Siamese tradition goes on to say that after Buddha's death, a holy ascetic ascended to one of the heavens, where he met the Buddha who is next to descend and bless this earth with his teachings. The future Buddha held a long conversation with the earthly visitor in which he told him, that if the people wished for happiness and prosperity, they must unceasingly perform all the prescribed ceremonies according to the orthodox ritual, and, above all, they must not forget to annually recite the story of "The Great Birth."
At one time, in Siam, Pegu, and Cambodia, it was the universal custom at the end of the rainy season, to gather in private dwellings or temple halls to listen to the reading or recital of the thousand stanzas of the poem which tells the story. The annual celebration is now chiefly a state ceremony performed in special places. In the olden days, offerings were made for the decoration of the halls in which the recital was to be held, and this custom still continues in a smaller degree. The general celebration that formerly took place degenerated at last into a kind of theatrical performance, and was accompanied by pantomime and song. New versions were given; the rhythm of the original poem was altered; and temple vied with temple, and house with house, in the introduction of novelties that would attract large audiences. The late king was a profound scholar and a devout believer in the pure truths and ritual of his religion, and not a nominal Buddhist like the majority of his subjects, and he looked upon these theatrical recitals with their accompanying buffoonery and merriment as being nothing less than a desecration of the famous story, and a burlesque of the life of him whose career they were intended to honour. When he left the cloister for the throne he sternly denounced the exhibition in a decree that is remarkable for its reasonableness and its forceful expressions. He even went so far as to tell a story, evidently of his own composition, the moral of which was that, as far as any religious merit was concerned, the money spent in preparing for the recitals would be better spent in burning dead dogs' carcasses. His strong expressions of disfavour and disgust have had the desired effect, and the story is now recited in a decent and becoming manner.
The poem, as now recited, contains thirteen cantos and one thousand stanzas, and was written by one of the Siamese kings. It had been prophesied that the holy Buddhist scriptures would ultimately all be lost, and that the Vessantara Jataka, being the most valuable, would be the first to disappear. When the scriptures have all been lost, and man has forgotten the meaning of righteousness, a new Buddha will be born upon earth to teach once more the principles of morality and truth. The "Pious" king who reigned in Siam from 1602 to 1628, is known as a priest celebrated alike for his piety and his learning, and as a king famous for his justice and mercy. He left the temple for the throne, but resigned in favour of his nephew and again returned to the seclusion of the hermit's cell. The prophecy as to the loss of the Jataka deeply affected him, and in order to prevent so great a calamity befalling his people he decided to write it in the form of a poem that it might be handed down from generation to generation. This poem is the gem of Siamese classics, a model of literary style and treatment. King "Pious" was the first of the royal poets of Siam, but since his day it has been the fashion for the sovereign to write poetical compositions. Both the present king and his father are well known in the country as poets and scholars. The late king was probably the greatest scholar Siam ever had, so that he enjoyed a double distinction never possessed by any of the monarchs of more civilised lands.
And now for the old king's rendering of the Vessantara Jataka.
In ages long since past, the god Indra called into his presence the beautiful daughter of one of the Devas. He asked her to consent to be re-born into the world of wicked, warring men that she might enjoy the supreme honour and happiness of becoming the mother of the future Buddha. The beautiful spirit maiden was not altogether unwilling to become the recipient of the honour offered her, but before finally consenting, she knelt before the throne of Indra to beg of him ten boons, of such a character that they should preserve her from unhappiness or trouble when she left the regions of heavenly bliss to descend to the realms of earthly woe. She requested that she should be born as one of the highest caste, and that when she was old enough she should be wedded to the powerful monarch Sivi. Not forgetting the personal attractions so desirable in an Oriental queen who wishes for long to retain her husband's affections, she asked for eyes that should be soft and mild like those of the gazelle, and for lashes whose graceful velvety fringe should be the envy of her rivals and the delight of her husband. Her name was not to be changed from that she had borne, in the gardens of heaven where her graceful figure and handsome face had earned for her the name of "blossom." She also stipulated that she should not experience any of the pains of child-birth, nor at any time suffer any deformation of her slender form. Her youthful appearance was to be preserved for ever from the ruthless hand of time, her complexion and skin to be soft and delicate beyond comparison with those of any earthly rival, and while her beauty enchained the minds of men, she was to win the hearts of all by being allowed to liberate all the prisoners in the land. Her final request included all she had already asked for, and many more besides; for, in a spirit that is delightfully feminine, she asked that when on earth, all her wishes should ever be promptly and completely satisfied. Indra with god-like benevolence granted all her boons, even the last.
In due time she was born on earth, and afterwards wedded to King Sivi. She gave birth to an infant son, the future Buddha in earthly form, who was named by his parents Vessantara. The child gave evidences of his wonderful character by speaking immediately after he was born, and later by his indifference to all earthly pleasures. Neither toys nor jewels were valued by him, and he lived the life of a retired ascetic until he was twenty years old. His father then desired him to marry, and persuaded him to seek for his wife, a princess called Maddi, who was famed for her great beauty. An embassy was sent to the maiden's father to ask for her hand, and as he willingly assented to the alliance, the princess returned with the ambassadors to be married without any delay to the hermit-like prince, Vessantara.
His married life was one of great happiness. He was sincerely attached to his wife and to his son and daughter, but he never forsook his ascetic manner of living. His benevolence was a household word, and gained for him troops of friends, until he made a gift of more than ordinary value to a neighbouring state, and caused thereby a great popular uproar. His father possessed an elephant whose chief value lay in its miraculous power of calling down rain from the skies in times of drought. Now, the people of a province near to his father's country, were suffering from want of water, and they sent to Vessantara to ask if he would lend them the rain-producing elephant, knowing quite well that he never refused to give to anyone what was asked of him. He granted their request without any hesitation, and told them that they might keep the animal as a present from himself. The ambassadors returned, taking home the beast in triumph; but when the inhabitants of Vijaya knew what had happened they burst into angry accusations against their benevolent prince. They complained also that the animal was not his to give, but was the property of the nation. The king was not less angry than his subjects, and ordered his son to leave the capital at once, and live for the rest of his life in exile. The prince, in defending his action, said that the elephant was his and had been given to him by its mother at the time of his birth, as a birthday present. To the father, who was unacquainted with his son's destiny and character, this seemed the most intolerable rubbish, and made him exceedingly angry.
Maddi, like a faithful wife, sought to mollify the anger of her father-in-law, and implored forgiveness for her husband, but the king's wrath was too great to be appeased by her tearful entreaties. Then Vessantara gave away the greater part of his property, preparatory to his departing into banishment. He distributed one hundred elephants, one hundred ponies, one hundred vehicles of different kinds, one hundred male slaves, one hundred female slaves, one hundred catties[I] of gold and one hundred catties of silver. He entreated his wife to remain behind and take care of his two children, but she resolutely refused to leave him in his trouble, and taking the children with them, they departed in his chariot. As they drove out of the city they scattered all the money they had, amongst the crowds of people who had collected to see the banished prince leaving his native city.
On their journey they met two Brahmins, who recognised the prince and asked for his horses. He at once granted their request, and prepared to proceed on foot; but two Devas descended from heaven in the form of golden stags and harnessed themselves to the chariot. A little later they were met by another Brahmin, who asked for both chariot and steeds. Vessantara and Maddi dismounted and left the carriage to the stranger. The stags immediately disappeared, to the great astonishment of him who had begged for them. The wedded pair, carrying their children with them, pursued their way on foot, going in the direction of a distant and lonely mountain, where they proposed living the life of the hermits.
The road to the mountain passed through the country where Maddi's father reigned. He heard of their arrival in his territory and at once set out to meet them. He besought them to stay in his kingdom, offered them a residence near his own palace, and did all he could to persuade them to change their purpose. But they refused all his offers, saying that they were fully determined to live as hermits in the lonely jungle. At his earnest request they stayed with him seven days, but left him at the end of that time to continue their journey to the far-off mountain.