There was once a city named Takshaśilá[3] on the banks of the Vitastá, the reflection of whose long line of palaces gleamed in the waters of the river, as if it were the capital of the lower regions come to gaze at its splendour. In it there dwelt a king named Kalingadatta, a distinguished Buddhist, all whose subjects were devoted to the great Buddha the bridegroom of Tárá.[4] His city shone with splendid Buddhist temples densely crowded together, as if with the horns of pride elevated because it had no rival upon earth. He not only cherished his subjects like a father, but also himself taught them knowledge like a spiritual guide. Moreover there was in that city a certain rich Buddhist merchant called Vitastadatta, who was exclusively devoted to the honouring of Buddhist mendicants. And he had a son, a young man named Ratnadatta. And he was always expressing his detestation of his father, calling him an impious man. And when his father said to him, “Son, why do you blame me?”—the merchant’s son answered with bitter scorn, “My father, you abandon the religion of the three Vedas and cultivate irreligion. For you neglect the Bráhmans and are always honouring Śramaṇas.[5] What have you to do with that Buddhist discipline, which all kinds of low-caste men resort to, to gratify their desire to have a convent to dwell in, released from bathing and other strict ordinances, loving to feed whenever it is convenient,[6] rejecting the Bráhmanical lock and other prescribed methods of doing the hair, quite at ease with only a rag round their loins?” When the merchant heard that he said—“Religion is not confined to one form; a transcendent religion is a different thing from a religion that embraces the whole world. People say that Bráhmanism too consists in avoiding passion and other sins, in truth, and compassion to creatures, not in quarrelling causelessly with one’s relations.[7] Moreover you ought not to blame generally that school which I follow, which extends security to all creatures, on account of the fault of an individual. Nobody questions the propriety of conferring benefits, and my beneficence consists simply in giving security to creatures. So, if I take exceeding pleasure in this system, the principal characteristic of which is abstinence from injuring any creature, and which brings liberation, wherein am I irreligious in doing so?” When his father said this to him, that merchant’s son obstinately refused to admit it, and only blamed his father all the more. Then his father, in disgust, went and reported the whole matter to the king Kalingadatta, who superintended the religion of his people. The king, for his part, summoned on some pretext the merchant’s son into his judgement-hall, and feigning an anger he did not feel, said to the executioner, “I have heard that this merchant’s son is wicked and addicted to horrible crimes, so slay him without mercy as a corrupter of the realm.” When the king had said this, the father interceded, and then the king appointed that the execution should be put off for two months, in order that he might learn virtue, and entrusted the merchant’s son to the custody of his father, to be brought again into his presence at the end of that time. The merchant’s son, when he had been taken home to his father’s house, was distracted with fear, and kept thinking, “What crime can I have committed against the king?” and pondering over his causeless execution which was to take place at the end of two months; and so he could get no sleep day or night, and was exhausted by taking less than his usual food at all times. Then, the reprieve of two months having expired, that merchant’s son was again taken, thin and pale, into the presence of the king. And the king seeing him in such a depressed state said to him—“Why have you become so thin? Did I order you not to eat?” When the merchant’s son heard that, he said to the king—“I forgot myself for fear, much more my food. Ever since I heard your majesty order my execution, I have been thinking every day of death slowly advancing.” When the merchant’s son said this, the king said to him, “I have by an artifice made you teach yourself what the fear of death is.[8] Such must be the fear which every living creature entertains of death, and tell me what higher piety can there be than the benefit of preserving creatures from that? So I shewed you this in order that you might acquire religion and the desire of salvation,[9] for a wise man being afraid of death strives to attain salvation. Therefore you must not blame your father who follows this religion.” When the merchant’s son heard this, he bowed and said to the king—“Your majesty has made me a blessed man by teaching me religion, and now a desire for salvation has arisen in me, teach me that also, my lord.” When the king heard that, as it was a feast in the city, he gave a vessel full of oil into the hand of the merchant’s son and said to him, “Take this vessel in your hand and walk all round this city, and you must avoid spilling a single drop of it, my son; if you spill one drop of it, these men will immediately cut you down.”[10] Having said this, the king dismissed the merchant’s son to walk round the city, ordering men with drawn swords to follow him. The merchant’s son, in his fear, took care to avoid spilling a drop of oil, and having perambulated that city with much difficulty, returned into the presence of the king. The king, when he saw that he had brought the oil without spilling it, said to him: “Did you see any one to-day, as you went along in your perambulation of the city?” When the merchant’s son heard that, he clasped his hands, and said to the king—“In truth, my lord, I neither saw nor heard any thing, for at the time when I was perambulating the city I had my undivided attention fixed on avoiding spilling a drop of oil, lest the swords should descend upon me.” When the merchant’s son said this, the king said to him; “Because your whole soul was intent on looking at the oil, you saw nothing. So practise religious contemplation with the same undivided attention. For a man, who with intent concentration averts his attention from all outward operations, has intuition of the truth, and after that intuition he is not entangled again in the meshes of works. Thus I have given you in a compendious form instruction in the doctrine of salvation.” Thus the king spoke and dismissed him, and the merchant’s son fell at his feet and went home rejoicing to his father’s house, having attained all his objects. This Kalingadatta, who superintended in this way the religion of his subjects, had a wife named Tárádattá, of equal birth with the king, who being politic and well-conducted, was such an ornament to the king as language is to a poet, who delights in numerous illustrations. She was meritorious for her bright qualities and was inseparable from that beloved king, being to him what the moonlight is to the moon, the receptacle of nectar. The king lived happily there with that queen, and passed his days like Indra with Śachí in heaven.
Story of the Apsaras Surabhidattá.
At this point of my tale Indra, for some cause or other, had a great feast in heaven. All the Apsarases assembled there to dance, except one beautiful Apsaras named Surabhidattá, who was not to be seen there. Then Indra by his divine power of insight perceived her associating in secret with a certain Vidyádhara in Nandana. When Indra saw it, wrath arose in his bosom, and he thought—“Ah! these two, blinded with love, are both wicked: the Apsaras, because forgetting us she acts in a wilful manner, the Vidyádhara, because he enters the domain of the gods and commits improprieties. Or rather, what fault is that miserable Vidyádhara guilty of? For she has enticed him here, ensnaring him with her beauty. A lovely one will sweep away with the sea of her beauty, flowing between the lofty banks of her breasts, even one who can restrain his passions. Was not even Śiva disturbed long ago when he beheld Tilottamá, whom the Creator made by taking an atom from all the noblest beings?[11] And did not Viśvámitra leave his asceticism when he beheld Menaká? And did not Yayáti come to old age for love of Śarmishṭá? So this young Vidyádhara has committed no crime in allowing himself to be allured by an Apsaras with her beauty, which is able to bewilder the three worlds.[12] But this heavenly nymph is in fault, wicked creature, void of virtue, who has deserted the gods, and introduced this fellow into Nandana.” Thus reflecting, the lover of Ahalyá[13] spared the Vidyádhara youth, but cursed that Apsaras in the following words: “Wicked one, take upon thyself a mortal nature, but after thou hast obtained a daughter not sprung from the womb, and hast accomplished the object of the gods, thou shalt return to this heaven.”
In the meanwhile Tárádattá, the consort of that king in the city of Takshaśilá, reached the period favourable for procreation. And Surabhidattá, the Apsaras who had been degraded from heaven by the curse of Indra, was conceived in her, giving beauty to her whole body. Then Tárádattá beheld in a dream a flame descending from heaven and entering into her womb; and in the morning she described with astonishment her dream to her husband, the king Kalingadatta; and he being pleased said to her,—“Queen, heavenly beings owing to a curse fall into human births, so I am persuaded that this is some divine being conceived in you. For beings, bound by various works, good and evil, are ever revolving in the state of mundane existence in these three worlds, to receive fruits blessed and miserable.” When the queen was thus addressed by the king, she took the opportunity of saying to him; “It is true, actions, good and bad, have a wonderful power, producing the perception of joy and sorrow,[14] and in proof of it I will tell you this illustration, listen to me.”
Story of king Dharmadatta and his wife Nágaśrí.
There once lived a king named Dharmadatta, the lord of Kośala; he had a queen named Nágaśrí, who was devoted to her husband and was called Arundhatí on the earth, as, like her, she was the chief of virtuous women. And in course of time, O slayer of your enemies, I was born as the daughter of that king by that queen; then, while I was a mere child, that mother of mine suddenly remembered her former birth and said to her husband; “O king, I have suddenly to-day remembered my former birth; it is disagreeable to me not to tell it, but if I do tell it, it will cause my death, because they say that, if a person suddenly remembers his or her former birth and tells it, it surely brings death. Therefore, king, I feel excessively despondent.” When his queen said this to him, the king answered her; “My beloved, I, like you, have suddenly remembered my former birth; therefore tell me yours, and I will tell you mine, let what will be, be; for who can alter the decree of fate.” When thus urged by her husband, the queen said to him, “If you press the matter, king, then I will tell you, listen.
“In my former birth I was a well-conducted female slave in this very land, in the house of a certain Bráhman named Mádhava. And in that birth I had a husband named Devadása, an excellent hired servant in the house of a certain merchant. And so we two dwelled there, having built a house that suited us, living on the cooked rice brought from the houses of our respective masters. A water vessel and a pitcher, a broom and a brazier, and I and my husband, formed three couples. We lived happy and contented in our house into which the demon of quarrelling never entered, eating the little food that remained over after we had made offerings to the gods, the manes and guests.
“And any clothes which either of us had over, we gave to some poor person or other. Then there arose a grievous famine in our country, and owing to that the allowance of food, which we had to receive every day, began to come to us in small quantities. Then our bodies became attenuated by hunger, and we began to despond in mind, when once on a time at meal-time there arrived a weary Bráhman guest. To him we both gave all our own food, as much as we had, though we were in danger of our lives. When the Bráhman had eaten and departed, my husband’s breath left him, as if angry that he respected a guest more than it. And then I heaped up in honour of my husband a suitable pyre, and ascended it, and so laid down the load of my own calamity. Then I was born in a royal family, and I became your queen, for the tree of good deeds produces to the righteous inconceivably glorious fruit.” When his queen said this to him, the king Dharmadatta said—“Come, my beloved, I am that husband of thine in a former birth; I was that very Devadása the merchant’s servant, for I have remembered this moment this former existence of mine.” Having said this, and mentioned the tokens of his own identity, the king, despondent and yet glad, suddenly went with his queen to heaven.