Book VIII.]
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Long ago a king of Magadha was reigning in Rājagaha, in the country of Magadha. At the season of harvest the deer suffered much at the hands of the people of Magadha. So they were wont to go away to the forest at the foot of the mountains.
Now a certain mountain stag, who lived in that jungle, made friends with a roe from the inhabited country. And when those deer came down from the mountain-side to return home, he, being caught in the snares of love, went down with them.
Then she said to him, “You, Sir, are but a simple deer of the mountains, and the inhabited country is beset with danger and difficulty. Pray don’t go down with us!”
But he, being fallen deep into love for her, would not turn back, and went along with her.
Now when the people of Magadha saw that the time was come for the deer to return from the hills, they used to lie waiting in ambush all along the road. And just where those two were coming on, there stood a certain hunter behind a thicket.
The young roe smelt the smell of a man, and immediately thought, “There’ll be some hunter behind there.” And she let the foolish stag go on first, and kept back herself. The hunter with one shot from his bow felled the stag there on the spot; but the roe, as soon as she saw he was hit, fled away like the wind.
Then the hunter came out of his ambush, skinned that deer, made a fire, cooked the sweet flesh in the glowing charcoal, ate and drank, and carried off the rest all dropping with blood and gore, and went home to give his children a treat.
Now the Bodisat of that time was a tree fairy, dwelling in that wood. When he saw what had happened, he said to himself,
“Not through father, not through mother, but through lust, has this poor fool of a deer come to his death. In the dawn of passion creatures think themselves in bliss, but they end in losing their limbs in misery, or tasting the grief of all kinds of bonds and blows. What more shameful in this world than that which brings sorrow and death to others? What more despicable than the country where women administer and teach, a land under harem rule? What more wretched than the men who give themselves up to women’s control?” And then, whilst all the fairies of the wood cast bouquets before him and cheered him on, he brought the three rebukes into one verse, and made the whole wood ring as he uttered the stanza--
O dreadful barbéd dart of love, that tears men’s hearts! O foolish land, where woman bears the rule! O stupid men, who fall ‘neath woman’s power!
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[288] When the Master had taught them this story, he proclaimed the Four Truths. And at the conclusion thereof that love-sick monk was converted. And the Master made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka by saying, “The mountain-deer of that time was the love-sick brother, the roe was his former wife, and the tree fairy, who preached the sermon showing the evil of passion, was I myself.”
END OF THE STORY OF THE DART OF LOVE.
No. 14.
VĀTA-MIGA JĀTAKA.
The Greedy Antelope.
“_There is nothing worse than greed, they say._”--This the Master told when he was living at Jetavana about the Elder named Tissa the younger, the keeper of the law concerning food.
For when the Master, we are told, was residing at the Bambu-grove, near Rājagaha, a young man of a very wealthy family of distinction, by name Prince Tissa, went one day to the Bambu-grove, and when he had heard the Teacher’s discourse, he became desirous to devote himself to a religious life. And when, on his asking leave to enter the Order, his parents refused their consent, he compelled them to grant it, in the same manner as Raṭṭhapāla had done, by refusing to eat for seven days.[289] And he then took the vows under the Master.
The Master remained at the Bambu-grove about half a month after receiving him into the Order, and then went to Jetavana. There this young man of family passed his life, begging his daily food in Sāvatthi, and observing all the Thirteen Practices by which the passions are quelled. So under the name of “The Young Tissa who keeps the law concerning food,”[290] he became as distinguished and famous in Buddhadom as the moon in the vault of heaven.
At that time they were holding festival in Rājagaha, and the parents of the monk put away all the jewelry which had belonged to him in the days of his laymanship into a silver casket; and took the matter to heart, weeping, and saying, “At other festivals our boy used to keep the feast wearing this ornament or this. And now Gotama the Mendicant has taken him, him our only son, away to Sāvatthi! And we know not what fate is falling to him there.”
Now a slave-girl coming to the house, and seeing the wife of the lord weeping, asked her, “Why, Lady! do you weep?” And she told her what had happened.
“Well, Lady, what dish was your son most fond of?” said she.
“Such and such a one,” was the reply.
“If you grant me full authority in this house, I will bring your son back!” said she.
The Lady agreed, gave her wherewith to pay all her expenses, and sent her forth with a great retinue, saying, “Go now, and by your power bring back my son.”
So the girl then went to Sāvatthi in a palankeen, and took up her abode in the street in which the monk was wont to beg. And without letting him see the people who had come from the lord’s house, but surrounding herself with servants of her own, she from the very first provided the Elder when he came there with food and drink. Having thus bound him with the lust of taste, she in due course got him to sit down in her house; and when she saw that by giving him to eat she had brought him into her power, she shammed sickness, and lay down in her inner chamber.
Then the monk, when his begging time had come, arrived on his rounds at the door of the house. An attendant took his bowl, and made him sit down in the house. No sooner had he done so, than he asked, “How is the lady devotee?”
“She is sick, reverend Sir, and wishes to see you,” was the reply. And he, bound by the lust of taste, broke his observance and his vow, and went to the place where she was lying. Then she told him why she had come, and alluring him, so bound him by the lust of taste, that she persuaded him to leave the Order. And having brought him into her power, she seated him in her palankeen, and returned to Rājagaha with all her retinue.
And this news became the common talk. And the monks, assembled in the hall of instruction, began to say one to another, “A slave-girl has brought back Young Tissa, the keeper of the law concerning food, having bound him with the lust of taste.”
Then the Master, entering the chapel, sat down on his throne, and said, “On what subject are you seated here talking?”
And they told him the news.
“Not now only, O mendicants!” said he, “has this monk, caught by the lust of taste, fallen into her power; formerly also he did the same.” And he told a story.
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Once upon a time BRAHMA-DATTA, the king of Benares, had a gardener named SANJAYA. Now a swift antelope who had come to the garden took to flight as soon as it saw Sanjaya. But Sanjaya did not frighten it away; and when it had come again and again it began to walk about in the garden. And day by day the gardener used to pluck the various fruits and flowers in the garden, and take them away to the king.
Now one day the king asked him, “I say, friend gardener, is there anything strange in the garden so far as you’ve noticed?”
“I’ve noticed nothing, O king! save that an antelope is in the habit of coming and wandering about there. That I often see.”
“But could you catch it?”
“If I had a little honey, I could bring it right inside the palace here!”
The king gave him the honey; and he took it, went to the garden, smeared it on the grass at the spot the antelope frequented, and hid himself. When the deer came, and had eaten the honey-smeared grass, it was bound with the lust of taste; and from that time went nowhere else, but came exclusively to the garden. And as the gardener saw that it was allured by the honey-smeared grass, he in due course showed himself. For a few days the antelope took to flight on seeing him. But after seeing him again and again, it acquired confidence, and gradually came to eat grass from the gardener’s hand. And when the gardener saw that its confidence was gained, he strewed the path right up to the palace as thick with branches as if he were covering it with mats, hung a gourdful of honey over his shoulder, carried a