Volume 2 / Book 6 — Chapter XXVIII.
C. H. (Charles Henry) Tawney translation
“They say that the bestowal of wealth in this world is great asceticism; a man who gives wealth is said to give life, for life depends on wealth. And Buddha, with mind full of pity, offered up himself for another, as if he were worthless straw, much more should one offer up sordid pelf. And it was by such resolute asceticism, that Buddha, having got rid of desire, and obtained heavenly insight, attained the rank of a Buddha. Therefore a wise man should do what is beneficial to other beings, by abstaining from selfish aspirations even so far as to sacrifice his own body, in order that he may obtain perfect insight.”
Story of the seven princesses.
Story of the prince who tore out his own eye.
Story of the ascetic who conquered anger.
“In the same way as that king was considered a benefactor by the hermit, you, my mother, have increased my asceticism by causing me to tear out my eye.” Thus spake the self-subduing hermit to the merchant’s wife, who bowed before him, and being regardless of his body, lovely though it was, he passed on to perfection.
“Therefore, though our youth be very charming, why should we cling to this perishable body? But the only thing which, in the eye of the wise man, it is good for, is to benefit one’s fellow-creatures. So we will lay down our bodies to benefit living creatures in this cemetery, the natural home of happiness.” Having said this to their attendants, those seven princesses did so, and obtained therefrom the highest beatitude.
When the king Kalingadatta had heard these and other such things from the religious teacher in the monastery, having spent the day there, he returned to his palace. And when he was there, he was again afflicted with grief on account of the birth of a daughter to him, and a certain Bráhman, who had grown old in his house, said to him—“King, why do you despond on account of the birth of a pearl of maidens? Daughters are better even than sons, and produce happiness in this world and the next. Why do kings care so much about those sons that hanker after their kingdom, and eat up their fathers like crabs? But kings like Kuntibhoja and others, by the virtues of daughters like Kuntí and others, have escaped harm from sages like the terrible Durvásas. And how can one obtain from a son the same fruit in the next world, as one obtains from the marriage of a daughter? Moreover I now proceed to tell the tale of Sulochaná, listen to it.”
Story of Sulochaná and Sushena.
Once on a time the daughter of the Asura Maya, named Somaprabhá, as she was journeying through the sky, saw her on the roof of a palace engaged in play. And Somaprabhá, while in the sky, beheld her lovely enough to bewilder with her beauty the mind even of a hermit, and feeling affection for her, reflected—“Who is this? Can she be the form of the moon? If so, how is it that she gleams in the day? But if she is Rati, where is Káma? Therefore I conclude that she is a mortal maiden.
“She must be some celestial nymph that has descended into a king’s palace in consequence of a curse; and I am persuaded I was certainly a friend of her’s in a former life. For my mind’s being full of exceeding affection for her, tells me so. Therefore it is fitting that I should again select her as my chosen friend.” Thus reflecting Somaprabhá descended invisible from heaven, in order not to frighten that maiden; and she assumed the appearance of a mortal maiden to inspire confidence, and slowly approached that Kalingasená. Then Kalingasená, on beholding her, reflected—“Bravo! here is a princess of wonderful beauty come to visit me of her own accord! she is a suitable friend for me.” So she rose up politely and embraced that Somaprabhá. And making her take a seat, she asked her immediately her descent and name. And Somaprabhá said to her; “Be patient, I will tell you all.” Then in the course of their conversation they swore friendship to each other with plighted hands. Then Somaprabhá, said—“My friend, you are a king’s daughter, and it is hard to keep up friendship with the children of kings. For they fly into an immoderate passion on account of a small fault. Hear, with regard to this point, the story of the prince and the merchant’s son which I am about to tell you.”
And in the morning the prince set out with him on his journey, and he saw a necklace in front of him, and wished to lay hold of it. Then the merchant’s son said, “Do not take the necklace, my friend, it is an illusion, else why do not these soldiers see it?” When the prince heard that, he let the necklace alone, but going on further he saw a mango-tree, and he felt a desire to eat its fruit. But he was dissuaded by the merchant’s son, as before. He felt much annoyed in his heart, and travelling on slowly he reached his father-in-law’s palace. And he was about to enter a building there for the purpose of being married, but just as his friend had persuaded him not to do so, the house fell down. So he escaped this danger by a hair’s breadth, and then he felt some confidence in his friend’s prescience. Then the prince and his wife entered at night another building. But the merchant’s son slipped in there unobserved. And the prince, when he went to bed, sneezed a hundred times, but the merchant’s son underneath it said a hundred times—“God bless you”—and then the merchant’s son, having accomplished his object, of his own accord left the house in high spirits. But the prince, who was with his wife, saw him going out, and through jealousy, forgetting his love for him, he flew into a passion and said to the sentinels at his gate: “This designing wretch has entered my private apartments when I wished to be alone, so keep him in durance for the present, and he shall be executed in the morning.” When the guards heard that, they put him under arrest, and he spent the night in confinement, but as he was being led off to execution in the morning, he said to them—“First take me into the presence of the prince, in order that I may tell him a certain reason, which I had for my conduct; and then put me to death.” When he said this to the guards, they went and informed the prince, and on their information and the advice of his ministers, the prince ordered him to be brought before him. When he was brought, he told the prince the whole story, and he believed it to be true, for the fall of the house carried conviction to his mind. So the prince was satisfied, and countermanded the order for his friend’s execution, and he returned with him to his own city, a married man. And there his friend the merchant’s son married, and lived in happiness, his virtues being praised by all men.
“Thus the children of kings break loose from restraint and slaying their guides, disregard benefits, like infuriated elephants. And what friendship can there be with those Vetálas, who take people’s lives by way of a joke. Therefore, my princess, never abandon your friendship with me.”
Story of the Bráhman and the Piśácha.
Long ago there was a Bráhman dwelling on a royal grant, which was called Yajnasthala. He once upon a time, being poor, went to the forest to bring home wood. There, a piece of wood being cleft with the axe, fell, as chance would have it, upon his leg, and piercing it, entered deep into it. And as the blood flowed from him, he fainted, and he was beheld in that condition by a man who recognised him, and taking him up carried him home. There his distracted wife washed off the blood, and consoling him, placed a plaster upon the wound. And then his wound, though tended day by day, not only did not heal, but formed an ulcer. Then the man, afflicted with his ulcerated wound, poverty-stricken, and at the point of death, was thus advised in secret by a Bráhman friend, who came to him; “A friend of mine, named Yajnadatta, was long very poor, but he gained the aid of a Piśácha by a charm, and so, having obtained wealth, lived in happiness. And he told me that charm, so do you gain, my friend, by means of it, the aid of a Piśácha; he will heal your wound.” Having said this, he told him the form of words and described to him the ceremony as follows: “Rise up in the last watch of the night, and with dishevelled hair and naked, and without rinsing your mouth, take two handfuls of rice as large as you can grasp with your two hands, and muttering the form of words go to a place where four roads meet, and there place the two handfuls of rice, and return in silence without looking behind you. Do so always until that Piśácha appears, and himself says to you, ‘I will put an end to your ailment.’ Then receive his aid gladly, and he will remove your complaint.”
“Such are Piśáchas, and some young princes are just like them, and, though conciliated, produce misfortune, my friend, but they can be guarded against by counsel. But princesses of good family have never been heard to be such. So you must not expect any injury from associating with me.” When Somaprabhá heard from the mouth of Kalingasená in due course this sweet, entertaining, and amusing tale, she was delighted. And she said to her—“My house is sixty yojanas distant hence, and the day is passing away; I have remained long, so now I must depart, fair one.” Then, as the lord of day was slowly sinking to the eastern mountain, she took leave of her friend who was eager for a second interview, and in a moment flew up into the air, exciting the wonder of the spectators, and rapidly returned to her own house. And, after beholding that wonderful sight, Kalingasená entered into her house with much perplexity, and reflected, “I do not know, indeed, whether my friend is a Siddha female, or an Apsaras, or a Vidyádharí. She is certainly a heavenly female that travels through the upper air. And heavenly females associate with mortal ones led by excessive love. Did not Arundhatí live in friendship with the daughter of king Pṛithu? Did not Pṛithu by means of her friendship bring Surabhi from heaven to earth. And did not he by consuming its milk return to heaven though he had fallen from it. And were not thenceforth perfect cows born upon earth? So I am fortunate; it is by good luck that I have obtained this heavenly creature as a friend; and when she comes to-morrow I will dexterously as her her descent and name.” Thinking such thoughts in her heart, Kalingasená spent that night there, and Somaprabhá spent the night in her own house being eager to behold her again.