhara inspected the work towards evening and saw that much had
been done, he asked if additional day-labourers had been employed.
Being told that this was not the case, he asked what the reason was
that a double amount of work had been accomplished. The reply was, “O
master, as is the food so is the labour.” “What is the meaning of
that?” he asked. Whereupon a full account was given to him of how
everything had come to pass.
Mṛgadhara’s sons spoke about this to their wives, who said, “If we,
like Viśākhā, were to steal things from the house and thereby give
pleasure to the day-labourers, the master and the labourers would be
pleased with us too.” Whereupon Mṛgadhara said to Viśākhā, “O daughter,
in what manner did you prepare the food?” She told him all about it.
Mṛgadhara was much pleased, asked her to manage the affairs of the
household, and ordered all the people of the house to perform,
according to Viśākhā’s wishes, whatsoever tasks she might allot to
them. She thus became the mistress of the house, and as she was
excellent in her behaviour and in her whole nature, all the people of
the house rejoiced.
At another time it happened that some geese from Uttarakurudvīpa flew
over the house, carrying rice which had grown without any ploughing or
sowing having taken place. The geese in Rājagṛha saw them and cackled,
and they in their turn cackled, not being able to subdue the force of
instinct, so that some of the ears of rice fell on the roofs of
Rājagṛha. The king distributed them among the ministers, and Mṛgadhara
gave his share to Viśākhā. She placed them in a box and afterwards
handed them over to the husbandmen. They were greatly pleased, and
prepared a small field for them. And after it had been sowed with their
seed at the fitting time and the deity had sent down rain, there grew
up splendid rice, answering to the seed. Next year, moreover, they had
a very abundant harvest, and in the following year a still more
abundant one. Consequently all the granaries were filled with the rice
brought by the geese.
When it came to pass that Prasenajit, the king of Kośala, was attacked
by an illness, and all the physicians were summoned and consulted, they
gave it as their opinion that if some of the rice brought by the geese
could be found, and soup were to be made of it, and the king were to
partake thereof, in that case he would recover. So the king called the
ministers together, and asked them what they had done with the ears of
rice which the geese had brought, and which he had given to them. Some
of them said, “O king, we gave them to the temple;” and others, “We
threw them into the fire;” or others, “We fastened them up in the
vestibule.” But Mṛgadhara said, “I gave them to Viśākhā. I will inquire
what she has done with them.” When he asked Viśākhā she replied, “O
master, does some one wish to partake of the geese-brought rice?”
“As the king is ill, the doctors have prescribed for him the rice which
the geese brought hither.”
Then Viśākhā filled a golden vase with the geese-brought rice and sent
it to the king. The king ate thereof and recovered.
On another occasion some country folks came bringing a mare and her
foal. As they could not tell which was the mare and which the foal, the
king ordered the ministers to examine them closely, and to report to
him on the matter. The ministers examined them both for a whole day,
became weary, and arrived at no conclusion after all. When Mṛgadhara
went home in the evening, Viśākhā touched his feet and said, “O master,
wherefore do ye return so late?” He told her everything that had
occurred. Then Viśākhā said, “O master, what is there to investigate in
that? Fodder should be laid before them in equal parts. The foal, after
rapidly eating up its own share, will begin to devour its mother’s
also; but the mother, without eating, will hold up her head like this.
That is the proper test.”
Mṛgadhara told this to the ministers, who applied the test according to
these instructions, and after daybreak they reported to the king, “This
is the mother, O king, and that is the foal.” The king asked how they
knew that.
“O king, the case is so and so.”
“How was it you did not know that yesterday?”
“O king, how could we know it? Viśākhā has instructed us since.”
Said the king, “The Champā maiden is wise.”
It happened that a man who was bathing had left his boots on the bank.
Another man came up, tied the boots round his head, and began to bathe
likewise. When the first man had done bathing and came out of the
water, he missed the boots. The other man said, “Hey, man, what are you
looking for?”
“My boots.”
“Where are your boots? When you have boots, you should tie them round
your head, as I do, before going into the water.”
As a dispute arose between the two men as to whom the boots belonged
to, they both had recourse to the king. The king told the ministers to
investigate the case thoroughly, and to give the boots to the proper
owner. The ministers began to investigate the case, and examined first
the one man and then the other. Each of the men affirmed that he was
the owner. While these assertions were being made, the day came to an
end, and in the evening the ministers returned home wearied out,
without having brought the matter to a satisfactory conclusion. Viśākhā
questioned Mṛgadhara, and he told her all about it, whereupon she said,
“O master, what is there to investigate? Say to one of them, ‘Take one
of the boots,’ and to the other man, ‘Take the other boot.’ The real
owner will say in that case, ‘Why should my two boots be separated?’
But the other, the man to whom they do not really belong, will say,
‘What good do I gain by this if I only get one boot?’ That is the
proper test to apply.”
Mṛgadhara went and told this to the ministers, and so forth, as is
written above, down to the words, “The king said, ‘The Champā maiden is
wise.’”
It happened that some merchants brought a stem of sandal-wood to the
king as a present, but no one knew which was the upper end of it and
which the lower. So the king ordered his ministers to settle the
question. They spent a whole day in examining the stem, but they could
make nothing of it. In the evening they returned to their homes.
Mṛgadhara again told Viśākhā all about the matter, and she said, “O
master, what is there to investigate? Place the stem in water. The root
end will then sink, but the upper end will float upwards. That is the
proper test.”
Mṛgadhara communicated this to the ministers, and so forth, as is
written above, down to the words, “The king said, ‘The Champā maiden is
wise.’”
There was a householder in a hill-village who, after he had married in
his own rank, remained without either son or daughter. As he longed
earnestly for a child, he took unto himself a concubine. Thereupon his
wife, who was of a jealous disposition, had recourse to a spell for the
purpose of rendering that woman barren. But as that woman was quite
pure, she became with child, and at the end of nine months bare a son.
Then she reflected thus: “As the worst of all enmities is the enmity
between a wife and a concubine, and the stepmother will be sure to seek
for a means of killing the child, what ought my husband, what ought I
to do? As I shall not be able to keep it alive, I had better give it to
her.”
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.