VIII. The Story of Maitrîbala.
Being afflicted by the sufferings of others, the intensely compassionate do not mind their own pleasure. This will be taught as follows.
At the time when the Bodhisattva, always having in view his purpose of saving the creatures, had fixed upon (the exercise of the pâramitâ of) compassion, as became his high-mindedness, and was always increasing in matchless virtues—charity, humility, self-restraint, tenderness, and the like, suitable for the benefit of the world, he was, it is said, a king kind-hearted towards all creatures, named Maitrîbala[66].
1, 2. This king felt the weal and the woe of his subjects as his own, and being skilled in the art of protecting them, he handled both his sword and his law in accordance with this feeling. Yet his sword was only an ornament to him, since the (other) kings waited for his orders, respectfully bowing their head-crests; his law, on the contrary, showed itself most openly in the measures he took for promoting the welfare of his people.
3. He dealt out punishments and rewards without infringing righteousness. In consequence of his goodness of heart and his political wisdom, he inquired into his subjects like a father.
So he ruled with righteousness, and while directing his veracity, his liberality, his tranquillity, his wisdom, and his other virtues to conduce to the welfare of others, he increased his store of exceedingly lofty actions, which are the due requisites for the attainment of Buddhahood. Now one day, five Yakshas, whom for some offence or other (Kubera) the Lord of the Yakshas had exiled from his dominions, came to his realm. These goblins were Ogohâras [that is, vigour-bereaving spirits], skilled in the art of killing others[67]. When they saw the kingdom exhibiting the aspect of the utmost prosperity, and became aware that the absence of every kind of calamity made the people rejoiced, satisfied, thriving, and in the habit of having merriment and manifold festivals, the desire of taking away the vigour from the inhabitants of that region arose within them.
4. But, though they did their usual work with the greatest effort, they were still not able to take away the vigour of the inhabitants of that country.
5. The power of that king was so excessive that his very intention of shielding proved the highest protection. For this reason those Yakshas were powerless to take away the vigour of his subjects.
And as they were not able to debilitate any one, living in that kingdom, however much they exerted themselves, they deliberated among themselves and said: 'How may this be, sirs?
6. 'They do not possess such superiorities of learning, penance, or magic as to enable them to obstruct our power, and yet all of us are reduced to impotency, so as to bear our appellation (of Ogohâras) in vain.'
And they assumed the shape of men of the Brâhman class, and going about, they saw a certain cowherd of those who live in the forest-region, who was sitting upon a grass-plot at the foot of a shady tree. He had shoes on his feet, and on his head he wore a garland, made of flowers and opening buds of forest-trees. His stick and his hatchet he had laid on the earth on his right. He was alone and occupied with twisting a rope, diverting himself meanwhile with singing and humming. Him they approached and imitating human voice[68], they said to him: 'Well, friend, thou who art charged with guarding the cows, how is it that staying thus alone in this lonely forest where no man is to be seen, thou are not afraid?' And he, looking at them, spoke: 'Of what should I be afraid?' The Yakshas said: 'Hast thou never before heard that such goblins as Yakshas, Râkshasas, or Pisâkas are cruel by nature?
7, 8. 'If men are in company and endowed with learning, penance, and svastyayana-charms,[69] even then, be they never so brave and contemptuous of fear, they will but narrowly escape those Râkshasas who feed on the flesh and fat of men. How, then, is it that thou art not afraid of them, thou who stayest without any comrade amidst these solitary, remote, and frightful forests?'
On hearing this, the cowherd laughed heartily, and said to them:
9, 10. 'Well, the people of this country are protected by a mighty svastyayana, so that even the Lord of the Devas himself has no power over them, how much less the flesh-eating goblins. So it happens that I wander fearless through the wilderness as if I stayed at home, at night as if it were day, and alone as if I were in a crowd.'
Upon this the Yakshas became very curious, and said to him respectfully, as if to encourage him: 'Why, you must tell us, gentle sir, you must tell us, of what kind this extraordinary svastyayana of yours is.' He answered them, laughing once more: 'Hear, then, of what kind this very wonderful excellent svastyayana of ours is.
11. 'It is he whose broad breast is equal to a plate of the Golden Mountain (Meru), he whose face displays the lovely beauty of the spotless moon in autumn, he whose long and full arms are like golden clubs, he who has the eyes of a bull and the gait of a bull. In short, it is our king.
'Of this kind our excellent svastyayana is.' And after saying these words, looking with resentment and astonishment in the face of the Yakshas, he continued: 'Ah! this is rather a wonder, is not it?
12. 'So renowned is the power of our king, and it has not come to your hearing! How has this happened? Or have you perhaps heard of it, but distrusting the excessive marvel of that fame, not minded it?
13. 'I suppose, the people of the country, from whence you have come hither, are either disinclined to search after virtue or indifferent about it; it may also be that, the store of their good fortune[70] being exhausted, the great renown of our king has shunned them.
'At all events, for you there is still some remnant of good fortune, since you are come here from such a savage country.'
The Yakshas said: 'Gentle sir, tell us, of what nature is this power of that king, that spirits are by no means able to hurt the inhabitants of his realm?' The cowherd replied: 'Our monarch has obtained this power through his high-mindedness. See, noble Brâhmans.
14. 'On friendliness does his strength rest, not on his motley-bannered army, which he keeps only to comply with custom. He knows no anger, nor does he speak harsh words. He protects his land in the proper manner. Righteousness is the rule of his actions, not political wisdom, that base science. His wealth serves to honour the virtuous. And endowed with those marvellous qualities, still he does not take unto himself either the wealth of the wicked, or pride.
'Such and many, many more virtues are to be found in our master. For this reason no calamities have the power to hurt the inhabitants of his realm. But how little is the information you may get from me! If you are curious to learn the excellent qualities of our king, it would rather be suitable for you to enter the capital. There you will behold the people in their every-day life; you will see how firm they stand in the (moral) bounds of the âryas, loving each the peculiar duties proper to him; how merry and thriving they are, in consequence of a constant abundance of food and uninterrupted welfare; how splendidly they are dressed, yet not presumptuously; how kind they are to worthy strangers who come to them as guests; how enraptured they are with the virtues of their king, the praises of whose glory they never cease to proclaim with gladness, as if they were uttering some auspicious and evil-averting charm. When beholding all this, you will obtain the standard for measuring the multitude of virtues possessed by our lord. And if you once begin to feel something like reverence for his virtues, you will witness them, for you will not fail to feel the desire for getting the sight of him.'
The Yakshas, being already moved with anger against the king on account of his obstructing the manifestation of their power, were in no way softened by this affectionate and well-deserved eulogy of his virtues.
15. Verily, as a rule the mind of fools[71] becomes inflamed the more by the praise of the object which has excited their fervent wrath.
Now considering that king's love of charity and wishing to do harm to him, they approached him at the time of his audience, and asked him for a meal. The king rejoiced, ordered his officers who stood in charge of such matters: 'Go and quickly present the Brâhmans with a delicious meal.' The Yakshas, however, were not ready to accept the meal served to them, though it might have suited the royal table, but spurning it, as tigers would green grass, said they did not feed on such dishes. On hearing which, the king went to them saying: 'But what sort of repast will agree with your digestion, that something of the kind may be fetched?'
The Yakshas answered:
16. 'Raw human flesh, freshly cut off and still warm, and human blood, O lotus-eyed monarch, is the food and drink of Yakshas, O you who are strict in keeping your engagements.'
After which, they reassumed their own disfigured and frightful features, exhibiting their mouths rendered ferocious by large teeth, their eyes fierce and red, flaming and squinting, their flat noses, wide-opened and misshapen. Their hair and beard had the tawny colour of flames, and their complexion was as dark as clouds big with rain. Looking at them, the king knew them to be goblins[72], not men, and understood that for that reason they did not like the food and drink served by his orders.
17. And according to his compassionate nature and his pure-heartedness, the pity of the monarch towards them increased by this reflection.
Absorbed with commiseration and pitying those Yakshas, he entered surely upon this thought:
18, 19. 'For a merciful man such food and drink is not only hard to be found, but it were also to be searched for day after day. Oh, the immense grief it would cause him! A cruel man may be either able to get it for them, or not. If not able, his effort would have no other effect than that of mere destruction; if able, what can be more miserable than such a one constantly exercising that evil practice?
20. 'These Yakshas, on the other hand, who live on food of that kind, with hearts wicked and pitiless, are destroying their own happiness every day. When will their sufferings ever end?
'This being so, how is it possible for me to procure such food for them? Not even for one single day could I injure others and destroy life.
21. 'Indeed, I do not remember having ever saddened the faces of those who came to me as supplicants, and bereaved them of splendour by the disappointment of their hopes, so as to make them appear like lotuses withered by the winter-wind.
'But, why muse any longer? I have found what I will do.
22, 23. 'I will give them lumps of solid and fat flesh and draughts of blood taken from my own body. What way, if not this, can be more suitable for me to supply the wants of those beggars seeking their relief from my side? For the flesh of animals who have died a natural death is cold and bloodless, and of course does not please them; and their hunger is great and attested by their afflicted figures.
'On the one hand, how may I take flesh out of the body of any other living being? On the other, how may I suffer them who have resorted to me, to draw off in this manner, with countenances languishing and eyes sunken in consequence of their hunger and thirst, and still more sick with grief because of the fruitlessness of their request on which they had founded their hopes? It is, therefore, the right time to act in this way.
24. 'Like a malignant ulcer, this body is always sick and an abode of pain. Now I will return it that grief by availing myself of it for the accomplishment of an extraordinary performance of surpassing loveliness.'
Having so resolved, the Great-minded One, whose eyes and face received increase of splendour by the outburst of his gladness, spoke thus to the Yakshas, pointing out his body to them:
25. 'If this flesh and blood, which I bear only for the good of the creatures, were now to be disposed of with the object of entertaining guests, I would deem this a good fortune for myself and of great consequence.'
The Yakshas, though knowing the determination of the king, could not believe it; so marvellous did it appear to them. And they said to him:
26. 'After the mendicant has unveiled his suffering by wretched asking, from that very moment it is the giver alone who ought to know what should be done in the case.'
The king, understanding that they assented, was much rejoiced, and ordered his physicians to be sent for, to have his veins opened. Now the royal ministers, understanding his determination to offer his own flesh and blood, became agitated, irritated, and perplexed by it, and prompted by their affection, spoke emphatically to this purport: 'We pray Your Majesty not to give way to your excessive love of charity in such a degree as to disregard the consequences of your actions, whether they are to be good or evil to your loyal and devoted subjects. Your Majesty cannot be ignorant of the nature of the evil spirits.
27. 'Goblins, you know, rejoice in whatsoever may tend to the mishap of your subjects, most illustrious lord. They get satisfied by a livelihood necessitating injury to others. Such is the nature of that class of beings, benevolent master.
28. 'You, Your Majesty, not minding your own pleasures, sustain the toilsome burden of royalty exclusively for the happiness of your people. Cease, therefore, from this determination of offering your flesh and blood; it is a wrong action.
29. 'These goblins have no power over your people, Your Majesty, no doubt, as long as your strength protects your subjects. So being obstructed in their cleverness in bringing about mischief, they seek the calamity of the inhabitants of this country by means of an adroit scheme.
30. 'In fact, the Celestials are pleased with fat, suet, and the like, offered to them in the fire at sacrifices, and these goblins should not like Your Majesty's food, that is excellent and pure, being carefully prepared!
'Surely, Your Royal Majesty is not obliged to communicate your designs to such as we. Notwithstanding this, the attachment to our duty forbids us to show in this matter our usual obedience. Can it be called a righteous action of Your Majesty to throw your whole people into calamity for the sake of those five? Moreover, for what reason do you make us feel to this degree your want of affection? How else could it happen that our flesh and blood, which we are employing in the service of our master, have remained unnoticed by you, but you form the desire of offering your own, while our bodies are entire and available?'
Then the king spoke to those ministers:
31. 'Being requested in distinct terms, how may anybody like me say "I have not," when having, or "I will not give," speaking falsely?
32. 'Since I pass for your leader in matters of righteousness, if I myself should walk in the wrong path, what would be the condition of my subjects, who are ready to follow the example of my behaviour?
33. 'Therefore, it is with regard to my very subjects that I will have the strength of my body taken out of it. Besides, if I were to be faint-hearted, subdued by self-love, what power should I have to promote the welfare of my people?
'As to the words of love and respect which you have spoken, words full of affection and cordial sympathy, when you asked why I showed such want of affection, wishing to offer my own limbs even now, while your flesh and blood are intact and available, I will convince you by argument. Surely, do not think that by want of trust I mean to close up the path in which you could show your affection towards me, or that suspicion has created an impenetrable thicket across it. Yet,
34. 'The proper time for friends to conceive the desire of succouring their friend is this, when his wealth has either diminished gradually, or has been destroyed by the disfavour of his destiny; but it would not befit the poor acting thus towards a wealthy man.
35. 'Now, my limbs are available. They are big, solid, fleshy. Them I do sustain for the sake of supplicants. This being so, it would be unfit even for you to conceive such a desire.
36. 'I am not capable of bearing the pain of strangers, how then can you suppose I should bear your suffering? Therefore, I wish to offer my own flesh. It is I, whom they ask, not you.
'Well, then, though attachment to my person gave you the courage to put obstacles in the way of my righteous behaviour, do not oppose my determination any longer. Verily, Your Lordships are not in the habit of dealing in the proper manner with my mendicants. Besides, you should also consider this.
37. 'He who prohibits any one wishing for his own sake to give in charity food or the like, say, by what appellation is he to be called, a pious man or an impious one? How much less can there be any doubt about this in the case of a gift of this character?
'Why then insist any longer? Do but examine the matter duly, and you will keep your thoughts from the wrong path, as befits those who occupy a ministership in my service. In fact, sympathetic words of approval would now become Your Lordships more than these anxious looks. Why do I say so?
38, 39. 'Beggars, wanting money and goods, objects of various employment, are to be found every day, are they not? but mendicants like these cannot be obtained even by propitiating deities. Now considering the frailness of my body and that it is an abode of woe, it would be meanness of mind, I think, even to hesitate at the time of the appearance of such uncommon mendicants; but miserable self-love would be here the deepest darkness.
'Pray, do not withhold me, then, My Lords.'
Having so persuaded his council, he sent for the physicians, and after having five veins in his body opened by them, he spoke to the Yakshas:
40. 'Deign to assist me in this pious performance and to procure for me the highest gladness by accepting this bounty.'
They assented and began to drink, intercepting with the hollow of their joint hands the king's blood, the dark colour of which resembled fragrant red sandal.
41. While allowing the nocturnal monsters to drink the blood from his wounds, the monarch shone as if his body were of gold, and he had the appearance of Mount Meru covered with rain-clouds hanging down by their weight, and tinged with the hue of the twilight.
42. In consequence of the high degree of his gladness, of his magnanimous forbearance, and also of his corporeal strength, his body did not fade, nor did his mind faint, and the flowing blood did not lessen.
The Yakshas, having quenched their intense thirst, said to the king that it was enough.
43. Considering that he had now disposed of his body, that always ungrateful object and abode of many pains, so as to turn it into a means of honouring mendicants, his satisfaction grew no less when they ceased.
Then the king, the serenity of whose countenance was enhanced by his expanding joy, took a sharp sword. It had a spotless bluish blade, not unlike a petal of the blue lotus, and a beautiful hilt shining with brilliancy by the lustre of the jewels which adorned it. With it he cut pieces of flesh out of his body and presented the Yakshas with them.
44. And the joy he experienced by giving did not leave room for the sense of pain caused by cutting, and prevented his mind again and again from being immersed in sorrow.
45. So the pain, pushing on at each stroke of the sharp sword, but driven far back again by his gladness, was slow in penetrating his mind, as if it were tired by the trouble of being urged to and fro.
46. And he was feeling a sense of gladness alone, whilst he satisfied the nocturnal goblins with pieces of his flesh, to such an extent that the cruel hearts of those very beings unclosed themselves to softness.
47. He who, moved by love of the Law or by compassion, abandons his own dear body for the benefit of others, such a man may be able to regenerate the hearts of men burnt by the fire of hatred, changing it into the gold of tenderness and faith[73].
The Yakshas, beholding the monarch, who, though intent on cutting out his own flesh, was yet as calm as ever, and exhibited an unshaken serenity of countenance and dauntless intrepidity against the pain caused by the work of his sword, became affected with the utmost tenderness and admiration.
48. 'Oh, it is a wonder! oh, it is a miracle! Can it be true, or is it perhaps a phantasm?' Such thoughts arose in their ecstatic minds; and the wrath they had fostered against the king was crushed, and they began to proclaim their faith by veneration and praise of his deed.
'No more, no more, Your Majesty,' they exclaimed; 'cease injuring your own body! This marvellous performance of yours, by which you win the hearts of all mendicants, has satisfied us.' So with great agitation, and respectfully bowing their heads, they bade the king stop; after which, they looked up to him with great regard, uplifting their faces moistened with tears of faithful contrition, and continued:
49. 'Justly people are prompted by devoutness to proclaim everywhere your glory. Justly Srî, disdaining the lotus-pond, loves to reside with you. Verily, if Heaven, though protected by Sakra's sovereignty, does not feel something like jealousy, when it looks down on this earth, guarded by your heroism—Heaven, forsooth, is deceived.
'Why use many words? Mankind is happy, indeed, being under the protection of such a person as you; but we, we are utterly distressed at having approved of your suffering. Yet, we hope that applying to such a being as you are, may prove a means of salvation for us, be we ever so wicked as we are. Thus hoping, we put this question to you.
50. 'What is that exceedingly marvellous rank for which you long, acting in this way without regard to your royal happiness, that beloved state which you possess at your ease?
51. 'Is it the sovereignty of the whole earth you covet by means of this penance, or is it the rank of Kubera or that of Indra, or entire deliverance and absorption into the Brahma?
52. 'Be it what it may, the goal you are striving after cannot be very far from this strong determination. If we are allowed to hear it, you would please us by telling it, sir.'
The king spoke: 'Hear then, for what I am exerting myself.
53-55. 'An illustrious high rank depends on existence, it is to be obtained by effort, and may be easily lost. It cannot give the pleasure of satisfaction, much less tend to serenity of mind. For this reason, I do not desire even the brilliancy of the Lord of the Devas, how much less, that of a king of the earth. Nor would my heart become content, if I were to succeed in destroying the suffering of myself alone[74]. I rather regard those helpless creatures, distressed by toil and sufferings because of the violent calamities and vices to which they are liable. For their sakes, may I by means of this my meritorious action attain All-knowingness, and vanquishing the evil passions, my enemies, may I save the creatures from the Ocean of Existence, that rough sea with its billows of old age, sickness and death!'
On hearing this, the Yakshas, the hairs on whose bodies bristled in consequence of the intense joy of faith, bowed to the king, and said: 'This performance of yours is consistent with your extraordinary determination. Accordingly we venture to express our conviction concerning it: the designs of such persons as you will be accomplished after a short time.
56, 57. 'No doubt, all your exertions tend to the salvation of all creatures; yet deign to take a special care of us, pray do not forget us at that time[75]. And now forgive us what we have done from ignorance, causing you to be thus tortured: we did not understand even our own interest.
58. 'Further, we beg you to show us your favour by giving us some injunction which we may follow. Do it with the same confidence, as you would to your own officials.'
Upon which the king, knowing them to be converted and to have lost their hard-heartedness, spoke in this manner: 'Do not be in trouble without reason. It is no torment, in fact it is a benefit you have conferred on me. Moreover,
59. 'The path of righteousness (dharma) being thus (difficult), how should I ever forget my companions on that road, when once I shall have attained Supreme Wisdom (bodhi)? My first teaching of the Lore of Liberation shall be to you; to you I shall impart of that ambrosia first.
60. 'And if you now intend to do what may be agreeable to me, you must avoid like poison these sins: doing harm to others, coveting the goods or wives of others, speaking evil, and drinking intoxicating liquors.'
The Yakshas promised to do so, and having bowed to him and circumambulated him from left to right, disappeared on the spot.
But when the Great Being had made up his mind to give away his own flesh and blood, at that very time
61, 62. Earth trembled in many places and caused the Golden Mountain to waver, in consequence of which concussion the drums on that mountain began to sound and the trees to cast off their flowers. These spread about in the sky, and moved by the wind appeared like a cloud; at one place, like a flight of birds, they resembled a canopy; at another they bore the appearance of a well-arranged garland. They fell down together on all sides of the place where the king was.
63. The great Ocean, as if he intended to prevent the monarch, showed his excitement and agitation by the increased commotion and noise of his waves, and his figure expressed great vigour as if he were ready to march[76].
64, 65. Then the Chief of the Devas became agitated by those phenomena; and discovering by reflection the cause of them, and being filled with apprehension at the sufferings to which the king exposed himself, hastily came to the royal residence, where he found every one perplexed with sorrow and fear, except the king. On beholding the calmness of his countenance, though he was in so miserable a condition, Sakra was affected with the utmost amazement. He approached the monarch, and impelled by gladness and joy, he eulogised his performance in his lovely voice.
66. 'Oh, thou hast reached the summit of pious behaviour! oh, the loftiness of thy treasure which is the practice of virtue! oh, how charmingly clever is thy mind in showing thy favour to others! Verily, being given to thee, Earth has obtained a protector!'
After so praising him, Sakra, the Lord of the Devas, applied excellent herbs, fit to heal wounds immediately, which herbs were partly divine, partly such as are used by men. So he put a stop to his pains, and made his body as it was before. In return for which the king honoured him by kind attendance in a courteous and reverent manner. Then Sakra went back to his own abode.
In this way, then, the intensely compassionate do not mind their own pleasure, being afflicted by the sufferings of others; [who, then, ought not to set aside the attachment to anything so mean as wealth? Thus ought to be said when stimulating the zeal of charitable people. Likewise, when explaining the virtue of compassion; when glorifying the Tathâgata; also on the subject of listening with attention to the preaching of the Law. Moreover, the words said by the Lord: 'Monks, these Five have done much, indeed,' will be explained by their being connected with this story. For they were the five Yakshas of that time. To them the Lord imparted the first of the ambrosia of the Law, just as he had promised.]
The story of Maitrîbala is not met with in the Kariyâpitaka nor in the five volumes of the Pâli Gâtaka, which have appeared up to date; it will probably be found in the part not yet published. Something like it is told in the ninety-first pallava of Kshemendra's Avadânakalpalatâ. There a king of the Sibis gives up his flesh and blood in order to obtain a sûkta or well-said sentence[77]. This tale, however, is not yet printed, nor may we expect it soon to be so. But in another part of that poem, already published, I have met with the story of king Manikûda, which bears in many respects a striking resemblance to ours. See 3, 56 foll.
IX. The Story of Visvantara.
The mean-spirited are not even capable of approving the behaviour of the Bodhisattva, how much less can they act after it. This will be taught by the following.
Once the Sibis were ruled by a king named Samgaya, who performed his royal duties in the right manner. Having entirely subdued his organs of sense, and possessing in a high degree the virtues of valour, discretion, and modesty, he was victorious and mighty. Thanks to the constant and strict observance he paid to the elders, he had mastered the essential contents of the three Vedas (trayî) and of metaphysics. His good administration of justice was praised by his affectionate subjects, who loved the exercise of their different trades and duties, and enjoyed the benefits of security and peace.
1. By the progress of his virtues he had gained the affection of Royal Felicity, who, like an honest woman, was faithful to him, not to be thought of by the other monarchs; just as a den kept by a lion is inaccessible to other animals.
2. All such men as spent their labours in any kind of penance, science or art, used to come up to him, and if they proved their merit, they obtained distinguished honour from him.
Next to him in dignity, but not his inferior by a famous set of virtues, his son Visvantara held the rank of heir-apparent.
3. Though a youth, he possessed the lovely placidity of mind proper to old age; though he was full of ardour, his natural disposition was inclined to forbearance; though learned, he was free from the conceit of knowledge; though mighty and illustrious, he was void of pride.
4. As the extent[78] of his virtue was conspicuous in all regions and his fame penetrated the three worlds, there was no room for the feeble and trifling reputations of others; it seemed as if they did not venture to show themselves.
5. He could not endure the proud prevalence of calamities and other causes of sufferings among mankind. It was against these foes that he waged war and fought in battle, shooting from his large bow of compassion numberless arrows which had the form of gifts of charity.
So he was wont to fill day after day the mendicants who happened to come to him with the utmost gladness by his bounties, given without difficulty, surpassing the objects asked for, and the more lovely, as they were bestowed with deference and kind words. But on the knotdays[79], as he was distinguished by his strict observance of the restrictions and the quiet of the sabbath, after bathing his head and putting on a white linen dress, he mounted his excellent, well-trained, swift, and vigorous elephant, who (by his colour and size) might be compared to a peak of the Snow-mountain, whose face was adorned with the tracks of the juice flowing in rutting-time, and on whose body auspicious marks were found. Sitting, then, on the back of that far-famed scent-elephant[80] and royal vehicle, he was in the habit of making the round of his alms-halls, which he had established in all parts of the town to be like refreshing wells for the mendicants. So going about, he experienced an excessive gladness.
6. No opulence, in truth, within doors procures to a charitable man such rejoicing, as it produces when transferred to the mendicants.
Now his very great practice of charity being proclaimed everywhere by the rejoiced mendicants, some neighbouring king who had heard of it, considering that it would be possible to deceive the young prince by means of his passion for almsgiving, directed some Brâhmans, his emissaries, to rob him of that excellent elephant. Accordingly one day, when Visvantara was inspecting his alms-halls, manifesting his gladness of mind by the enhanced beauty of his countenance, the said Brâhmans placed themselves in his way, uttering benedictions with their uplifted and outstretched right hands. He stopped his excellent elephant, and asked them respectfully the reason of their coming; they had but to express their want, he said. The Brâhmans spoke:
7, 8. 'Both the excellent qualities of this elephant of thine, who has so graceful a gait, and thy heroic love of charity make us like beggars. Present us with this (white) elephant, who is like a peak of the Kailâsa mountain, and thou wilt fill the world with astonishment.'
The Bodhisattva being thus addressed, was filled with sincere joy and entered upon this reflection: 'Truly, after a long time I now see mendicants requesting a grand boon. But, after all, what may be the want of such a lord of elephants to these Brâhmans? No doubt, this must be a miserable trick of some king, whose mind is troubled with covetousness, jealousy, and hatred.
9. 'Yet that prince, who, not minding either his reputation or the precepts of righteousness, is eager, as it were, to promote my good[81], must not be saddened by disappointment.'
Having thus considered, the Great-minded One alighted from the back of that excellent elephant and stood before them with uplifted golden pitcher; then he pronounced (the solemn formula) 'Accept.'
10. After which, though knowing that the science of politics follows the path of Righteousness (dharma) only as far as it may agree with material interest (artha), he gave away his foremost elephant. His attachment to Righteousness did not allow him to be frightened by the lie of political wisdom.
11. Having given away that lord of elephants, who, adorned with the lovely golden lattice-seat on his back, resembled a massy cloud of autumn, radiant with a flash of lightning[82], the royal prince obtained the utmost delight—but the citizens were stricken with consternation, for they were adherents of political wisdom.
In fact, when the Sibis heard of the gift of that lord of elephants, anger and wrath penetrated them, and the eldest of the Brâhmans, the ministers, the warriors, and the chiefs of the townsmen, making hubbub went into the presence of king Samgaya. Owing to their agitation, resentment, and anger, they neglected the restraint imposed on them by the respect due to their monarch, and spoke: 'Why do you overlook in this manner, Your Majesty, the fortune of your kingdom being carried off? Your Majesty ought not to overlook that in this way you are fostering the misfortune of your realm.' When the king, alarmed, asked them what they meant by this, they replied: 'Why, are you not aware of what has happened, Your Majesty?
12, 13. 'That splendid animal, whose face, being fragrant with the scent of the flowing juice, intoxicates crowds of humming bees hovering about, and likewise impregnates the cherishing wind with its perfume, so as to induce him to wipe off gladly and easily the smell caught from the fluid of other haughty elephants; that war-elephant, whose brilliant vigour subdued the strength and the power of your enemies, and abated their pride even unto the motionlessness of sleep—see, that embodied victory has been given away by Visvantara and is now being carried off abroad.
14. 'Kine, gold, clothes, eatables, such are the goods fit to give to Brâhmans, but parting with our foremost elephant, the pledge of glorious victory, is an excess of charity, and goes too far.
15. 'How should success and might ever join this prince who acts up to this point contrary to the maxims of policy? In this matter forbearance from your side is out of place, Your Majesty, lest he should before long afford matter of rejoicing to your enemies.'
On hearing this, the king, who loved his son, was not very kindly disposed towards them; but submitting to necessity, he told them hastily, they were right; after which he tried to appease the Sibis. 'I know,' he said, 'that Visvantara indulges in his disproportionate passion for charity so as to neglect for it the rules of political wisdom, which behaviour is not suitable for a person appointed to the royal charge. But as he has resigned his own elephant, as if it were phlegm, who will bring back that animal? Nevertheless, I shall take such measures that Visvantara will know a limit in his almsgiving. This may suffice to appease your anger.'
The Sibis answered: 'No, Your Majesty, this will not do. Visvantara is no person to be brought to reason in this matter by a simple censure.'
Samgaya spoke: 'But what else can I do?
16. 'He is averse to sinful actions, only his attachment to virtuous practices is turning into a kind of passion. Why, should you then deem imprisonment or death inflicted on my own son to be the due requital for that elephant?
'Therefore, desist from your wrath! Henceforward I will prevent Visvantara from such actions.'
Notwithstanding this, the Sibis persisted in their anger and said:
17, 18. 'Who would be pleased, O king, with the pain of death, or prison, or flogging pronounced upon your son? But being devoted to his religious duties, Visvantara is not fit to be a bearer of the troublesome burden of royalty, because of his tenderness of heart and his compassion. Let the throne be occupied by such princes, as have obtained renown for their martial qualities and are skilled in the art of giving its due to each of the three members of the trivarga; but your son, who in consequence of his love of Righteousness (dharma), does not heed Policy (naya), is a proper person to dwell in a penance-grove.
19. 'Surely, if princes commit faults of bad policy, the results of those faults fall on their subjects[83]. They are however bearable for them, after all, as is taught by experience; not so for the kings themselves, the very roots of whose power they undermine.
20. 'Why, then, here say much? Not capable of conniving at a state of things which must lead to your ruin, the Sibis have taken this resolution. The royal prince must withdraw to Mount Vaṅka, the residence of the Siddhas; there he may exert his penance.'
Being so addressed for his good in very harsh terms by those dignitaries, who moved by affection and love spoke frankly, foreseeing the calamities to be expected from bad policy, the king was ashamed of the wrath of the chiefs of his people, and with downcast eyes, overwhelmed by the sorrowful thought of a separation from his son, he heaved a deep, woeful sigh, and said to the Sibis: 'If this is your peremptory decision, allow him, at least, the delay of one day and night. Tomorrow at day-break Visvantara shall accomplish your desire.' This answer satisfied the Sibis. Then the king said to his chamberlain: 'Go and tell Visvantara what has happened.' The chamberlain said he would do so, and, his face bathed in tears, went to Visvantara, who was at that moment in his own palace. Overwhelmed by his sorrow, he threw himself at the feet of the prince, weeping aloud. Then Visvantara anxiously inquired after the health of the royal family; the other said in a voice rather indistinct by affliction: 'O, the royal family is well.' 'But why are you thus excited, then?' Visvantara replied. Being so asked once more, the chamberlain whose throat was choked with tears, uttered slowly and in a faltering tone these words, interrupting and disturbing them by his sobs:
21. 'Brusquely disregarding the royal command, though it was declared to them in gentle terms, the Sibis, moved by anger, order you to be banished from the kingdom, my prince.'
Visvantara said: 'Me ... the Sibis ... order to be banished, moved by anger! What you say is out of all reason.
22. 'Never did I take delight in leaving the path of discipline, and I detest carelessness about my duties. What evil action of mine, unknown to me, makes the Sibis angry with me?'
The chamberlain said: 'They are offended at your exceeding loftiness of mind.
23, 24. 'Your satisfaction was pure by the disinterested feeling you experienced, but that of those mendicants was troubled by cupidity. When you gave away that foremost of elephants, O most noble prince, wrath put the Sibis out of patience and caused them to transgress the limits of their duty. They are furious against you. You must go, indeed, the way of those who live as ascetics.'
At this moment the Bodhisattva displayed both his deeply-rooted affection for the mendicants which his continuous practice of compassion had firmly established, and his grand, immense patience. He said: 'The nature of the Sibis is fickle, and they cannot understand mine, it seems.
25. 'The objects of sense being outside of ourselves, it is superfluous to say that I would give away my eyes or my head[84]. For the benefit of the creatures I support this body, how much more the possession of clothes and vehicles.
26. 'Me, wanting to honour the requests of the mendicants, if need be, with my own limbs, the Sibis believe to restrain from charity by fear! So considering, they do but unfold their foolish fickleness of mind.
27. 'Let all Sibis kill me or banish me, I shall not desist from charity for that reason. With this mind I am ready to set out for the penance-grove.'
After this, the Bodhisattva said to his wife, who had turned pale while hearing the sad news: 'Your Highness has heard the resolution of the Sibis.' Madrî[85] replied: 'I have.' Visvantara said:
28. 'Now make a deposit, fair-eyed one, of all your property, taking what you have got from my part as well as from your father's side[86].'
Madrî answered: 'Where shall I lay the deposit, my prince?' Visvantara spoke:
29, 30. 'You must always give in charity to people of good conduct, embellishing your bounty by kind observance. Goods deposited in this manner are imperishable and follow us after death. Be a loving daughter to your parents-in-law, a careful mother to our children. Continue in pious conduct, beware of inadvertence; but do not mourn for my absence, will you?'
Upon this, Madrî, avoiding what might impair the firmness of mind of her husband, suppressed the deep sorrow that put her heart to anguish, and said with feigned calmness:
31, 32. 'It is not right, Your Majesty, that you should go to the forest alone. I too will go with you where you must go, my lord. When attending on you, even death will be a festival to me; but living without you I deem worse than death.
'Nor do I think the forest-life to be unpleasant at all. Do but consider it well.
33. 'Removed from wicked people, haunted by deer, resounding with the warbling of manifold birds, the penance-groves with their rivulets and trees, both intact, with their grass-plots which have the loveliness of inlaid lapis lazuli floors, are by far more pleasing than our artificial gardens.
'Indeed, my prince,
34. 'When beholding these children neatly dressed and adorned with garlands, playing in the wild shrubs, you will not think of your royalty.
35. 'The water-carrying brooks, overhung by natural bowers of perpetually renewed beauty, varying according to the succession of the seasons, will delight you in the forest.
36, 37. 'The melodious music of the songs of birds longing for the pleasure of love, the dances of the peacocks whom Lasciviousness has taught that art, the sweet and praised buzzing of the honey-seeking bees: they make together a forest-concert that will rejoice your mind.
38. 39. 'Further, the rocks overspread at night with the silk garment of moonlight; the soft-stroking forest wind impregnated with the scent of flowering trees; the murmuring noise of the rivulets, pushing their waters over moving gravel so as to imitate the sound of a number of rattling female ornaments—all this will gladden your mind in the forest.'
This entreaty of his well-beloved wife filled him with a great desire to set out for the forest. Therefore he prepared to bestow great largesses on the mendicant people.
But in the king's palace the news of the banishment pronounced upon Visvantara caused great alarm and violent lamentations. Likewise the mendicants, agitated by sorrow and grief, became almost beside themselves, or behaved as if they were intoxicated or mad, and uttered many and various lamentations of this kind:
40. 'How is it that Earth does not feel ashamed, permitting the hatchets to hew down that shady tree, her foster-child, the giver of such sweet fruits? It is now plain she has been deprived of consciousness.'
41. 'If no one will prevent those who are about to destroy that well of cold, pure, and sweet water, then in truth the guardians of the world-quarters are falsely named so, or they are absent, or they are nothing but a mere sound.'
42. 'Oh! Indeed Injustice is awake and Righteousness either asleep or dead, since prince Visvantara is banished from his reign.'
43. 'Who possesses such a refined skill in occasioning distress, as to have the cruelty to aim at starving us, the guiltless, who obtain a scanty livelihood by begging?'
The Bodhisattva then gave away his wealth. He bestowed on the mendicants the contents of his treasury, filled to the very top with precious stones, gold, and silver, of the value of many hundred thousands; his magazines and granaries, containing stores of manifold goods and grains; all his other property, consisting of slaves of both sexes, beasts of draught, carriages, garments and the like. The whole of this he distributed according to the merit of the recipients. This being done, he paid his respectful homage to his father and mother, taking leave of them, who were overwhelmed with sadness and grief. Then he mounted his royal chariot with his wife and children. He left the capital, while a great body of people uttered lamentations, the streets being as noisy as on a holiday; nor did he succeed without difficulty in making the crowd turn back, who followed him out of affection, shedding tears of sorrow. Then himself taking the reins, he drove in the direction of Mount Vaṅka. And without the least agitation of mind he passed along the environs of the capital, crowned with charming gardens and groves, and approached the forest, betokened by the gradually increasing rareness of shady trees and of human beings, the sight of flocks of antelopes running at a far distance, and the chirping of crickets. Now by chance some Brâhmans came to meet him, who begged from him the horses that were drawing his chariot.
44. And he, though on a journey of many yoganas without attendants, and burdened with his wife, gave away to these Brâhmans his four horses, being rejoiced at this opportunity of giving, and not caring for the future.
Now, when the Bodhisattva was about to put himself under the yoke, and was fastening the girth tightly round his waist, there appeared four young Yakshas, under the form of red deer. Like well-trained excellent horses they put their shoulders under the yoke themselves. On seeing them, the Bodhisattva said to Madrî, who stared at them with joy and surprise:
45. 'Behold the extraordinary might of the penance-groves honoured by the residence of ascetics. Their kindness towards guests has in this degree taken root in the breast of the foremost of deer.'
Madrî replied:
46. 'This is rather your superhuman power, I suppose. The practice of virtue by the pious, however deeply rooted, is not the same with respect to everybody.
47. 'When the beautiful reflection of the stars in the water is surpassed by the laughing lustre of the night-waterlilies, the cause thereof is to be found in the beams which the Moon-god sends down as if out of curiosity[87].'
While they were going on, so speaking to each other kind words of affection, see, another Brâhman came near, and asked the Bodhisattva for his royal chariot.
48. And the Bodhisattva, as he was indifferent to his own comfort, but to the beggars a loving kinsman, fulfilled the wish of that Brâhman.
He gladly caused his family to alight from the chariot, presented the Brâhman with it, and taking Gâlin, his boy, in his arms, he continued his way on foot. Madrî, she too free from sadness, took the girl, Krishnâginâ, in her arms and marched after him.
49. The trees, stretching out to him their branches adorned at their ends with charming fruits, invited him, as it were, to enjoy their hospitality, and paying homage to his merit-obtained dignity, bowed to him like obedient disciples, when they got sight of him.
50. And, where he longed for water, in those very places lotus-ponds appeared to his eyes, covered on their surface with the white and reddish-brown pollen fallen down from the anthers of the lotuses shaken by the wing-movements of the swans.
51. The clouds overspread him with a beautiful canopy; there blew an agreeable and odoriferous wind; and his path was shortened by Yakshas not enduring his labour and fatigue.
In this manner the Bodhisattva with his wife and children experienced the pleasure and the delight of a walk, without feeling the sensation of weariness, just as if he were in some park, and at last he perceived Mount Vaṅka. Being showed the way by some foresters, he went up to the penance-forest which was on that mountain. This forest was beset with manifold charming and smooth-barked, excellent trees, with their ornaments of twigs, flowers, and fruits; birds exulting with lust made it resound with their various notes; groups of dancing peacocks enhanced its beauty; many kinds of deer lived in it. It was encircled as with a girdle by a river of pure, blue water, and the wind was agreeable there, carrying red flower-dust. In this grove stood a desert hut of leaves, lovely to behold, and pleasing in every season. Visvakarman himself had built it by the orders of Sakra. There the Bodhisattva took up his residence.
52. Attended by his beloved wife, enjoying the artless and sweet talk of his children, not thinking of the cares of royalty, like one who is staying in his gardens, he practised in that grove strong penance for half a year.
One day, when the princess had gone to seek roots and fruits, and the prince watching the children kept himself within the borders of the hermitage, there arrived a Brâhman, whose feet and ankles were stiff with the dust of the journey, and whose eyes and cheeks were sunken by toil; he was bearing over his shoulder a wooden club, from which his waterpot hung down. His wife had despatched him with the pressing errand, to go and search after some attendance. When the Bodhisattva saw a mendicant coming up to him after a long time, his heart rejoiced, and his countenance began to beam. He went to meet him, and welcomed him with kind words. After the usual complimentary conversation he told him to enter the hermitage, where he entertained him with the honour due to a guest. Then he asked him the object of his coming. And the Brâhman, who through fondness for his wife had banished virtue and shame and was but eager to receive his boon, said in truth something like this:
53. 'Where a light is and an even road, there it is easy for men to go. But in this world the darkness of selfishness prevails to such a degree that no other men would support my words of request.
54. 'Thy brilliant renown of heroic almsgiving has penetrated everywhere. For this reason I have undertaken this labour of begging from thee. Give me both thy children to be my attendants.'
Being so addressed, the Bodhisattva, that Great Being,
55. As he was in the habit of cheerfully giving to mendicants and had never learnt to say no, bravely said that he would give even both his darlings.
'Bless thee! But what art thou still waiting for?' Thus speaking the Brâhman urged the Great Being. Now the children, having heard their father saying he would give them away, became afflicted, and their eyes filled with tears. His affection for them agitated him, and made his heart sink. So the Bodhisattva spoke:
56, 57. 'They are thine, being given by me to thee. But their mother is not at home. She went out to the forest in search of roots and fruits; she will come back at evening-time. Let their mother see them, neatly dressed as they are now and bearing wreaths, and kiss[88] them (farewell). Rest this night here; to-morrow thou shalt carry them away.'
The Brâhman said: 'Thy Reverence ought not to urge me.
58. 'A metaphorical name of womankind is "beautiful charmers[89]," thou knowest. She might prove a hindrance to the fulfilment of thy promise. Therefore I do not like staying here.'
The Bodhisattva said: 'Do not think of that. My wife will not obstruct the fulfilment of my promise. She is in fact the companion of my pious practice[90]. But do as pleases Thy Reverence. Yet, great Brâhman, thou shouldst consider this:
59-61. 'How should these children satisfy thy wants by slavework? They are very young and weak and have never been accustomed to such kind of occupation. But the king of Sibi, their grandfather, seeing them fallen into this state of bondage, will doubtlessly give thee as much money as thou desirest to redeem them. Well, for this reason I pray thee, take them to his realm. When acting thus, thou wilt get the possession of great wealth and at the same time of righteousness.'
'No' (said the Brâhman), 'I do not venture to come to this king with an offer which would excite his anger; he would be unapproachable like a snake.
62. 'He would have the children torn from me by force, perhaps he would also inflict punishment on me. I shall bring them rather to my Brâhmanî that they may attend on her.'
Upon this the Bodhisattva said nothing but: 'Then as thou likest,' without finishing the sentence. He instructed the little ones with persuasive words how they had to act in accordance with their new condition of servants; after which he took the waterpot, bending it over the outstretched hand of the Brâhman, greedy to accept the ratification of the gift.
63. Yielding to his effort, the water poured down from the pot, and at the same time tears fell without effort from his eyes resembling dark red lotus-petals.
Overjoyed with his success, agitated by his excitement, and hastening to carry off the children of the Bodhisattva, the Brâhman uttered a short phrase of benediction, and telling the children with a harsh voice of command to go out, he prepared to make them leave the hermitage. They, however, could not bear the too intense grief of separation, their hearts shrunk together and they embraced the feet of their father. Bathed in tears, they exclaimed:
64. 'Mother is out of doors, while you are about to give us away. Do not give us away before we have bidden adieu to mother too.'
Now the Brâhman reflected: 'The mother will return erelong, or it is likely that his paternal love will make him repent.' Thus considering, he tied their hands like a bundle of lotuses with a creeper, and as they were reluctant and looked back at their father, he began to drag those young and delicate children along with him, threatening them. At this moment Krishnâginâ the girl, having never before experienced a sudden calamity, cried out with tears to her father:
65. 66. 'This cruel Brâhman, father, hurts me with a creeper. No, it is no Brâhman, to be sure. Brahmans are righteous, they say. It is an ogre under the guise of a Brâhman. Certainly he carries us off to eat us. Why do you suffer us, father, to be led away by this ogre?'
And Gâlin the boy lamented on account of his mother, saying:
67. 'I do not suffer so much by the violence of this Brâhman, as by the absence of mother. It is as if my heart is pierced by grief that I did not see her.
68. 'Oh! certainly, mother will weep for us for a long time in the empty hermitage, like the bird kâtaka[91] whose little ones have been killed.
69. 'How will mother behave, when coming back with the many roots and fruits she has gathered in the forest for us, she will find the hermitage empty?
70. 'Here, father, are our toy horses, elephants, and chariots. Half of them you must give to mother, that she may assuage her grief therewith.
71. 'You must also present to her our respectful salutations and withhold her at any rate from afflicting herself; for it will be difficult for us, father, to see you and her again.
72. 'Come, Krishnâ, let us die. Of what use is life to us? We have been delivered by the prince to a Brâhman who is in want of money.'
After so speaking they parted. But the Bodhisattva, though his mind was shaken by these most piteous laments of his children, did not move from the place where he was sitting. While representing to himself that it is not right to repent having given, his heart was burnt by the fire of irremediable grief, and his mind became troubled, as though it were paralysed by torpor occasioned by poison. The fanning of the cool wind made him soon recover his senses, and seeing the hermitage noiseless and silent, as it were, being devoid of his children, he said to himself in a voice choked with tears:
73. 'How is it possible that this man did not scruple to strike my very heart before my very eyes in my children?[92] O, fie on that shameless Brâhman!
74. 'How may they be capable of making the journey, going bare-footed, unable to bear fatigue by reason of their tender age, and become servants to that man?
75. 'Who will afford rest to them, when they are way-worn and exhausted? Whom may they go and ask, if vexed by the suffering of hunger and thirst?
76. 'If this sorrow strikes even me, the earnest striver after firmness of mind, what then will be the condition of those little ones, brought up in ease?
77. 'Oh! the separation from my children is to my mind like a burning fire.... Nevertheless, who, holding on to the righteous conduct of the virtuous, would give way to repentance?'
In the meanwhile Madrî was disquieted by ill omens and prognostics, the foretokens of some accident. Desiring therefore to get back with her roots and fruits as soon as possible, she was obstructed on the way by ferocious animals, and was obliged to return to the hermitage by a long circuitous way. And when she did not see her children neither on the way, where they were used to come to meet her, nor in the playground, her uneasiness greatly increased.
78. Apprehending evil because of these dreadful sensations of danger, she was agitated and anxious, and looked round about if she might get sight of the children; then she called them. Receiving no answer, she began to lament, being sore with grief.
79. 'Formerly the hermitage, resounding with the shouts of my children, appeared to me a much-frequented region; now not perceiving them, I feel myself helpless in the very same place as in a wilderness.
80. 'But perhaps they have fallen asleep and are slumbering, tired with playing. Or should they have gone astray in the thicket? Or should they have hidden themselves out of childishness, being displeased that I was so long in coming home?
81. 'But why do not yonder birds warble? Are they perhaps bewildered, having witnessed mischief done to the children? Can it be that my darlings have been carried away by that very rapid stream, which is eagerly pushing forth its dashing waves?
'Oh! that my suspicions may prove to be groundless and false even now, and the prince and the children be well! Oh! may the evil-boding prognostics find their fulfilment on my body! But why then is my heart big with sadness because of them? Why is it enwrapt in the night of sorrow and as if it would sink away? Why is it that my limbs seem to slacken, that I am no more able to discern the objects around me, that this grove, deprived of its lustre, seems to turn round?'
Having entered the hermitage-ground and put aside her roots and fruits, she went to her husband. After performing the usual salutation, she asked him for the children. Now the Bodhisattva, knowing the tenderness of a mother's love and also considering that bad news is hard to be told, was not able to make any answer.
82. It is a very difficult matter for a pitiful man, indeed, to torment with evil tidings the mind of one who has come to him and deserves to hear pleasant words.
Then Madrî thought: 'Surely, some ill has befallen the children; his silence must be the effect of his being overwhelmed by grief and sadness,' and almost stricken with stupor she stared about the hermitage, but saw no children. And again she said in a voice rather indistinct by smothered tears:
83. 'I do not see the children, and you do not speak anything to me! Alas! I am wretched, I am forlorn. This silence speaks of some great evil.'
No sooner had she said these words, than overpowered by the sorrow that tortured her heart, she sank down like a creeper violently cut off. The Bodhisattva prevented her from falling to the ground, clasping his arms round her, and brought her to a grass couch, on which lying and being sprinkled with cold water she recovered her senses. Then he endeavoured to comfort her, saying:
84. 'I have not told the sad news straightway to you, Madrî, for firmness is not to be expected of a mind rendered weak by affection.
85. 'See, a Brâhman suffering from old age and poverty has come to me. To him I have given both children. Be appeased and do not mourn.
86. 'Look at me, Madrî, do not look for the children, nor indulge in lamentations. Do not strike anew my heart, still pierced by the dart of sorrow on account of the children.
87. 'When asked for my life, should I be able to withhold it? Take this in account, my love, and approve the gift I have made of the children.'
Madrî, whom the suspicion of the death of her children had put to anguish, now hearing by these words that they were alive, began to recover from her fright and affliction. She wiped away her tears with the object of comforting and strengthening her husband; then looking up, she beheld (something) that made her speak with amazement to her husband: 'A wonder! A wonder! To say it in a few words,
88. 'Surely, even the Celestials are wrapt in admiration at your heart being up to this point inaccessible to selfish feelings.
89. 'This is evident from the sounds of the divine drums, echoing in all directions. It is in order to celebrate your glory, that Heaven has composed the hymn which it thus pronounces in distinct language from afar.
90. 'Earth shakes, trembling, I suppose, from exultation, as is indicated by the heaving of her breasts, the huge mountains. Golden flowers, falling down from heaven, make the sky appear as if it were illuminated by lightnings.
91. 'Leave, then, grief and sadness. That you have given away in charity must rather tend to brighten up your mind. Become again the well that affords benefit to the creatures, and a giver as before!'
Now the surface of Earth being shaken, Sumeru, the lord of mountains, radiant with the lustre of its manifold gems, began to waver. Sakra, the Lord of the Devas, inquiring into the cause of the earthquake, was informed of it by the regents of the world-quarters, who, with eyes expanding with amazement, told him that it had been caused by Visvantara giving away his children. Excited with joy and surprise, next day at day-break he went into the presence of Visvantara, feigning to be a Brâhman come to him as a mendicant. The Bodhisattva showed him the hospitality due to a guest, after which he asked him to bring forth his request. Then Sakra begged him for his wife.
92. 'The practice of almsgiving in virtuous persons,' he said, 'comes as little to its end as the water in great lakes dries up. For this reason I ask thee for that woman there who is looking like a deity. Her, thy wife, give to me, I pray thee.'
The Bodhisattva did not lose his firmness of mind, however, and made the promise of giving her.
93. Then taking Madrî with his left hand and the waterpot with his right, he poured down water on the hand of the Brâhman, but fire of grief on the mind of the Love-god[93].
94. No anger arose in Madrî's breast, nor did she weep, for she knew her husband's nature. Only keeping her eyes fixed on him, she stood like an image, stupefied by the excessive heaviness of that fresh burden of suffering.
On beholding this, Sakra, the Lord of the Devas, affected with the utmost admiration, magnified the Great Being.
95. 'Oh! the wide distance which is between the conduct of the righteous and that of the impious! How will those who have not purified their hearts be even capable of believing this great performance?
96. 'To cherish an affectionate wife and much-beloved children, and yet to give them up, obeying the self-imposed vow of detachment—is it possible to conceive any loftiness like this?
97. 'When thy glory will be spread throughout the world by the tales of those who are enthusiastic about thy virtues, the brilliant reputations of others will disappear in thine, beyond doubt, just as the other luminaries dissolve in the splendour of the sunlight.
98. 'Even now this superhuman fact of thine is praisingly approved by the Yakshas, the Gandharvas, the snakes, and by the Devas, Vâsava[94] included.'
After so speaking, Sakra reassumed his own brilliant figure and made himself known to the Bodhisattva. Which being done, he said:
99.
'To thee I now give back Madrî, thy wife.
Where else should moonshine stay but with the moon?
100. 'Nor shouldst thou be anxious about the separation from thy son and daughter, nor grieve for the loss of thy royal dignity. Before long thy father will come to thee, accompanied by both thy children, and provide his kingdom with a protector, re-establishing thee in thy high rank.'
Having said these words, Sakra disappeared on the spot.
And that Brâhman, in consequence of Sakra's power, brought the children of the Bodhisattva to the very land of Sibi. And when the Sibis and Samgaya, their king, heard of the Bodhisattva's performance of the greatest compassion, hard to be done by others, their hearts became soft with tenderness. They redeemed the children from the hand of the Brâhman, and having obtained the pardon of Visvantara, led him back and reinstated him in his royal dignity.
[In this way, then, the behaviour of a Bodhisattva is exceedingly marvellous. For this reason such distinguished beings as strive for that state, must not be despised or hindered. This story is also to be adduced, when discoursing on the Tathâgata and when treating of listening with attention to the preaching of the Law.]
Visvantara's birth being the last but one of the Lord, the person of that charitable king is held very high among Buddhists. His largesses are also considered to constitute the highest degree of practising the pâramitâ of charity. In the memorable night which preceded his attainment of the Buddhahood, the Sâkya prince had but to refer to his actions in the Visvantara-existence to demonstrate his having fulfilled that pâramitâ. In the Pâli Gâtaka that existence forms the subject-matter of the longest and last tale of the collection, but since it is the last, it is still unpublished; its contents, however, have been communicated by Spence Hardy in his 'Manual of Budhism' (pp. 118-127 of the second edition). From hence Prof. Kern borrowed his exposition of the tale in his Geschiedenis van het Buddhisme, I, pp. 303-317, to which he added copious notes with the object of exploring and expounding the mythological substratum which underlies it. It is curious to compare the redaction of the Pâli Gâtaka with that of Sûra. The latter omitted purposely, it seems, some particulars, for instance, the name of the old Brâhman, that of the mother of Visvantara, and the etymology of his name; his narration is different in some slight details. But the main features are the same, likewise in the redaction of the Kariyâpitaka, where Visvantara's story is No. 9 of the dânaparamitâ and is told in 58 slokas. From this version it appears that the earthquake, caused by the great liberality of the prince, is something most essential; or rather the earthquakes, for this miracle occurred seven times, once, when he took the determination [not mentioned by Sûra] of giving his heart, eyes, flesh or blood, if requested; secondly, after the gift of the white elephant; thirdly, when he had made his great largesses preceding his withdrawal to Mount Vaṅka; fourthly and fifthly, after giving his children and his wife; the sixth time was when he met again with his father and mother in the forest; the seventh at his entrance in his capital. The sevenfold earthquake is also discussed in the Milinda Pañha, 119 foll. Cp. also the parallel performance told of the Bodhisattva, who afterwards was Maṅgala Buddha (Fausb. Gât. I, p. 31, translated by Rhys Davids, Birth-Stories, I, p. 33).
In Kshemendra's Avadânakalpalatâ the story of Visvantara is No. 23, not yet published.