The Forest of Thieves and the Magic Garden: An Anthology of Medieval Jain Stories (Penguin Classics)

by Phyllis Granoff

  (from the Padmapurāṇa of Raviṣeṇa, Ch. 22)

  4

  CELANĀ

  There was on this earth a city named Pātaliputra, which was like the city of the gods and was the dwelling place of wise men. The famous king Viśākha ruled there, having conquered all his enemies with his sword held high. His wife was named Viśākhā, she had eyes like lotus leaves and feet and hands like lotuses; her lovely face was like a fully opened lotus blossom. They longed for a son and one was born to them; they named him Vaiśākha. He was a veritable ocean of virtue and was humble, although his fame spread far and wide. With all due ceremony Vaiśākha married Kanakaśrī, whose body glowed with the lovely shining golden radiance of her skin.

  One day Vaiśākha and his new bride, Kanakaśrī, were chatting together on the rooftop of their mansion. Vaiśākha was busy putting jewels on his beloved, when his childhood friend, now a monk named Munidatta, in the course of his wanderings stopped at their house for alms. As soon as he saw the monk, Prince Vaiśākha left his wife’s side and went to greet him, feelings of joy and devotion rippling through his body. He bowed down to the monk and led him into the house, where he gave the monk all kinds of food to eat. When the monk finished his meal and was about to leave, the prince bade his wife farewell and went with him.

  He realized that worldly existence is worthless; he realized that the body is perishable and subject to disease, and knowing these things Vaiśākha wasted no time in becoming a monk under the guidance of Munidatta. Kanakaśrī realized that her husband had become a Jain monk, practicing austerities; but she clung fiercely to false religious beliefs. She died and became a troublesome demi-goddess.

  One day this demi-goddess saw a monk. Using her supernatural knowledge, she recognized him as her former husband. She was filled with anger as she thought, ‘This cruel and shameless man abandoned me when I was in the prime of my youth. Now that I am angry, let us see what kind of austerities he can perform.’ When it was time for the solitary monk, frail from a month-long fast, to take some food, she caused him to have an erection. The monk, who had performed severe penances, had fasted for a month and was ready to break his fast. He had entered the city of Rājagṛha and stopped at some house.

  Celanā saw the ascetic, emaciated from his fasting, coming into her courtyard. She got up at once to welcome him. The demi-goddess, who had been Kanakaśrī in her past birth, saw the ascetic standing there ready to break his fast and she caused his organ to swell. Celanā, filled with devotion, realized that the monk was in trouble and she concealed him from public view with a piece of cloth, afraid that people would speak ill of him. The monk, thinking only of his disgust for things of this world, finished his meal, and honored by Celanā, who bowed down to him, he quickly left her house.

  This lord of monks went to Mount Vipula. There, through the power of meditation, he destroyed all the obstructing karmas and attained Omniscience. The kings of the gods felt their thrones tremble and they knew that the monk Vaiśākha had attained Omniscience; they hastened to the spot. All the gods, including Śakra, worshipped the Omniscient one with flowers and incense, their hands held above their heads in reverence. When Celanā and the other people heard that the ascetic Vaiśākha had attained Omniscience, they too joyfully went to bow down to the Omniscient One. There, in the assembly of gods, Celanā, filled with devotion, asked, ‘Tell me, why were you subjected to such a torment?’ The monk, hearing Celanā’s question, replied, ‘There once was a terribly cruel woman named Kanakaśrī, who had lively darting eyes. Someone named Vaiśākha, overcome by great lust, married her. This Kanakaśrī was evil and terrifying, like a poisonous snake. One day the monk Munidatta, in the course of his wanderings, came to my house. We had been friends before and so I treated him to a meal of excellent food. I followed that monk and left the house of Kanakaśrī. Shortly thereafter I became a monk under his guidance. When she heard that I had become a monk, that wicked woman at once embraced false views. She died and was reborn as this terrible demi-goddess. That treacherous creature used her supernatural knowledge and recognized that I, her former husband, was the ascetic performing penances; driven by the force of her undying hatred for me, she caused me to have an erection. I had fasted for a month before I came to your house. As I stood there waiting to eat, she caused me to have an erection. But you knew that I had fasted for a month, and in your great devotion, you protected me by placing that cloth there. I ate in your house and was saved from that trial. I practiced meditation here on this mountain, where I stood motionless in concentration. Through the fire of my meditation I burned up the obstructing karmas, that were like so much firewood, and I attained Omniscience, which reveals everything in the universe.

  ‘I had abandoned this woman, a new bride in the full blossom of her youth, after only seven days, in order to become a Jain monk. She died, clinging to false beliefs, and became a troublesome demi-goddess. It was she who created this torment for me. I have told you everything that happened in answer to the question that you asked; firm in the right belief, you have protected me.’

  When the Omniscient One had thus explained what had happened to him, the gods and anti-gods were astonished, and they bowed their heads to him in worship. Indra and the other gods, having bowed down to the Omniscient One in joy, and Celanā and the other people, all returned to their homes. The Omniscient Vaiśākha then destroyed all of his remaining karmas, so that they were like burnt pieces of rope. He attained Liberation, which is an ocean of Bliss. Just as Celanā protected this monk, so should others protect all of those who practice the true religion.

  (from the Brhatkathākośa of Hariṣeṇa, Ch.8)

  5

  BHADRABĀHU AND VARĀHA

  In the South, in the city of Pratisthāna, lived two young brahmin boys called Bhadrabāhu and Varāha, both without a penny to their names and with no one to look after them, and both gifted with much native intelligence. Now the Jain monk Yaśobhadra, who was one of those rare individuals to possess knowledge of the fourteen ancient scriptures, chanced to come to that city. Bhadrabāhu and Varāha heard him preach. This is what he said:

  ‘Pleasures, in all their many forms, are treacherous and impermanent, and from them arises this cycle of births. O see here now, all you people, why do you look for what is eternal and true in all of this? Your doings are in vain!

  ‘Make your mind pure and calm, free from the snares of all your desires, and concentrate it in meditation on that highest abode of eternal bliss, if you trust in my words.’

  As soon as they heard these words they were awakened to the truth, and when they got home they took counsel with each other. ‘Why do we lead our lives in vain? To begin with we have no money to get pleasures for ourselves; we should instead practice religion.

  ‘Listen, O mind of mine, let him lust after the taste of worldly pleasures, before whom walk bards, singing praises; let him hanker after sensual delights, who walks in step with gifted poets from Southern lands, bantering with them in well-honed verses, and who hears behind him all the while the enticing jangling of the bracelets of the young women who wave ceremonial fans over him in honour. But if a man lacks all this, well then, O mind, he should direct you at once into the stillness of meditation on the Supreme Truth.’

  Thinking this, both the brothers became monks.

  Bhadrabāhu became a famous monk, a leader in the monastic community, conversant with the fourteen ancient scriptures and possessed of the thirty-six qualities of a holy man. He was celebrated as the author of commentaries to these ten texts: the Daśavaikālika, Uttarādhyayana, Daśāśrutaskandha, Kalpa, Vyavahāra, Āvaśyaka, Sūryaprajñapti, Sūtrakrta, Ācārānga, and the Rsibhāsita. He also wrote a text which was entitled the Samhitā of Bhadrabāhu. Now at that time there also lived the Jain monk Ārya Sambhūtivijaya, who was also one of those rare individuals gifted with knowledge of the fourteen ancient scriptures. It came time for the Glorious monk Yaśobhadra to sojourn in Heaven. Bhadrabāhu and this Sambhūtivijaya, che
rishing great affection for each other, wandered separately around the land of India. They were like suns that make bloom the lotuses that are the fortunate souls ready to accept the true doctrine.

  Now Varāha was also a learned man. But he stood high atop the mountain of terrible pride and he kept asking his brother Bhadrabāhu to install him as a leader of the group of monks. Bhadrabāhu told him, ‘Brother, true it is that you are learned and that you carry out all your duties with care, but you are stained by pride. I cannot give the office of a leading monk to someone who suffers from pride.’ Though these words were true they did not appeal to Varāha, for it is said that the words of a teacher, even when they are crystal clear like pure spring water, sting the ears of a disciple who is not fit for receiving the true doctrine. And so it came to pass that Varāha abandoned his monastic vows. He returned to his earlier false beliefs and began to dress and behave as a brahmin once more.

  He boasted that he had written a new text known as the Samhitā of Varāha, which in fact was based on the knowledge that he had acquired during the time he had been a Jain monk. But he told everyone, ‘I have been studying the position of the planets and heavenly bodies ever since I was a child. And I have always been totally absorbed in this pursuit. Once, just outside the city of Pratisthāna I happened to draw an astrological calculation on a rock. When evening came I left my calculations there and went home to sleep. In my dreams I suddenly remembered that I had not erased my scribblings. And so I went back there to erase what I had written. There on the rock on which I had written my astrological calculations sat a lion. No matter, with one hand I stroked his belly and with the other I erased the notes I had made. At that the lion turned into the Sun God right before my very eyes. He spoke to me, ‘Son, I am pleased with your firmness of determination and your devotion to the science of astrology. I am the Sun; ask of me some boon.’ I, for my part, then replied, ‘O master! If you are pleased with me, then let me ride in your chariot awhile and show me all the heavenly bodies in their courses.’ And so it came to be that I was permitted to roam the heavens with the Sun in his very own chariot. And partaking of the nectar of immortality that he magically transferred into my body, I felt no pang from hunger or thirst or any other unsatisfied bodily need. And when I had accomplished my task, I bade farewell to the Sun and I returned to this world to roam around and serve the earthly realm with my knowledge. That is why I am called ‘Varāha of the Sun, Varāhamihira.’

  He did not hesitate to spread all sorts of tales like this. And because there was just the slightest grain of possibility in all of his stories he came to be greatly honoured in the world. In the city of Pratisthānapura he won over the King Śatrujit with his many talents. And the king made him his own court priest. So it is that they say:

  A man’s fine qualities lead him to a position of respect, not any fiddle-faddle about his birth and family; we treasure a flower grown in the woods, but throw away in disgust the dirt that comes from our very own bodies.

  Now he began to abuse the Śvetāmbaras, saying, ‘What do those old crows know about anything? Like naughty schoolchildren confined to their rooms they mutter and mumble to themselves, buzzing like flies, wasting all their time. Oh well, let them do what they want. Why should I care anyway what they do?’ The lay disciples who heard his taunts were pained by his words; why, their heads throbbed as they heard them. They gathered together and said, ‘What use is it to be alive if we must just stand by and hear our teachers being abused? What can we do? The king honours this Varāhamihira, considering him to be a man of many talents, and people do say, “He who is honoured by kings is honoured by the world.” There is nothing we can do about that. But we can summon Bhadrabāhu, at least.’ And this is exactly what they did. The Glorious Bhadrabāhu arrived there. The lay disciples welcomed him with a great celebration in his honour, and with such pomp and ceremony as to excite the envy of anyone watching. They lodged their teacher in comfortable quarters. The members of the king’s court were daily treated to a feast of lectures delivered by Bhadrabāhu. Varāha was not a little chagrined by Bhadrabāhu’s arrival; nonetheless there was nothing he could do against him.

  In the meantime a son was born to Varāhamihira. Delighted at the birth, he spent a vast sum of money entertaining his friends and making donations to the poor. And for all of this he was even more greatly honoured in the community. He proclaimed before the king and all the courtiers in the royal assembly hall, ‘My son will live a hundred years.’ And at his house he gave party after party in celebration of the birth. One day Varāha publicly declared, ‘Now see here. Even though he is my very own brother, Bhadrabāhu did not come to the party I gave in honour of the birth of my son. Henceforth he shall be an outcast amongst us, never to be invited to any of our family festivities.’ When they heard these words, the lay disciples told Bhadrabāhu, ‘This is the kind of thing he is going around saying. You must go to his house one day. It is not right that the enmity between you should grow any more.’ The Glorious Bhadrabāhu instructed them, ‘Why do you make me undertake not just one but two difficult tasks? This child that has been born to Varāhamihira will be killed by a cat in the middle of the night when he is just seven days old. And when he dies I shall have to go anyway to express my condolences.’ At this the lay disciples said, ‘But that brahmin proclaimed before the king himself that the child has a life span of one hundred years. And now you say otherwise. What are we to believe?’ The Glorious Bhadrabāhu told them, ‘Truth depends on corroboration. For that is something that cannot happen if what a man says is untrue.’ The lay disciples were silent.

  It was seven days after the birth. And on that very day, when the night was only two watches deep, the wet-nurse sat down with the baby to let it nurse. A heavy iron door bolt fell from the top of the door lintel as someone opened the door to come into the room. And it struck the baby on the head. The child was dead. There was much wailing and crying then in Varāha’s house. A crowd gathered. And Bhadrabāhu told his lay disciples, ‘It is a monk’s sacred duty to relieve people of their grief. I must go there at once.’ The teacher then went there, accompanied by hundreds of his lay disciples. Varāha, though dazed and wounded by grief, was properly respectful to him and rose to greet him. And he said to him, ‘Teacher! Your prediction has come true. The only thing that was not exactly right was that you said a cat would kill him, but the door bolt has killed him instead.’ Bhadrabāhu said, ‘There is a line drawing of a cat on the tip of that iron door bolt. I did not speak untruthfully.’ They brought the door bolt and examined it; it was exactly as Bhadrabāhu had said.

  Varāha then said, ‘I am not as pained by the death of my son as I am by the fact that the prediction, which I made before the king, that my child would have a life-span of a hundred years, has turned out to be false. I curse those books of mine which I trusted so when I boasted of my great knowledge. They are all a bunch of liars. I’ll wash their filthy mouths with soap and water.’ And with these words he had the servants fill cauldrons with water. As soon as he was about to carry out his threat and wash the books with water, Bhadrabāhu grabbed him by the arms and stopped him: ‘Why should you be angry at the books when the fault was yours alone? It was your own failure to understand them that led you to make false conclusions. These books do in fact record what the Omniscient One said, only it is not so easy to find someone who understands them correctly. I can show you the very places where you went astray; it is you yourself whom you should be cursing. You know yourself what people often say:

  The favour of the king, youth, riches, good-looks, high birth, valour in battle, learning, all these things make a man drunk even though they are not wine.

  ‘And how can a drunkard have the subtle understanding that is necessary to comprehend a difficult treatise? You must not destroy these books.’

  With these words Varāha was restrained from his rash act; nonplussed at the turn of events, he did nothing more. At that point a lay disciple, who had been quite upset by Varāha’
s denunciation of the Jain doctrine, stepped forward and said,

  ‘Wretched little worms you are, who glow in the deep darkness of night. Now the world is aglow with the brilliance of the midday sun. Even the moon does not dare to show its light. Wretched little glow worm, look what’s happened to you now!’

  And with these words he beat a hasty retreat. Varāha was exceedingly pained. By this time the king himself had arrived on the scene. The king told him, ‘Do not grieve. O wise man, this is the way of the world.’ At that a minister of the king, who was a Jain devotee, spoke up, ‘The new teacher is also here, the one who predicted that the boy would live only seven days. He is indeed great, for his words have proved to be true.’ Someone then pointed out Bhadrabāhu to the king, saying, ‘This is the one.’ With those words the brahmin was made even more miserable; he alone could have described his own mental torment. The king departed; Bhadrabāhu too departed, and finally the crowd dispersed. The king accepted the Jain doctrine and became a lay disciple.

  Varāha in his humiliation became a Vaisnava monk and endured all sorts of penances out of ignorance. On his death he became a demi-god who was hostile to the Jain faith. With all his hatred, though, he was not able to trouble any of the monks, for it is true what they say, “Austerities are like a suit of armour made of the hardest diamond; they permit a sage to repel the attacks of others just as armour repels swarms of arrows deftly shot at it.” And so Varāhamihira began instead to torment the lay disciples. He caused disease to occur in every house. Distressed and suffering, the lay devotees approached Bhadrabāhu, ‘O Blessed One! That even while you are here with us we are so tormented by diseases is proof of the saying, “Even when he is mounted on an elephant, a man may still be gnawed at by mice”.’ The teacher answered them, ‘Do not be afraid. You remember that Varāhamihira. Now he seeks to harm you all because of the hatred he nourished for you when he was alive. I can protect you even from the hand of the Wielder of the Thunderbolt, Indra, the King of the Gods, should he wish to strike you down.’ And then, taking from the ancient scriptures such hymns as the hymn which begins with the words, “Lord Pārśva who removes obstacles”, he wove a hymn of praise which contained five verses and he recited it before everyone. All of their troubles instantly ceased. Even today those who desire to be rescued from some difficulty recite this hymn. It is like a wonderful wishing jewel with unimaginable powers. It is said that after Bhadrabāhu his student the Glorious Sthūlabhadra also possessed knowledge of the fourteen ancient scriptures and defeated many rivals in debate.