Buddhist Scriptures

by Donald Lopez

  The story below occurs in one of the earliest and most famous avadāna collections, the AvadānaŚataka (One Hundred Legends,), a Sanskrit work of the Sarvāstivādin school, dating from around 100 CE. In this collection, ghosts explain the sinful deeds they did in the past that resulted in their sad fate, gods tell of the good deeds that caused them to be reborn in heaven. Monks and nuns who have achieved nirvāṇa explain what they did in past lives that led them to enlightenment. And the Buddha explains what acts he performed that led to his present state.

  The Blessed Buddha was respected, venerated, esteemed and adored by kings, ministers, wealthy people, citizens, merchants, traders, devas, nāgas, yakṣas, asuras, garuḍas, kiṃnaras and mahoragas. Thus honoured by all such beings, the Blessed Buddha – well-known, of great merit, rich in the personal belongings of a monk [robe, alms-bowl, furnishings and medicine] – was dwelling in Śrāvastī with an assembly of disciples, at Prince Jeta’s grove, in Anāthapiṇḍada’s garden.

  At the time of the autumn season, the monks were stricken by illness. They were yellow and pale, their bodies emaciated and their limbs weak. But the Blessed One was free from disease, free from illness, healthy and strong. Seeing this, the monks addressed the Blessed One:

  ‘Look, Venerable One, these monks are stricken by an autumnal illness. They are yellow and pale, their bodies emaciated and their limbs weak. But the Blessed One is free from disease, free from illness, strong and healthy by nature, endowed with a stomach whose digestion is regular.’

  The Blessed One said: ‘Formerly, monks, in other births, the Tathāgata alone performed certain acts. These acts have accumulated, their necessary requirements have been met, their conditions have ripened, they rush towards one like a rapid flow, their consequences are inevitable. I am the one who performed and accumulated these acts – who else would experience their fruits? The acts that a person performs and accumulates, monks, do not bear fruit outside of that person – not in the earth, not in the water, not in fire and not in the air. Rather, the acts that a person performs, whether pure or impure, bear fruit in the body and mind that he receives.’

  Deeds do not perish, even after hundreds of aeons. When completeness is achieved and the time has arrived, they inevitably bear fruit for embodied beings.

  And with that, he launched into a story of the past.

  Formerly, monks, long ago, in the city of Vārāṇasī, a king named Padmaka ruled over his kingdom. It was prosperous, flourishing and safe; abundant in food and well-populated; tranquil and free of quarrels, fights, riots, or tumults; free of thievery and disease; rich in rice, sugar cane, cows and buffalo; self-contained and free of enemies; ruled over like an only son.

  Now, this king was faithful and good. He had a virtuous disposition and worked for the welfare of himself and others. He was compassionate and magnanimous, loved virtue and was affectionate towards living beings. He was a giver of everything, a renouncer of everything, one who gave without attachment and engaged in great generosity.

  Now, at that time in Vārāṇasī, because of a disturbance in the weather or the elements, an epidemic arose and most of the people in Vārāṇasī became ill. Seeing them, the king gave rise to compassion. ‘I must attend to them medically and save their lives,’ he thought.

  So the king gathered together all of the doctors residing within his territories; observed the cause, basis and effects of the people’s illness; and himself began to assemble all kinds of medicines and care for the sick. But although the people were treated for a long time and furnished with doctors, medicines, herbs and attendants, they failed to be cured.

  So the king summoned all of the doctors again and respectfully asked them: ‘Why am I having such a hard time curing these people?’

  The doctors, having considered his question and come to one opinion, told him both the good news and the bad news. ‘Lord,’ they said, ‘we believe the illness is a result of a disturbance in the weather or in the elements. However, Lord, there is one cure – the type of fish called a Rohita. If you can catch it, they can be cured.’

  So the king began the search for the Rohita fish. But even though many of the king’s men searched for it, the king was soon informed that the fish could not be caught.

  Later on, when the king went out for an excursion, the sick assembled together and said to the king: ‘Save us from this disease, Great King! Give us life!’ Hearing their suffering voices and their miserable, sad and depressed words, the king’s heart trembled out of compassion and his face was tearful and gloomy.

  He thought to himself: ‘Of what use to me is a life such as this? Of what use to me are kingship, sovereignty and supremacy? For I am unable to comfort others who are afflicted by suffering!’

  Having reflected thus, the king made a great gift of all his wealth and established his eldest son in the kingship, sovereignty and supremacy. He begged for the pardon of his relatives, citizens and ministers, and consoled those who were miserable. He undertook a vow consisting of eight parts. Then he ascended to the roof of his palace, threw down incense, flowers, perfumes, garlands and unguents and, facing towards the east, began to take a vow:

  ‘Seeing beings who have fallen into great misfortune and are tormented by disease, I will sacrifice my own cherished life. By these true words of truth, may I appear as a great Rohita fish in this sandy river!’

  Having spoken thus, he threw himself from the roof of the palace. As soon as he fell, he died and reappeared as a great Rohita fish in the sandy river. And the gods let loose a cry throughout the whole country:

  ‘This great Rohita fish has appeared like ambrosia in the sandy river for beings long tormented by great illness!’

  As soon as they heard this, a great crowd of people carrying baskets and gripping weapons in their hands came out, and, with various types of sharp weapons, they began to cut up the flesh of the fish while he was still alive. But even as his body was being carved up, the bodhisattva suffused those beings with love, and with his face flowing with tears, thought to himself:

  ‘My capture is a wonderful thing, since by means of my flesh and blood, these beings will be put at ease.’

  Thus, in this way, he satiated those beings with his own flesh and blood for twelve years, and he never turned his mind away from unsurpassed perfect awakening.

  When he had fully cured the people’s illness, the Rohita fish said these words:

  ‘Listen, you beings! I am King Padmaka! I have acquired this type of body for your sake through the sacrifice of my own life. Let your minds be appeased in my presence. When I have awakened to unsurpassed perfect awakening, I will liberate you from the supreme illness of saṃsāra and establish you in the supreme end of nirvāṇa?

  Upon hearing this, the crowd of people felt serene, and the king, ministers and citizens – honouring him with flowers, incense, garlands and unguents – undertook a vow:

  ‘O you who accomplish extremely difficult deeds, when you have awakened to unsurpassed perfect awakening, may we be your disciples!’

  The Blessed One concluded: ‘What do you think, monks? He who was, at that time, in that epoch, the king named Padmaka – 1 am he. It is because I made such sacrifices that I experienced perpetual well-being in saṃsāra, and even now – having awoken to unsurpassed, perfect awakening – am endowed with a stomach whose digestion is regular, by means of which everything I eat, drink, chew and enjoy is digested with perfect ease, and I am free of disease and have left illness behind.

  ‘Therefore, monks, this is the lesson to be learned: You must show compassion for all beings. This, monks, is the lesson to be learned.’

  Thus spoke the Blessed One. And the monks, delighted in mind, rejoiced at what the Blessed One had said.

  Translated by Reiko Ohnuma from Padmakāvadāna, Avadānaṣataka 31, in J. S. Speyer (ed.), AvadānaŚataka: A Century of Edifying Tales Belonging to the Hīnayāna, 2 vols., Bibliotheca Buddhica III (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1992; reprint of original edition, 1902–1909),
vol. 1, pp. 168–72.

  18

  A KING GIVES AWAY HIS HEAD

  In Buddhism, no deed is more universally praised than the act of giving (dāna). It is, of course, the charity of the laity towards monks and nuns that sustains the saṅgha. The giving of gifts in this life results in rebirth in the luxuriant heavens of the gods in the future. But giving is also important in the path to enlightenment. Bodhisattvas must perfect a set of virtues, called ‘perfections’ (pāramitā), over the course of many lifetimes. There are six such virtues enumerated in the Mahāyāna (giving, ethics, patience, effort, concentration and wisdom); there are ten in the Theravāda (giving, ethics, renunciation, wisdom, effort, patience, truthfulness, resolution, love and equanimity). Giving is the first in each list, and it is extolled above all others. In the stories of the Buddha’s past lives, when he was a bodhisattva, he practised giving in many different ways, and there are more accounts of his gift-giving than of any other virtuous deed. The most famous of all the jātaka stories is that of the bodhisattva ’s last human birth before his birth as Prince Siddhārtha. He was Prince Vessantara, who gave away all of his wealth, and then his children, and then his wife, before having them all restored to him.

  There are many things that can be given away. The most precious is one’s own body and there is a special category of giving described in Buddhist literature as ‘the gift of the body’. As in both the preceding and the following chapters, the bodhisattva may give up his body (or a part thereof) to feed those who are starving. Or, as in the story below, the bodhisattva may give away a part of his body, in this case his head, losing his life in the process, for no real reason other than that someone asked for it.

  This story is also an avadāna and, like other examples of the genre, is occasioned by a question to the Buddha about what events in the past led to a particular state of affairs in the present. The question that prompts the Buddha’s account here is why the Buddha’s two chief disciples, Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana, passed into nirvāṇa prior to the time of their natural death. The Buddha explains that they did so because they had completely destroyed the afflictions of desire, hatred and ignorance (in their various forms). However, he notes, even prior to their attainment of liberation in this life, they had been able to die at will. And he tells this story as an example of that ability.

  The premature deaths of Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana, in their previous lives as ministers to the generous king Candraprabha, are rather incidental to the narrative. The story instead is about this most generous of kings, who distributes his wealth among his subjects to create a Utopian kingdom; its beauties and pleasures are described in ornate detail. It is only when an evil yogin wishes to test the limits of the king’s charity that the happiness of the populace is threatened. The yogin, apparently motivated simply by perversity, asks the king to give him the gift of his own head. And the king, over the protests of his ministers (who die on the spot), the local deities and his subjects, happily complies. He explains that the gift of the head is a particularly potent gift in terms of the merit it accrues for the giver; indeed, he says that he has given his head away many times on the path to enlightenment. He then dedicates the merit of the gift of his head (see Chapter 60) to the goal of his achievement of buddhahood for the welfare of all beings, and cuts off his own head. The scene then returns to the present, where the Buddha explains that he had been the king, Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana had been his ministers, and Devadatta, his cousin and antagonist, had been the evil yogin.

  The story, written in an elegant classical Sanskrit, is found in the Divyāvadāna, a collection of thirty-eight legends, probably composed in the fourth century CE and associated with the Sarvāstivāda, a school that flourished in northwest India.

  Thus have I heard. At one time, the Blessed One was dwelling on Vulture Peak Mountain in Rājagṛha with a great assembly of 1,250 monks. The monks had given rise to doubt, so they asked the Blessed Buddha, who cuts through all doubt: ‘Why is it, Venerable One, that the venerable disciples Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana were liberated in the sphere of nirvāṇa-without-remainder before they could die the normal death that leads to the realm of the ancestors?’

  The Blessed One replied: ‘Why, monks, should you be surprised by the fact that the monks Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana were liberated in the sphere of nirvāṇa-without-remainder before they could die the normal death that leads to the realm of the ancestors? For this is a time when the assembly of monks headed by the Buddha endures, and the monks Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana were free of passion, hatred and delusion; liberated from birth, old age, illness, death, grief, lamentation, sorrow, despair and mental afflictions; free of craving and clinging; and had abandoned all egotism, possessiveness, self-conceit, evil propensities and evil dispositions.

  ‘However, even in the distant past, when Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana were still endowed with passion, hatred and delusion, and were not yet liberated from birth, old age, illness, death, grief, lamentation, sorrow, despair and mental afflictions – even then, they gave rise to a thought of faith in my presence, died, crossed over the Realm of Desire, and were reborn as gods in Brahmaloka before they could die the normal death that leads to the realm of the ancestors.

  ‘Listen, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Formerly, monks, in the distant past, there was a capital city called Bhadraśilā in the Northern Country. It was prosperous, thriving and secure, well-populated and abundantly provided with food. It was twelve leagues long and twelve leagues wide, square in shape and divided into sections by four gates, decorated with high-arched doorways, portals, windows and railings. It was full of varied jewels and merchants’ stores stocked with all kinds of goods. It was the dwelling of princes, ministers, householders, guild-leaders, governors and officials, and it resounded with the sounds of lutes, flutes, drums, bells, tabors, kettledrums, war drums and conch shells.

  Now, in that capital city, winds blew in the streets, intersections and crossroads – exceedingly delightful winds scented with aloe, sandalwood, aromatic powders and perennial flowers, tossing and blowing about. That capital city had armies of elephants, horses, vehicles and foot soldiers; it was adorned with chariots and wagons; its streets and avenues were broad and exceedingly charming; it was covered with beautiful raised flags and banners; it had arched doorways and portals inlaid with crescents of jewels; and it shone like the dwelling of the gods. It had lotus pools full of delicious, clear, cold water, adorned with water lilies and all types of fragrant lotuses. It was adorned with tanks, wells and springs, decorated with woods and gardens, covered with all kinds of trees, plants and flowers, and resounding with the cries of Indian cuckoos, parrots, myna birds, kokila birds, flocks of peacocks and pheasants.

  And in the capital city of Bhadraśilā, there was a certain royal pleasure-park called Maṇigarbha, adorned with various flowers, fruits, trees and bushes, full of wells, exceedingly delightful, resounding with the charming songs of geese, curlews, peacocks, parrots, myna birds, black cuckoos and pheasants. Indeed, the capital city of Bhadraśilā was very beautiful.

  In the capital city of Bhadraśilā, there was a king named Candraprabha. He was pleasing, handsome and gracious, endowed with the divine eye, a universal emperor of the four continents, a righteous dharma-king, autonomous, exercising kingship, sovereignty and overlordship in Jambudvīpa. Wherever King Candraprabha went, there was no darkness at all. Neither jewels nor lamps nor torches were led in front of him, but light went forth from King Candraprabha’s own body, like rays from the disk of the moon. It is for this reason that King Candraprabha’s name was Candraprabha [‘Moonlight’].

  Now, at that time in Jambudvīpa, there were 68,000 cities, the foremost of which was the capital city of Bhadraśilā. All of the cities were prosperous, thriving and secure, well-populated and abundantly provided with food. The people of Jambudvīpa were exempt from taxes, tolls and ferry-fees. They were pleasant and accomplished in farming. The villages, town
s, kingdoms and cities were as close together as a cock’s flight. And at that time in Jambudvīpa, people lived for 44,000 years.

  Now, the bodhisattva King Candraprabha was a giver of everything, a renouncer of everything, one who gave without attachment and engaged in great generosity. Setting out from the capital city of Bhadraśilā, he had four great sacrificial grounds built outside the city, at the four city gates. Parasols, flags, pillars and banners were raised, and when golden kettledrums had been beaten to summon the people, gifts were given and meritorious deeds were done. There was food for those who wanted food, drink for those who wanted drink, hard foods, soft foods, garlands, unguents, clothing, beds, furnishings, dwellings, lamps, parasols, chariots, ornaments, gold vessels full of silver and aromatic powders, silver vessels full of gold, bulls with golden horns, wish-giving cows and boys and girls adorned with all kinds of ornaments. There was also clothing in various colours, produced in various countries, charming in various ways – clothing made of silk, Chinese silk and white silk; beautiful clothing made of wool and Dukūla bark; clothing made of Aparānta cloth, bark cloth, Haryaṇī cloth, excellent woollen cloth, yellow cloak cloth, Banaras cloth, linen and so forth.

  King Candraprabha gave away so many gifts that all of the people of Jambudvīpa became rich, wealthy and great in property. King Candraprabha gave away so many elephants, horses, chariots and parasols as gifts that not even a single person in Jambudvīpa went about on foot. All of the people of Jambudvīpa went from park to park and village to village on the backs of elephants or in chariots yoked with four horses, made of silver or plated with gold, and furnished with umbrellas.

  Then it occurred to King Candraprabha: ‘Of what use to me are the trivial gifts that I have given? What if I were to offer gifts of clothing, ornaments and jewels just like mine, so that all of the people of Jambudvīpa could amuse themselves with the amusements of kings?’