JAYADDISA JĀTAKA
This is the story the Master told of a Brother who supported his mother. The introductory story resembles the one told in the Sama Birth. On this occasion, however, the Master said, “Sages of old gave up the white umbrella with its golden wreath to support their parents,” and with these words, he recounted a story from the past.
Once upon a time, there lived a king in a city of the Northern Pancalas, in the kingdom of Kampilla, named Pancala. His queen consort conceived and bore a son. In a former existence, her rival in the harem, being in a rage, said, “Some day I shall be able to devour your offspring.” She prayed for this, and was turned into an ogress. Then, when the opportunity arose, she seized the child before the very eyes of the queen, and, crunching and devouring it as if it were a piece of raw flesh, she made off.
A second time, she did exactly the same thing. But on the third occasion, when the queen had entered her lying-in chamber, a guard surrounded the palace and kept a strict watch. On the day she gave birth, the ogress again appeared and seized the child. The queen cried out loudly, “Ogress!” Armed soldiers, running up when the alarm was raised, pursued her. Not having time to devour the child, the ogress fled and hid herself in a sewer.
The child, mistaking the ogress for its mother, put its lips to her breast. She felt a mother’s love for the infant and carried him to a cemetery, hiding him in a rock-cave and watching over him. As he gradually grew, she fed him human flesh, and they both survived on this food. The boy did not know he was human; though he believed himself the son of the ogress, his bodily form could not be concealed. To remedy this, she gave him a certain root. By virtue of this root, he was able to conceal his form while continuing to live on human flesh.
Eventually, the ogress went away to serve the great king Vessavana and died there. Meanwhile, the queen gave birth to a fourth child. With the ogress now dead, the child was safe, and because he was born victorious over the ogress, he was called Jayaddisa, meaning “Prince Victor.” Once grown and fully educated in all learning, he assumed sovereignty, raising the royal umbrella and ruling the kingdom.
At that time, his queen consort gave birth to the Bodhisatta, named Prince Alinasattu. When he grew up and was fully instructed, he became viceroy. Meanwhile, the son of the ogress, having carelessly destroyed the root, could no longer hide his form. Living in the cemetery, he continued to devour human flesh openly. Alarmed, the people complained to King Jayaddisa: “Sire, an ogre in visible form is eating human flesh in the cemetery. He may enter the city and harm the people. You must have him caught.”
The king readily agreed and ordered his capture. Armed forces were stationed around the city. The ogre, naked and horrifying, seized with fear of death, cried aloud and sprang among the soldiers. Terrified, the soldiers broke into two groups and fled. The ogre escaped into the forest, no longer approaching human dwellings. He settled at the foot of a banyan tree near a forest road, where he would seize travelers, drag them into the wood, and devour them.
One day, a brahmin from Takkasila, leading a caravan of five hundred wagons, gave a thousand pieces of money to the forest warders. The ogre, taking human form, leaped upon them with a roar. The men fled in terror, grovelling on the ground. He seized the brahmin, but, wounded by a splinter of wood while fleeing from the pursuing forest rangers, dropped him and returned to the foot of his banyan tree.
On the seventh day, King Jayaddisa proclaimed a hunt and set out from the city. Just as he was starting, a brahmin named Nanda, who supported his parents, came into the king’s presence, presenting four stanzas, each worth a hundred pieces of money. The king stopped to listen and assigned him a dwelling-place. Then, going to the hunt, he said, “The man on whose side the deer escapes shall pay the brahmin for his verses.”
A spotted antelope was then started, and it made straight for the king, escaping the courtiers’ attempts to catch it. They all laughed heartily. The king pursued the animal, catching it after three leagues. With a single blow from his sword, he severed it in two and hung the carcass on his carrying-pole. On his return, he came to the spot where the ogre was sitting. After resting briefly on the kuca grass, he attempted to continue.
Then the ogre rose and cried, “Halt! Where are you going? You are my prey.” Seizing him by the hand, he began to speak the first stanza.
Lo! After my long seven days’ fast,
A mighty prey appears at last!
Pray tell me, art thou known to fame?
I fain would hear thy race and name.
The king was terrified at the sight of the ogre and, becoming as rigid as a pillar, was unable to flee. Recovering his presence of mind, he spoke the second stanza:
Jayaddisa, if known to thee,
Pancala’s king I claim to be:
Hunting through fen and wood I stray:
Eat thou this deer; free me, I pray.
The ogre, on hearing this, repeated the third stanza:
To save thy skin, thou offerest me for food
This quarry, king, to which my claim is good:
Know I will eat thee first, and yet not balk
My taste for venison: cease from idle talk.
The king, recalling the brahmin Nanda, spoke the fourth stanza:
Should I not purchase the release I crave,
Yet let me keep the promise that I gave
A brahmin friend. To-morrow’s dawn shall see
My honour saved, and my return to thee.
The ogre, on hearing this, spoke the fifth stanza:
Standing so near to death, what is the thing
That thus doth sorely trouble thee, O king?
Tell me the truth, that so perhaps we may
Consent to let thee go for one brief day.
The king explained the matter in the sixth stanza:
A promise once I to a brahmin made;
That promise still is due, that debt unpaid:
The vow fulfilled, to-morrow’s dawn shall see
My honour saved, and my return to thee.
The ogre, hearing this, spoke the seventh stanza:
A promise to a brahmin thou hast made;
That promise still is due, that vow unpaid.
Fulfil thy vow, and let to-morrow see
Thy honour saved and thy return to me.
Having thus spoken, he let the king go. The king, being allowed to depart, said, “Do not be troubled about me; I will return at daybreak.” Taking note of certain landmarks along the way, he returned to his army and, with this escort, made his entrance into the city. He then summoned the brahmin Nanda, seated him on a splendid throne, and, after hearing his verses, presented him with four thousand pieces of money. He placed the brahmin in a chariot and sent him on his way, instructing his servants to escort him straight to Takkasila.
The next day, anxious to return, he called his son and instructed him. The Master, to explain, spoke two stanzas:
Escaped from cruel goblin he did come
Full of sweet longings to his lovely home:
His word to brahmin friend he never broke,
But thus to dear Alinasattu spoke.
“My son, reign thou anointed king today,
Ruling o’er friend and foe with righteous sway;
Let no injustice mar thy happy state;
I now from cruel goblin seek my fate.”
The prince, on hearing this, spoke the tenth stanza:
Fain would I learn what act or word
Lost me the favour of my lord,
That thou shouldst raise me to the throne
Which, losing thee, I would not own.
The king replied:
Dear son, I fail to call to mind
A single word or act unkind,
But now that honour’s debt is paid,
I’ll keep the vow to ogre made.
The prince then said:
Nay, I will go and thou stay here;
No hope of safe return, I fear.
But shouldst thou go, I’ll follow thee
And both alike will cease to be.
The king responded:
With thee doth moral law agree,
But life would lose all charm for me,
If on wood-spit this ogre grim
Should roast and eat thee, limb by limb.
The prince answered:
If from this ogre thou wilt fly,
For thee I am prepared to die:
Yea, gladly would I die, O king,
If only life to thee I bring.
The king, recognizing his son’s virtue, accepted his offer, saying, “Well, go, dear son.” And so the prince bade his parents farewell and left the city.
The Master, to make the matter clear, spoke half a stanza:
Then the brave prince to his dear parents bade
A last farewell, with low obeisance made.
Then his parents, sister, wife, and the courtiers went forth from the city with him. The prince inquired of his father as to the way and, after making careful arrangements and admonishing the others, he ascended the road toward the abode of the ogre, as fearless as a maned lion. His mother, seeing him depart, could not restrain herself and fell fainting to the earth. His father, stretching out his arms, wept aloud.
The Master, to make the matter clear, spoke the other half stanza:
His sire with outstretched arms, his son to stay,
Wept sore. His mother, grieving, swooned away.
Thus, making clear the prayer uttered by the father and the Act of Truth repeated by the mother, sister, and wife, he uttered four more stanzas:
But when his son had vanished quite
From his despairing father’s sight,
With hands upraised the gods he praised—
Kings Varuna and Soma hight,
Brahma and lords of Day and Night.
“By these kept safe and sound of limb,
Escape, dear son, from ogre grim.”
“As Rama’s fair-limbed mother won
Salvation for her absent son,
When woods of Dandaka he sought,
So for my child is freedom wrought;
And by this Act of Truth I’ve charmed
The gods to bring thee home unharmed.”
“Brother, in thee no fault at all
Open or secret I recall;
And by this Act of Truth I’ve charmed
The gods to bring thee home unharmed.”
“Void of offence art thou to me,
I too, my lord, bear love to thee;
And by this Act of Truth I’ve charmed
The gods to bring thee home unharmed.”
The prince, following his father’s directions, set out on the road to the dwelling of the ogre. The ogre thought, “Kshatriyas have many wiles: who knows what will happen?” and climbed the tree, looking out for the king’s approach. On seeing the prince, he thought, “The son has come in place of his father. There’s no fear about him.” He descended and sat with his back to the youth.
When the youth stood before him, the ogre spoke:
Whence art thou, youth so fair and fine?
Knowest thou this forest realm is mine?
They hold their lives but cheap who come
Where savage ogres find a home.
The youth replied:
I know thee, cruel ogre, well;
Within this forest thou dost dwell.
Jayaddisa’s true son stands here:
Eat me and free my father dear.
The ogre said:
Jayaddisa’s true son I know;
Thy looks confess that it is so.
A hardship surely ’tis for thee
To die, to set thy father free.
The youth answered:
No mighty deed is this, I feel,
To die, and for a father’s weal
And mother’s love to pass away
And win the bliss of heaven for aye.
The ogre, astonished, asked, “There is no creature, prince, that is not afraid of death. Why are you not afraid?” The youth explained and recited two stanzas:
No evil deed of mine at all,
Open or secret, I recall:
Well weighed are birth and death by me,
As here, so ’Tis in worlds to be.
Eat me to-day, O mighty one,
And do the deed that must be done.
I’ll fall down dead from some high tree,
Then eat my flesh, as pleaseth thee.
Terrified, the ogre said, “One cannot eat this man’s flesh.” Thinking to make him run away, he added:
If ’tis thy will to sacrifice
Thy life, young prince, to free thy sire,
Then go in haste is my advice
And gather sticks to light a fire.
The youth obeyed. The Master explained with another stanza:
Then the brave prince did gather wood
And, rearing high a mighty pyre,
Cried, lighting it, “Prepare thy food;
See! I have made a goodly fire.”
Seeing the prince fearless, the ogre said, “This is a lion-hearted fellow. Death has no terrors for him. Never have I seen so fearless a man.” The youth, noticing the ogre’s astonishment, said:
Stand not and gaze in dumb amaze,
Take me and slay, and eat, I pray;
While still alive, I will contrive
To make thee fain to eat today.
The ogre replied:
One so truthful, kindly, just,
Surely never may be eaten,
Or his head, who eats thee, must
Be to sevenfold pieces beaten.
The prince asked, “If you do not want to eat me, why did you bid me break sticks and make a fire?” The ogre said, “It was to test you; I thought you would run away.” The prince answered:
How now will you test me, seeing that,
When in an animal form, I allowed Sakka, king of heaven,
To put my virtue to the test?
And he recited this stanza:
To Indra once like some poor brahmin drest
The hare did offer its own flesh to eat;
Thenceforth its form was on the moon imprest;
That gracious orb as Yakkha now we greet.
The ogre, hearing this, let the prince go and said:
As the clear moon from Rahu’s grip set free
Shines at midmonth with wonted brilliancy,
So too do thou, Kampilla’s lord of might,
Escaped from ogre, shed the joyous light
Of thy bright presence, sorrowing friends to cheer,
And bring back gladness to thy parents dear.
And saying, “Go, heroic soul,” he let the Great Being depart. Having humbled the ogre, he taught him the five moral laws. Wishing to test whether he was truly an ogre, he thought, “Ogres have red eyes that do not wink, cast no shadow, and know no fear. This is no ogre; it is a man. My father had three brothers carried off by an ogress: two must have been devoured, and one cherished with a mother’s love for her child. This must be he. I will take him to my father and have him established on the throne.”
Thinking thus, he cried, “Ho! Sir, you are no ogre; you are my father’s elder brother. Come with me and raise your umbrella as emblem of sovereignty in your ancestral kingdom.”
The ogre replied, “I am not a man.” The prince said, “You do not believe me. Is there anyone you will believe?”
“Yes,” he said. “There is an ascetic gifted with supernatural vision in such and such a place.”
The prince took him to the ascetic, who, upon seeing them, asked, “With what purpose are you two descendants of a common ancestor walking here?” He then explained their relationship. The man-eater believed him and said, “Dear friend, you go home. As for me, I am born with two natures in one form. I have no wish to be a king. I’ll become an ascetic.”
The ascetic ordained him into the religious life. The prince saluted him and returned to the city.
The Master, to make the matter clear, spoke this stanza:
Then did bold prince Alinasattu pay
All due obeisance to that ogre grim,
And free once more did wend his happy way
Back to Kampilla, safe and sound of limb.
When the youth reached the city, the Master explained to the townsfolk and the rest what the prince had accomplished, and spoke the last stanza:
Thus faring forth afoot from town and countryside,
Lo! eager throngs proclaim
The doughty hero’s name,
Or as aloft on car or elephant they ride
With homage due they come
To lead the victor home.
The king heard that the prince had returned and set out to meet him. Escorted by a great multitude, the prince saluted the king. The king asked, “Dear son, how have you escaped from so terrible an ogre?”
The prince replied, “Dear father, he is no ogre; he is your elder brother, my uncle.” He related the entire story and said, “You must go and see my uncle.”
The king immediately ordered a drum to be beaten and, with a great retinue, went to visit the ascetic. The chief ascetic recounted the full story: how the child had been carried off by an ogress, raised as an ogre instead of being eaten, and how they were all related.
The king said, “Come, brother, do you wish to reign as king?”
“No, thank you, Sire,” he replied.
“Then come and take up your abode in our park, and I will supply you with the four requisites.”
He refused, so the king settled a mountain near their hermitage, formed a lake, prepared cultivated fields, and brought a thousand families with much treasure to found a large village, instituting a system of almsgiving for the ascetics. This village grew into the town of Cullakammasadamma.
The region where the ogre was tamed by the Great Being Sutasoma came to be known as the town of Mahakammasadamma.
The Master, having concluded his lesson, revealed the Truths and identified the Birth. At the conclusion of the Truths, the elder who supported his mother was established in the fruition of the First Path. He explained:
“At that time, the father and mother were members of the king’s household; the ascetic was Sariputta; the man-eater was Angulimala; the young sister was Uppalavanna; the queen consort was Rahula’s mother; and Prince Alinasattu was myself.”
Source : The Jataka , E. B. Cowell and W. H. D. Rouse