‘The umbrella was adorned with various jewels and had garlands of gold that hung from it; it was decorated with hanging pendants of fine pearls.
‘It was covered with fine cloth that looked like the skin sloughed off by the king of serpents. Its excellent pole was made of fine gold studded with precious stones.
‘Such was the umbrella that she had made. She donated it to the temple of the Jina with great fanfare. She did other virtuous deeds, giving alms to the poor and performing austerities herself, whatever was appropriate at the time.
‘She was always worshipping and serving the monks and nuns and her fellow Jains. She made extra effort to study and learn the Jain doctrine.
‘Now one day she saw that merchant sunk in worry. With the greatest deference she asked him:
‘“Father! Why do you appear to be afflicted by the demonness of worry?”
He answered, “Daughter! Listen to the cause of my worry. The garden of the temple to the Jina, once filled with fruit and flowers and extremely lovely, has suddenly withered. No matter what I do I can not restore it to its former beauty. That is why I am so upset.” “Do not trouble yourself about this,” replied the young girl. “I vow that if I cannot restore its beauty by the power of my good conduct, then I will renounce all food and drink.” Although the merchant tried to dissuade her, she remained firm in her resolve. She went to the temple to meditate upon the superintending goddess who protects the Faith. On the night of the third day the goddess suddenly appeared before her and said, “Do not worry. In the morning you will see that the garden is restored to its former state; by your power it will be released from the clutches of the evil spirit that had caused it to dry up.” With these words the goddess returned to her place. The sun, enemy of the darkness, suddenly appeared, chasing the night away.
‘When the girl told the merchant everything that had happened that night, his eyes opened wide in delight. He hastened to the garden of the Jain temple. When he saw how the garden was resplendent with marvellous fruit and flowers and foliage, a deep green like the color of a cloud heavy with water, the merchant rushed back to the girl. “Daughter!” he said, “my wish has come true through your miraculous power. Come, get up and come home and break your fast, O lady of excellent virtue!” With these words, the merchant, accompanied by all the monks and nuns, escorted the girl back home as drums resounded and crowds of people looked on. They shouted, “Behold the power of this girl’s virtue! She how the garden that was dried up has been restored to its former state in a twinkling of an eye! Great must be her merit; fortunate indeed is she! Her life is truly fruitful, for the gods wait upon her and through her work such miracles! Indeed, this merchant Māṇibhadda is no less blessed, for this young girl, like a magic wishing jewel, resides in his house.” As the people all praised her with words like these, the girl reached the house. She first offered food to the monks, nuns, and pious lay men and women and then she broke her fast herself.
‘Now one night in the last watch she woke up from her sleep and began to think about all of the things that had happened to her. She concluded, “They are truly fortunate in this world who give up all the pleasures of the senses, and free from attachments renounce the world and devote themselves to the practice of austerities and restraints. But I am a miserable creature indeed, stuck here, hankering after pleasures of the senses. Indeed, I am so wicked that I do not even get what I long for. My only good fortune is that I have obtained the doctrine of the Lords of the Jinas, which is beyond compare, a boat to cross the ocean of transmigratory existence. Now that I have obtained that doctrine it is only right for me to renounce completely all worldly pleasures and possessions and become a nun. But I am afraid that I am unable to do that. Instead I will practice intense austerities right here at home.” This was what she thought, and when morning came she began to carry it all out. Her body became emaciated from her austerities and in the end she renounced all food. Following the proper rituals, she died the pious death of a devout Jain. She was reborn as a god in heaven, and when she fell from there she was reborn as you, the daughter of a brahmin, named Vijjupah,Ā, whose lot contained some measure of suffering.
‘The merchant Māṇibhadda also became a god and then was reborn as a human being, and then as the snake prince. The sins that you committed while still in your father’s house, when you were deluded by a false religion, resulted in the suffering that you had to endure. The good deeds that you did while in Māṇibhadda’s house resulted in the incomparable happiness that you enjoyed. Because you brought back to life the garden of the Jain temple, the snake prince gave you this garden, which follows you wherever you go. Because you had such strong faith in the doctrine of the Jinas you have been given this kingdom, which yields every possible worldly pleasure. Because you gave that beautiful triple umbrella to the Lord of the Jinas, you always walk in shade, as if under an umbrella. Because you gave things like betel to the temple, you always have these things to enjoy. All of this is the fruit of faith in the Jina: highest happiness as a god and, now here, the pleasures of a kingdom. In time you will even attain Final Release.’
When Ārāmasohā heard these words, she fell into a faint and collapsed on the ground, right before the eyes of all the onlookers. Her servants fanned her and she soon came to. She bowed down at the feet of the monk and humbly said, ‘I have remembered my past births and have now seen for myself everything that you told me through your supernatural knowledge. Having heard your words and seen my own deeds for myself, O master! I am now thoroughly disenchanted with worldly life. I will go take my leave of the king and then I wish to renounce the world at your feet, for only renunciation can put an end to the sufferings of countless rebirths.’
When the king heard these words of the queen, he said, ‘O Blessed One! Once a person knows all of this to be true, how can he continue to take delight in worldly existence? I will install our son Malayasundara on the throne and then I too will become a monk under your guidance.’ The Blessed One next spoke, ‘Sir, sir, do not lose a minute, for things in this world of the living are as evanescent as a drop of water on the tip of a blade of grass.’ ‘We will return at once,’ replied the king and queen, and they installed the prince as king to rule over his own home and over the kingdom. Having crowned the prince, both the king and the queen along with many of their retinue renounced the world at the feet of that monk in a lavish ceremony. The former king and queen followed the laws for renunciates, and in time became quite learned. The monk appointed both of them to positions of authority. They awakened to the truth many who were ready to accept the Jain doctrine, and in time they performed the ritual fast to death. Both were reborn in heaven. In time they will fall from there and be reborn as humans, and then as gods, and eventually they will obtain Final Release. Such is the incomparable fruit of faith in the Jina.
(from the Mūlasuddhiprakaraṇa of Pradyumnasūri, pp. 22-34)
29
DEVADHARA
There is on our very own continent of Jambudvīpa, in the land of Bharaha, in the territory of Kalinga, a city named Kancanapura, which surpasses the city of the Gods in its loveliness and all of its other wonderful qualities. There reigned King Bhīmaṇḍala, who with his great valour had conquered all of his enemies. He was greatly loved by all, and he surpassed even Indra, the king of the gods, with his handsomeness and other fine qualities. And his chief queen was Kittima,ī who was as obedient to his every wish as is the shadow that follows a man.
Now in this same city dwelt the merchant Sundara, chief amongst all of its wealthy inhabitants. His wife was Sundarī. Now all of the children that were born to her died. Though she did everything that she could, not a single one lived. Greatly saddened, she then thought:
‘Oh what good is my life, when I have not a single living child? My life is full of suffering; surely I must have accumulated not an ounce of merit, for not a single one of my children survives.
‘Surely I must have stolen great jewels from someone in a past life, an
d so my children die now, seemingly without cause.
‘Evil deeds that people so happily commit turn out to bear fruits like this, so terrible to endure.’
And while she was pained by such sad thoughts, her beloved friend Piyamaī, the wife of the feudatory prince Sūrapāla, who was now away in his home territory, came to see her. She said, ‘My goodness! Why do you seem so dejected?’ Sundarī said:
‘The secret that cannot be told even to a father mother, sister or brother, not even to a husband or a son, can always be told to a friend.
‘And so, my sister, I tell you. The cause of my distress is the death of my children.’ Piyamai said:
‘You must have done some harm to some living creature in a past life. That is why, no doubt, my beloved friend, you must suffer like this in this life.
‘But do not grieve. My dear husband has gone to his home territory, leaving me behind. I am pregnant. When my child is born I promise that I shall give it to you.’
Sundarī said, ‘In that case then come and stay in my house. I too am pregnant. And if by some lucky quirk we should both deliver at the same time, then that would be ideal. But we must not tell this to anyone,’ And her friend agreed to it all and stayed there with her in her house. And the deeds that they had each done in their past lives determined things in such a way that they both gave birth at the same time. They exchanged the dead baby for the live one. Now a few days later Piyamai died of childbed fever. And at the appropriate time Sundarī, summoning all the merchants and other people, named the baby Devadhara. He grew up and soon turned eight years old.
Now when he had mastered all the seventy-two arts, because of some bad deed he had committed in a previous life both his mother and his father died. His entire family line was wiped out and all of their considerable wealth was lost. He suddenly found himself alone, in the grip of dire poverty. With no other way open to him to support himself, he began to work as a servant in the home of the merchant Dhanasetthi. He was given his meals there as well. Because he was well brought up and because he was a pious Jain, he went to worship in the Jain temples every day. He worshipped the Jain images and he went to the monasteries and nunneries to bow down to the monks and nuns. And so time went on until one day on some occasion or another, Sampayā, the wife of the merchant, gave him particularly fine food to eat. Now at that very moment a pair of the most excellent Jain monks arrived there. They had abandoned all attachments; they had mortified their bodies with many strict ascetic practices; they had studied all the eleven Jain texts; they had conquered that most difficult of enemies, the God of Love.
They were protected by the three protectors, watchful of mind, speech and body; they practiced the five acts of attentiveness in everything that they did, in walking, in speaking, in eating, in receiving, in excreting, so as to avoid any harm to any living creature; they were possessed of moral courage, and they regarded everyone as equal, friend and enemy alike.
And when he saw them, Devadhara, his body rippling with joy, thought, ‘Oh! Today I have acquired the means to do good, something that is not easily acquired.
‘The recipient is pure, the gift is pure, and the mind of the giver is pure. All three are propitious, because of some good act that I have done in the past. I shall make my life fruitful by giving this food to these monks.’
With this thought he went and bowed his lotus-like head at the feet of the monks and proclaimed, ‘Blessed Ones! Show favour to me by accepting this gift.’
And the monks realized the strong faith that motivated him and said, ‘You give us too little, layman!’ And they held back their begging bowls.
And as the monks kept saying, ‘More, more,’ he became agitated and put all that he had into their bowls.
Thinking, ‘Today I have fulfilled all my desires,’ he sat down right there, placing his plate in front of him.
At that moment the merchant, who had gone inside to worship before he took his meals, saw Devadhara there. He said to his wife Sampayā, ‘Give something to Devadhara.’ She said, ‘I gave him all sorts of wonderful things, but he has given all he had to some monks.’ The merchant said, ‘He is lucky to have done something like that. Give him some more.’ She said, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ The merchant said, ‘Do not grumble and complain where you ought to rejoice and encourage a good deed. For by rejoicing in a pious deed a person can share in the merit it brings. For it is said:
Both the person who himself does what is good and the one who rejoices in the good deeds that others do obtain a good result. Consider the story you know so well of the deer who rejoiced in the gift made by the carpenter to the monk Baladeva, and who died right then and there with the monk and the carpenter and achieved the same great result as they did, a long life in heaven.
‘Let us both share in the fruit of his good deed by rejoicing in what he has done. Give him something else to eat right away.’ And with these words he went in to worship the gods. Sampayā got busy and had not yet had the chance to serve Devadhara, when he finally got mad and began to think:
‘How painful is poverty, which causes good men who should command respect and pull great weight, as a mountain stands mighty and firm, to be treated in this world as if they were of no more substance than the lightest blade of grass or cotton fluff.
‘What use is the life of those men who are pained by the burning fires of poverty and who must ever endure contempt and scorn from others who are scarcely their equal?
‘It is wealth alone of all the ends of man that in this world is paramount. For with it even men who are full of faults become greatly honored in this world.
‘Fortunate indeed are those who have put a lasting end to all humiliation; those men are honored in the triple world, heaven, earth and the world below, who have become monks and are freed from all sin.
‘But I am truly wretched. I cannot become a monk and I must therefore endure this terrible pain of being humiliated.’
While he was thinking in this way the merchant came out. And he saw him sitting there, still with an empty plate. The merchant said to him, ‘Get up, my child! Come and eat with me.’ And so Devadhara got up and he ate the very best of foods with the merchant. And the time passed for Devadhara, who would acquire the wealth of a great kingdom in this very life through the power of the gift that he had given to those monks; who was devoted to honoring the Jinas and the Jain monks and nuns, and who had yet to live out the fruit of the actions that he had done in a past life and which necessitated that he yet suffer some unhappiness in this life.
Now there also lived in that city a merchant named Rayaṇasāra. His wife was Mahalacchī. And as they enjoyed together the delights of love Mahalacchī became pregnant. Now when the child was just six months in the womb the merchant passed away. And when her time came, Mahalacchī gave birth to a daughter who surpassed even the women of the gods in beauty and was endowed with every auspicious mark. But the king took away all of her husband’s wealth, leaving only a meagre amount for the support of the daughter, on the grounds that the merchant had no male offspring. When the time came Mahalacchī named the girl Rāyasirī. As she grew up, her mother used the money that the king had released for her use to have her educated in all of the arts.
In time, greatly pained by the death of her husband and the loss of her wealth and much troubled, Mahalacchī died. Rāyasirī was taken by her maternal aunt whose name was Lacchī. Lacchī went out to work in the homes of the wealthy so that she might support Rāyasirī. Now Rāyasirī was a pious Jain and she worshipped the Jina images every day and honored the Jain nuns and monks. She also constantly upbraided herself because she was unable to practice such pious acts as giving to others.
‘Alas, alas! What use is this life of mine which is totally worthless and which leads to no good result either in this world or in the next! It is no better than the useless breast that hangs from the neck of a goat.
‘In this life so bereft of merit am I that I am eating alive my very own aunt, who is l
ike a mother to me, making her slave for me and do such harsh tasks.
‘I cannot bear to eat without being able to give some food to some worthy person; my food eaten alone lacks all savour, but I have no wealth or goods that allow me to give.’
And then one day her aunt received four choice sweetmeats as a gift for the work that she had done in the home of a wealthy merchant.
She said to Rāyasirī, ‘Sit down, my daughter, and eat. Today I brought you some fine cakes.’
Now the young girl sat down and as she took the sweets, she glanced at the door. She was thinking, ‘Oh, if only someone would come, how fine that would be!
‘If I could only give these delicious things which my aunt has brought me today to some worthy person, I could fulfill all of my deepest desires and make my life one worth living.’
And at that very moment fate decreed that some Jain nuns came there in search of alms. They were endowed with every virtue and had taken upon themselves that most difficult vow of chastity. Their bodies were thin from the ravages of their strict ascetic practices.
The Forest of Thieves and the Magic Garden: An Anthology of Medieval Jain Stories (Penguin Classics) Page 29