by Sarah Shaw
Character is also examined with painstaking precision through the events of the story. The charioteer, a particularly crucial figure, occupies a role kin to that of a Greek tragic chorus, voicing in the midst of heroic struggle the immediate concerns of the common man. His removal of the boy from his mother is touchingly poignant: he carefully extracts the boy from his mother by trying not to touch her, ‘. . . with the heel of his palm he removed the queen, who was lying in an embrace with her son, lifted the boy like a bunch of flowers and left the palace’. He exhibits disbelief that the boy has the use of his faculties, then straightforwardly expresses self-seeking concern that he will lose out on gifts from the royal family by not bringing the boy back alive (vv. 20–3). After such speeches as the Bodhisatta’s graceful and unadorned eulogy to friendship (vv. 12–21), he develops the conviction that he too should become an ascetic, though, after discussion with the prince, he sees the pitfalls which must be negotiated first. When he returns to the queen he is sensitive to her distress but careful to ensure that he will not be punished for any account of events. In all these encounters the charioteer’s sense of diplomacy and pragmatism gives a non-heroic counterpoint to the unfolding drama, that allows a link to be made between two uncompromisingly opposed kinds of life. His is the ordinary response of the subject in the kingdom, obliged to obey orders such as in the command to execute the prince, yet also kindly in the fulfilment of his duty and ready to be convinced, in the end, of the happiness of the ascetic path once that duty has been discharged.
The other principal characters are treated with a sensitivity and care that ensure that our sympathies are maintained in the drama of the testing of will. The mother’s love for her son is movingly portrayed in her spoken entreaties and attempts to awaken his intelligence. Her terrible grief, despairing castigation of the charioteer on his return and her restoration to happiness are all conveyed with a skilled lightness of touch. It is a subtle and well-crafted feature of the story that her relief at hearing that her son is alive and well is not recounted, in a manner which would delay the plot, but simply assumed. Her lonely, bitter questions in verse (vv. 54–5) confront the charioteer on his return; but when the news is delivered the story cuts back to Temiya, back in the forest, without further mention of her. We meet her again when a suitable time has elapsed for her complete restoration to happiness and vitality, after the journey outside the city gates in the company of the king. She can then embrace her son and comment in a mundane and plausibly maternal manner on the austerity of the ascetic’s food: a domestic detail that shows her established to good humour well before the crisis of the confrontation between king and son begins and the final departure of the court from the city.
It is, however, in Temiya’s relationship with his father that we see the real dramatic tension of the plot and the testing of the Bodhisatta’s resolve. This is voiced through the polarization and ensuing dialogue between the way of life embodied by the palace and city and that of the woods outside the city limits. In the unmapped countryside lies the possibility of change and of real exploration of the mind. It is the place where people are ‘not in a hurry’, which can provide a space for meditation and the Bodhisatta path. Within the terms of thiss story, at any rate, such freedom is denied the king. As minister of justice he has had to perpetrate cruelties so that the rule of order can be sustained. He has had to deny his paternal feelings in the expulsion of his only son from his home. He even refuses, despite an earlier promise, all the initial requests of the promised boon from his queen. So when he first visits his son after the restoration to life he acts initially as an ambassador for the royal throne. But even in the interchange between them when he first arrives at the pleasing spot outside the city, the Bodhisatta’s authority is established as pre-eminent, acknowledged by the king himself in his avoidance of taking the higher seat. The confrontation is on the Bodhisatta’s own ground, not the king’s. In the loving dialogue of reunion, when their intimacy and friendship is suggested by lines which echo verbally one another’s speech (vv. 75–82), the Bodhisatta enquires not only about the king’s health, but his virtue too. Despite the king’s attempts at persuasion, with promises of the delights of sensory pleasure and of sons, the battle is already half lost. Gradually, through their discussion, the appeal of the holy life, outside the city limits, is seen to exert an inexorable pull. The king, at first determined to bring his son back, is convinced into becoming an ascetic too and his court and subjects follow likewise.
A sense of cheerful momentum draws the story to its end. The freshness of the queen’s response and that of the ladies to the idyll outside the kingdom is communicated with great immediacy and vigour; the king embraces his new life with delight and his subjects follow him with good heart. Despite the uncompromising insight of the Bodhisatta’s teaching, which voices his rejection of the unsatisfactoriness of the lay life, nothing is allowed to detract from making the movement of the court to the woods a natural and happy consummation of the plot. Court and city move to the place, supposed at first to be a charnel ground, which proves to be a ‘lovely spot’ (thanam phasukam), an oasis in the wilderness. The trees give fruit; the gods come down to protect and offer shelter where it is needed, sustenance is obtained without effort and even the animals ascend to a higher rebirth on death. Here, however romantically and implausibly, the Buddhist renunciate path is established for everyone, in what is intended to be an utterly delightful world of meditation practice, virtue and goodwill. As in the Mahasudassana sutta, unruly behaviour, a reminder of the irrepressibly degenerate possibilities of the mind, is represented by the amiable drunks: though in this Jataka one or two, in the absence of good drinking companions, even become ascetics too. 14 The fact that these trailers take a little longer to reach their goal gives some continuity for the lineage in the future, recorded in the lines at the end of the tale.
Despite the odd passivity of his resolve, the Bodhisatta’s skilful intention brings happiness for himself, the king, the court and subjects too. This final vision provides a highly adventurous enactment of Buddhist ideals in the world of humans. It voices a revolutionary, even subversive, message which perhaps explains the story’s popularity in countries such as Burma, where the state has, historically, been viewed with some suspicion. Whereas the Makhadeva Jataka (9) and the Mahasudassana Jataka (95) leave monarchy intact, in Temiya’s pastoral idyll no king, court, state or ministers are needed at all: it is a landscape where the real kingdom can be the mind itself. It seems unlikely that a genuine social utopia is being posited as an alternative to monarchic rule. Renunciation and resolve do produce external consequences but, as is the case with so many aspects of early Buddhist thought, their real arena is internal. The space where people ‘are not in a hurry’ and the ‘lovely spot’ which others perceive as a charnel ground, is, for the Buddhist, the space created by the practice of the eightfold path. 15It is not bound solely by laws of king or state, inspires others to pursue it too, and leaves tracks that are to those interested in power and status—the kings of other realms—at first bemused. In such a world, and within the spacious perspective of the resolve of the Bodhisatta vow, even the most officious state or state official cannot find a hold.
The last ten Jatakas are constantly depicted in temples in Thailand and this, as the first, is accorded a certain pre-eminence. The story is shown at Wat Yai Intharam at Chonburi in a spectacular painted mural that shows several events from Temiya’s life, culminating in the visit from his father when he has become an ascetic. 16 Its popularity seems to have been long-standing. At Bharhut it features in a sculpted plaque, which incorporates different elements from the story in an arrangement on one roundel. This shows the Bodhisatta as a child on his father’s lap, grown up standing behind Sunanda as he digs his grave and then delivering a discourse as an ascetic. 17 In Myanmar it is on one of the earliest extant depictions of a Jataka story, shown in a large terracotta plaque dating from the fifth century CE at Khin ba mound, Thayekhittaya, and also
features at the eleventh-century temple at Pagan. 18 In Sri Lanka it appears on the vestibule of the Tivanka shrine. 19
Story from the present
‘Do not show intelligence’
While staying in the Jetavana Grove the Teacher told this story about the higher renunciation. One day the monks were sitting together in the dhamma hall praising the nature of the great renunciation, as practised by the Blessed One. 20The Teacher came and asked, ‘What subject have you been discussing, while sitting together, bhikkhus?’ When they had described it he said, ‘No, bhikkhus, this renunciation, of leaving my kingdom, which I practised once I had fulfilled the perfections, was not marvellous. For when my knowledge was still unripe, and I was attaining the perfections, I left a kingdom then and renounced the world.’ When he had said this, at their request he narrated this story of long ago.
Story from the past
Once, long ago, a king called Kasi ruled justly in Varanasi. He had sixteen thousand wives, but not one of them had conceived a son or a daughter. The citizens met together in the same way as in the Kusa Jataka 21 and said, ‘Our king has no one to protect his lineage. Please pray for a son.’ The king ordered his sixteen thousand wives to pray for a son, but although they prayed and worshipped the moon and other deities, they did not conceive. But the chief queen, daughter of the king of Madda, called Queen Canda, was endowed with great virtue, and the king asked her to pray for a son too. So on the full-moon day she kept the uposatha and while lying on her little bed she reflected upon her own good conduct and made a declaration of truth: ‘If my good conduct is unbroken, by this truth may a son be born to me.’ [2] By the power of her virtue Sakka’s dwelling became hot. Sakka noticed and realized the cause of this. ‘Queen Canda prays for a son; I’ll give her a son!’ he said. When he looked around he saw the Bodhisatta as suitable for her child. Before that time the Bodhisatta had been king in Varanasi for twenty years. After his death he had taken rebirth in an Annex hell (literally, ‘adjunct hell’) and suffered there for twenty thousand years and had then been reborn in the heaven of the Thirty-Three Gods. He remained there as long as his life lasted and, on dying, he wished to go to a higher heavenly world. Sakka went up to him though and said, ‘Dear sir, if you take rebirth in the human world the perfections will be fulfilled, and it will be a great benefit for people. The king of Kasi’s chief queen, called Canda, prays for a child. Take rebirth in her womb.’ He listened and assented and died, with five hundred shining gods, and took rebirth in her womb, while the gods took rebirth in the wombs of the ministers’ wives. The queen’s belly seemed as if it were filled with diamonds and when she knew that conception had occurred she informed the king.
The king had every care given to the growing baby and when the pregnancy was complete she gave birth to a son endowed with the auspicious marks. And on that day five hundred children were born in the ministers’ households. At that moment the king was sitting in the great hall surrounded by his ministers and they informed him, ‘A son is born to you, sire.’ When he heard the announcement affection for his son arose in him which pierced through his skin and the rest of his body and touched his very marrow. Joy arose within him and his heart was refreshed. He asked the ministers, ‘Are you pleased at the birth of my son?’ They replied, ‘What are you saying, sire? Before we were without a protector and now we have one, and have found a ruler.’ The king gave orders to his minister of war, ‘My son should have a retinue. Look around for as many children as have been born today.’ The minister saw the five hundred children and went and informed the king. The king ordered five hundred ornaments for the young nobles, and five hundred wet nurses too. For the Bodhisatta he gave sixty-four wet nurses, who were free from defects such as being too tall [3], who had breasts that did not hang down and who gave sweet milk. For if a child sits on the hip of a woman that is too tall and drinks her milk his neck will be long. If he sits on the hip of one who is too short his shoulder bone will be stunted. If he sits on the hip of one who is too thin his thighs will hurt. If she is too fat 22he will be bow-legged. If she is too dark he will be cold and if she is too pale he will be too hot. If children drink from a woman whose breasts hang down the tips of their noses will get squashed. Some women give sour milk, some bitter and so on. Therefore, avoiding all these faults, he provided sixty-four nurses, whose breasts did not hang down and who all gave sweet milk.
Paying great honour to the boy he also granted a wish to Queen Canda. She accepted it and kept it. On the naming day he paid great homage to the brahmins who were experts in reading the marks and asked them if there were any dangers ahead. They saw the good fortune of his marks and said, ‘Great King, the prince has auspicious marks of wealth and fortune. He is capable of ruling not just one continent but also four. No danger can be discerned.’ The king was delighted with them and they gave a name to his son. Now, on the day of the prince’s birth it had rained throughout the whole kingdom of Kasi, and he was born wet: therefore the king called him Prince Temiya (the Wet One). 23 When he was a month old they adorned him and brought him into the presence of the king. The king looked at his beloved son, embraced him and, setting him on his lap, sat playing with him. Now, at that moment four thieves were led in. For one of these he ordered a thousand lashes with whips barbed with thorns; for another; admission into prison in chains; for another, the striking of a blow with a sword; and for another, impalement. The Great Being heard his father speak and, terrified, thought to himself, ‘O no, my father, because of being king, is generating the grave kamma that brings rebirth in the Niraya hell!’
On the next day he was put to lie down on a regally arrayed bed under a white parasol. He slept just a little and when he woke up he opened his eyes and saw the white parasol and looked at the magnificent royal splendour. Even though he was already frightened, a terror arose that was still greater. He thought, [4] ‘From where have I come to this royal household?’ Remembering, with the knowledge of past lives, that he had come from a heaven realm he looked where he had been before and saw that he had been tormented in hell. Looking where he had been before that he saw that he had been king in that very city and considered, ‘I ruled the kingdom for twenty years, but was tormented in the Ussada hell for eighty thousand years. Yet again, I have taken rebirth in this house of thieves. My father gave such a harsh sentence to the four thieves that were brought in that he has ensured a hellish rebirth for himself. If I rule the kingdom I will take rebirth in hell and experience terrible suffering.’ As he turned this over in his mind great terror arose and his golden coloured body became pale like a withered lotus crushed in the hand. Worrying as to how he could escape from the house of thieves he lay himself down.
Now in the parasol there lived a shining goddess who had been his mother in an earlier life. She comforted him, saying, ‘Dear Temiya, do not be frightened. If you wish to go free from this world, although you are not a cripple, be a cripple. Although you are not deaf, be deaf. Although you are not dumb be dumb. Assuming these three characteristics, appear to be without intelligence.’ And she spoke the first verse:
1. ‘Do not show intelligence; seem foolish-minded to everyone.
Let everyone treat you with contempt
and in this way there will be benefit for you.’
Through her words he derived comfort and so replied: 2. ‘I will follow the advice which you have given to me, O goddess.
You are a well-wisher to me and want me to be safe, O goddess.’
When he had spoken the verse he resolved upon these three characteristics. For the sake of his son’s happiness the king had the five hundred nobles brought into the boy’s presence. When they cried for breast milk the Great Being, terrified with the fear of hell, did not cry, thinking, ‘Death from thirst is better than kingship.’ The nurses informed Queen Canda [5] about what had happened and she informed the king. The king called for the brahmins who read signs and consulted them. The brahmins said, ‘Sire, after the natural time for milk has passed it should be given t
o him. Then he will cry and take the breast eagerly and drink for himself.’ From then on they let the natural time elapse and gave him milk and sometimes they let one time period elapse and sometimes they let the whole day go and did not give him milk. Although he was thirsty he did not cry for milk, through fear of hell. Then his mother, thinking that her son was hungry, gave him her breast, as did the nurses, even though he did not cry for it. The other children cried when they did not get their milk but he did not cry nor sleep nor bend his hands and feet nor listen to a sound. The nurses pondered this: ‘His hands and feet are not like those of cripples; the end of his jaw is not like those that are dumb and the shape of his ear is not like those that are deaf. There must be a reason for this; let’s test him.’ So they decided to test him with cow’s milk and for the whole day they did not give him any milk. Although thirsty, he made no sound for milk. And then his mother said, ‘My son is thirsty, give him milk,’ and she had them give it. In this way, from time to time, they gave him milk and for one year they tested him and found no chink.
Then they said, ‘Children love eating cakes and pastries: let’s try him out with that.’ They sat the five hundred children near him, offered various pastries saying, ‘Take whatever pastries you like!’ and stayed hidden. The other children had quarrels and hit each other, grabbing the food and eating it. The Great Being thought, ‘Temiya, wish for cakes and pastries and you wish for hell!’ Through fear of hell he did not look at the pastries and though they tried him out in this way for a year they did not see a chink. Then they thought, ‘Different kinds of fruit are dear to children,’ and they brought various fruits to test him, whereupon [6] the other children squabbled and ate them, but he did not even look. In this way they tried him out with various kinds of fruit for a year. Then they thought, ‘A toy is dear to children’, and they brought elephants made of gold and other things and set them near him. The other children grabbed them as if plundering them but the Great Being did not look, and in this way they also tested him with toys for a year. ‘There is a food for four-year-olds—let’s test him with that,’ and they put various kinds of food near him. The other children ate it bit by bit but the Great Being thought, ‘Temiya, there is no counting your past births when food was not to be found.’ And through fear of the Niraya hell he did not look, and his mother, with her heart unable to bear it, fed him herself.