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.
It came to pass that his wife conceived, and, after a space of eight or
nine months, gave birth to a fine, well-formed, handsome boy, whose
complexion was the colour of gold, his head canopy-like, his arms long,
his forehead high-arched, his eyebrows interlacing, his nose aquiline,
all his limbs and joints complete. When his birthday feast was
celebrated after his birth, his kinsmen proceeded to give him a name.
They said, “As the boy is King Viśvāmitra’s son he shall be called
Viśvaṇtara.” To the boy Viśvaṇtara were given eight nurses, two for
carrying, two for suckling, two for cleansing, and two for playing, who
fed him on milk, curdled milk, butter, melted butter, butter-foam, and
divers other excellent kinds of nutriment, so that he grew rapidly like
a lotus in a pool. When he had grown up and learnt writing, counting,
and hand-reckoning, he applied himself to all the arts and
accomplishments which befit one of the Kshatriya class who has been
consecrated to be a king, a ruler provided with riches, might, and
heroism, a subduer of the whole orb. Such are riding on elephants and
horses, driving in a car, handling of a sword and bow, advancing and
retreating, flinging an iron hook, slinging, shooting missiles,
striking, cutting, stabbing, seizing, marching, and the five methods of
shooting. The young Viśvaṇtara, in whom dwelt pure faith and virtuous
feelings, was considerate as to his own welfare and that of others,
compassionate and addicted to magnanimity, kindly towards men, of a
yielding and generous nature, bestowing presents freely and quite
dispassionately, and assiduous in giving away. When men heard of this
excessive generosity on his part, numberless crowds came to beg of him,
whom he sent away with their expectations completely fulfilled.
One day the Bodisat Viśvaṇtara drove out of the excellent city to the
park, in a splendid chariot, gleaming with jewels, gold, silver, steel,
coral, lapis-lazuli, turquoises, rubies, and sapphires, constructed of
sandalwood, covered with skins of lions, tigers, and bears, its four
horses rushing along with the swiftness of the wind, resonant with
bells of gold and silver. Some Brahmans versed in the Vedas met him and
said, “O Kshatriya youth, may you be victorious!” And they added
thereto, “Through the whole world are you renowned as one who gives all
things away. Therefore it is meet that you should confer this chariot
as a gift on the Brahmans.” When they had thus spoken, the Bodisat
Viśvaṇtara swiftly alighted from the chariot, and, while with joyful
heart he gave the chariot to the Brahmans, he said, “As I have given
away the chariot with the greatest pleasure, so may I, giving away the
three worlds, become possessed of the greatest insight!”
Another time he was riding on the elephant Rājyavardhana, [140] which
in whiteness equalled jasmine blossoms, white lotuses, snow, silver,
and the clouds, which was of a remarkable size and provided with
well-formed feet and trunk, and which strode along like the elephant
Airāvaṇa, marked with the signs of distinguished gifts, and remarkable
for its capacity. On it, followed by the troop of very devoted slaves,
friends, and servants, like unto the moon surrounded by the starry
host, he rode, as the spring was come, to the forest park, wherein the
trees and the flowers were blooming, and the flamingoes, cranes,
peacocks, parrots, mainas, cuckoos, and pheasants, were calling. There
came up hastily unto Prince Viśvaṇtara, certain Brahmans who were
engaged in discussion, and said to him, “Kshatriya prince, may you be
victorious!” And they added thereto, “In the world with beings divine
and not divine you are renowned as an All-giver. Therefore it is meet
that you should give us this splendid elephant.” When they had said
this, the Bodisat swiftly alighted from the splendid elephant, and
having presented that most splendid elephant to them with the utmost
good humour, he said, “As I have given the elephant to the Brahmans
with the greatest pleasure, so may I, after I have given away the three
worlds, become possessed of perfect insight!”
When it became known that King Viśvāmitra’s son, Viśvaṇtara, had given
the splendid elephant, Rājyavardhana, to the Brahmans who were engaged
in discussion, and King Viśvāmitra heard the news, he became angry, and
he sent for Prince Viśvaṇtara, and ordered him to quit the country.
Discarded by his father, Viśvaṇtara reflected that he, striving after
completest insight, clothed with the armour of virtue out of good will
towards the whole world, had given away even his elephant; that so long
as he dwelt at home he had bestowed gifts according to his means; that
dwelling in the penance-forest he had to strive intensely; that as he
was not capable of refusing requests, he would rather quit his home and
go into the penance-forest. Thereupon the Bodisat, after having
pronounced a strong vow, went to his wife, Madrī, and told her
everything. As soon as she had heard his words she joined the palms of
her hands, and, with heart fearful of being parted from the loved one,
she said to the Bodisat, “O lord, if this be so, I too will go into the
penance-forest. Parted from you, O lord, I am not capable of living a
single instant longer. And why? As the sky when it is deprived of the
moon, as the earth when it is deprived of water, so is the wife who is
deprived of her husband.”
The Bodisat said, “There is no doubt that we must ultimately be parted,
for such is the way of the world. You are accustomed to excellent food
and drink, clothes and couches, and therefore you are of a very
delicate constitution. In the penance forest it is necessary to sleep
on grass and leaves, to feed on roots, flowers, and fruits, and to walk
on a ground which is covered with millet and thorns and splinters, to
keep constantly to one kind of food, to practise magnanimity towards
all beings, and to offer hospitality to those who appear unexpectedly.
As even there I shall undoubtedly bestow gifts according to my means,
you must feel absolutely no regret on that account. Therefore you ought
to think this over well for a time.”
Madrī replied, “O lord, so long as I am able, I will follow after you.”
The Bodisat said, “If this be so, be mindful of your vow.”
Then the Bodisat went to his father, paid him reverence with his head,
and said, “O father, be pleased to forgive me my fault, the giving away
of the elephant. As I am now going forth from the city into the forest,
your treasury, O king, will not become empty.” The king, losing his
breath from grief at the parting, said with tremulous voice, “O son,
give up making presents and remain here.” The Bodisat replied, “The
earth and its mountains may perhaps be destined to overthrow; but I, O
lord of the earth, cannot turn aside my mind from giving.”
After saying these words he went away, mounted a chariot along with his
son, daughter, and wife, and went forth from the good city; hundreds of
thousands of the towns-people and country folks attending him with
lamentation. A certain man who heard this wailing and lament, and saw
such great crowds streaming towards the city-gate, asked another man,
“Hey, friend, wherefore has so great a multitude set up such a
lamentation?” “Honoured sir,” was the reply, “do not you know in what
way the king’s own son has been sent away from here, because he
persistently took pleasure in giving?”
When the prince, together with his wife and children, had reached the
margin of the forest, all the people who formed his retinue raised a
loud cry of lament. But so soon as it was heard, the Bodisat addressed
the retinue which had come forth from the good city, and ordered it to
turn back, saying—
“However long anything may be loved and held dear, yet separation from
it is undoubtedly imminent. Friends and relatives must undoubtedly be
severed from what is dearest to them, as from the trees of the
hermitage wherein they have rested from the fatigues of the journey.
Therefore, when ye reflect that all over the world men are powerless
against separation from their friends, ye must for the sake of peace
strengthen your unsteady minds by unfailing exertion.”
When the Bodisat had journeyed three hundred yojanas, a Brahman came to
him and said, “O Kshatriya prince, I have come three hundred yojanas
because I have heard of your virtue. It is meet that you should give me
the splendid chariot as a recompense for my fatigue.”
Madrī could not bear this, and she addressed the Brahman in angry
speech. “Alas! this Brahman, who even in the forest entreats the king’s
son for a gift, has a merciless heart. Does no pity arise within him
when he sees the prince fallen from his royal splendour?” The Bodisat
said, “Find no fault with the Brahman.”
“Why not?”
“Madrī, if there were no people of that kind who long after riches
there would also be no giving, and in that case how could we,
inhabitants of the earth, become possessed of insight? As giving and
the other Pāramitās (or virtues essential to a Buddhaship) rightly
comprise the highest virtue, the Bodisats constantly attain to the
highest insight.”
Thereupon the Bodisat bestowed the chariot and horses on that Brahman
with exceeding great joy, and said, “O Brahman, by means of this gift
of the chariot, a present free from the blemish of grudging, may I be
enabled to direct the car of the sinless law directed by the most
excellent Rishi!” When Viśvaṇtara had with exceeding great joy bestowed
on the Brahman the splendid chariot he took Prince Kṛishṇa on his
shoulder, and Madrī took Princess Jālinī. [141] They went forth into
the forest, and at length arrived at the forest of penance.
In that penance-forest Viśvaṇtara dwelt, after he had taken the vow
which pleased his heart. One day, when Madrī had gone to collect roots
and fruits in the penance-forest, a Brahman came to Viśvaṇtara, and
said, “O prince of Kshatriya race, may you be victorious! As I have no
slave, and wander about alone with my staff, therefore is it meet that
you should give me your two children.” As the Bodisat, Viśvaṇtara,
after hearing these words, hesitated a little about giving his beloved
children, the Brahman said to the Bodisat—
“O prince of Kshatriya race, as I have heard that you are the giver of
all things, therefore do I ask why you still ponder over this request
of mine. You are renowned all over the earth as the possessor of a
compassion which gives away all things: you are bound to act constantly
in conformity with this renown.”
After hearing these words the Bodisat said to the Brahman, “O great
Brahman, if I had to give away my own life I should not hesitate for a
single moment. How, then, should I think differently if I had to give
away my children? O great Brahman, under these circumstances I have
bethought me as to how the children, when given by me, if I do give
away these two children who have grown up in the forest, will live full
of sorrow on account of their separation from their mother. And
inasmuch as many will blame me, in that with excessive mercilessness I
have given away the children and not myself, therefore is it better
that you, O Brahman, should take me.”
Then said the Brahman to Viśvaṇtara, “O prince of Kshatriya race,
descended from a great kingly family, as I have perceived how all over
this earth your virtue is extolled, your goodness which takes pity on
all beings—the presents, the hospitality, and the honour with which you
welcome Śramaṇas, Brahmans, and strangers, and fulfil all the
expectations of the poor and needy, the helpless and the hungry—it is
not right that I, after having come to you, should remain without a
present and deprived of the fruit of my journey, and that, with the
knowledge that I have not obtained it, all the hopes which my mind had
cherished should be brought to nought. Therefore is it meet that you,
fulfilling my hopes, should give me the children. And why? One who gave
away the earth, clothed with the ocean as with a garment, possessing
the corn-fields as its incomparable eyes, the mighty hills as the upper
parts of its body with breasts, and supporting towns and villages,
would not be equal in might to you.”
When the Bodisat Viśvaṇtara had heard these words of the Brahman, he
laid aside the longing which clung to the children, saying to himself,
“If I give the two children to the Brahman, Madrī and I will feel the
pain of parting with the children. But if I do not give them to him,
then I shall prove faithless to my vow, and the Brahman, disappointed
in his hopes, will go away as he came. If he receives them, despairing
grief for the loss of my children will be my lot upon earth. If I act
otherwise, I break my promise and my vow disappears.”
Then the Bodisat Viśvaṇtara determined to give up his beloved children,
and he said, “Well, then, this takes place in order that, by means of a
hundred kinds of penance, I, like a pillared transit bridge resembling
the full moon with spotless visage, may save from the sea of troubles,
containing manifold terrors, those who sink into its bottomless
depths.” After he had uttered these words with an untroubled
countenance, his eyes filled with tears, and he gave his two children
to the Brahman, and said, “As I am to obtain a very great recompense in
return for the gift of the children, I shall save the world from the
ocean of revolution.”
Immediately after the surrender of the children, the earth quaked in a
sixfold manner. When the ascetics who dwelt in the forest, terrified by
the earthquake, asked one another by whose power the earth had been
shaken in so intolerable a manner, and wished to know who it was who
possessed such power, an old ascetic of the Vaśishṭha race, who was
versed in the meanings of signs, made the matter known to them, saying,
“The earth has doubtless been set in movement because Viśvaṇtara, in
order that he may completely redeem men reduced to despair by trouble,
has given up his two bright-eyed, beloved children, who dwelt in the
penance-forest, partaking of fruit and water.”
Now, when the two children saw that their father was about to give them
away, they touched Viśvaṇtara’s feet, uttering mournful cries, and
joining the palms of their hands, and saying, “O father, will you give
us away in the absence of our mother? Be content to give us up after we
have seen her.” Then the Bodisat gave way under the grief which had
laid hold of his mind, and his face was wet with tears as he embraced
his two children and said, “O children, in my heart there is no
unkindness, but only merciful compassion. As I have manifested virtue
for the salvation of the whole world, I give you away, whereby I may
attain unto complete insight, and, having myself obtained rest, may
save the worlds which lie, deprived of support, in the ocean of woes.”
When the children perceived that their father’s resolve was firm to
give them up, they paid honour to his feet with their heads, laid their
palms together, and said with soft complaint, “If you have severed the
cord, we have this to say: grant us forbearance. O father, be pleased
to utter the words. Every fault which we, as children, have committed
against you, our superior, or any words at any time uttered by us,
which displeased you, or anything in which, not obeying you, we have
wrongly left aught undone—grant us forgiveness of these things,
regarding them as the faults of children.”
After they had thus spoken, and had paid reverence to their father, and
three times encompassed him, they went forth from the hermitage, ever
looking back with tearful eyes, keeping in their hearts those things
which they had to say to their superior. The Bodisat consoled them with
compassionate words, and then, desiring to attain to the highest
insight, he betook himself to a hut made of leaves in the forest of
penance.
Scarcely had the children gone away when the system of the three
thousand worlds quaked six times. Many thousands of gods filled the air
with sounds of shouting and rejoicing, and cried, “Oh the great deed of
surrender! Truly is he worthy of being wondered at, whose mind remains
constant even after the surrender of both his children.”
Meanwhile Madrī had set off for the hermitage, carrying roots and
fruits, and when the earth shook, she hurried on all the faster towards
the hermitage. A certain deity, who perceived that she might hinder the
surrender which the Bodisat proposed to make for the salvation of the
world, assumed the form of a lioness, and barred her way. Then Madrī
said to this wife of the King of the Beasts, “O wife of the King of the
Beasts, full of wantonness, wherefore do you bar my way? In order that
I may remain truly irreproachable, make way for me that I may pass
swiftly on. Moreover, you are the wife of the King of the Beasts, and I
am the spouse of the Lion of Princes, so that we are of similar rank.
Therefore, O Queen of the Beasts, leave the road clear for me.”
When Madrī had thus spoken, the deity, who had assumed the form of the
lioness, turned aside from the way. Madrī reflected for a moment,
recognising inauspicious omens, for the air resounded with wailing
notes, and the beings inhabiting the forest gave forth sorrowful
sounds, and she came to the conclusion that some disaster had certainly
taken place in the hermitage, and said, “As my eye twitches, as the
birds utter cries, as fear comes upon me, both my children have
certainly been given away; as the earth quakes, as my heart trembles,
as my body grows weak, my two children have certainly been given away.”
With a hundred thousand similar thoughts of woe she hastened towards
the hermitage. Entering therein she looked mournfully around, and, not
seeing the children, she sadly with trembling heart followed the traces
left on the ground of the hermitage. “Here the boy Kṛishṇa and his
sister were wont to play with the young gazelles; here is the house
which they twain made out of earth; these are the playthings of the two
children. As they are not to be seen, it is possible that they may have
gone unseen by me into the hut of foliage and may be sleeping there.”
Thus thinking and hoping to see the children, she laid aside the roots
and fruits, and with tearful eyes embraced her husband’s feet, asking,
“O lord, whither have the boy and girl gone?” Viśvaṇtara replied, “A
Brahman came to me full of hope. To him have I given the two children.
Thereat rejoice.” When he had spoken these words, Madrī fell to the
ground like a gazelle pierced by a poisoned arrow, and struggled like a
fish taken out of the water. Like a crane robbed of her young ones she
uttered sad cries. Like a cow, whose calf has died, she gave forth many
a sound of wailing. Then she said, “Shaped like young lotuses, with
hands whose flesh is as tender as a young lotus leaf, [142] my two
children are suffering, are undergoing pain, wherever they have gone.
Slender as young gazelles, gazelle-eyed, delighting in the lairs of the
gazelles, what sufferings are my children now undergoing in the power
of strangers? With tearful eyes and sad sobbing, enduring cruel
sufferings, now that they are no longer seen by me, they live
downtrodden among needy men. They who were nourished at my breast, who
used to eat roots, flowers, and fruits, they who, experiencing
indulgence, were ever wont to enjoy themselves to the full, those two
children of mine now undergo great sufferings. Severed from their
mother and their family, deserted by the cruelty of their relatives,
thrown together with sinful men, my two children are now undergoing
great suffering. Constantly tormented by hunger and thirst, made slaves
by those into whose power they have fallen, they will doubtless
experience the pangs of despair. Surely I have committed some terrible
sin in a previous existence, in severing hundreds of beings from their
dearest ones. Therefore do I now lament like a cow which has lost its
calf. If there exists any exorcism, by which I can gain over all
beings, so shall my two children, after having been made slaves, be by
it rendered free.”
Then Madrī, looking upon the thick-foliaged trees which the children
had planted and tended, embraced them tenderly, and said, “The children
fetched water in small pitchers, and dropped water on the leaves. You,
O trees, did the children suckle, as though ye had been possessed of
souls.” Further on, when she saw the young gazelles with which the
children used to play, standing in the hermitage, she sadly said,
gently wailing, “With the desire of seeing their playfellows do the
young gazelles visit the spot, searching among the plants, offering
companionship with my never-ending woe.” Afterwards, when the
footprints on the road along which the children had gone became
interrupted, and she saw that their footprints did not lie in a
straight line, but in all sorts of directions, she was seized by bitter
anguish, and cried, “As the footprints point to dragging along and some
of them to swiftness of pace, you must surely have driven them on with
blows, O most merciless Brahman. How have my children fared with tender
feet, their throats breathing with difficulty, their voices reduced to
weakness, their pretty lower lips trembling, like gazelles timidly
looking around?”
Observing how she bore herself and uttered complaints, the Bodisat
exerted himself to exhort his wife with a series of such and such words
about instability, and said: “Not for the sake of renown, nor out of
anger, have I given away your two children; for the salvation of all
beings have I given the children, whom it was hard to give. By giving
up the objects which it is hardest to give up, children and wife, may
one, like the great souls, attain to the completest insight. O Madrī,
as I cling closely to giving, I have given for the redemption of the
world the children whom it was hard to give. My purpose is to sacrifice
all things, to give myself, my wife, my children, and my treasures.”
When after a time Madrī had recovered her strength of mind, she said to
the Bodisat: “I will in nothing be a hindrance to you. Let your mind be
constant. If you wish to give me too, give me without hesitation. As
soon as, O courageous one, you have attained to that, for the sake of
which you give up that which is connected with difficulty, save all
beings from revolution.”
When the King of the Gods, Śakra, perceived this marvellous endurance
on the part of the Bodisat, and the striving of Madrī, and their deeds
very hard to be accomplished, he descended from heaven, surrounded by
the company of the thirty-three gods, into the hermitage and lighted it
up with great brilliance. Remaining in the air, he said to the Bodisat:
“Inasmuch as after this fashion, O mighty one, in the foolish world,
the mind of which is bound fast by knots of ignorance, in the world
which is fettered by the bonds of a mind which pays homage to
enjoyment, you alone, superior to passion, have given up the children
in whom you delighted, you have certainly attained to this degree
through stainless and joyless tranquillity.”
After gratifying the Bodisat with these words, the King of the Gods,
Śakra, said to himself: “As this man, when alone and without support,
might be driven into a corner, I will ask him for Madrī.” So he took
the form of a Brahman, came to the Bodisat, and said to him: “Give me
as a slave this lovely sister, fair in all her limbs, unblamed by her
husband, prized by her race.” Then in anger spake Madrī to the Brahman:
“O shameless and full of craving, do you long after her who is not
lustful like you, O refuse of Brahmans, but takes her delight according
to the upright law.” Then the Bodisat, Viśvaṇtara, began to look upon
her with compassionate heart, and Madrī said to him: “I have no anxiety
on my own account, I have no care for myself; my only anxiety is as to
how you are to exist when remaining alone.” Then said the Bodisat to
Madrī: “As I seek after the height which surmounts endless anguish, no
complaint must be uttered by me, O Madrī, upon this earth. Do you,
therefore, follow after this Brahman without complaining. I will remain
in the hermitage, living after the manner of the gazelles.”
When he had uttered these words, he said to himself with joyous and
exceedingly contented mind: “This gift here in this forest is my best
gift. After I have here absolutely given away Madrī too, she shall by
no means be recalled.” Then he took Madrī by the hand, and said to that
Brahman: “Receive, O most excellent Brahman, this my dear wife, loving
of heart, obedient to orders, charming in speech, demeaning herself as
one of lofty race.”
When, in order to attain to supreme insight, he had given away his
beautiful wife, the earth quaked six times to its extremities like a
boat on the water. And when Madrī had passed into the power of the
Brahman, overcome by pain at being severed from her husband, her son,
and her daughter, with faltering breath and in a voice which huskiness
detained within her throat, she spoke thus: “What crime have I
committed in my previous existence that now, like a cow whose calf is
dead, I am lamenting in an uninhabited forest?” Then the King of the
Gods, Śakra, laid aside his Brahman’s form, assumed his proper shape,
and said to Madrī: “O fortunate one, I am not a Brahman, nor am I a man
at all. I am the King of the Gods, Śakra, the subduer of the Asuras. As
I am pleased that you have manifested the most excellent morality, say
what desire you would now wish to have satisfied by me.”
Rendered happy by these words, Madrī prostrated herself before Śakra,
and said: “O thou of the thousand eyes, may the lord of the three and
thirty set my children free from thraldom and let them find their way
to their grandfather.” After these words had been spoken the Prince of
the Gods entered the hermitage and addressed the Bodisat. Taking Madrī
by the left hand, he thus spake to the Bodisat: “I give you Madrī for
your service. You must not give her to any one. If you give away what
has been entrusted to you, fault will be found with you.”
Afterwards the King of the Gods, Śakra, deluded the Brahman who had
carried off the boy and girl, so that under the impression that it was
another city, he entered the selfsame city from which they had
departed, and there set to work to sell the children. When the
ministers saw this they told the king, saying, “O king, your
grandchildren, Kṛishṇa and Jālinī, have been brought into this good
city in order to be sold, by an extremely worthless Brahman.” When the
king heard these words, he said indignantly, “Bring the children here,
forthwith.”
When this command had been attended to by the ministers, and the
townspeople had hastened to appear before the king, one of the
ministers brought the children before him. When the king saw his
grandchildren brought before him destitute of clothing and with foul
bodies, he fell from his throne to the ground, and the assembly of
ministers, and the women, and all who were present began to weep. Then
the king said to the ministers: “Let the bright-eyed one, who, even
when dwelling in the forest, delights in giving, be summoned hither at
once, together with his wife.”
After this the King of the Gods, Śakra, having paid reverence to the
Bodisat, returned to his own habitation.
Now, when King Viśvāmitra was dead, the Brahmans, the ministers, the
towns-people, and the country people, went to the hermitage and with
entreaties invited the Bodisat to come to the city. There they
installed him as king. Thereafter King Viśvaṇtara was known by the name
of Viśvatyāga (all-giver). And after he had made presents of various
kinds to the Śramaṇas, Brahmans, the poor and needy, his friends and
relations, his acquaintances and servants, he uttered these ślokas: “In
order to obtain supreme insight have I fearlessly bestowed gifts on
Kshatriyas, Brahmans, Vaiśyas, Sūdras, Chaṇḍālas, and Pukkasas, with
gold and silver, oxen and horses, jewelled earrings, and labouring
slaves. For giving is the most excellent of virtues. With a heart free
from passion have I given away my wife and children, and obtained
thereby power over men in this and the other world.”
As King Viśvāmitra had, for Viśvaṇtara’s sake, bestowed great treasures
on the Brahman Jujaka, who had thereby attained to great wealth,
Jujaka’s friends and relations, and those who were dear to him, came to
him and said: “Your property and wealth and high fortune all depend
upon Viśvaṇtara.” He replied: “What have I to do with Prince
Viśvaṇtara? As I was born in the first caste, I have obtained the
recompense of the world, and therefore have I become so wealthy.”