THE MAHĀ UMMAGGA JĀTAKA
'The Question of the Five Wise Men'
The Teacher, while dwelling at Jetavana, told this about the perfection of knowledge. One day the Brethren sat in the Hall of Truth and described the Buddha’s perfection of knowledge:
“Brethren, the omniscient Buddha whose wisdom is vast, ready, swift, sharp, crushing heretical doctrines, after having converted, by the power of his own knowledge, the Brahmins Kūṭadanta and the rest, the ascetics Sabhiya and the rest, the thieves Aṅgulimāla &c., the yakkhas Āḷavaka &c., the gods Sakka and the rest, and the Brahmins Baka &c., made them humble, and ordained a vast multitude as ascetics and established them in the fruition of the paths of sanctification.”
The Teacher came up and asked what they were discoursing about, and when they told him, he replied,
“Not now only is the Buddha omniscient,—in past time also, before his knowledge was fully mature, he was full of all wisdom, as he went about for the sake of wisdom and knowledge,” and then he told a story of the past.
In days gone by, a king named Vedeha ruled in Mithilā, and he had four sages who instructed him in the law, named Senaka, Pukkusa, Kāvinda, and Devinda. Now when the Bodhisatta was conceived in his mother’s womb the king saw at dawn the following dream: four columns of fire blazed up in the four corners of the royal court as high as the great wall, and in the midst of them rose a flame of the size of a fire-fly, and at that moment it suddenly exceeded the four columns of fire and rose up as high as the Brahma world and illumined the whole world; even a grain of mustard-seed lying on the ground is distinctly seen. The world of men with the world of gods worshipped it with garlands and incense; a vast multitude passed through this flame but not even a hair of their skin was singed. The king when he saw this vision started up in terror and sat pondering what was going to happen, and waited for the dawn. The four wise men also when they came in the morning asked him whether he had slept well.
“How could I sleep well,” he replied, “when I have seen such a dream” Then Pandit Senaka replied,
“Fear not, O king, it is an auspicious dream, thou wilt be prosperous,” and when he was asked to explain, he went on, O king, a fifth sage will be born who will surpass us four; we four are like the four columns of fire, but in the midst of us there will arise as it were a fifth column of fire, one who is unparalleled and fills a post which is unequalled in the world of gods or of men.”
“Where is he at this moment?”
“O king, he will either assume a body or come out of his mother’s womb”; thus did he by his science what he had seen by his divine eye and the king from that time forward remembered his words. Now at the four gates of Mithilā there were four market towns, called the East town, the South town, the West town, and the North town 1; and in the East town there dwelt a certain rich man named Sirivaḍḍhaka, and his wife was named Sumanādevī. Now on that day when the king saw the vision, the Great Being went from the heaven of the Thirty-three and was conceived in her womb; and a thousand other sons of the gods went from that heaven and were conceived in the families of various wealthy merchants in that village, and at the end of the tenth month the lady Sumanā brought forth a child of the colour of gold. Now at that moment Sakka, as he looked over the world of mankind, beheld the Great Being’s birth; and saying to himself that he ought to make known in the world of gods and men that this Buddha-shoot had sprung into being, he came up in a visible form as the child was being born and placed a piece of a medicinal herb in its hand, and then returned to his own dwelling.
The Great Being seized it firmly in his closed hand; and as he came from his mother’s womb she did not feel the slightest pain, but he passed out as easily as water from a sacred water-pot.
When his mother saw the piece of the medicinal herb in his hand, she said to him,
“My child, what is this which you have got?” He replied,
“It is a medicinal plant, mother,” and he placed it in her hand and told her to take it and give it to all who are afflicted with any sickness.
Full of joy she told it to the merchant Sirivaḍḍhaka, who had suffered for seven years from a pain in his head. Full of joy he said to himself,
“This child came out of his mother’s womb holding a medicinal plant and as soon as he was born he talked with his mother; a medicine given by a being of such surpassing merit must possess great efficacy”; so he rubbed it on a grindstone and smeared a little of it on his forehead, and the pain in his head which had lasted seven years passed away at once like water from a lotus leaf. Transported with joy he exclaimed, “This is a medicine of marvellous efficacy “; the news spread on every side that the Great Being had been born with a medicine in his hand, and all who were sick crowded to the merchant’s house and begged for the medicine. They gave a little to all who came, having rubbed some of it on a grindstone and mixed it with water, and as soon as the affected body was touched with the divine medicine all diseases were cured, and the delighted patients went away proclaiming the marvellous virtues of the medicine in the house of the merchant Sirivaḍḍhaka. On the day of naming the child the merchant thought to himself,
“My child need not be called after one of his ancestors; let him bear the name of the medicine,” so he gave him the name Osadha Kumāra.
Then he thought again, “My son possesses great merit, he will not be born alone, many other children will be born at the same time”; so hearing from his inquiries that thousands of other boys were born with him, he sent them all nurses and gave them clothes, and resolving that they should be his son’s attendants he celebrated a festival for them with the Great Being and adorned the boys and brought them every day to wait upon him.
The Great Being grew up playing with them, and when he was seven years old he was as beautiful as a golden statue. As he was playing with them in the village some elephants and other animals passed by and disturbed their games, and sometimes the children were distressed by the rain and the heat. Now one day as they played, an unseasonable rainstorm came on, and when the Great Being who was as strong as an elephant saw it, he ran into a house, and as the other children ran after him they fell over one another’s feet and bruised their knees and other limbs. Then he thought to himself,
“A hall for play ought to be built here, we will not play in this way,” and he said to the boys, “Let us build a hall here where we can stand, sit, or lie in time of wind, hot sunshine, or rain,—let each one of you bring his piece of money.” The thousand boys all did so and the Great Being sent for a master-carpenter and gave him the money, telling him to build a hall in that place. He took the money, and levelled the ground and cut posts and spread out the measuring line, but he did not grasp the Great Being’s idea; so he told the carpenter how he was to stretch out his line so as to do it properly.
He replied, “I have stretched it out according to my practical experience, I cannot do it in any other way.” “If you do not know even so much as this how can you take our money and build a hall? Take the line, I will measure and shew you,” so he made him take the line and himself drew out the plan, and it was done as if Vissakamma had done it. Then he said to the carpenter, “Will you be able to draw out the plan in this way?” “I shall not be able, Sir.” “Will you be able to do it by my instructions?”
“I shall be able, Sir.” Then the Great Being so arranged the hall that there was in one part a place for ordinary strangers, in another a lodging for the destitute, in another a place for the lying-in of destitute women, in another a lodging for stranger Buddhist priests and Brahmins, in another a lodging for other sorts of men, in another a place where foreign merchants should stow their goods, and all these apartments had doors opening outside.
There also he had a public place erected for sports, and a court of justice, and a hall for religious assemblies. When the work was completed he summoned painters, and having himself examined them set them to work at painting beautiful pictures, so that the hall became like Sakka’s heavenly palace Sudhammā. Still he thought that the palace was not yet complete,
“I must have a tank constructed as well,”—so he ordered the ground to be dug for an architect and having discussed it with him and given him money he made him construct a tank with a thousand bends in the bank and a hundred bathing ghāts.
The water was covered with the five kinds of lotuses and was as beautiful as the lake in the heavenly garden Nandana. On its bank he planted various trees and had a park made like Nandana. And near this hall he established a public distribution of alms to holy men whether Buddhists or Brahmins, and for strangers and for people from the neighbouring villages.
These actions of his were blazed abroad everywhere and crowds gathered to the place, and the Great Being used to sit in the hall and discuss the right and the wrong of the good or evil circumstances of all the petitioners who resorted there and gave his judgment on each, and it became like the happy time when a Buddha makes his appearance in the world………………
(Thus goes the story)
…………….From that day the Bodhisat’s glory was great, and Queen Udumbarā managed it all. When he was sixteen she thought:
“My young brother has grown up, and great is his glory; we must find a wife for him.” This she said to the king, and the king was well pleased. “Very good,” said he, “tell him.” She told him, and he agreed, and she said, “Then let us find you a bride, my son.”
The Great Being thought, “I should never be satisfied if they choose me a wife; I will find one for myself.” And he said, “Madam, do not tell the king for a few days, and I will go seek a wife to suit my taste, and then I will tell you.” “Do so, my son,” she replied. He took leave of the queen, and went to his house, and informed his companions.
Then he got by some means the outfit of a tailor, and alone went out by the northern gate into North Town. Now in that place was an ancient and decayed merchant-family, and in this family was a daughter, the lady Amarā, a beautiful girl, wise, and with all the marks of good luck. That morning early, this girl had set out to the place where her father was plowing, to bring him rice-gruel which she had cooked, and it so happened that she went by the same road. When the Great Being saw her coming he thought, “A woman with all lucky marks! If she is unwed she must be my wife.” She also when she beheld him thought, “If I could live in the house of such a man, I might restore my family.”
The Great Being thought, “Whether she be wed or not I do not know: I will ask her by hand-gesture, and if she be wise she will understand.” So standing afar off he clenched his fist. She understood that he was asking whether she had a husband, and spread out her hand. Then he went up to her, and asked her name. She said, “My
name is that which neither is, nor was, nor ever shall be.”
“Madam, there is nothing in the world immortal, and your name must be Amarā, the Immortal.”
“Even so, master.” “For whom, madam, do you carry that gruel?” “For the god of old time.” “Gods of old time are one’s parents, and no doubt you mean your father.” “So it must be, master.” “What does your father do?” “He makes two out of one.” Now the making two out of one is plowing. “He is plowing, madam.” “Even so, master.” “And where is your father plowing?” “Where those who go come not again.” “The place whence those who go come not again is the cemetery: he is plowing then near a cemetery.” “Even so, master.” “Will you come again to-day, madam?” “If a come I will not come , if a come not I will come.” “Your father, methinks, madam, is plowing by a riverside, and if the flood come you will not come, if it come not you will.” After this interchange of talk, the lady Amarā offered him a drink of the gruel. The Great Being, thinking it ungracious to refuse, said he would like some. Then she put down the jar of gruel; and the Great Being thought, “If she offer it to me without first washing the pot and giving me water to wash my hands, I will leave her and go.” But she took up water in the pot and offered him water for washing, placed the pot empty upon the ground not in his hands, stirred up the gruel in the jar, filled the pot with it.
But there was not much rice in it, and the Great Being said, “Why, madam, there is very little rice here!” “We got no water, master.” “You mean when your field was in growth, you got no water upon it.” “Even so, master.” So she kept some gruel for her father, and gave some to the Bodhisat. He drank, and gargled his mouth, and said, “Madam, I will go to your house; kindly shew me the way.” She did so by reciting a stanza.
“By the way of the cakes and gruel, and the double-leaf tree in flower, by the hand wherewith I eat I bid thee go, not by that wherewith I eat not: that is the way to the market-town, that secret path you must find .”
Here endeth the Question of the Secret Path.
He reached the house by the way indicated; and Amarā’s mother saw him and gave him a seat. “May I offer you some gruel, master?” she asked. “Thank you, mother—sister Amarā gave me a little.” She at once recognized that he must have come on her daughter’s account.
The Great Being, when he saw their poverty, said, “Mother, I am a tailor: have you anything to mend?” “Yes, master, but nothing to pay.” “There is no need to pay, mother; bring the things and I will mend them.” She brought him some old clothes, and each as she brought it the Bodhisat mended. The wise man’s business always goes well, you know. He said then, “Go tell the people in the street.” She published it abroad in the village; and in one day by his tailoring the Great Being earned a thousand pieces of money.
The old dame cooked him a midday meal, and in the evening asked how much she should cook. “Enough, mother, for all those who live in this house.” She cooked a quantity of rice with some curry and condiments.
Now Amarā in the evening came back from the forest, bearing a faggot of wood upon her head and leaves on her hip. She threw down the wood before the front door and came in by the back door. Her father returned later. The Great Being ate of a tasteful meal; the girl served her parents before herself eating, washed their feet and the Bodhisat’s feet. For several days he lived there watching her. Then one day to test her, he said, “My dear Amarā, take half a measure of rice and with it make me gruel, a cake, and boiled rice.”
She agreed at once; and husked the rice; with the big grains she made gruel, the middling grains she boiled, and made a cake with the little ones, adding the suitable condiments. She gave the gruel with its condiments to the Great Being; [367] he no sooner took a mouthful of it than he felt its choice flavour thrill through him: nevertheless to test her he said, “Madam, if you don’t know how to cook why did you spoil my rice?” and spat it out on the ground. But she was not angry; only gave him the cake, saying, “If the gruel is not good eat the cake.” He did the same with that, and again rejecting the boiled rice, said, “If you don’t know how to cook why did you waste my property?” As though angry he mixed all three together and smeared them all over her body from the head downwards, and told her to sit at the door.
“Very good, master,” she said, not angry at all, and did so. Finding that there was no pride in her he said, “Come here, madam.” At the first word she came.
When the Great Being came, he had brought with him a thousand rupees and a dress in his betel-nut-bag. Now he took out this dress and placed it in her hands, saying, “Madam, bathe with your companions and put on this dress and come to me.” She did so. The sage gave her parents all the money he had brought or earned, and comforted them, and took her back to the town with him. There to test her he made her sit down in the gatekeeper’s house, and telling the gatekeeper’s wife of his plans, went to his own house. Then he sent for some of his men, and said, “I have left a woman in such and such a house; take a thousand pieces of money with you and test her.” He gave them the money and sent them away.
They did as they were bid. She refused, saying, “That is not worth the dust on my master’s feet.” The men came back and told the result. He sent them again, and a third time; and the fourth time he bade them drag her away by force. They did so, and when she saw the Great Being in all his glory she did not know him, but smiled and wept at the same time as she looked at him. He asked her why she did this. She replied, “Master, I smiled when I beheld your magnificence, and thought that this magnificence was not given you without cause, but for some good deed in a former life: see the fruit of goodness! I thought, and I smiled. But I wept to think that now you would sin against the property which another watched and tended, [368] and would go to hell: in pity for that I wept.” After this test he knew her chastity, and sent her back to the same place. Putting on his tailor’s disguise, he went back to her and there spent the night.
Next morning he repaired to the palace and told Queen Udumbarā all about it; she informed the king, and adorning Amarā with all kinds of ornaments, and seated her in a great chariot, and with great honour brought her to the Great Being’s house, and made a gala day. The king sent the Bodhisat a gift worth a thousand pieces of money: all the people of the town sent gifts from the doorkeepers onwards. Lady Amarā divided the gifts sent by the king into halves, and sent one portion back to the king; in the same way she divided all the gifts sent to her by the citizens, and returned half, thus winning the hearts of the people. From that time the Great Being lived with her in happiness, and instructed the king in things temporal and spiritual.
One day Senaka said to the other three who had come to see him, “Friends, we are not enough for this common man’s son Mahosadha; and now he has gotten him a wife cleverer than himself. Can we find a means to make a breach between him and the king?” “What do we know, sir teacher—you must decide.” “Well, never mind, there is a way. I will steal the jewel from the royal crest; you, Pukkusa, take his golden necklace; you, Kāvinda, take his woollen robe; you, Devinda, his golden slipper.” They all four found a way to do these things.
Then Senaka said, “We must now get them into the fellow’s house without his knowledge.” So Senaka put the jewel in a pot of dates and sent it by a slave-girl, saying, “If anyone else wants to have this pot of dates, refuse, but give them pot and all to the people in Mahosadha’s house.” She took it and went to the sage’s house, and walked up and down crying, “D’ye lack dates?” But the lady Amarā standing by the door saw this: she noticed that the girl went nowhere else, there must be something behind it; so making a sign for her servants to approach, she cried herself to the girl, “Come here, girl, I will take the dates.”When she came, the mistress called for her servants, but none answered, so she sent the girl to
fetch them. While she was gone Amarā put her hand into the pot and found the jewel. When the girl returned Amarā asked her, “Whose servant are you, girl?” “Pandit Senaka’s maid.” Then she enquired her name and her mother’s name and said, “Well, give me some dates.” “If you want it, mother, take it pot and all—I want no payment.” “You may go, then,” said Amarā, and sent her away.
Then she wrote down on a leaf, “On such a day of such a month the teacher Senaka sent a jewel from the king’s crest for a present by the hand of such and such a girl.” Pukkusa sent the golden necklet hidden in a casket of jasmine flowers; Kāvinda sent the robe in a basket of vegetables; Devinda sent the golden slipper in a bundle of straw. She received them all and put down names and all on a leaf, which she put away, telling the Great Being about it. Then those four men went to the palace, and said, “Why, my lord! won’t you wear your jewelled crest?”
“Yes, I will—fetch it,” said the king. But they could not find the jewel or the other things. Then the four said, “My lord, your ornaments are in Mahosadha’s house, and he uses them: that common man’s son is your enemy!” So they slandered him. Then his well-wishers went and told Mahosadha; and he said, “I will go to the king and find out.” He waited upon the king, who was angry and said, “I know him not! what does he want here?” He would not grant him an audience. When the sage learnt that the king was angry he returned home. The king sent to seize him; which the sage hearing from well-wishers indicated to Amarā that it was time he departed. So he escaped out of the city in disguise to South Town where he plied the trade of a potter in a potter’s house. All the city was full of the news that he had run away. Senaka and the other three hearing that he was gone, each unknown to the rest sent a letter to the lady Amarā, to this effect: “Never mind: are we not wise men?” She took all four letters, and answered to each that he should come at such a time. When they came, she had them clean shaven with razors, and threw them into the jakes, and tormented them sore, and wrapping them up in rolls of matting sent word to the king. Taking them and the four precious things together she went to the king’s courtyard and there greeting him said: “My lord, the wise Mahosadha is no thief; here are the thieves. Senaka stole the jewel, Pukkusa stole the golden necklace, Devinda stole the golden slipper: on such a day of such a month by the hand of such and such a slave-girl these four were sent as presents. Look at this leaf. Take what is yours, and cast out the thieves.” And thus heaping contumely on these four persons she returned home.
But the king was perplext about this, and since the Bodhisat had gone and there were no other wise men he said nothing, but told them to bathe and go home.
Now the deity that dwelt in the royal parasol no longer hearing the voice of the Bodhisat’s discourse wondered what might be the cause, and when she had found it out determined to bring the sage back. So at night she appeared through a hole in the circuit of the parasol, and asked the king four questions which are found in the ‘Questions of the Goddess’, the verses beginning “He strikes with hands and feet.” The king could not answer, and said so, but offered to ask his wise men, asking a day’s delay. Next day he sent a message summoning them, but they replied, “We are ashamed to shew ourselves in the street, shaven as we are.” So he sent them four skullcaps to wear on their heads. (That is the origin of these caps, so they say.) Then they came, and sat where they were invited to go, and the king said, “Senaka, last night the deity that dwells in my parasol asked me four questions, which I could not solve but said I would ask my wise men. Pray solve them for me.” And then he recited the first stanza:
“He strikes with hands and feet, and beats on the face; yet, O king, he is dear, and grows dearer than a husband.”
Senaka stammered out whatever came first, “Strikes how, strikes whom,” and could make neither head nor tail of it; the others were all dumb. The king was full of distress. When again at night the goddess asked whether he had found out the riddle, he said, “I asked my four wise men, and not even they could say.” She replied, “What do they know? Save wise Mahosadha there is none can solve it. If you do not send for him and get him to solve these questions, I will cleave your head with this fiery blade.” After thus frightening him she went on: “O king, when you want fire don’t blow a firefly, and when you want milk don’t milk a horn.” Then she repeated the Firefly Question :
“When light is extinguisht, who that goes in search of fire ever thinks a firefly to be fire, if he sees it at night? If he crumbles over it cow-dung and grass, it is a foolish idea; he cannot make it burn. So also a beast gets no benefit by wrong means, if it milks a cow by the horn where milk will not flow. By many means men obtain benefit, by punishment of enemies and kindness shown to friends. By winning over the chiefs of the army, and by the counsel of friends, the lords of the earth possess the earth and the fulness thereof.”
“They are not like you, blowing at a firefly in the belief that it is a fire: you are like one blowing at a firefly when fire is at hand, like one who throws down the balance and weighs with the hand, like one who wants milk and milks the horn, when you ask deep questions of Senaka and the like of him. What do they know? Like fireflies are they, like a great flaming fire is Mahosadha blazing with wisdom. If you do not find out this question, you are a dead man.” Having thus terrified the king, she disappeared.
Hereat the king, smitten with mortal fear, sent out the next day four of his courtiers, with orders to mount each in a chariot, and to go forth from the four gates of the city, and wheresoever they should find his son, the wise Mahosadha, to shew him all honour and speedily to bring him back.
Three of these found not the sage; but the fourth who went out by south gate found the Great Being in the South Town, who, after fetching clay and turning his master’s wheel, sat all clay-besmeared on a bundle of straw eating balls of rice dipt in a little soup. Now the reason why he did so was this: he thought that the king might suspect him of desiring to grasp the sovereign power, but if he heard that he was living by the craft of a potter this suspicion would be put away. When he perceived the courtier he knew that the man had come for himself; he understood that his prosperity would be restored, and he should eat all manner of choice food prepared by the lady Amarā: so he dropt the ball of rice which he held, stood up, and rinsed his mouth. At that moment up came the courtier: now this was one of Senaka’s faction, so he addrest him rudely as follows: “Wise Teacher, what Senaka said was useful information. Your prosperity gone, all your wisdom was unavailing; and now there you sit all besmeared with clay on a truss of straw, eating food like that!” and he recited this stanza from the Bhūri-pañha or ‘Question of Wisdom’:
“Is it true, as they say, that you are one of profound wisdom? So great prosperity, cleverness, and intelligence does not serve you, thus brought to insignificance, while you eat a little soup like that.”
Then the Great Being said, “Blind fool! By power of my wisdom when I want to restore that prosperity I will do it “; and he recited a couple of stanzas.
“I make weal ripen by woe, I discriminate between seasonable and unseasonable times, hiding at my own will; I unlock the doors of profit; therefore I am content with boiled rice. When I perceive the time for an effort, maturing my profit by my designs, I will bear myself valiantly like a lion, and by that mighty power you shall see me again.”
Then the courtier said: “Wise sir, the deity who lives in the parasol has put a question to the king, and the king asked the four wise men,—not a wise man of them could solve it! Therefore the king has sent me for you.” “In that case,” said the Great Being, “do you not see the power of wisdom? At such a time prosperity is of no use, but only one who is wise.” Thus he praised wisdom. Then the courtier handed over to the Great Being the thousand pieces of money and the suit of clothes provided by the king, that he might bathe him and dress at once. The potter was terrified to think that Mahosadha the sage had been his workman, but the Great Being consoled him, saying, “Fear not, my master, you have been of great help to me.” Then he gave him a thousand pieces; and with the mud-stains yet upon him mounted in the chariot and went to town. The courtier told the king of his arrival. “Where did you find the sage, my son?” “My lord, he was earning his livelihood as a potter in the South Town; but as soon as he heard that you had sent for him, without bathing, the mud yet staining his body, he came.” The king thought, “If he were my enemy he would have come with pomp and retinue; he is not my enemy.” Then he gave orders to take him to his house, and bathe him, and adorn him, and to bid him come back with the pomp that should be provided. This was done. He returned, and entered, and gave the king greeting, and stood on one side. The king spoke kindly to him, then to test him said this stanza:
“Some do no sin because they are wealthy, but others do no sin for fear of the taint of blame. You are able, if your mind desired much wealth. Why do you not do me harm?”
The Bodhisat said:
“Wise men do not sinful deeds for the sake of the pleasure that wealth gives. Good men, even though struck by misfortune and brought low, neither for friendship nor for enmity will renounce the right.”
Again the king recited this stanza, the mysterious saying of a Khattiya:
“He who for any cause, small or great, should upraise himself from a low place, thereafter would walk in righteousness.”
And the Great Being recited this stanza with an illustration of a tree:
“From off a tree beneath whose shade a man should sit and rest,
’Twere treachery to lop a branch. False friends we do detest .”
Then he went on: “Sire, if it is treachery to lop a branch from a tree which one has used, what are we to say of one who kills a man? Your majesty has given my father great wealth, and has shewn me great favour: how could I be so treacherous as to injure you?” Thus having demonstrated altogether his loyalty he reproached the king for his fault:
“When any man has disclosed the right to any, or has cleared his doubts, the other becomes his protection and refuge; and a wise man will not destroy this friendship.”
Now admonishing the king he said these two stanzas :
“The idle sensual layman I detest,
The false ascetic is a rogue confest.
A bad king will a case unheard decide;
Wrath in the sage can ne’er be justified.
The warrior prince takes careful thought, and well-weighed verdict gives,
When kings their judgment ponder well, their fame for ever lives .”
When he had thus said, the king caused the Great Being to sit on the royal throne under the white parasol outspread, and himself sitting on a low seat he said: “Wise sir, the deity who dwells in the white parasol asked me four questions. I consulted the four wise men and they could not find them out: solve me the questions, my son!” “Sire, be it the deity of the parasol, or be they the four great kings, or be they who they may; let who will ask a question and I will answer it.” So the king put the question as the goddess had done, and said:
“He strikes with hands and feet, he beats the face; and he, O king, is dearer than a husband.”
When the Great Being had heard the question, the meaning became as clear as though the moon had risen in the sky. “Listen, O king!” he said, “When a child on the mother’s lap happy and playful beats his mother with hands and feet, pulls her hair, beats her face with his fist, she says, Little rogue, why do you beat me? And in love she presses him close to her breast unable to restrain her affection, and kisses him; and at such a time he is dearer to her than his father.” Thus did he make clear this question, as though he made the sun rise in the sky; and hearing this the goddess shewed half her body from the aperture in the royal parasol, and said in a sweet voice, “The question is well solved!” Then she presented the Great Being with a precious casket full of divine perfumes and flowers, and disappeared. The king also presented him with flowers and so forth, and asked him the second question, reciting the second stanza:
“She abuses him roundly, yet wishes him to be near: and he, O king, is dearer than a husband.”
The Great Being said, “Sire, the child of seven years, who can now do his mother’s bidding, when he is told to go to the field or to the bazaar, says, If you will give me this or that sweetmeat I will go; she says, Here my son, and gives them; then he eats them and says, Yes, you sit in the cool shade of the house and I am to go out on your business! He makes a grimace, or mocks her with gestures, and won’t go.
She is angry, picks up a stick and cries—You eat what I give you and then won’t do anything for me in the field! She scares him, off he runs at full speed; she cannot follow and cries—Get out, may the thieves chop you up into little bits! So she abuses him roundly as much as she will; but what her mouth speaks she does not wish at all, and so she wishes him to be near. He plays about the livelong day, and at evening not daring to come home he goes to the house of some kinsman. The mother watches the road for his coming, and sees him not, and thinking that he durst not return has her heart full of pain; with tears streaming from her eyes she searches the houses of her kinsfolk, and when she sees her son she hugs and kisses him and squeezes him tight with both arms, and loves him more than ever, as she cries, Did you take my words in earnest? Thus, sire, a mother ever loves her son more in the hour of anger.” Thus he explained the second question: the goddess made him the same offering as before and so did the king. Then the king asked him the third question in another stanza:
“She reviles him without cause, and without reason reproaches; yet he, O king, is dearer than a husband.”
The Great Being said, “Sire, when a pair of lovers in secret enjoy their love’s delights, and one says to the other, You don’t care for me, your heart is elsewhere I know! all false and without reason, chiding and reproaching each other, then they grow dearer to each other. That is the meaning of the question.” The goddess made the same offering as before, and so did the king; who then asked him another question, reciting the fourth stanza:
“One takes food and drink, clothes and lodging,—verily the good men carry them off: yet they, O king, are dearer than a husband.”
He replied, “Sire, this question has reference to righteous mendicant brahmins. Pious families that believe in this world and the next give to them and delight in giving: when they see such brahmins receiving what is given and eating it, and think, It is to us they came to beg, our own food which they eat—they increase affection towards them. Thus verily they take the things, and wearing on the shoulder what has been given, they become dear.” When this question had been answered the goddess exprest her approval by the same offering as before, and laid before the Great Being’s feet a precious casket full of the seven precious things, praying him to accept it; the king also delighted made him Commander in Chief. Henceforward great was the glory of the Great Being. Here endeth the Question of the Goddess.
Again these four said, “This common fellow is waxen greater: what are we to do?” Senaka said to them, “All right, I know a plan. Let us go to the fellow and ask him, To whom is it right to tell a secret? If he says, To no one, we will speak against him to the king and say that he is a traitor.” So the four went to the wise man’s house, and greeted him, and said, “Wise sir, we want to ask you a question.” “Ask away,” said he. Senaka said, “Wise sir, wherein should a man be firmly established?” “In the truth.” “That done, what is the next thing to do?” “He must make wealth.” “What next after that?” “He must learn good counsel.” “After that what next?” “He must tell no man his own secret.” “Thank you, sir,” they said, and went away happy, thinking, “This day we shall see the fellow’s back!” Then they entered the king’s presence and said to him, “Sire, the fellow is a traitor to you!”
The king replied, “I do not believe you, he will never be traitor to me.” “Believe it, sire, for it is true! but if you do not believe, then ask him to whom a secret ought to be told; if he is no traitor, he will say, To so and so; but if he is a traitor he will say, A secret should be told to no one; when your desire is fulfilled, then you may speak. Then believe us, and be suspicious no longer.” Accordingly one day when all were seated together he recited the first stanza of ‘the Wise Man’s Question’:
“The five wise men are now together, and a question occurs to me: listen. To whom should a secret be revealed, whether good or bad?”
This said, Senaka, thinking to bring the king over to their side, repeated this stanza:
“Do thou declare thy mind, O lord of the earth! thou art our supporter and bearest our burdens. The five clever men will understand thy wish and pleasure, and will then speak, O master of men!”
Then the king in his human infirmity recited this stanza:
“If a woman be virtuous, and faithful, subservient to her husband’s wish and will, affectionate, a secret should be told whether good or bad to the wife.”
“Now the king is on my side!” thought Senaka, and pleased he repeated a stanza, explaining his own course of conduct:
“He who protects a sick man in distress and who is his refuge and support, may reveal to his friend a secret whether good or bad.”
Then the king asked Pukkusa: “How does it seem to you, Pukkusa? to whom should a secret be told? ” and Pukkusa recited this stanza:
“Old or young or betwixt, if a brother be virtuous and trusty, to such a brother a secret may be told whether good or bad.”
Next the king asked Kāvinda, and he recited this stanza:
“When a son is obedient to his father’s heart, a true son, of lofty wisdom, to that son a secret may be revealed whether good or bad.”
And then the king asked Devinda, who recited this stanza:
“O lord of men! if a mother cherishes her son with loving fondness, to his mother he may reveal a secret whether good or bad.”
After asking them the king asked, “How do you look upon it, wise sir?” and he recited this stanza:
“Good is the secrecy of a secret, the revealing of a secret is not to be praised. The clever man should keep it to himself whilst it is not accomplished; but after it is done he may speak when he will.”
When the sage had said this the king was displeased: then the king looked at Senaka and Senaka looked at the king. This the Bodhisat saw, and recognized the fact, that these four had once before slandered him to the king, and that this question must have been put to test him.
Now whilst they were talking the sun had set, and lamps had been lit. “Hard are the ways of kings,” thought he, “what will happen no one can tell; I must depart with speed.” So he rose from his seat, and greeted the king, and went away thinking, “Of these four, one said it should be told to a friend, one to a brother, one to a son, one to a mother: they must have done or seen something; or I think, they have heard others tell what they have seen. Well, well, I shall find out to-day.” Such was his thought.
Now on other days, these four on coming out of the palace used to sit on a trough at the palace door, and talk of their plans before going home: so the sage thought that if he should hide beneath that trough he might learn their secrets. Lifting the trough accordingly, he caused a rug to be spread beneath it and crept in, giving directions to his men to fetch him when the four wise men had gone away after their talk.
The men promised and departed. Meanwhile Senaka was saying to the king, “Sire, you do not believe us, now what do you think?” The king accepted the word of these breedbates without investigation, and asked in terror, “What are we to do now, wise Senaka?” “Sire, without delay, without a word to anyone, he must be killed.” “O Senaka, no one cares for my interests but you. Take your friends with you and wait at the door, and in the morning when the fellow comes to wait upon me, cleave his head with a sword.” So saying he gave them his own precious sword. “Very good, my lord, fear nothing, we will kill him.” They went out saying, “We have seen the back of our enemy!” and sat down on the trough. Then Senaka said, “Friends, who shall strike the fellow?” The others said, “You, our teacher,” laying the task on him. Then Senaka said, “You said, friends, that a secret ought to be told to such and such a person: was it something you had done, or seen, or heard?” “Never mind that, teacher: when you said that a secret might be told to a friend, was that something which you had done?” “What does that matter to you?” he asked. “Pray tell us, teacher,” they repeated. He said, “If the king come to know this secret, my life would be forfeit.” “Do not fear, teacher, there’s no one here to betray your secret, tell us, teacher.” Then, tapping upon the trough, Senaka said, “What if that clodhopper is under this!” “O teacher! the fellow in all his glory would not creep into such a place as this! He must be intoxicated with his prosperity. Come, tell us.” Senaka told his secret and said, “Do you know such and such a harlot in this city?” “Yes, teacher.” “Is she now to be seen?” “No, teacher.” “In the sāl-grove I lay with her, and afterwards killed her to get her ornaments, which I tied up in a bundle and took to my house and hung up on an elephant’s tusk in such a room of such a storey: but use them I cannot until it has blown over.
This crime I have disclosed to a friend, and he has not told a soul; and that is why I said a secret may be told to a friend.” The sage heard this secret of Senaka’s and bore it in mind. Then Pukkusa told his secret. “On my thigh is a spot of leprosy. In the morning my young brother washes it, puts a salve on it and a bandage, and never tells a soul. When the king’s heart is soft he cries, Come here, Pukkusa, and he often lays his head on my thigh. But if he knew he would kill me. No one knows this except my young brother; and that is why I said, A secret may be told to a brother.” Kāvinda told his secret. “As for me, in the dark fortnight on the fast-day a goblin named Naradeva takes possession of me, and I bark like a mad dog. I told my son of this; and he, when he sees me to be possest, fastens me up indoors, and then he leaves me shutting the door, and to hide my noises he gathers a party of people. That is why I said that a secret might be told to a son.” Then they all three asked Devinda, and he told his secret. “I am inspector of the king’s jewels; and I stole a wonderful lucky gem, the gift of Sakka to King Kusa, and gave it to my mother. When I go to Court she hands it to me, without a word to anyone; and by reason of that gem I am pervaded with the spirit of good fortune when I enter the palace.
The king speaks to me first before any of you, and gives me each day to spend eight rupees, or sixteen, or thirty-two, or sixty-four. If the king knew of my having that gem concealed I’m a dead man! That is why I said that a secret might be told to a mother.”
The Great Being took careful note of all their secrets; but they, after disclosing their secrets as if they had ript up their bellies and let the entrails out, rose up from the seat and departed, saying, “Be sure to come early and we will kill the churl.”
When they were gone the sage’s men came and turned up the trough and took the Great Being home. He washed and drest and ate; and knowing that his sister Queen Udumbarī would that day send him a message from the palace, he placed a trusty man on the look-out, bidding him send in at once anyone coming from the palace. Then he lay down on his bed.
At that time the king also was lying upon his bed and remembering the virtue of the sage. “The sage Mahosadha has served me since he was seven years old, and never done me wrong. When the goddess asked me her questions but for the sage I had been a dead man. To accept the words of revengeful enemies, to give them a sword and bid them slay a peerless sage, this I ought never to have done. After to-morrow I shall see him no more!” He grieved, sweat poured from his body, possest with grief his heart had no peace. Queen Udumbarī, who was with him on his couch, seeing him in this frame, asked, “Have I done any offence against you? or has any other thing caused grief to my lord?” and she repeated this stanza:
“Why art thou perplext, O king? we hear not the voice of the lord of men! What dost thou ponder thus downcast? there is no offence from me, my lord.”
Then the king repeated a stanza:
“They said, “the wise Mahosadha must be slain”; and condemned by me to death is the most wise one. As I think on this I am downcast. There is no fault in thee, my queen.”
When she heard this, grief crushed her like a rock for the Great Being; and she thought, “I know a plan to console the king: when he goes to sleep I will send a message to my brother.” Then she said to him, “Sire, it is your doing that the churl’s son was raised to great power; you made him commander-in-chief. Now they say he has become your enemy. No enemy is insignificant; killed he must be, so do not grieve.” Thus she consoled the king; his grief waned and he fell asleep. Then up rose the queen and went to her chamber, and wrote a letter to this effect. “Mahosadha, the four wise men have slandered you; the king is angry, and to-morrow has commanded that you be slain in the gate. Do not come to the palace to-morrow morning; or if you do come, come with power to hold the city in your hand.” She put the letter within a sweetmeat, and tied it up with a thread, and put it in a new jar, perfumed it, sealed it up, and gave it to a handmaid, saying, “Take this sweetmeat and give it to my brother.” She did so. You must not wonder how she got out in the night; for the king had erewhiles given this boon to the queen, and therefore no one hindered her. The Bodhisat received the present and dismissed the woman, who returned and reported that she had delivered it. Then the queen went and lay down by the king. The Bodhisat opened the sweetmeat, and read the letter, and understood it, and after deliberating what should be done went to rest.
Early in the morning, the other four wise men sword in hand stood by the gate, but not seeing the sage they became downcast, and went in to the king. “Well,” said he, “is the clodhopper killed?” They replied, “We have not seen him, sire.” And the Great Being at sunrise got the whole city into his power, set guards here and there, and in a chariot with a great host of men and great magnificence came to the palace gates. The king stood looking out of an open window. Then the Great Being got down from his chariot and saluted him; and the king thought, “If he were my enemy, he would not salute me.” Then the king sent for him, and sat upon his throne. The Great Being came in and sat on one side: the four wise men also sat down there. Then the king made as if he knew nothing and said, “My son, yesterday you left us and now you come again; why do you treat me thus negligently?” and he repeated this stanza:
“At evening you went, now you come. What have you heard? what doth your mind fear? Who commanded you, O most wise? Come, we are listening for the word: tell me.”
The Great Being replied, “Sire, you listened to the four wisemen and commanded my death, that is why I did not come,” and reproaching him repeated this stanza:
“The wise Mahosadha must be slain”: if you told this last night secretly to your wife, your secret was disclosed and I heard it.”
When the king heard this he looked angrily at his wife thinking that she must have sent word of it on the instant. Observing this the Great Being said, “Why are you angry with the queen, my lord? I know all the past, present, and future. Suppose the queen did tell your secret: who told me the secrets of master Senaka, and Pukkusa, and the rest of them? But I know all their secrets “; and he told Senaka’s secret in this stanza:
“The sinful and wicked deed which Senaka did in the sāl-grove he told to a friend in secret, that secret has been disclosed and I have heard it.”
Looking at Senaka, the king asked, “Is it true?” “Sire, it is true,” he replied, and the king ordered him to be cast into prison. Then the sage told Pukkusa’s secret in this stanza:
“In the man Pukkusa, O king of men, there is a disease unfit for a king’s touching: he told it in secret to his brother. That secret has been disclosed and I have heard it.”
The king looking upon him asked, “Is it true?” “Yes, my lord,” said he; and the king sent him also to prison. Then the sage told Kāvinda’s secret in this stanza:
“Diseased is yon man, of evil nature, possest of Naradeva. He told it in secret to his son: this secret has been disclosed and I have heard it.”
[388] “Is it true, Kāvinda?” the king asked; and he answered, “It is true.” Then the king sent him also to prison. The sage now told Devinda’s secret in this stanza:
“The noble and precious gem of eight facets, which Sakka gave to your grandfather, that is now in Devinda’s hands, and he told it to his mother in secret. That secret has been disclosed and I have heard it.”
“Is it true, Devinda?” the king asked; and he answered, “It is true.” So he sent him also to prison. Thus they who had plotted to slay the Bodhisat were all in bonds together. And the Bodhisat said, “This is why I say, a man should tell his secret to no one; those who said that a secret ought to be told, have all come to utter ruin.” And he recited these stanzas, proclaiming a higher doctrine:
“The secrecy of a secret is always good, nor is it well to divulge a secret. When a thing is not accomplished the wise man should keep it to himself: when he has accomplished his aim let him speak an he will. One should not disclose a secret thing, but should guard it like a treasure; for a secret thing is not well revealed by the prudent.
Not to a woman would the wise man tell a secret, not to a foe, nor to one who can be enticed by self-interest, nor for affection’s sake. He who discloses a secret thing unknown, through fear of broken confidence must endure to be the other’s slave. As many as are those who know a man’s secret, so many are his anxieties: therefore one should not disclose a secret. Go apart to tell a secret by day; by night in a soft whisper: for listeners hear the words, therefore the words soon come out 1.”
When the king heard the Great Being speak he was angry, and thought he, “These men, traitors themselves to their king, make out that the wise man is traitor to me!” Then he said, “Go drive them out of the town, and impale them or cleave their heads!” So they bound their hands behind them, at every street corner gave them a hundred blows. But as they were dragged along, the sage said, “My lord, these are your ancient ministers, pardon them their fault!” The king consented, and gave them to be his slaves. He set them free at once. Then the king said, “Well, they shall not live in my dominion,” and ordered that they should be banished. But the sage begged him to pardon their blind folly, and appeased him, and persuaded him to restore their positions. The king was much pleased with the sage: if this were his tender mercy towards his foes, what must it be to others! Thenceforward the four wise men, like snakes with their teeth drawn and their poison gone, could not find a word to say, we are told.
Here endeth the Question of the Five Wise Men, and likewise ‘the Story of Calumny’
(Special Note : This is not the full Jataka Story.)
From the book : The Jataka , E. B. Cowell and W. H. D. Rouse