The Jatakas
Page 28
With the solving of the riddles another key influence in the tale is introduced. Riddle-solving forms a central part of the accumulation of wisdom in Jatakas (as in Jataka 402). In Sri Lanka, they are still, to this day, a popular means of encoding medical, psychological and esoteric knowledge. 7 The riddles here have a particular significance: the earlier king had oriented his life by waiting upon the paccekabuddhas, ascetics who lived on his generosity in alms, every day at dawn and sunset. By recognizing the honour they were paid by the last king, and hence the true spiritual alignment of Mithila, the new king discovers the secrets encrypted in the old king’s riddles. In the time when there is no Buddhist path, there is no means for obtaining arahatship, which requires the teaching of a fully awakened Buddha. This curious shadow or absence hangs like a backdrop over all the Jatakas, but paccekabuddhas, barely mentioned in other nikayas, are a reminder that it is a temporary one, and that spirituality can never be lost completely. 8Many stories describe them and their path to enlightenment. 9 It is the yearning for their reassuring presence after they leave that leads the Bodhisatta to renunciation: the three simple and lyrical verses (vv. 22–4) in which he expresses his sense of loss at their departure—unexplained in the narrative—are a testament to the values they represent. In the last part of the story, striking images associated with paccekabuddhas in other Jatakas govern the Bodhisatta’s effort as he tries to take up the holy life. The tree that is beautiful but which bears no fruit, an analogy for the life of the recluse, and the girl with a solitary bangle are both images famously described elsewhere as instigating the enlightenment of those who become paccekabuddhas. 10 Paccekas, in the absence of a teacher, were thought to find freedom through the teaching of a meaningful event. The Bodhisatta can never become a paccekabuddha: his ultimate aim is to become, in his last lifetime, a fully awakened Buddha, who can teach a complete way to others. Even up to his final departure, however, with the obliteration of footprints that might find him, his efforts to take up the holy life are punctuated by a series of memorable events and encounters that align him with these often silent and mysterious figures, the paccekas; like them he finds his path on his own, but others cannot follow him.
Key events in the story are resolved in an almost palpable silence. While there is great poetry, skilled debate between protagonists and an extensive eulogy to the city of Mithila (vv. 25–115), major agreements are unspoken. Mahajanaka’s assessment of the crowd as his subjects while lying on the stone, Sivali’s acceptance of him as her husband and her placing of the golden pin to help him answer the riddle about the head of the bed, all take place without discussion. The populace complain of the king’s silence when he has assumed the attitude of a paccekabuddha (v. 21). The king copies their walk and behaviour, not their speech, to prepare himself for his departure. When he passes down from the palace Sivali silently and symbolically frees him to renounce his kingship by paying respects to the man she thinks is a paccekabuddha: though the fact that she thinks it is such a figure who has been teaching shows that these enlightened beings do teach sometimes. The little girl’s bangle is a silent teacher (vv. 157–9). The fletcher is silent when he has given his advice (vv. 165–7). Unlike the Vessantara Jataka (547), where the Bodhisatta revives his swooning wife, Mahajanaka disappears without a word into the forest when she is unconscious: his strenuous attempts to dismiss her, and hence the crowds that follow her, have been to no avail. 11 Although the king’s rejection of Sivali in this story seems cruel, those who heard the story would have seen it as part of the Bodhisatta’s larger search, which culminates in Buddhahood, at a time when he can teach Sivali to find enlightenment for herself. In this story she seems to represent the lay life and her people; his is a particularly lone way.
As if to highlight the power of silence, a special place is also accorded to the role of noise and music in this Jataka. Musical instruments accompany the wonderful carriage and roar like the sea to greet the Bodhisatta. Songs and music at his first festival are like the roar of the Yugandhara ocean. The first thing people notice about him when he becomes a recluse is that he does not listen to songs or music (v. 20). The renunciate king remembers the music before the visual beauty that had accompanied his entrance to the garden where he saw the two trees (vv. 144–9). The twofold structure of the story seems to create a parallel between Mahajanaka’s lone escape from the waters and his attempts to become an ascetic. A noise, compared to village games, is produced by the streaming crowds that surround him as he leaves (v.129). In the vow that opens this book the Bodhisatta describes himself as one who will take others across the sea of existence. 12 Perhaps because it is a tale about the development of heroic effort, however, the most famous scene in this story is the rescue by the goddess of a man on his own. It is a curious and even contradictory image for this perfection—and apt in a story so influenced by the paccekabuddhas, who find enlightenment for themselves (samam). The hero, as Bodhisatta, cannot find complete release in this lifetime and so does not become one of their number, but this Jataka bears the stamp of their solitary path. 13
Story from the present
‘Who is this in the middle of the ocean?‘
While staying at the Jetavana Grove the Teacher told this story about renunciation. One day the monks sat down in the dhamma hall and were praising the great renunciation of the Thus-gone. The Teacher came in and said, ‘So what then, bhikkhus, have you been discussing while you have been meeting together?’ They told him the subject. ‘This, bhikkhus, is not the first occasion that I have made a great renunciation.’ And he narrated this story about times long past.
Story from the past
Once upon a time at Mithila, in the kingdom of Videha, a king ruled called Mahajanaka. 14 He had two sons, Aritthajanaka and Polajanaka. The king handed over the viceroyship to the elder of these and the position of leader of the army to the younger. In course of time Mahajanaka died and Aritthajanaka became the king and gave the viceroyship to the other. A certain foot servant of his went into the presence of the king and said, ‘Sire, the viceroy wishes to kill you.’ When he heard this story from him again and again the king became divided from Polajanaka and had him placed in chains and put in a house near the royal palace. He ordered him to be put under guard. The prince made a declaration of truth: 15‘If I have been an enemy to my brother, may my chains not become loosened and may the door not open; if I have not, may my chains loosen and may the door open.’ Sure enough the bonds [31] broke, chain by chain, and the door opened. So he left and went to a border town and set up house; the inhabitants of the border town recognized him and waited upon him. The king could not manage to get him captured. Polajanaka eventually went to the borderland that had come into his possession, with a large retinue, saying, ‘I was not my brother’s enemy before, but I certainly am now.’ So he went to Mithila with a large following of people and settled his army outside the city. The city dwellers heard, ‘Polajanaka has come,’ and almost all went, with elephants and other vehicles, to join him; and other cities also came. He sent a message to his brother: ‘I was not your enemy before, but now I am. Give me the royal parasol—or battle.’ The king went to give him battle and warned his chief queen: ‘Dear lady, it is impossible to know in war whether there will be victory or defeat, or if I should meet with a fatal injury. Please guard our unborn child.’ Saying this, he left. Then, in battle Polajanaka’s warriors killed him.
When it was reported that the king was dead there was confusion in the entire city. The queen heard of his death and as quickly as possible she laid gold and other treasures into a basket, spread a small cloth over it and sprinkled husked rice over that. She then dressed herself in a stained garment and, making her body look unattractive, put the basket on her head and left early in the day, so that no one would recognize her. She left by the northern gate. As she had not been anywhere before she did not know the road and could not work out the directions, but she had heard that there was a city called Campa. So she sat down and asked if
there were people going to Campa.
Now, the child in her womb was not just anyone, but the Great Being, who had taken rebirth and was filled with the perfections; the world of Sakka shook with his glory. And Sakka, wondering, realized the cause of this: ‘In this lady’s womb a being of great merit has taken rebirth; I must go.’ When he had decided this he conjured up a covered chariot and prepared a couch in it and, as if he were an old man driving the carriage, stood at the door of the house where she was sitting and asked if there was anyone wanting to go to Campa. ‘I would like to, sir.’ [32] ‘Then, good lady, get up into my carriage.’ ‘But sir. I am very far gone in my pregnancy and it is not possible for me to get into the carriage. I’ll go behind, just give me space for this basket.’ ‘What are you saying, dear lady? For sure, there is no one as strong in the skill of driving a carriage as me. Don’t worry, just get up into the carriage and sit down.’ Through his powers he caused the earth to rise just at the moment when she was getting into the carriage so that it joined the back of it. Realizing that this was a god she got on the couch and lay down. And the moment that she lay down on the divine bed, she fell fast asleep. When Sakka had gone a distance of thirty yojanas and come to a river, he woke her up. ‘Madam, get down and bathe in the river. At the head of the bed there is a cloak. Put it on. There is a pan-cooked cake at the front of the carriage; eat that,’ he said. As soon as she had done so she fell fast asleep again. When it was evening they reached Campa and she saw the gate, the watchtower and the walls. ‘What is this city?’ she asked. He replied that it was the city of Campa. ‘How do you explain this, sir? Surely the distance from our city to Campa is a good seven yojanas?’ ‘Certainly lady, but I know a direct route.’ He then got her to get down by the southern gate. ‘Lady, my village is further on—you enter the city here.’ When he had said this Sakka went on ahead and then vanished and went back to his own realm.
The queen sat down in a certain hall. At that moment a certain citizen of Campa, a brahmin reciter of verses with a retinue of five hundred young attendants, was on his way to bathe and saw her sitting there, lovely and restored to beauty. The moment he saw her, by the power of the being in her womb, he conceived the great affection that one feels for a younger sister. Seeing that the youths remained standing there he entered the hall alone, addressed her as sister and asked her in which city she lived. She replied that she was the principal queen of King Aritthajanaka of Mithila. ‘Why have you come here?’ he asked. ‘The king has been killed by Polajanaka, and I was frightened, thinking that I must escape to protect my baby.’ ‘Have you any relative in this city?’ he asked. ‘None, sir,’ she said. ‘Then do not worry, I am a brahmin of the north, a teacher from a great house whose fame is widespread. I will install you as my sister and look after you. Call me brother and clasp my feet in grief.’ She fell at his feet and made a great lament, and they each grieved over the other. [33] His attendants ran up and asked, ‘What is going on, teacher?’ ‘This is my younger sister; she was born at a certain time when I was not there,’ he said. They replied, ‘Do not be troubled as from now on you will be able to see her.’
So he brought a large covered carriage and sat her in it. Saying to the driver, ‘Good man, tell my wife that this is my sister and tell her to take care of everything,’ he sent her home. His wife saw that she bathed in hot water, had a bed prepared for her and got her to rest. When the brahmin had bathed and come home at the time of the meal he said, ‘Sister, please dine with me.’ And he ate together with her and continued to watch over her within his house. Not long afterwards she gave birth to a son, and he was called Prince Mahajanaka, after his grandfather. And as he grew up he played with other boys, and when they teased him with their own pure and high-caste birth he would hit them hard on account of his great strength and stout heart. They used to wail with a loud noise and when asked who had beaten them used to say that it was ‘the widow’s son’. The prince wondered why they kept on calling him ‘the widow’s son’ and decided to consult his mother. One day he asked her: ‘Mother, who was my father?’ She deceived him and said, ‘My child, the brahmin is your father.’ When they hit him on another day and called him ‘the widow’s son’ he replied, ‘Actually, I am the brahmin’s son’. They said, ‘What has the brahmin to do with you?’ So he thought about this. ‘They ask me what the brahmin has to do with me, and my mother does not explain the reason and will not do so out of pride in herself. I’ll make sure she does explain it to me.’ While drinking at her breast he bit her there and said, ‘Tell me about my father, or I will cut your breast off.’ 16 This time she was unable to deceive him and explained, ‘You are the son of king Aritthajanaka of Mithila. Your father was killed by Polajanaka. I came to this city so that I could protect you. The brahmin installed me as a younger sister and took care of me.’ And from that time on he was no longer angry when he was called ‘the widow’s son’.
Before he was sixteen he had learnt the three Vedas and all kinds of skills [34] and by the time he was sixteen he had become surpassingly handsome. Then he thought, ‘I will seize the kingdom that belonged to my father.’ He asked his mother, ‘Mother, have you got any wealth to hand? If you do not, I will make some money and then seize the kingdom that belonged to my father.’ She said, ‘I did not come here empty-handed. There is a quantity of pearls, jewels and diamonds of great value for taking the kingdom. 17 Take it and claim the kingdom: do not ply any trade.’ He replied, ‘Mother, give me the wealth here, but I will take only half now. I will go to the Beautiful Land and bring back a large fortune and then seize the kingdom.’ He got her to bring him half, collected his merchandise and put it on board a ship with some merchants setting out for the Beautiful Land. Then he said goodbye to his mother. When he told her where he was going she said, ‘My son, there is not much success to be found at sea but there is a great deal of danger. Do not go, there is plenty of wealth for you to claim the kingdom.’ He said, ‘I must go, mother.’ And so, bidding her farewell, he went on board the boat. On that very day an illness struck Polajanaka’s body and he could not rise from his bed.
On board there were seven hundred legs 18 and in seven days the boat went seven hundred yojanas, but it sailed so fiercely that it could not hold out and its boards split. The water rose higher and higher and the boat plunged into the midst of the ocean, while all the passengers and crew moaned and cried and invoked various gods. The Great Being, however, did not moan or cry or pray to deities but, seeing that the boat was about to sink, he beat together some ghee with sugar, ate a bellyful and then smeared two outer garments with sesame oil, tied them on tightly and stood leaning against the mast. When the boat did sink the mast stayed upright. The people on board became food for the fishes and tortoises while the water all around became red with blood. The Great Being, standing at the mast, determined the direction in which Mithilaay and leapt from the mast, passing beyond the fishes and tortoises so that he fell one hundred and forty cubits from the boat. On that very day Polajanaka died. From then the Great Being went through the crystal-coloured waves and crossed the ocean like a heap of gold, and he spent seven days as if they were one. [35] Then he saw the shore, and washed his mouth out with salt water 19 as it was an uposatha day. Now, a daughter of the gods called Manimekhala, or Jewelled-girdle, had been appointed by the Four Guardian Kings as the protector of the oceans and told, ‘It is not right for those who have reverence towards the mother and other such qualities to fall into the sea: look out for them.’ 20 She did not watch the ocean for seven days, for it is said that her mindfulness had been forgotten while she enjoyed the results of bliss; though some say that she had met up with some shining gods. At any rate she said to herself, ‘It has been seven days since I have kept watch on the sea. I wonder who has come by?’ When she looked she saw the Great Being. She thought, ‘If Prince Mahajanaka should perish in the ocean I would not keep my admission into the assembly of shining gods’. She assumed a well-adorned appearance and stood in the air not far from the Bod
hisatta. As a test of his mettle she uttered the first verse:
1. ‘Who are you, struggling, out of sight of the shore, in the middle of the ocean?
What aim do you pursue, and, knowing this, are making an effort so manfully?’
Then the Great Being said, ‘Today is the seventh day that I have been crossing the ocean. I have seen no other being before. Who is it who is speaking to me?’ As he gazed into the air and saw her he uttered a second verse:
2. ‘Careful of my vow to struggle in the world, O Goddess:
because of this I struggle, out of sight of the shore, in the middle of the ocean.’
Wishing to hear a dhamma talk she spoke a third verse:
3. ‘In the deep and measureless [sea] where no shore can be seen your human struggle is useless, you will not reach the shore and you will die!’
Then the Great Being replied, ‘What are you saying? If I die making all this effort I will be free from any blame.’ And he uttered this verse:
4. [36] ‘He that does things that should be done by humans is free from debt,
to relatives or to shining gods or to ancestors, and feels no regret afterwards.’
And then the goddess spoke this verse:
5. ‘What is the point of effort if the deed cannot be achieved,
is fruitless and exhausting, and has death as the product?’ 21
When she had said this the Great Being bewildered her by speaking more verses:
6. ‘Whoever considers the deed ever unattainable, O Goddess,
will not protect his own life; he will know this if he gives up.
7. Some in this world, Goddess, undertake deeds for the fruit of their intention;
some deeds prosper and some do not.