(continuation 2)

By the power of the Great Being's compassion, even the wild animals, all that were within three leagues of their borders, had compassion one of another. Daily at dawn, Maddī arises, provides water for their drinking and food to eat, brings water and tooth-brush for cleansing the mouth, sweeps out the hermitage, leaves the two children with their father, basket, spade, and hook in hand [521] hies to the forest for wild roots and fruits, with which she fills her basket: at evening she returns, lays the wild fruits in the cell, washes the children; then the four of them sit at the door of the cell and eat their fruits. Then Maddī takes her two [36] children, and retires to her own cell. Thus they lived in the recesses of the mountain for seven months. [37]

At that time, in the kingdom of Kāliṅga, and in a Brahmin village named Dunniviṭṭha, lived a brahmin Jūjaka. He by quest of alms having obtained a hundred rupees deposited them with a certain brahmin family, and went out to get more wealth. As he was long away, the family spent that money; the other came back and upbraided them, but they could not return the money, and so they gave him their daughter named Amittatāpanā. He took the maiden with him to Dunniviṭṭha, in Kāliṅga, and there dwelt. Amittatāpanā tended the brahmin well. Some other brahmins, young men, seeing her dutifulness, reproached their own wives with it: "See how carefully she tends an old man, whilst you are careless of your young husbands!" This made the wives resolve to drive her out of the village. So they would gather in crowds at the river side and everywhere else, reviling her.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"Once in Kāliṅga, Jūjaka a brahmin spent his life,

Who had Amittatāpanā, quite a young girl, to wife.

The women who with waterpots down to the river came

Cried shame upon her, crowding up, and roundly cursed her name.

"A "foe" indeed your mother was, a "foe" your father too, [38]

To let an old decrepit man wed a young wife like you.

Your people brewed a secret plot, a bad, mean, cruel plan,

To let a fine young girl be wed to an old decrepit man.

[522] A hateful thing your life must be, as youthful as you are,

With an old husband to be wed; nay, death were better far.

It surely seems, my pretty one, your parents were unkind

If for a fine young girl they could no other husband find.

Your fire-oblation, and your ninth [39] were offered all for naught

If by an old decrepit man so young a wife was caught.

Some brahmin or ascetic once no doubt you have reviled,

Some virtuous or learned man, some hermit undefiled,

If by an old decrepit man so young a wife was caught.

Painful a spear-thrust, full of pain the serpent's fiery bite:

But a decrepit husband is more painful to the sight.

With an old husband there can be no joy and no delight,

No pleasant talk: his very laugh is ugly to the sight.

When men and maidens, youth with youth, hold intercourse apart

They make an end of all the woes that harbour in the heart.

You are a girl whom men desire, you're young and you are fair:

How can an old man give you joy? Go home and tarry there!"

When she heard their mockery, she went home with her waterpot, weeping. "Why are you weeping?" the husband asked; and she replied in this stanza:

[523] "I cannot fetch the water home, the women mock me so:

Because my husband is so old they mock me when I go."

Jūjaka said:

"You need not fetch the water home, you need not serve me so:

Do not be angry, lady mine: for I myself will go."

The woman said:

"You fetch the water? no, indeed! that's not our usual way.

I tell you plainly, if you do, with you I will not stay.

Unless you buy a slave or maid this kind of work to do,

I tell you plainly I will go and will not live with you."

Jūjaka said:

"How can I buy a slave? I have no craft, no corn, no pelf:

Come, be not angry, lady mine: I'll do your work myself."

The woman said:

"Come now, and let me tell to you what I have heard them say.

Out yonder in the Vaṁka hill lives King Vessantara:

Go, husband, to Vessantara and ask him for a slave;

The prince will certainly consent to give you what you crave."

Jūjaka said:

"I am an old decrepit man; the road is rough and long;

But do not worry, do not weep – and I am far from strong:

But be not angry, lady mine: I'll do the work myself."

[524] The woman said:

"You're like a soldier who gives in before the fight: but why?

And do you own that you are beat before you go [40] and try?

Unless you buy a slave or maid this kind of work to do,

I tell you plainly, I will go, I will not live with you.

That will be a most unpleasant thing, a painful thing for you.

When happy in another's arms you shall behold me soon,

Drest gaily at the season's change, or changes of the moon.

And as in your declining years my absence you deplore,

Your wrinkles and your hoary hairs will double more and more."

Explaining this, the Master said:

"And now the brahmin full of fears to his wife's will gives way;

So then tormented by his love, you might have heard him say:

"Get me provision for the road: make me some honey-cake,

Prepare some bannocks too, and set the barley-bread to bake.

And then an equal [41] pair of slaves with me I'll bring away,

Who without wearying shall wait upon you night and day."

Quickly she prepared the provision, and informed him that it was done. Meanwhile he repairs the weak places about his cottage, secures the door, brings in wood from the forest, draws water in the pitcher, fills all the pots and pans, and donning the garb of the ascetic he leaves her with the words, "Be sure not to go out at improper times, and be careful until I return." Then putting on his shoes, he puts his bag of provisions over his shoulder, walks round his wife rightwise, and departs with streaming eyes.

[525] Explaining this, the Master said:

"This done, the brahmin dons his shoes; then rising presently,

And walking round her towards the right he bids his wife good-bye.

So went he, dressed in holiness, tears standing in his eyes:

To the rich Sivi capital to find a slave he hies."

When he came to that city, he asked the assembled people where Vessantara was.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"When further he had come, he asked the people gathered round –

"Say, where is King Vessantara? where can the prince be found?"

To him replied the multitude who were assembled round:

"By such as you he's ruined; for by giving, giving still,

He's banisht out of all the realm and dwells in Vaṁka hill.

By such as you he's ruined; for by giving, giving still,

He took his wife and children and now dwells in Vaṁka hill."

"So you have destroyed our king, and now come here again! Stand still, will you," and with sticks and clods, kicks and fisticuffs, they chased him away. But he was guided by the gods into the right road for Vaṁka hill.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"So he, upbraided by his wife, in greedy passion's sway,

Paid for his error in the wood where beasts and panthers prey.

Taking his staff and begging-bowl and sacrificial spoon,

He sought the forest where abode the giver of every boon.

Once in the forest, came the wolves thronging around his way:

He leapt aside, and went confused far from the path astray. [42]

This brahmin of unbridled greed, finding himself astray,

The way to Vaṁka now quite lost, began these lines to say.

[526] "Who'll tell me of Vessantara, the prince all conquering,

Giver of peace in time of fear, the great and mighty king?

Refuge of suitors, as the earth to all that living be,

Who'll tell me of Vessantara, the great and mighty king?

All who seek favours go to him as rivers to the sea:

Who'll tell me of Vessantara, the great and mighty king?

Like to a safe and pleasant lake, with water fresh and cool,

With lilies spread, whose filaments cover the quiet pool:

Who’ll tell me of Vessantara, the great and mighty king?

Like a great fig-tree on the road, which growing there has made

A rest for weary wayfarers who hasten to its shade:

Who'll tell me of Vessantara, the great and mighty king?

Like banyan, sāl, or mango-tree, which on the road has made

A rest for weary wayfarers that hasten to its shade:

Who'll tell me of Vessantara, the great and mighty king?

Who will give ear to my complaint, the forest all around?

Glad I should be, could anyone tell where he may be found!

Who will give ear to my complaint, the forest all around?

Great blessing it would be, if one could tell where he may be found."

[527] Now the man who had been set to watch, who was ranging the woods as a forester, heard this lamentable outcry; and thought he – "Here is a brahmin crying out about Vessantara's dwelling-place; he cannot be here for any good purpose. He will ask for Maddī or the children, no doubt. Well, I will kill him." So he approached the man, and as he drew his bow, threatened him with the words – "Brahmin, I will not spare your life!"

Explaining this, the Master said:

"The hunter ranging in the wood heard this lament, and said:

"By such as you he's ruined; for by giving, giving still,

He's banisht out of all the realm and dwells in Vaṁka hill.

By such as you he's ruined; for by giving, giving still,

He took his wife and children and now dwells in Vaṁka hill.

A good-for-nothing fool you are, if leaving home you wish

To seek the prince in forests, like a crane that seeks a fish.

Therefore, my worthy man, I will not spare your life; and so

My arrow now shall drink your blood when shot from out my bow.

I'll split your head, tear out your heart and liver in a trice,

Like birds to spirits of the road I'll make you sacrifice.

I'll take your flesh, I'll take your fat, I'll take your heart and head,

And you shall be a sacrifice [43] as soon as you are dead.

You'll be a welcome sacrifice, a goodly offering;

And then you'll not destroy the wife and children of the king."

[528] The man, on hearing these words, was frightened to death, and made a false reply.

"The ambassador's inviolate, and no man may him kill:

This is a very ancient rule; so listen, if you will.

The people have repented them, his father misses him,

His mother pines away for grief – her eyes are waxing dim.

I come as their ambassador, Vessantara to bring:

Hear me, and tell me if you know where I may find the king."

Then the man was pleased to hear that he was come to fetch Vessantara; he fastened up his dogs, and called the brahmin down, and seating him upon a pile of twigs he recited this stanza:

"I love the envoy and the prince: and here I give to you

A gift of welcome – leg of deer and pot of honey too;

Our benefactor how to find I'll tell you what to do."

So saying, the man gave the brahmin food, with a gourd of honey and a roast leg of deer, and set him on his way, raising his right hand to point out the place where the Great Being lived: and he said –

"Sir brahmin, yonder rocky mount is Gandhamādan hill

Where lives the King Vessantara with wife and children still.

With brahmin's dress, with hook [44] and spoon, the ascetic's matted hair,

Skinclad he lies upon the ground and tends the fire with care.

See yonder, trees with many fruits, green on the mountain side,

While the dark mountain-peaks uplift till in the clouds they hide.

There shrubs, and creepers, horsear, sāl, and many another tree [45]

Sway in the wind like drunken men for anyone to see.

High up above the rows of trees the birds in concert sing,

Najjuha, [46] cuckoo, flocks of them, from tree to tree flitting.

[529] Thronging among the leafy twigs they bid the stranger come,

Welcome the guest, delighting all who make the woods their home,

Where with his children now abides Vessantara the king.

With brahmin's dress, with hook and spoon, the ascetic's matted hair,

Skinclad he lies upon the ground, and tends the fire with care."

Moreover he said, in praise of the hermitage:

"Mango, rose-apple, jackfruit, sāl, all kinds of myrobolan,

Bo, golden tindook, many more, including the banyan; [47]

Plenty of figs, all growing low, all ripe, as sweet as sweet,

Dates, luscious grapes, and honeycomb, as much as you can eat.

The mango-trees are some in flower, some with the fruit just set,

Some ripe and green as any frog, while some are unripe yet.

A man may stand beneath the trees and pluck them as they grow:

The choicest flavour, colour, taste, both ripe and unripe shew.

It makes me cry aloud to see that great and wondrous sight,

Like heaven where the gods abide, the garden of delight.

Palmyra, date-palm, coconut grow in that forest high,

Festoons of flowers garlanded as when the banners fly,

Blossoms of every hue and tint like stars that dot the sky.

[530] Ebony, aloe, trumpet-flower, and many another tree, [48]

Acacias, berries, nuts, and all as thick as thick can be.

Hard by there is a lake bespread with lilies blue and white,

As in the garden of the gods, the Garden of Delight.

And there the cuckoos make the hills re-echo as they sing,

Intoxicated with the flowers which in their season spring.

See on the lilies drop by drop the honey-nectar fall,

And feel the breezes blowing free from out the south and west,

Until the pollen of the flowers is waften over all.

Plenty of rice and berries [49] ripe about the lake do fall,

Which fish and crabs [50] and tortoises dart seeking with a zest,

And honey drips like milk or ghee from the flowers one and all.

A frequent breeze blows through the trees where every scent is found,

And seems to intoxicate with flowers the forest all around.

The bees about the scented flowers fly thronging with their hum,

There fly the many-coloured birds together, all and some,

Cooing and chirping in delight, each with his mate they come.

"O pretty chicky, happy chap!" they twitter and they tweet –

O lovey dovey, deary dear, my pretty little sweet!" [51]

Festoons of flowers garlanded as when the banners fly,

Blossoms of every hue and tint, sweet odours wafted by,

Where with his children now abides Vessantara the king.

With brahmin's dress, with hook and spoon, the ascetic's matted hair,

Skinclad he lies upon the ground and tends the fire with care."

[531] Thus did the countryman describe the place where Vessantara lived; and Jūjaka delighted saluted him in this stanza:

"Accept this piece of barley-bread all soaked with honey sweet,

And lumps of well-cookt honey-cake: I give it you to eat."

To this the countryman answered:

"I thank you, but I have no need: keep your provision still;

And take of my provision; then go, brahmin, where you will.

[532] Straight onward to a hermitage the pathway there will lead,

Where Accata a hermit dwells, black-tooth'd, with dirty head,

With brahmin dress, with hook and spoon, the ascetic's matted hair,

Skinclad he lies upon the ground and tends the fire with care:

Go thither, ask the way of him, and he will give you speed."

When this he heard, the brahmin walked round Ceta towards the right,

And went in search of Accata, his heart in high delight.

Then Bhāradvāja [52] went along until he came anigh

Unto the hermit's place, to whom he spake thus courteously:

"O holy man, I trust that you are prosperous and well, [53]

With grain to glean and roots and fruit abundant where you dwell.

Have you been much by flies and gnats and creeping things annoyed,

Or from wild beasts of prey have you immunity enjoyed?"

The ascetic said:

"I thank you, brahmin – yes, I am both prosperous and well,

With grain to eat and roots and fruit abundant where I dwell.

From flies and gnats and creeping things I suffer not annoy,

And from wild beasts of prey I here immunity enjoy.

In all the innumerable years I've lived upon this ground,

No harmful sickness that I know has ever here been found.

Welcome, O brahmin! bless the chance directed you this way,

Come enter with a blessing, come, and wash your feet I pray.

The tindook and the piyal leaves, and kāsumārī sweet,

And fruits like honey, brahmin, take the best I have, and eat,

And this cool water from a cave high hidden on a hill,

O noble brahmin, take of it, drink if it be your will."

Jūjaka said:

[533] "Accepted is your offering, and your oblation, sir.

I seek the son of Sañjaya, once banisht far away

By Sivi's people: if you know where he abides, please say."

The ascetic said:

"You seek the King of Sivi, sir, not with a good intent:

Methinks your honour's real desire upon his wife is bent:

Kaṇhājinā for handmaiden, Jāli for serving-man,

Or you would fetch the mother with her children, if you can,

The prince has no enjoyments here, no wealth or food, my man."

On hearing this, Jūjaka said:

"I wish no ill to any man, no boon I come to pray:

But sweet it is to see the good, pleasant with them to stay.

I never saw this monarch, whom his people sent away:

I came to see him: if you know where he abides, please say."

The other believed him. "Good, I will tell you; only stay with me here to-day." So he entertained him with wild fruits and roots; and next day, stretching out his hand, he shewed him the road. (He then recites the verses given above, p. 274, "Sir brahmin – with care," and adds:)

[534] "The foliage of the pepper-tree in that fair spot is seen,

No dust is ever blown aloft, the grass is ever green.

The grasses like a peacock's neck, soft-cotton to the touch,

Grow never more than inches four, but always just so much.

Kapittha, mango, rose-apple, and ripe figs dangling low,

All trees whose fruit is good to eat in that fine forest grow.

There sweet and clean and fragrant streams as blue as beryl flow,

Through which disporting up and down the shoals of fishes go.

A lake lies in a lovely spot, with lilies blue and, white,

Hard by, like that which is in heaven i’ the Garden of Delight.

Three kinds of lilies in that lake present them to the sight,

With varied colours: some are blue, some blood-red, others white."

Thus he praised the foursquare lake of lilies, and went on to praise Lake Mucalinda:

"As soft as linen are the flowers, those lilies blue and white,

And other herbs grow there: the lake is Mucalinda hight.

And there in number infinite the full-blown flowers you see,

In summer and in winter both as high as to the knee.

Always the many-coloured flowers blow fragrant on the breeze,

And you may hear drawn by the scent the buzzing of the bees.

[535] All round about the water's edge are standing in a row

The ebony, the trumpet-flower, and tall kadamba-trees.

Six-petals and many another tree [54] with flowers all a-blow,

And leafy bowers all standing round about the lake one sees.

There trees of every shape and size, there flowers of every hue,

All shrubs and bushes, high and low are spread before the view:

The breezes sweetly waft the scent from flowers white, blue, and red,

That grow about the hermitage wherein the fire is fed.

[536] Close round about the water's edge grow many plants and trees,

Which tremble as they echo to the murmurs of the bees.

The scent of all the lovely blooms that grow about that shore

Will last you if you keep them for a week, or two, or more.

Three kinds of gourds, all distinct, grow in this lake, and some

Have fruit as big as waterpots, others big as a drum.

Mustard, green garlic, lilies blue to pick, and flowers full-blown,

Jasmine, sweet sandal, creepers huge about the trees are grown.

[537] Sweet jasmine, cotton, indigo, and plants of many a name,

Cress, trumpet-flower, grow all around like tongues of golden flame.

Yea, every kind of flower that grows in water or on land,

In and about this lovely lake lo and behold they stand.

There crocodiles and water-beasts abide of every sort,

Red deer and other animals for water do resort.

Turmeric, camphor, panick-seed, the liquorice-plant, and all

Most fragrant seeds and grasses grow with stalks exceeding tall.

There lions, tigers, elephants a seeking for a mate,

Deer red and dappled, jackals, dogs, and fawns so swift of gait,

[538] Yaks, antelopes, and flying fox, and monkeys great and small,

Bears, bulls, and other mighty beasts come flocking one and all:

Rhinoceros, mungoose, squirrel, boar, dog, jackal, buffalo,

Loris, hare, speckled panther, wolf and lizard, there they go:

Spiders and snakes and hairy things, and every kind of bird,

Which as they chirp and twitter round all make their voices heard:

Hawk, woodcock, heron, piper, owl, the cuckoo with his flute,

Partridge, geese, ospreys, pheasants, cranes, and redbacks, follow suit.

[539] There sweetly singing to their mates the gorgeous-coloured things,

White-tufted, blue-neckt, peacock-hued flutter their pretty wings.

Why should I try their thousand names in detail to rehearse?

Imagine every kind of bird, and add them to my verse.

There a melodious company their thousand songs they make

And fill the air with pleasant noise round Mucalinda Lake.

The wood is full of elephants, of antelopes and deer,

Where hanging down from all the trees great creepers do appear.

There mustard grows, and sugar-cane, and many kinds of rice,

And beans and other plants and herbs, all comers to suffice.

Yonder the footpath leads you straight unto his settling-ground

Where never hunger, never thirst, and no distaste is found,

Where with his children now abides Vessantara the king:

p. 279

With brahmin's dress, with hook and spoon, the ascetic's matted hair,

Skinclad he lies upon the ground, and tends the fire with care."

[540] When this he heard, the brahmin walked around him towards the right,

And went to seek Vessantara, his heart in high delight.

Jūjaka went on by the road pointed out to him by Accata the Hermit, and arrived at the foursquare lake. "It is now late evening," he thought: "Maddī will by now be returned from the forest, and women are always in the way. To-morrow, when she has gone into the forest, I will go to Vessantara, and ask him for the children, and before she comes back I will be away." So he climbed a flat-topt hill not far off, and lay down in a pleasant spot. Now at dawn of the next morning, Maddī had a dream, and her dream was after this fashion: A black man clothed in two yellow robes, with red flowers in his two ears, came and entered the hut of leaves, clutched Maddī by the hair of her head and dragged her out, threw her down on the ground backwards, and amidst her shrieks tore out her two eyes, cut off two arms, cut open her breast, and tearing out the heart dripping with blood carried it away. She awoke in affright, thinking – "An evil dream have I seen; I have no one here but Vessantara to interpret my dream, so I will ask him about it." [541] Then going to the hut of the Great Being, she knocked at the door. "Who's there?" "I, my lord, Maddī." "Lady, why have you come here unseasonably, and broken our compact?" "My lord, it is not from desire that I come; but I have had an evil dream." "Tell it to me then, Maddī." She told it as it had appeared: the Great Being understood what the dream meant. "The perfection of my giving," he thought, "is to be fulfilled: this day comes a suitor to ask for my children. I will console Maddī and let her go." So he said, "Your mind must have been disturbed by uneasy sleep or by indigestion; fear nothing." With this deceit he consoled her, and let her go. And when the night grew light, she did all that had to be done, embraced and kissed the children, and said, "Last night I had a bad dream; be careful, my dears!" Then she gave them in charge of the Great Being, begging him to take care of them, took her basket and tools, wiped her tears, and away to the woods for fruits and roots.

But Jūjaka, thinking that she would now be gone, came down from the hill and went up the footpath towards the hermitage. And the Great Being came out of his hut, and seated himself upon a slab of stone like a golden image. "Now the suitor will come!" he thought, like a drunkard, thirsting for a draught, and sat watching the road by which he would come, his children playing about his feet. And as he looked down the road, he saw the brahmin coming; taking up as it were the burden of his giving, for seven months laid down, he cried in joy – "Brahmin, pray draw near!" and to the boy Jāli he addressed this stanza:

"Jāli, arise and stand: behold a brahmin in my sight!

’Tis the old time come back again, and fills me with delight!"

Hearing this, the boy says:

[542] "Yes, yes, my father, I behold the brahmin whom you see;

He comes as though a boon to ask; our guest he needs must be."

And with these words, to shew him honour, the boy rose up from his seat, and went to meet the brahmin, offering to relieve him of his baggage. The brahmin looked at him, and thought, "This must be Jāli, the son of Vessantara: from the very first I will speak harshly to him." So he snapt his fingers at him, crying – "Go away, go away!" The boy thought, "A harsh man this, to be sure!" and looking at his body, he perceived in him the eighteen blemishes of a man. But the brahmin came up to the Bodhisatta, and politely greeting him, said

"O holy man, we trust that you are prosperous and well,

With grain to glean and roots and fruit abundant where you dwell.

Have you been much by flies and gnats and creeping things annoyed,

Or from wild beasts of prey have you immunity enjoyed?"

The Bodhisatta answered politely

"I thank you, brahmin, and reply: we prosper and are well

With grain to glean and roots and fruit abundant where we dwell.

From flies and gnats and creeping things we suffer no annoy,

And from wild beasts of prey we here immunity enjoy. [55]

Seven months we have lived happy in this forest, and have not

Once seen a brahmin, as we now see you, godlike, I wot,

With vilva-staff and tinder-box, and with the waterpot.

Welcome, O brahmin! blest the chance directed you this way;

Come, enter with a blessing, come and wash your feet, I pray.

The tindook and the piyal leaves, the kāsumāri sweet,

And fruits like honey, brahmin, take the best I have, and eat.

And this cool water from a cave high hidden on a hill,

O noble brahmin, take of it, drink if it be your will." [56]

After these words, the Great Being thought: "Not without cause is this brahmin come to this great forest; I will ask him the reason without delay"; and he recited this stanza:

[543] "Now tell me what may be the cause, what can the reason be,

That brings you to this mighty wood? I pray you tell it me."

Jūjaka said:

"As a great water-flood is full, and fails not any day,

So you, from whom I come to beg – give me your children, pray!"

On hearing this, the Great Being was delighted in heart; and said, like one who sets in the outstretched hand a purse of a thousand pieces of money: [57]

"I give, and shrink not: you shall be their master. But my queen

Went out this morning for our food; at evening she'll be seen.

Stay here this night: the morning light shall see you on your way.

She'll wash them and perfume them both, [58] and garland them with flowers.

Stay here this night: the morning light shall see you on your way.

Deckt out with flowers they both shall be, with scents and perfumes sweet;

Take them away, and plenty take of fruits and roots to eat."

Jūjaka said:

[544] "No, mighty monarch, I would go; I do not wish to stay:

I'll go, lest some impediment should thwart me in the way.

Women no generous givers are, to thwart they always try,

They know all sorts of cunning spells, and always go awry.

Let him who gives a gift in faith not see his mother's face,

Or she will find impediments: O king, I'd go apace.

Give me your children; let them not behold their mother's face:

For he that gives a gift in faith, his merit grows apace.

Give me your children; let them not behold their mother's face:

He who gives wealth to such as I, to heaven he goes apace."

Vessantara said:

"If you wish not to see my wife, – a faithful wife is she!

Let Jāli and Kaṇhājinā their grandsire go and see.

When these fair children, sweet of speech, shall come within his sight,

He'll give you wealth in plenty, full of joy and high delight."

Jūjaka said:

"I fear the spoiling of my goods: O prince, I prithee hear!

The king may deal me punishment, may slay, or sell, I fear;

Sans wealth and servants, how my wife would mock at me, and jeer!"

[545] Vessantara said:

When these fair children, sweet of speech, shall come within his sight,

The foster-king of Sivi folk, who always does the right,

Will give you wealth in plenty, filled with pleasure and delight."

Jūjaka said:

"No, no, I will not do this thing which you would recommend:

I'll take the children, on my wife as servants to attend."

The children, hearing these harsh words, slunk behind the hut, and away they ran from behind the hut, and hid close to a clump of bushes. Even there they seemed to see themselves caught by Jūjaka: trembling, they could not keep still anywhere, but ran hither and thither, until they came to the bank of the square lake; where, wrapping the bark garments tightly about them, they plunged into the water and stood there concealed, their heads hidden under the lily leaves.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"So Jāli and Kaṇhājinā hither and thither ran,

In deep distress to hear the voice of the pursuing man."

And Jūjaka, when he saw nothing of the children, upbraided the Bodhisatta: "Ho Vessantara! when you gave me the children just now, as soon as I told you that I would not go to the city of Jetuttara, but would make the children my wife's attendants, you made them some sign, and caused them to run away, sitting there like innocence itself! Such a liar there is not in the world, I'm thinking." The Great Being was moved. "They have run away, no doubt," he thought, and said aloud, "Do not trouble about it, sir, I'll fetch them." So he arose and went behind the hut; perceiving that they must have fled to the woods, [546] he followed their footprints to the lakeside, and then seeing a footprint where they went down into the water, he perceived that they must have gone into the water: so he called, "Jāli, my boy!" reciting these two stanzas:

"Come hither, my beloved son, my perfect state fulfil;

Come now and consecrate my heart, and follow out my will.

Be thou my ship to ferry me safe o’er existence’ sea,

Beyond the worlds of birth and gods I'll cross and I'll be free."

"Come, Jāli, my boy!" cried he; and the lad hearing his voice thought thus: – "Let the brahmin do with me what he will, I, will not quarrel with my father!" He raised his head, parted the lily-leaves, and came out of the water, throwing himself upon the Great Being's right foot; embracing the ankle he wept. Then the Great Being said: "My boy, where is your sister?" He answered, "Father, all creatures take care of themselves in time of danger." The Great Being recognized that the children must have made a bargain together, and he cried out, "Here, Kaṇhā!" reciting two stanzas:

"Come hither, my beloved girl, my perfect state fulfil,

Come now and consecrate my heart, and follow out my will.

Be thou my ship to ferry me safe o’er existence’ sea,

Beyond the worlds of men and gods I'll cross and lift [59] me free!"

She also thought, "I will not quarrel with my father "; and in a moment out she came, and falling on her father's left foot clasped his ankle and wept. Their tears fell upon the Great Being's feet, coloured like a lily-leaf; and his tears fell on their backs, which had the colour of golden slabs. Then the Great Being raised up his children and comforted them, saying, "My son Jāli, don't you know that I have gladly given you away? So do that my desire may attain fulfilment." And then and there he put a price on the children, as one puts a price on cattle. To his son he said: "Son Jāli, if you wish to become free, you must pay the brahmin [547] a thousand pieces of gold. [60] But your sister is very beautiful; if any person of low birth should give the brahmin so and so much to make her free, he would break her birthright. None but a king can give all things by the hundred; therefore if your sister would be free let her pay the brahmin a hundred male and a hundred female slaves, with elephants, horses, bulls, and gold pieces, all a hundred each." Thus did he price the children, and comforted them, and took them back to the hermitage. Then he took water in his waterpot, and calling the brahmin to come near, he poured out the water, praying that he might attain omniscience. "Dearer than my son a hundredfold, a thousandfold, a hundred thousandfold is omniscience!" he cried, making the earth resound, and to the brahmin he gave this precious gift of his children.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"The foster-king of Sivi land then took his children both,

And gave this gift most precious to the brahmin, nothing loth.

Then was there terror and affright, and the great earth did quake,

What time the king with folded hands bestowed the children both;

Then was there terror and affright, and the great earth did shake,

When Sivi's king his children gave the brahmin, nothing loth."

[548] When the Great Being had made the gift, he was joyful, thinking how good a gift he had made, as he stood looking upon the children. And Jūjaka went into the jungle, and bit off a creeper, and with it he bound the boy's right hand to the girl's left, and drove them away beating them with the ends of the creeper.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"The cruel brahmin bit a length of creeper off; which done,

He with the creeper bound their hands, and dragged the children on. [61]

And then the brahmin, staff in hand, holding the creeper tight,

Beat them and drove them on and on before their father's sight."

Where he struck them, the skin was cut, the blood ran, when struck they staggered against each other back to back. But in a rugged place the man stumbled and fell: with their tender hands the children slipt off the light bond, and ran away weeping to the Great Being.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"The children thus at liberty then from the brahmin fly;

The boy looks on his father's face, the tears are in his eye.

Then like a fig-leaf in the wind the little boy did quake,

Embracing threw his arms around his father's feet, and spake

"Father, will you dispose of us while mother is away?

O do not give us till she come! till she return, O stay!

And will you then dispose of us while mother is away?

O wait until she shall return, then give us if you will!

Then let the brahmin sell us both, then let the brahmin kill!

His foot is huge, his nails are torn, his flesh hangs sagging down,

Long underlip and broken nose, all trembling, tawny-brown,

Pot-bellied, broken-backed, with eyes that chew an ugly squint, [62]

All spots and wrinkles, yellow-haired, with beard of bloody tint,

Yellow, loose-jointed, cruel, huge, in skins of goats bedight,

A crooked and inhuman thing, a most terrific sight;

[549] A man, or monstrous cannibal? and canst thou tamely see

This goblin come into the wood to ask this boon of thee?

And is thy heart a piece of stone fast bound about with steel,

To care not when this greedy man, who can no pity feel,

Binds us, and drives us off like kine? At least I would appeal

That sister Kaṇha, who as yet no trouble knows, may stay,

Now crying like a sucking fawn lost from the herd away."

[550] To this the Great Being answered not one word. Then the boy said, lamenting on account of his parents: [63]

"I care not for the pain of death, that is the lot of all:

Ne’er more to see my mother's face, ’tis this that doth appal.

I care not for the pain of death, that is the lot of all:

Ne’er more to see my father's face, ’tis this that doth appal.

Long will my parents mourn and weep, long will they nurse their woe,

At midnight and at dawn their tears will like a river flow,

No more to see Kaṇhājinā, whom they had cherished so.

Those clusters of rose-apple trees which droop around the lake,

And all the fruitage of the woods this day we do forsake.

Fig-tree and jack-fruit, banyan broad and every tree that grows,

Yea! all the fruitage of the woods this day we do forsake.

There stand they like a pleasant park, there cool the river flows,

The place where once we used to play, this day we do forsake.

The fruit that once we used to eat, the flowers we used to wear,

That yonder grow upon the hill, this day we do forsake.

And all the pretty little toys that once we played with there,

The horses, oxen, elephants, this day we do forsake."

[551] In despite of these lamentations, Jūjaka came and drove him away with his sister.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"The children to their father said as they were led away:

"O father! wish our mother well, and happy be your day!

These oxen, horses, elephants wherewith we used to play,

Give them to mother, and they will somewhat her grief allay.

These oxen, horses, elephants wherewith we used to play,

When she looks on them, will anon somewhat her grief allay."

Now great pain arose in the Great Being because of his children, and his heart grew hot within him: he trembled violently, like an elephant seized by a maned lion, like the moon swallowed in Rāhu's jaws. Not strong enough to endure it, he went into the hut, tears streaming from his eyes, and wept pitifully.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"The warrior prince Vessantara thus gave his gift, and went,

And there within his leafy bower he sadly did lament."

What follow are the verses of the Great Being's lamentation.

"O when at morning or at eve for food my children cry,

Opprest by hunger or by thirst, who will their want supply?

[552] How will their little trembling feet along the roadway go,

Unshod? who'll take them by the hand and lead them gently so?

How could the brahmin feel no shame, while I was standing by,

To strike my harmless innocents? a shameless man say I!

No man with any sense of shame would treat another so,

Were it a servant of my slave, and I brought very low.

I cannot see him, but he scolds and beats my children dear,

While like a fish caught in a trap I'm standing helpless here."

These thoughts came into the Great Being's mind, through his affection for the children; he could not away with the pain to think how the brahmin cruelly beat his children, and he resolved to go in chase of the man, and kill him, and to bring the children back. But no, he thought: that was a mistake; to give a gift, then to repent because the children's trouble would be very great, that was not the way of the righteous. And the two following stanzas contain the reflexions which throw light on that matter.

"He bound his sword upon his left, he armed him with his bow;

I'll bring my children back again; to lose them is great woe.

But even if my children die ’tis wicked to feel pain: [64]

Who knows the customs of the good, yet asks a gift again?"

[553] Meanwhile Jūjaka beat the children as he led them along. Then the boy said lamenting:

"How true that saying seems to be which men are wont to tell:

Who has no mother of his own is fatherless as well. [65]

Life's nothing to us: let us die; we are his chattels now,

This cruel greedy violent man, who drives us like his cow.

These clusters of rose-apple trees, which droop around the lake,

And all the verdure of the woods, O Kaṇhā, we forsake.

Fig-tree and jack-fruit, banyan tree, and every tree that grows,

Yea all the many kinds of fruit, O Kaṇhā, we forsake.

There stand they like a pleasant park, there cool the river flows;

The place where once we used to play, O Kaṇhā, we forsake.

The fruit that once we used to eat, the flowers we used to wear,

That yonder grow upon the hill, O Kaṇhā, we forsake.

And all the little pretty toys that once we played with there,

The horses, oxen, elephants, O Kaṇhā, we forsake."

Again the brahmin fell down in a rough place: the cord fell from his hand, and the children, trembling like wounded fowls, ran away without stopping back to their father.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"Now Jāli and Kaṇhājinā, thus by the brahmin led,

Somehow got free, and then away and on and on they fled."

[554] But Jūjaka quickly got up, and followed them, cord and stick in hand, spitting like the fire at the world's end; "Very clever you are indeed," said he, "at running away"; and he tied their hands and brought them back.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"And so the brahmin took his cord, and so his staff he took,

And brought them back with beating, while the king was forced to look."

As they were led away, Kaṇhājinā turned back, and lamented to her father. Explaining this, the Master said:

"Then spake Kaṇhājinā and said: "My father, prithee see –

As though I were a home-born slave this brahmin thrashes me!

Brahmins are men of upright life: no brahmin he can be.

A goblin sure in brahmin-shape, that leads us off to eat.

And can you stay and see us led to be a goblin's meat?"

As his young daughter lamented, trembling as she went, dire grief arose in the Great Being: his heart grew hot within him; his nose was not large enough, so from his mouth he sent forth hot pantings; tears like drops of blood fell from his eyes. Then he thought: "All this pain comes from affection, and no other cause; I must quiet this affection, and be calm." Thus by power of his knowledge he did away with that keen pang of sorrow, and sat still as usual.

Ere they had yet reached the entering in of the mountains, the girl went on lamenting:

"Sore are these little feet of mine, hard in the way we go,

The brahmin drives us on and on, the sun is sinking low.

[555] On hills and forests, and on those that dwell in them, we call,

We reverently bow to greet the spirits, one and all

That haunt this lake; its plants and roots and creepers, and we pray

To wish our mother health: but us the brahmin drives away.

If she would follow after us, let her make no delay.

Straight leads unto the hermitage this path by which we go;

And if she will but follow this, she soon will find us so.

Thou gatherer of wild fruits and roots, thou of the knotted hair,

To see the empty hermitage will cause thee great despair.

Long stayed our mother on her quest, great store she must have found,

Who knows not that a cruel man and greedy hath us bound,

A very cruel man, who now like cattle drives us round.

Ah, had our mother come at eve, and had they chanced to meet,

Had she given him a meal of fruit with honey mixt, to eat, –

He would not drive us cruelly, when he his meal had hent:

Cruel he drove us, and our feet loud echoed as we went!"

So for their mother longing sore the children did lament. [66]

[556] Now whereas the king gave his dearly beloved children to the brahmin, the earth did resound with a great uproar that reached even to Brahma's heaven and pierced the hearts of the deities which dwelt in Himavat: who, hearing the children's lamentation as the man drove them along, thought with themselves, "If Maddī come betimes to the hermitage, not seeing her children she will ask Vessantara about it; great will be her longing when she hears that they have been given away; she will run after them, and will get into great trouble: so they instructed three [67] of the gods to take upon them the shape of a lion and a tiger and a pard, and to obstruct [68] her way, not to let her go back for all her asking until the setting of the sun, that she might only get back by moonlight, guarding her safe from the attacks of lions and other wild beasts.

Explaining this, the Master said:

"A Lion, Tiger, and a Pard, three creatures of the brake,

Which heard this lamentation loud, thus each to other spake:

"Let not the princess back return at eve from seeking food,

Lest the wild beasts should slay her in our kingdom of the wood.

If lion, pard, or tiger should the auspicious mother slay,

O where would then Prince Jāli be, O where Kaṇhājinā

The parent and the children both do you preserve this day."

They agreed, and obeyed the words of the gods. Becoming a lion, a tiger, and a pard, they lay down near the road by which she must go Now Maddī was thinking to herself, [557] "Last night I saw a bad dream; I will collect my fruits and roots and get me betimes to the hermitage." Trembling she searched for the roots and fruits: the spade fell from her hand, the basket fell from her shoulder, her right eye went a-throbbing, fruit-trees appeared as barren and barren trees as fruitful, she could not tell whether she were on head or heels. [69] "What can be the meaning," she thought, "of this strangeness to-day!" and she said –

"Down falls my spade, a throbbing now in my right eye I feel,

The fruitful trees unfruitful seem, all round me seems to reel!"

And when she turned at evening time to go, the day's work done,

Wild beasts beset her homeward path at setting of the sun.

"The hermitage is far, methinks, the sun is sinking low

And all the food they have to eat is what I bring, I know.

And there my prince sits all alone within the leafy hut,

The hungry children comforting: and I returning not.

It is the time of evening meal, O woe is me! ’tis late:

Thirsting for water or for milk my children me await;

They come to meet me, standing like calves looking for their dam;

Like wild-goose chicks above the lake – O wretched that I am!

This is the sole and only path, with ponds and pits around:

And I can see no other road now I am homeward bound.

O mighty monarchs of the woods, O royal beasts, I cry,

Be brothers now in righteousness, [70] and let me safe go by!

I am a banisht prince's wife, a prince of glory fair;

As Sītā did for Rāma, so I for my husband care.

When you go home at evening time, your children you can see:

So Jāli and Kaṇhājinā be given once more to me!

Here are abundant roots and fruits, much food I have to chew:

The half I offer now to you: O let me safely go!

[558] A king my father, and a queen my mother – hear my cry!

Be brothers now in righteousness, and let me safe go by!"

Then the gods, observing the time, saw that it was time to let her go; and they rose up and departed. The Master explained it thus:

"The beasts that heard her thus lament with great exceeding woe,

In voice of sweet and gentle sound, went off and let her go."

When the beasts had departed, she returned to the hermitage. Now it was the night of the full moon; and when she came to the end of the covered walk, where she had been used to see her children, and saw them not, she cried out:

[559] "The children, dusty, close to home, are wont to meet me here

Like calves that seek the mother-cow, like birds above the mere.

Like little deer, with prickt-up ear, they meet me on the way:

With joy and happiness they skip and frolick in their play:

But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day.

As goat and lioness may leave their young, a bird her cage,

To seek for food, so have I done their hunger to assuage:

But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day.

Here are their traces, close by home, like snakes upon the hill,

The little heaps of earth they made all round, remaining still:

But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day.

All covered up with dust to me my children used to run,

Sprinkled with mud, but now indeed I can see neither one.

Like kids to welcome back their dam they ran from home away

As from the forest I returned; I see them not to-day.

Here they were playing, here this yellow vilva fruit let fall:

But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day.

These breasts of mine are full of milk, my heart will break withal:

But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day.

They used to cling about my hips, one hanging from my breast:

How they would meet me, dust-begrimed, at time of evening rest!

But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day.

Once on a time this hermitage became our meeting-ground:

But now I see no children here, the whole place spins around.

[560] My children must be dead! the place so silent has become –

The very ravens do not caw, the very birds are dumb."

Lamenting in this fashion, she came up to the Great Being, and set down the basket of fruit. Seeing him sitting in silence, and no children with him, she said:

"Why art thou silent? how that dream comes to my thought again:

The birds and ravens make no sound, my children must be slain!

O sir, have they been carried off by some wild beast of prey?

Or in the deep deserted wood have they been led astray?

[561] O do the pretty prattlers sleep? on errands do they fare?

O have they wandered out afar in frolic or in play?

I cannot see their hands and feet, I cannot see their hair:

Was it a bird that swooped? or who has carried them away?"

To this the Great Being made no reply. Then she asked, "My lord, why do you not speak to me? what is my fault?" and said:

"’Tis like the wound of arrow-shot, and still more bitter smart

(But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day!)

This is a second wound that thou hast struck me to the heart,

That I my children cannot see, that thou hast nought to say.

And so, O royal prince! this night since thou wilt not reply,

I think my days are done indeed, and thou wilt see me die."

The Great Being thought that he would assuage his pain for the children by harsh speech, and recited this stanza:

[562] "O Maddī, royal princess born, whose glory is so great,

Thou wentst for food in early morn: why comest thou so late?"

She replied:

"Did you not hear the lion and the tiger loudly roar

When by the lake their thirst to slake they stood upon the shore?

As in the woods I walked, there came the sign I knew so well:

My spade fell from my hand, and from my arm the basket fell.

Then hurt, alarmed, I worshipt all the quarters, one by one,

Praying that good might come of this, my hands outstretcht in prayer:

And that no lion and no pard, hyena, wolf or bear,

Might tear or harry or destroy my daughter or my son.

A lion, tiger, and a pard, three ravening beasts, laid wait

And kept me from my homeward path: so that is why I'm late."

This was all that the Great Being said to her until sunrise: after which Maddī uttered a long lament:

[563] "My husband and my children I have tended day and night,

As pupil tends a teacher, when he tries to do the right.

In goatskins clothed, wild roots and fruits I from the forest brought,

And every day and every night for your convenience sought.

I brought you yellow vilva fruit, my little girl and boy,

And many a ripe woodland fruit, to play and make you joy.

This lotus root and lotus stalk, of golden yellow hue,

Join with your little ones, O prince, and eat your portion too.

Give the white lily to your girl, to Jāli give the blue,

And see them dance in garlands deckt: O call them, Sivi, do!

O mighty monarch! lend an ear while with delightful sound

Kaṇhājinā sings sweetly, and enters our settling-ground.

Since we were banisht, joy and woe in common shared has been:

O answer! my Kaṇhājinā and Jāli hast thou seen?

How many holy brahmins I must have offended sore,

Of holy life, and virtuous, and full of sacred lore,

That Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day!"

[564] To this lament the Great Being answered not one word. As he said nothing, trembling she sought her children by the light of the moon; and wheresoever they used to play, under the rose-apple trees or where not, she sought them, weeping the while, and saying:

"These clusters of rose-apple trees, that droop around the mere,

And all the fruitage of the woods – my children are not here!

Fig-tree and jack-fruit, banyan broad, and every tree that grows,

Yea, all the fruitage of the woods – my children are not here!

There stand they like a pleasant park, there cool the river flows,

The place where once they used to play – but now they are not here.

The fruit that once they used to eat, the flowers they used to wear

That yonder grow upon the hill – the children are not there!

And all the little toys that once they played with, there are those,

The oxen, horses, elephants – the children are not there!

Here are the many hares and owls, the dark and dappled deer,

With which the children used to play, but they themselves not here!

The peacocks with their gorgeous wings, the herons and the geese,

With which the children used to play, but they themselves not here!"

Not finding her darling children in the hermitage, she entered a clump of flowering plants and looked here and there for them, saying:

"The woodland thickets, full of flowers that every season blow,

Where once the children used to play, but they themselves not here!

The lovely lakes that listen, when the ruddy geese give call,

When lotus white and lotus blue and trees like coral grow, [71]

Where once the children played, but now no children are at all."

[565] But nowhere could she see the children. Then returning to the Great Being, whom she beheld with his face cast down, she said to him:

"The kindling wood you have not split, the fire you have not lit,

Nor brought the water as before: why do you idly sit?

When I return unto my den my toil is done away,

But Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I cannot see to-day!"

Still the Great Being sat silent; and she distrest at his silence, trembling like a wounded fowl, went again round the places which she had searched before, and returning said:

"O husband mine, I cannot see by whom their death has come:

The very ravens do not caw, the very birds are dumb."

Still the Great Being said no word. And she, in her longing for the little ones, a third time searched the same places quick as the wind: in one night the space which she traversed in seeking them was fifteen leagues. Then the night gave place to dawn, and at sunrise she came again to the Great Being, and stood before him lamenting. The Master explained it thus:

"When she had traversed in the search each forest and each hill,

Back to her husband she returned, and stood lamenting still.

[566] "In hills, woods, caves I cannot see by whom their death has come:

The very ravens do not caw, the very birds are dumb."

Then Maddī, dame of high renown, princess of royal birth,

Lamenting with her arms outstretcht fell down upon the earth."

"She's dead!" thought the Great Being, and trembled. "Ah, this is no place for Maddī to die! Had she died in Jetuttara city, great pomp there would have been, two kingdoms would have quaked. But I am alone in the forest, and what can I do?" Great trouble came upon him; then recovering himself somewhat, he determined to do what he could. Rising up he laid a hand on her heart, and felt it to be still warm: he brought water in a pitcher, and although for seven months past he had not touched her body, in his distress he could no longer keep to the ascetic's part, but with tears in his eyes he raised her head and laid it upon his lap, sprinkling it with water, and chafing her face and bosom as he sat. Then Maddī after a little while regains her senses, and, rising up in confusion, does obeisance to the Great Being, and asks, "My lord Vessantara, where are the children gone?" "I have given them," says he, "to a brahmin." The Master thus explained it:

"He sprinkled her with water as she fell down faint as dead,

And when she had come back again to consciousness, he said": –

[567] She asked him, "My dear, if you had given the children to a brahmin, why did you let me go weeping about all night, without saying a word?" The Great Being replied:

"I did not speak at once, because I shrank to cause you pain.

A poor old brahmin came to beg, and so, of giving fain,

I gave the children: do not fear, O Maddī! breathe again.

O Maddī, do not grieve too sore, but set your eyes on me:

We'll get them back alive once more, and happy shall we be.

Good men should ever give when asked, sons, cattle, wealth, and grain.

Maddī, rejoice! a greater gift than children cannot be."

Maddī replied:

"I do rejoice! a greater gift than children cannot be.

By giving set your mind at rest; pray do the like again:

For you, the mighty fostering king of all the Sivi land,

Amidst a world of selfish men gave gifts with lavish hand."

To this the Great Being answered: "Why do you say this, Maddī? If I had not been able to set my mind at peace by giving my children, these miracles would not have happened to me"; and then he told her all the earth-rumblings and what else had happened. [568] Then Maddī rejoicing described the miracles in these words:

"The earth did rumble, and the sound the highest heaven fills,

The lightning flared, the thunder woke the echoes of the hills!

Then Nārada and Pabbata both greatly did rejoice,

Yea, all the Three and Thirty Gods with Indra, at that voice. [72]

Thus Maddī, dame of royal birth, princess of high degree,

Rejoiced with him: a greater gift than children none can be."

Thus the Great Being described his own gift; and thus did Maddī repeat the tale, affirming that he had given a noble gift, and there she sat rejoicing in the same gift: on which occasion the Master repeated the stanza, "Thus Maddī," etc. [73]

As they were thus talking together, Sakka thought: "Yesterday Vessantara gave his children to Jūjaka, and the earth did resound. Now suppose a vile creature should come and ask him for Maddī herself, the incomparable, the virtuous, and should take her away with him leaving the king alone: he will be left helpless and destitute. Well, then, I will take the form of a brahmin, and beg for Maddī. Thus I will enable him to attain the supreme height of perfection; I shall make it impossible that she should be given to anyone else and then I will give her back." So at dawn, to him goes Sakka. The Master explained it thus:

"And so when night was at an end, about the peep of day,

Sakka in brahmin's form to them first early made his way.

[569] "O holy man, I trust that you are prosperous and well,

With grain to glean, and roots and fruit abundant where you dwell. [74]

Have you been much by flies and gnats and creeping things annoyed,

Or from wild beasts of prey have you immunity enjoyed?"

The Great Being replied:

"Thank you, brahmin – yes, I am both prosperous and well,

With grain to glean, and fruits and roots abundant where I dwell.

From flies and gnats and creeping things I suffer no annoy,

And from wild beasts of prey I here immunity enjoy.

I've lived here seven sad months, and you the second brahmin found,

Holding a goat-staff in his hand, to reach this forest-ground.

Welcome, O brahmin! blest the chance directed you this way; [75]

Come enter with a blessing, come, and wash your feet, I pray.

The tindook and the piyal leaves, and kāsumārī sweet,

And fruits like honey, brahmin, take the best I have, and eat.

And this cool water from a cave high hidden on a hill,

O noble brahmin! take of it, drink if it be your will." [76]

As thus they talked pleasantly together he asked of his coming:

"And now what reason or what cause directed you this way?

Why have you sought the mighty woods? resolve me this, I pray."

Then Sakka replied: "O king, I am old, but I have come here to beg your wife Maddī; pray give her to me," and he repeated this stanza:

"As a great water-flood is full and fails not any day,

So you, from whom I come to beg – give me your wife, I pray."

To this the Great Being did not reply – "Yesterday I gave away my children to a brahmin, how can I give Maddī to you and be left alone in the forest!" No, he was as though putting a purse of a thousand pieces in his hand: indifferent, unattached, with no clinging of mind, he made the mountain re-echo with this stanza:

[570] "Weary am I, nor hide I that: yet in my own despite,

I give, and shrink not: for in gifts my heart doth take delight."

This said, quickly he drew water in a pitcher, and poured it upon his hand, [74] and made over Maddī to the brahmin. At that moment, all the portents which had occurred before were again seen and heard. The Master thus explained it:

"Then he took up a water-jar, the king of Sivi land,

And taking Maddī, gave her straight into the brahmin's hand.

Then was there terror and affright, then the great earth did quake,

What time he rendered Maddī for his visitor to take.

The face of Maddī did not frown, [75] she did not chafe or cry,

But looked on silent, thinking, He knows best the reason why.

"Both Jāli and Kaṇhājinā I let another take,

And Maddī my devoted wife, and all for wisdom's sake.

Not hateful is my faithful wife, nor yet my children are,

But perfect knowledge, to my mind, is something dearer far."

Then the Great Being looked upon Maddī's face to see how she took it; and she, asking him why he looked upon her, cried aloud with a lion's voice in these words:

"From maidenhood I was his wife, he is my master still:

Let him to whomso he desire or give, or sell, or kill."

[571] Then Sakka, seeing her excellent resolution, gave her praise; and the Master explained it thus:

"Thereat spake Sakka, seeing how her wishes did incline:

"Conquered is every obstacle, both human and divine.

The earth did rumble, and the sound the highest heaven fills,

The lightning flares, the thunder wakes the echoes of the hills.

Now Nārada and Pabbata to hear this mighty voice,

Yea, all the Three and Thirty Gods at this hard feat rejoice.

’Tis hard to do as good men do, to give as they can give,

Bad men can hardly imitate the life that good men live.

And so, when good and evil go to pass away from earth,

The bad are born in hell below, in heaven the good have birth. [76]

This is the Noble Vehicle: [77] both wife and child were given,

Therefore let him descend [78] no more, but this bear fruit in heaven."

When thus Sakka had expressed his approval, he thought, "Now I must make no more delay here, but give her back and go"; and he said:

[572] "Sir, now I give you Maddī back, your fair and lovely wife,

A pair well-matched, and fitted for a most harmonious life.

Like the inevitable bond ’twixt water and a shell,

So you with Maddī; mind and heart are both according well.

Of equal birth and family on either parents' side

Here in a forest hermitage together you abide,

That ye may go on doing good where in the woods you dwell."

This said, he went on, offering a boon:

"Sakka the King of Gods am I, here come thy place to see:

Choose thou a boon, O royal sage, eight boons I give to thee."

As he spoke, he rose into the air ablaze like the morning sun. Then the Bodhisatta said, choosing his boons:

"Sakka, the lord of all the earth, has given me a boon.

Prithee my father reconcile, let him recall me soon

And set me in my royal seat: this the first boon I crave.

May I condemn no man to death, not though he guilty be:

Condemned, may I release from death: this second boon I crave.

May all the people for their help look only unto me,

The young, the old, the middle-aged: this the third boon I crave.

May I not seek my neighbour's wife, contented with my own,

Nor subject to a woman's will: this the fourth boon I crave.

I prithee, Sakka, grant long life to my beloved son,

Conquering the world in righteousness: this the fifth boon I crave.

Then at the end of every night, at dawning of the day,

May food celestial be revealed: this the sixth boon I crave.

May means of giving never fail, and may I give alway

With hearty gladness and content: this the seventh boon I crave.

[573] Hence freed, may I be straight advanced to heaven, then that I may

No more be born upon the earth: this the eighth boon I crave."

When Sakka, King of Gods, had heard his saying, thus said he:

"Ere long, the father whom you love, will wish his son to see."

With this address, Sakka went back to his own place. Explaining this, the Master said:

"The Mighty One, the King of Gods, this said, Sujampati,

After the giving of the boons straight back to heaven went he." [79]