Chapter XXVIII.
Then the queen Tárádattá, the consort of king Kalingadatta in Takshaśilá, slowly became oppressed with the burden of her unborn child. And she, now that her delivery was near, being pale of countenance, with tremulous eyeballs,[1] resembled the East in which the pale streak of the young moon is about to rise. And there was soon born from her a daughter excelling all others, like a specimen of the Creator’s power to produce all beauty. The lights kept burning to protect the child against evil spirits, blazing with oil,[2] were eclipsed by her beauty, and darkened, as if through grief that a son of equal beauty had not been born instead. And her father Kalingadatta, when he saw her born, beautiful though she was, was filled with despondency at the disappointment of his hope to obtain a son like her. Though he divined that she was of heavenly origin, he was grieved because he longed for a son. For a son, being embodied joy, is far superior to a daughter, that is but a lump of grief. Then in his affliction, the king went out of his palace to divert his mind, and he entered a monastery full of many images of Buddha. In a certain part of the monastery, he heard this speech being uttered by a begging hermit, who was a religious preacher, as he sat in the midst of his hearers.
“They say that the bestowal of wealth in this world is great asceticism; a man who gives wealth is said to give life, for life depends on wealth. And Buddha, with mind full of pity, offered up himself for another, as if he were worthless straw, much more should one offer up sordid pelf. And it was by such resolute asceticism, that Buddha, having got rid of desire, and obtained heavenly insight, attained the rank of a Buddha. Therefore a wise man should do what is beneficial to other beings, by abstaining from selfish aspirations even so far as to sacrifice his own body, in order that he may obtain perfect insight.”