Part 2 — CHAPTER II. SĪLAVAGGA. (continued 2)

When the Teacher had finished this discourse, and had enlarged upon the Four Truths,313 he made the connexion and summed up the Jātaka, “He who at that time was the dog was the lay convert, the elephant was the old monk, but the minister Paṇḍit was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY ON CONSTANCY.

No. 28. NANDI-VISĀLA JĀTAKA. The Bull who Won the Bet.

“Speak kindly.”—This the Master told when at Jetavana concerning the abusive language of the Six.314

For on one occasion the Six made a disturbance by scorning, snubbing, and annoying peaceable monks, and overwhelming them with the ten kinds of abuse. The monks told the Blessed One about it. He sent for the Six, and asked them whether it was true. And on their acknowledging it, he reproved them, saying, “Harsh speaking, O mendicants, is unpleasant, even to animals. An animal once made a man who addressed him harshly lose a thousand.” And he told a tale.

Long ago a king of Gandhāra was reigning in Takkasilā, in the land of Gandhāra. The Bodisat came to life then as a bull.

Now, when he was yet a young calf, a certain Brāhman, after attending upon some devotees who were wont to give oxen to priests, received the bull. And he called it Nandi Visāla, and grew very fond of it; treating it like a son, and feeding it on gruel and rice.

When the Bodisat grew up, he said to himself, “This Brāhman has brought me up with great care; and there’s no other ox in all the continent of India can drag the weight I can. What if I were to let the Brāhman know about my strength, and so in my turn provide sustenance for him!”

And he said one day to the Brāhman, “Do you go now, Brāhman, to some squire rich in cattle, and offer to bet him a thousand that your ox will move a hundred laden carts.”

The Brāhman went to a rich farmer, and started a conversation thus:

“Whose bullocks hereabout do you think the strongest?”

“Such and such a man’s,” said the farmer; and then added, “but of course there are none in the whole countryside to touch my own!”

“I have one ox,” said the Brāhman, “who is good to move a hundred carts, loads and all!”

“Tush!” said the squire. “Where in the world is such an ox?”

“Just in my house!” said the Brāhman.

“Then make a bet about it!”

“All right! I bet you a thousand he can.”

So the bet was made. And he filled a hundred carts (small waggons made for two bullocks) with sand and gravel and stones, ranged them all in a row, and tied them all firmly together, cross-bar to axle-tree.

Then he bathed Nandi Visāla, gave him a measure of scented rice, hung a garland round his neck, and yoked him by himself to the front cart. Then he took his seat on the pole, raised his goad aloft, and called out, “Gee up! you brute!! Drag ‘em along! you wretch!!”

The Bodisat said to himself, “He addresses me as a wretch. I am no wretch!” And keeping his four legs as firm as so many posts, he stood perfectly still.

Then the squire that moment claimed his bet, and made the Brāhman hand over the thousand pieces. And the Brāhman, minus his thousand, took out his ox, went home to his house, and lay down overwhelmed with grief.

Presently Nanda Visāla, who was roaming about the place, came up and saw the Brāhman grieving there, and said to him,

“What, Brāhman! are you asleep?”

“Sleep! How can I sleep after losing the thousand pieces?”

“Brāhman! I’ve lived so long in your house, and have I ever broken any pots, or rubbed up against the walls, or made messes about?”

“Never, my dear!”

“Then why did you call me a wretch? It’s your fault. It’s not my fault. Go now, and bet him two thousand, and never call me a wretch again—I, who am no wretch at all!”

When the Brāhman heard what he said, he made the bet two thousand, tied the carts together as before, decked out Nandi Visāla, and yoked him to the foremost cart.

He managed this in the following way: he tied the pole and the cross-piece fast together; yoked Nandi Visāla on one side; on the other he fixed a smooth piece of timber from the point of the yoke to the axle-end, and wrapping it round with the fastenings of the cross-piece, tied it fast; so that when this was done, the yoke could not move this way and that way, and it was possible for one ox to drag forwards the double bullock-cart.

Then the Brāhman seated himself on the pole, stroked Nandi Visāla on the back, and called out, “Gee up! my beauty!! Drag it along, my beauty!!”

And the Bodisat, with one mighty effort, dragged forwards the hundred heavily-laden carts, and brought the hindmost one up to the place where the foremost one had stood!

Then the cattle-owner acknowledged himself beaten, and handed over to the Brāhman the two thousand; the bystanders, too, presented the Bodisat with a large sum; and the whole became the property of the Brāhman. Thus, by means of the Bodisat, great was the wealth he acquired.

So the Teacher reproved the Six, saying, “Harsh words, O mendicants, are pleasant to no one;” and uttered, as Buddha, the following stanza, laying down a rule of moral conduct:

When the Teacher had given them this lesson in virtue (“Speak kindly,” etc.), he summed up the Jātaka, “The Brāhman of that time was Ānanda, but Nandi Visāla was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE BULL WHO WON THE BET.

No. 29. KAṆHA JĀTAKA. The Old Woman’s Black Bull.

“Whene’er the load be heavy.”—This the Master told while at Jetavana, about the Double Miracle. That and the Descent from Heaven will be explained in the Birth Story of the Sarabha Antelope, in the Thirteenth Book.

The Supreme Buddha performed on that occasion the Double Miracle, remained some time in heaven, and on the Great Day of the Pavāraṇā Festival315 descended at the city of Saŋkassa, and entered Jetavana with a great retinue.

When the monks were seated in the Lecture Hall, they began to extol the virtue of the Teacher, saying, “Truly, Brethren! unequalled is the power of the Tathāgata. The yoke the Tathāgata bears none else is able to bear. Though the Six Teachers kept on saying, ‘We will work wonders! We will work wonders!’ they could not do even one. Ah! how unequalled is the power of the Tathāgata!”

When the Teacher came there, he asked them what they were discussing, and they told him. Then he said, “O mendicants! who should now bear the yoke that I can bear? For even when an animal in a former birth I could find no one to drag the weight I dragged.” And he told a tale.

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the Bodisat returned to life as a bull.

Now, when it was still a young calf, its owners stopped a while in an old woman’s house, and gave him to her when they settled their account for their lodging. And she brought him up, treating him like a son, and feeding him on gruel and rice.

He soon became known as “The old woman’s Blackie.” When he grew up, he roamed about, as black as collyrium, with the village cattle, and was very good-tempered and quiet. The village children used to catch hold of his horns, or ears, or dewlaps, and hang on to him; or amuse themselves by pulling his tail, or riding about on his back.

One day he said to himself, “My mother is wretchedly poor. She’s taken so much pains, too, in bringing me up, and has treated me like a son. What if I were to work for hire, and so relieve her distress!” And from that day he was always on the look out for a job.

Now one day a young caravan owner arrived at a neighbouring ford with five hundred bullock-waggons. And his bullocks were not only unable to drag the carts across, but even when he yoked the five hundred pair in a row they could not move one cart by itself.

The Bodisat was grazing with the village cattle close to the ford. The young caravan owner was a famous judge of cattle, and began looking about to see whether there were among them any thoroughbred bull able to drag over the carts. Seeing the Bodisat, he thought he would do; and asked the herdsmen—

“Who may be the owners, my men, of this fellow? I should like to yoke him to the cart, and am willing to give a reward for having the carts dragged over.”

“Catch him and yoke him then!” said they. “He has no owner hereabouts.”

But when he began to put a string through his nose and drag him along, he could not get him to come. For the Bodisat, it is said, wouldn’t go till he was promised a reward.

The young caravan owner, seeing what his object was, said to him, “Sir! if you’ll drag over these five hundred carts for me, I’ll pay you wages at the rate of two pence for each cart—a thousand pieces in all.”

Then the Bodisat went along of his own accord. And the men yoked him to the cart. And with a mighty effort he dragged it up and landed it safe on the high ground. And in the same manner he dragged up all the carts.

So the caravan owner then put five hundred pennies in a bundle, one for each cart, and tied it round his neck. The bull said to himself, “This fellow is not giving me wages according to the rate agreed upon. I shan’t let him go on now!” And so he went and stood in the way of the front cart, and they tried in vain to get him away.

The caravan owner thought, “He knows, I suppose, that the pay is too little;” and wrapping a thousand pieces in a cloth, tied them up in a bundle, and hung that round his neck. And as soon as he had got the bundle with a thousand inside he went off to his ‘mother.’

Then the village children called out, “See! what’s that round the neck of the old woman’s Blackie?” and began to run up to him. But he chased after them, so that they took to their heels before they got near him; and he went straight to his mother. And he appeared with eyes all bloodshot, utterly exhausted from dragging over so many carts.

“How did you got this, dear?” said the good old woman, when she saw the bag round his neck. And when she heard, on inquiry from the herdsmen, what had happened, she exclaimed, “Am I so anxious, then, to live on the fruit of your toil, my darling! Why do you put yourself to all this pain?”

And she bathed him in warm water, and rubbed him all over with oil, and gave him to drink, and fed him up with good food. And at the end of her life she passed away according to her deeds, and the Bodisat with her.

When the Teacher had finished this lesson in virtue, in illustration of that saying of his (“Not now only, O mendicants, has the Bodisat been excellent in power; he was so also in a former birth”), he made the connexion, and, as Buddha, uttered the following stanza:

Then the Blessed One told them, “At that time, O mendicants, only the Black Bull could drag the load.” And he then made the connexion and summed up the Jātaka: “The old woman of that time was Uppala-vaṇṇā, but ‘the old woman’s Blackie’ was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE OLD WOMAN’S BLACK BULL.316

No. 30. MUṆIKA JĀTAKA. The Ox who Envied the Pig.

“Envy not Muṇika.”—This the Master told while at Jetavana, about being attracted by a fat girl. That will be explained in the Birth Story of Nārada-Kassapa the Younger, in the Thirteenth Book.

On that occasion the Teacher asked the monk, “Is it true what they say, that you are love-sick?”

“It is true, Lord!” said he.

“What about?”

“My Lord! ‘tis the allurement of that fat girl!”

Then the Master said, “O monk! she will bring evil upon you. In a former birth already you lost your life on the day of her marriage, and were turned into food for the multitude.” And he told a tale.

Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the Bodisat came to life in the house of a landed proprietor in a certain village as an ox, with the name of ’Big-red.’ And he had a younger brother called ‘Little-red.’ And all the carting work in the household was carried on by means of the two brothers.

Now there was an only daughter in that family, and she was asked in marriage for the son of a man of rank in a neighbouring city. Then her parents thinking, “It will do for a feast of delicacies for the guests who come to the girl’s wedding,” fattened up a pig with boiled rice. And his name was ‘Sausages.’

When Little-red saw this, he asked his brother, “All the carting work in the household falls to our lot. Yet these people give us mere grass and straw to eat; while they bring up that pig on boiled rice! What can be the reason of that fellow getting that?”

Then his brother said to him, “Dear Little-red, don’t envy the creature his food! This poor pig is eating the food of death! These people are fattening the pig to provide a feast for the guests at their daughter’s wedding. But a few days more, and you shall see how these men will come and seize the pig by his legs, and drag him off out of his sty, and deprive him of his life, and make curry for the guests!” And so saying, he uttered the following stanza:

And, not long after, those men came there; and they killed ‘Sausages,’ and cooked him up in various ways.

Then the Bodisat said to Little-red, “Have you seen ’Sausages,’ my dear?”

“I have seen, brother,” said he, “what has come of the food poor Sausages ate. Better a hundred, a thousand times, than his rice, is our food of only grass and straw and chaff; for it works no harm, and is evidence that our lives will last.”

Then the Teacher said, “Thus then, O monk, you have already in a former birth lost your life through her, and become food for the multitude.” And when he had concluded this lesson in virtue, he proclaimed the Truths. When the Truths were over, that love-sick monk stood fast in the Fruit of Conversion. But the Teacher made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, by saying, “He who at that time was ‘Sausages’ the pig was the love-sick monk, the fat girl was as she is now, Little-red was Ānanda, but Big-red was I myself.”

END OF THE STORY OF THE OX WHO ENVIED THE PIG.317