Buddhist Legends: Books 1–26

Part 2. Birth and youthful career of Ghosaka Story of the Past: Kotūhalaka casts away his son

Once upon a time there was a famine in the kingdom of Ajita, and a man named Kotūhalaka, unable to get a living, took his young son Kāpi and his wife Kāḷi, and thinking, “I will go to Kosambi and get a living there,” set out with provisions for the journey. (There are also those who say that he left his home because the people were dying of intestinal disease.) As they proceeded on their journey, their provisions gave out, and finally they were so overcome with hunger that they were not able to carry the boy. Thereupon the husband said to his wife, “Wife, if we live, we shall have another son. Let us cast this child away and continue our journey alone.”

There is a proverb, “A mother’s heart is tender,” and so it was with this woman. She replied, “I could never cast away a living child.” “Well, what shall we do?” “Carry him by turns.” When the mother’s turn came, she would lift the child like a wreath of flowers, clasp him to her breast, [170] or carry him on her hip, finally giving him back to his father. When the father took the child, no matter where he held him he suffered more intense pain than ever from hunger. Again and again he said to his wife, “Wife, if we live, we shall have another son. Let us cast this child away.” But this the mother steadfastly refused to do.

Finally the child became so tired from being passed back and forth that he fell asleep in the arms of his father. When the father observed that he was asleep, allowing the mother to precede him, he went and laid the child on a couch of leaves under a bush, immediately resuming his journey. The mother turned, looked back, and not seeing the child, asked, “Husband, where is my son?” “I laid him down under a certain bush.” “Husband, do not kill me. Without my son I cannot live. Bring my son back to me.” And she smote upon her breast and wept. So the husband retraced his steps, recovered the child, and brought him back to her. (In consequence of having cast away his child on this one occasion, Kotūhalaka was himself cast away seven times in a later existence. Let no one regard an evil deed lightly, saying, “It is only a small matter.”)

Continuing their journey, they came to the house of a certain herdsman. On that day, as it happened, one of the herdsman’s cows had calved, and the herdsman was about to hold the customary festival in honor of the event. Now a certain Private Buddha was accustomed to take his meals in the house of the hersdman. The herdsman, after providing the Private Buddha with food, celebrated the cow-festival with an abundant supply of rice-porridge. When the herdsman saw the visitors, he asked them, “Whence have you come?” They told him the whole story, whereupon the tender-hearted youth took pity on them and saw to it that they were given rice-porridge with a plentiful supply of ghee. The wife said to the husband, “Husband, if only you can live, I can live. For a long time you have not had sufficient food. Now eat to your heart’s content.” So saying, she set the ghee and curds before him, eating only a little of the ghee herself. The husband ate heartily; but so intense was the hunger from which he had suffered during the preceding seven or eight days that he was unable to satisfy it.

When the herdsman had seen to it that they were provided with rice-porridge, [171] he began himself to eat. Now under the herdsman’s stool lay a bitch he had raised, and as the herdsman sat there eating, he fed her with morsels of rice-porridge. Kotūhalaka watched him feed her and thought to himself, “Fortunate indeed is that bitch to get such food to eat!” Kotūhalaka was unable to digest the rice-porridge he had eaten, died during the night, and received a new existence in the womb of that very bitch.

His wife performed the funeral ceremonies over his body, and remaining in that very house, worked for hire. Receiving a pint-pot of rice, she cooked it and placed it in the bowl of the Private Buddha, saying, “May these grains of rice bring a reward to your servant.” And she thought to herself, “It would be well for me to remain right here. The Private Buddha comes here regularly; and whether there be alms or not, I shall have the privilege of paying obeisance to him each day and of ministering to him. By so doing I shall obtain peace of mind and earn much merit.” And she remained right there working for hire.

After six or seven months the bitch gave birth to a single pup. The herdsman reserved the milk of one cow for the pup, and in no long time he grew to be a fine big dog. When the Private Buddha ate his meal, he invariably gave him a portion of his rice; and because of this the dog became deeply attached to the Private Buddha.

Now the herdsman was accustomed to go regularly twice each day to wait upon the Private Buddha, and the dog always went with him. On the way was a lair of wild beasts, and the herdsman used to frighten the wild beasts away by striking bushes and ground with a stick and calling out three times, “Su! su!” One day he said to the Private Buddha, “Reverend Sir, in case at any time I should be unable to come, I will send this dog for you. Therefore if I send him, please understand that I wish you to come.”

A few days later the herdsman found it inconvenient to go in person. He therefore sent the dog in his place, saying, “Boy, go bring his reverence back.” At the mere word of the herdsman the dog started off. Where he had seen his master stop and strike bushes and ground, the dog also stopped and barked three times; and when he was sure that his barking had frightened away the wild beasts, he went on. [172] Early in the morning, having attended to nature’s needs, he entered the hut of leaves and grass, went to the place where the Private Buddha sat, barked three times by way of announcing his arrival, and then lay down at one side. By this the Private Buddha knew that it was time for him to go, and therefore started out. The dog ran before him, barking constantly. From time to time the Private Buddha tested the dog by taking the wrong path; but every time he did so the dog, by standing across the path and barking, intimated to him to take the other path.

One day the Private Buddha took the wrong path, and when the dog tried to stop him, without turning back, he pushed away the dog with his foot and went on. The dog, perceiving that he did not intend to turn back, took the hem of his undergarment in his teeth and dragged him along until he brought him to the right path. Such was the strength of the affection of the dog for the Private Buddha.

Later on the Private Buddha’s robe wore out. When the herdsman provided him with materials for a new set of robes, the Private Buddha said to him, “Brother, it is difficult for a person all alone to make a robe. I will go to a convenient place and have it made for me.” “Make it right here, Reverend Sir.” “No, brother, I cannot.” “Well then, Reverend Sir, do not take up your residence far from here.” The dog stood listening to every word they said. The Private Buddha said, “Wait a moment, brother.” Thereupon, leaving the herdsman behind, he flew up into the air and departed in the direction of Gandhamādana.

When the dog saw him flying through the air, [173] he began to bark and howl, and he kept this up until the Private Buddha gradually faded from view, whereupon his heart broke. (Animals, they say, are straightforward and not given to deceit; men, however, think one thing in their heart, but say another with their lips. Therefore said the Exalted One to a monk, “The ways of men are past finding out, but the ways of the beasts are easy to discover.”) So when the dog died, he was reborn, because of his straightforwardness and lack of deceit, in the World of the Thirty-three with a retinue of a thousand celestial nymphs, and there he enjoyed glory and bliss unspeakable. When he but whispered, his voice carried a distance of sixteen leagues; when he spoke in an ordinary tone, he could be heard all over the city of the gods, a city ten thousand leagues in extent. (Do you ask, “Of what was this the consequence?” It was because he barked and howled for love of the Private Buddha.)

Remaining in the World of the Thirty-three for no long time, he passed from that state of existence. (Deities pass from the World of the Gods through four causes: exhaustion of life, exhaustion of merit, exhaustion of food, and anger. He that has earned much merit is reborn in the World of the Gods, remains there during the term allotted to him, and is then reborn higher and higher. Thus he passes through “exhaustion of life.” He that has earned little merit soon exhausts that merit, just as three or four pint-pots of rice tossed into a royal storehouse disappear; and he therefore soon dies. Thus he passes through “exhaustion of merit.” Still a third, while enjoying the pleasures of sense, fails through confusion of memory to partake of food, and the strength of his body being thereby impaired, dies. Thus he passes through “exhaustion of food.” A fourth, jealous of the glory of another, [174] becomes angry and dies. Thus he passes through “anger.”)

Story of the Present: Ghosaka is cast away seven times

Ghosaka, while enjoying the pleasures of sense, became forgetful, passed, through exhaustion of food, from the World of the Thirty-three, and was conceived in the womb of a courtezan of Kosambi. On the day when the courtezan gave birth to the child, she asked her slave-woman, “What is it?” “A son, my lady.” “Very well, put this boy into an old winnowing basket and cast him away on the dust-heap.” Thus she caused him to be cast away. (Courtezans will bestow care on a daughter, but not on a son, for it is through a daughter that their line of business is maintained.) Crows and dogs surrounded the child and huddled about him; but in consequence of his barking and howling for love of the Private Buddha, not one dared to approach him.

At that moment a man came out and saw the crows and dogs all huddled together. “What does this mean?” thought he to himself, going nearer. When he saw the boy, he immediately took a fancy to him, and saying to himself, “I have gained a son,” he picked the boy up and took him home with him.

Now the treasurer of Kosambi happened at that time to go to the royal palace. Seeing the house-priest returning from the royal residence, he asked him, “Teacher, have you observed a conjunction of a constellation with one of the lunar mansions to-day?” “Yes, great treasurer. What else have we to do?” “What will happen to the country?” “Only this: a boy has been born in this city to-day who will one day become the principal treasurer.” As the treasurer’s wife was at that time great with child, he immediately sent a messenger to his house, saying, “Go find out whether or not she has given birth to a child.”

He received the answer that she had not yet given birth to a child. Therefore, as soon as he had seen the king, he went home quickly, summoned a slave-woman named Kāḷī, gave her a thousand pieces of money, [175] and said, “Go scour this city, find the boy that was born to-day, and bring him hither to me.” While she was scouring the city, she came to the house where the child was and asked the mistress of the house, “When was this boy born?” “To-day.” “Give him to me,” said she, first offering a penny and gradually increasing the amount until finally, by offering a thousand pieces of money, she obtained him. Then she took him with her and presented him to the treasurer.

The treasurer gave him a home in his house, thinking to himself, “If a daughter is born to me, I will marry her to this boy and make him treasurer; but if a son is born to me, I will kill him.” After a few days his wife gave birth to a son. Thereupon the treasurer thought to himself, “If only this foundling did not exist, my own son would obtain the post of treasurer. I had best kill him immediately.” So he said to Kāḷī, “Carry this child to the cattle-pen, and when it is time for the cattle to come out, lay him across the doorway, and the cattle will trample him to death. Observe whether or not they trample him to death, and then come back and tell me.”

She carried the child to the cattle-pen, and as soon as the door was opened, laid him across the doorway. Now at other times the leader of the herd, the bull, came out last of all; but on this particular day he came out first, inclosed the boy with his four feet, and stood stock still. Several hundred cows came out on either side of the bull, rubbing against his flanks as they passed. The herdsman thought to himself, “Hitherto this bull has always gone out last of all, but to-day he went out first and stood stock still in the doorway of the pen. What can this mean?” Going near, he saw the boy lying under the bull. Immediately taking a fancy to him, he said to himself, “I have gained a son,” and picking him up, he carried him home.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the herdsman, give him these thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” So she brought the child back again and gave him to the treasurer. [176] Then he said to her, “Good Kāḷī, five hundred carts start from this city at dawn on a trading expedition. Take this child and lay him in the track of the wheels. Either the oxen will trample him under their feet or the wheels will crush him to death. Observe what happens to him, and then return to me.”

She took the child and laid him down in the track of the wheels. The leader of the caravan came first; but when his oxen reached the place where the child lay, they threw off the yoke. Again and again the leader replaced the yoke and tried to drive the oxen forwards; but as often as he did so, they threw off the yoke and refused to move. He was still struggling with them when the sun rose. “Why have the oxen acted thus?” thought he. He looked at the road and saw the boy. “Oh, what a grievous wrong I have done!” thought he. His heart was filled with joy at the thought, “I have gained a son,” and picking up the boy, he carried him off.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the caravan-leader, give him a thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” When she had so done, he said to her, “Now carry him to the burning-ground and lay him in the bushes. There he will either be eaten by dogs or attacked by demons, and he will die. As soon as you know whether or not he is dead, return to me.”

She took the child, laid him in the bushes, and stood at one side. But neither dog nor crow nor demon dared to approach him. (Pray, if he had neither mother nor father nor brother nor other kinsman to protect him, what was it that did protect him? All that protected him was his howling for love of the Private Buddha in his former existence as a dog.)

Just then a goatherd passed on one side of the burning-ground, leading several thousand goats to pasture. A certain she-goat made her way into the bushes eating leaves and grass, and seeing the boy, knelt down and gave him suck. The goatherd called, “He! he!” but she did not come out. Thereupon he said to himself, “I will beat her with my stick and bring her out.” So saying, he made his way into the bushes. [177] And there he saw the she-goat on her knees, giving suck to the boy. He immediately took a fancy to the boy, and saying to himself, “I have gained a son,” picked him up and carried him off.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the goatherd, give him a thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” When she had so done, he said to her, “Good Kāḷī, take this child with you, climb the mountain that is known as Robbers’ Cliff, and throw him down the precipice. He will strike against the sides of the ravine and be dashed to pieces when he reaches the bottom. As soon as you know whether or not he is dead, return to me.”

She carried the child to Robbers’ Cliff, and standing at the top of the mountain, threw him down. Now there grew along the mountain near that abyss a dense bamboo thicket, and the top of the mountain was covered with a thick growth of guñjā shrub. As the boy fell, he dropped into this bamboo thicket as into a coverlet of goat’s hair. Now that very day the leader of the reed-makers had received a gift of bamboo and accompanied by his son, he had gone to chop that thicket down. As he began his work, the bamboo shook and the boy cried out. “That sounds like the voice of a boy,” thought he. Climbing up on one side, he saw the boy. His heart was filled with joy at the thought, “I have gained a son,” and picking up the boy, he carried him off.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the reed-maker, give him a thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” She did so. But in spite of the treasurer’s attempts on his life, the child lived and thrived and grew to manhood. Ghosaka was his name. He was like a thorn in the eye of the treasurer, who could not look him straight in the face.

Thinking of a way to kill him, the treasurer went to a friend of his who was a potter and asked him, “When are you going to fire your bake-house?” “To-morrow.” [178] “Well then, take these thousand pieces of money and do a job for me.” “What is it, master?” “I have a single base-born son. I will send him to you. Take him into an inner room, chop him to pieces with a sharp axe, throw him into a chatty, and bake him in the bake-house. Here are a thousand pieces of money, to seal the bargain, as it were. But in addition I will reward you suitably later.” “Very well,” said the potter, consenting to the bargain.

On the following day the treasurer summoned Ghosaka and sent him to the potter, saying, “Yesterday I left an order with the potter to do a certain piece of work for me. Go say to him, ‘Finish the job my father gave you yesterday.’” “Very well,” said Ghosaka, and set out.

As Ghosaka was on his way to the potter’s, the treasurer’s other son, who was playing marbles with some boys, saw him. And calling to him, he asked, “Where are you going?” “I am carrying a message to the potter for father.” “Let me go there. These boys have won a big stake from me. You win it back and give it to me.” “I am afraid of father.” “Do not fear, brother; I will carry that message. I have lost a big stake. You play until I return again, and win the stake back for me.”

(We are told that Ghosaka was skillful at shooting marbles, and that for this reason his foster-brother was so insistent.)

So Ghosaka consented to let his foster-brother go in his place, saying, “Well then, go to the potter and say to him, ‘Finish the job my father gave you yesterday.’” Thus it happened that the treasurer’s own son carried the message to the potter. The potter killed him according to the letter of the directions he had received from the treasurer and threw his body into the bake-house. Ghosaka played marbles all day and went home in the evening. [179] “You have returned home, son?” queried the treasurer. Ghosaka then told him the reason why he had himself returned home and let his younger brother go to the potter.

“Woe is me!” cried the treasurer with a loud voice. He looked as though the blood had been drawn from his veins. He rushed to the potter, wringing his hands and wailing, “Oh, potter, do not kill me! do not kill me!” The potter saw him approaching in this wise and said to him, “Master, make no noise; the job is done.” Thus was the treasurer overwhelmed with sorrow as with a mountain. Thus did he suffer great grief, even as do all who offend against those that are without offense. Therefore said the Exalted One,

137. Whosoever visits punishment on those that deserve not punishment.

Whosoever offends against those that are without offense.

Such an one will right quickly come to one of ten states:

138. He will incur cruel suffering, or infirmity, or injury of the body.

Or severe sickness, or loss of mind,

139. Or misfortune proceeding from the king, or a heavy accusation.

Or death of relatives, or loss of treasures,

140. Or else the fire of lightning will consume his houses;

Upon dissolution of the body such a fool will go to Hell. [180]

Now under these circumstances the treasurer was unable to look Ghosaka straight in the face. “How can I manage to kill him?” thought he. Finally he thought of a way. “I will send him to the superintendent of my hundred villages and order him to kill him,” said he to himself. Accordingly he wrote the following letter to the superintendent, “This is my base-born son. Kill him and throw him into the cesspool. Let this be done, and I shall know how to reward my uncle properly.” Then he said to his foster-son, “Dear Ghosaka, there is a superintendent over our hundred villages. Take this letter and give it to him.” So saying, he fastened the letter to the hem of his garment. (Now Ghosaka did not know how to read and write, for ever since he was a boy the treasurer had striven, although without success, to kill him. Why, therefore, should he have taught him to read and write?) As Ghosaka set out with his own death-warrant fastened to the hem of his garment, he said to his father, “Father, I have no provisions for the journey.” “You have no need of provisions for the journey. On the way, in such and such a village, lives a friend of mine who is a treasurer. Obtain your breakfast at his house, and then continue your journey.” “Very well,” said Ghosaka, and bowing to his father, set out on his journey.

When he arrived at the village, he inquired where the treasurer’s house was, went there, and saw the treasurer’s wife. “Whence have you come?” she inquired. “From the city,” he replied. “Whose son are you?” “I am the son of your friend the treasurer, my lady.” “Then you are Ghosaka.” “Yes, my lady.” She fell in love with him at first sight. Now the treasurer had a daughter about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and she was exceedingly beautiful and fair to look upon. In order to keep her safe and sound, her parents lodged her on the topmost floor of a seven-storied palace in an apartment of royal splendor, giving her a single slave-girl to run errands. [181] At that moment the treasurer’s daughter sent this slave-girl to a shop. The treasurer’s wife, seeing her, asked, “Where are you going?” “On an errand for your daughter, my lady.” “Just come here a moment. Never mind the errand. Spread a seat for my son, bathe his feet, anoint them with oil, and then spread a couch for him. After you have done this, you may do your errand.” The slave-girl did as she was told.

When she returned, the treasurer’s daughter scolded her for her long absence. The slave-girl replied, “Be not angry with me. The treasurer’s son Ghosaka has arrived, and I had to do this and that for him, besides going on an errand for you, before I returned.” When the treasurer’s daughter heard the name “treasurer’s son Ghosaka,” love suffused her body, cleaving her skin and penetrating the marrow of her bones.

(For she had been his wife in his former existence as Kotūhalaka and had given a pint-pot of rice to the Private Buddha. And through his supernatural power she had been reborn in the household of the treasurer. No wonder her old passion for him returned and overwhelmed her! Therefore said the Exalted One,

Through previous association or present advantage,

That love springs up like a lily in the water.)

The treasurer’s daughter said to the slave-girl, “Girl, where is he?” “He is lying asleep on the couch.” “Has he anything in his hand?” “There is a letter fastened to his garment.” “What can be in this letter?” she thought. So while Ghosaka was asleep, and her mother and father were otherwise engaged, she came down without attracting their attention, detached the letter from his garment, took it with her, went into her room, closed the door, opened the window, and through her knowledge of writing read the letter. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “the simpleton is going about with his own death-warrant fastened to his garment. [182] Had I not seen it, he would surely have been killed.”

So she tore up this letter and wrote another in the name of the treasurer as follows, “This is my son Ghosaka. Procure presents for him from my hundred villages. Prepare a festival in honor of his marriage with the daughter of this district-treasurer. Build him a two-storied house in the center of the village wherein he resides. Surround his house with a wall and with a guard of men, and so provide him with ample protection. Then send me a message, saying, ‘I have done thus and so,’ and I shall know how to reward my uncle properly.” Having written the letter, she folded it up and fastened it to the hem of his garment.

After sleeping all day, Ghosaka arose, ate his meal, and went on his way. Early on the morning of the following day he arrived at that village and saw the superintendent performing his village duties. When the superintendent saw him, he asked him, “What is it, dear Ghosaka?” “My father has sent you a letter.” “What is it about, dear Ghosaka? Bring it to me.” He took the letter and read it, and then said with an exclamation of delight, “See, men, how my master loves me. He has sent me a message, saying, ‘Prepare a festival in honor of my oldest son.’ Bring wood and other building materials immediately.” Having thus given orders to the householders, he caused a house of the kind described in the letter to be erected in the center of the village, had presents brought from the hundred villages, conducted the daughter of the district-treasurer thither, celebrated the marriage festival, and then sent word to the treasurer, saying, “I have done thus and so.”

When the treasurer received the message, he said, “What I would do, that I do not; what I would not do, that I do.” Disappointment over the failure of his latest plan, together with sorrow over the death of his own son, set him on fire within and produced diarrhea.

The treasurer’s daughter gave orders, saying, “Should anyone come here from the treasurer, tell me before you tell the treasurer’s son.” [183] The treasurer said to himself, “At any rate I will not make this rascally son of mine heir to my property.” With this thought in mind he said to a certain official, “Uncle, I wish to see my son. Send a servant and summon my son.” “Very well,” replied the official, and giving a certain man the letter, sent him away.

When the treasurer’s daughter heard that the servant had arrived and was standing at the door, she sent for him and asked him, “What is it, my man?” “The treasurer is sick and wishes to see his son, and has therefore sent for him, my lady.” “My man, is he strong or weak?” “He is still strong, my lady, and able to take nourishment.” Without letting the treasurer’s son know, she ordered that the man should be given lodging and expenses and said to him, “You may go when I send you. Remain here for the present.”

Again the treasurer addressed the official, “Uncle, did you not send a messenger to my son?” “I did, master, but the man who went has not yet returned.” “Well then, try again and send another.” So the official sent another man, and the treasurer’s daughter treated him just as she had the first. The treasurer’s condition grew worse; one chamber-pot went in and another came out. Again the treasurer asked the official, “Uncle, did you not send a messenger to my son?” “I did, master, but the man who went has not yet returned.” “Well then, try again and send another.” So the official sent another man. When the third messenger arrived, the treasurer’s daughter asked him the news. “The treasurer is a very sick man, my lady. He refuses to eat and is confined to his bed. One chamber-pot comes out and another goes in.”

“Now it is time to go,” thought the treasurer’s daughter. So she said to the treasurer’s son, “I learn that your father is sick.” “Wife, what say you?” “It may be only a slight ailment, husband.” “What is to be done now?” [184] “Let us take presents from his hundred villages and go see him.” “Very well,” said he. Having caused presents to be brought, he started out, conveying the presents in a cart. Then she said to him, “Your father is very weak. If we take all these presents, we shall be delayed on the way; send them back.” Having sent all the presents back to their own house, she said to the treasurer’s son, “Husband, please stand at your father’s feet; I will stand beside his pillow.” And as they entered the house, she gave orders to her own men, “Stand on guard both in the front of the house and in the rear.” And when they had entered, the treasurer’s son took his stand at his father’s feet and his wife beside his pillow.

At that moment the treasurer was lying on his back and the official was rubbing his feet. The latter said to him, “Master, your son has arrived.” “Where is he?” “Here he is, standing at your feet.” When the treasurer saw his son, he sent for the receiver of his revenues and asked him, “How much wealth is there in my house?” “Master, of money alone there are four hundred millions; as for objects for employment and enjoyment, such as villages and fields and men and animals and wagons and carriages, such and such is the total.” It was the treasurer’s intention to say, “All of this wealth I do not give to my son Ghosaka.” But instead of this he said, “I do give.”

When the treasurer’s daughter heard this, she thought to herself, “However, if this man should speak again, he might say something very different.” Accordingly, pretending to be overcome with grief, she disheveled her hair, burst into tears, and said, “Dear father, do you really mean this? In spite of these words of yours, which we hear, we are indeed unfortunate.” So saying, she fell on him, struck the middle of his breast with the crown of her head, and in order that he might not be able to speak again, rubbed the middle of his breast with the crown of her head, displaying at the same time signs of profound grief. At that very moment the treasurer died. [185]

They went and informed King Udena of his death. The king had the funeral ceremonies performed over his body and asked, “Has he any son or daughter?” “Your majesty, he has a son named Ghosaka; and, your majesty, he bestowed all his property on him before he died.” Some time afterwards, the king sent for the treasurer’s son. Now that day it rained, and there were pools of water here and there in the palace court. The treasurer’s son set out to see the king. The king opened his window and watched him as he approached, noticing that as he crossed the palace court he leaped over the pools of water that stood in the court. When he reached the palace and paid obeisance to the king and stood before him, the king asked him, “Your name is Ghosaka?” “Yes, your majesty.” The king comforted him, saying, “Do not grieve at the thought that your father is dead. I will give you alone your father’s post as treasurer.” Then he dismissed him, saying, “Now, dear Ghosaka, you may go,” and stood and watched him as he left the palace.

Now whereas Ghosaka leaped over the water in approaching the palace, he walked through it on his return. The king sent orders for him to return from where he was and asked him, “Dear Ghosaka, is it a fact that whereas, in coming to me, you leaped over the water, on your return you walk through it?” “It is even so, your majesty. Then I was a boy and was fond of play, but now I have been promised a post of honor by your majesty. Therefore I must now lay aside my former ways and deport myself with modesty and dignity.” On hearing this, the king thought to himself, “There is a wise man. I will give him the post immediately.” Accordingly he gave him the wealth formerly possessed by his father and the post of treasurer, together with all the hundred villages. Then Ghosaka mounted his chariot and drove sunwise round the city. Every place he looked at quaked and trembled.

The treasurer’s daughter sat talking with the slave-woman Kāḷī. [186] “Mother Kāḷī,” said she, “it was through me that your son obtained all this worldly glory.” “How is that, my lady?” “Why, this youth came to our house with his own death-warrant fastened to the hem of his garment. I tore up that letter and wrote another, ordering the celebration of a festival in honor of my marriage to him. In this way did I protect him all that time.” “My lady, this is all you know about it. But as a matter of fact, from the time your husband was a little boy, the treasurer constantly sought to kill him, and though his attempts were unsuccessful, a large sum of money was spent solely for the purpose of accomplishing his death.” “Kāḷī, the treasurer was indeed guilty of abominable crimes!”

Having performed his ceremonial circuit of the city, Ghosaka entered his house. Now when his wife saw him, she thought to herself, “It was through me that he obtained all this worldly glory,” and laughed. The treasurer’s son asked her, “Why do you laugh?” “For a certain reason.” “Tell me the reason.” She refused to do so. He drew his sword and said, “If you do not tell me, I will cut you in twain.” Then she said, “I laughed to think that it was through me that you obtained all this worldly glory.” “If what I possess was handed over to me by my father, where do you come in?” (We are told that during all that time Ghosaka knew nothing about the designs against his life, and that that was why he refused to believe what she said.) So she told him the whole story, saying, “When your father sent you forth bearing your own death-warrant, I did this and that and protected you.”

“What you say is not true,” replied Ghosaka, refusing to believe her. “I will ask Mother Kāḷī.” So he asked the slave-woman, “Kāḷī, is what she says true?” “Yes, my lord. From the time you were a little boy your father sought constantly to kill you, and though his attempts were unsuccessful, a large sum of money was spent for the purpose of accomplishing your death. On seven occasions you had a narrow escape from death. Now, coming from the village of which he was headman, [187] you have obtained the post of treasurer, together with all the hundred villages.”

When Ghosaka heard this, he thought to himself, “How great was my presumption! But since I have escaped from so terrible a death, I must no longer live the life of Heedlessness. Henceforth, therefore, I will live the life of Heedfulness.” Accordingly he established alms for the blind and the poor, and employing his friend the householder as steward of his alms, he dispensed a thousand pieces of money daily.

Part 3. Birth and youthful career of Sāmāvatī

Now at this time there lived in the city of Bhaddavati a treasurer named Bhaddavatiya, and he was a friend of the treasurer Ghosaka, although Ghosaka had never seen him. For the treasurer Ghosaka heard, from traders who came from the city of Bhaddavati, of the wealth and age of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, and desiring to be friends with him, sent him a present. Likewise the treasurer Bhaddavatiya heard, from traders who came from the city of Kosambi, of the wealth and age of the treasurer Ghosaka, and desiring to be friends with him, sent him a present. Thus, although neither had seen the other, they dwelt as friends.

After a time intestinal disease broke out in the house of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya. When this disease breaks out, the first to die are flies; afterwards, in regular order, insects, mice, domestic fowls, swine, cattle, slaves both female and male, and last of all the members of the household. Only those that break down the wall and flee, save their lives. Now at that time the treasurer Bhaddavatiya and his wife and daughter fled in this manner, and intending to seek the treasurer Ghosaka, [188] set out on the road to Kosambi. While they were still on their way, their provisions for the journey gave out, and their bodies became exhausted from exposure to wind and sun, and from hunger and thirst. Reaching Kosambi with difficulty, they bathed in a pool of water in a pleasant place and then entered a certain rest-house at the gate of the city.

Then the treasurer said to his wife, “Wife, those who travel in this way are not courteous even to a mother who has borne a child. Now I have a friend who, they say, dispenses a thousand pieces of money daily in alms to the blind, the poor, and other unfortunate persons. We will send our daughter there, have her bring us food, remain right here for a day or two and refresh our bodies, and then we will go and see my friend.” “Very well, husband,” she replied, and they took up their residence right there in the rest-house.

On the following day, when meal-time was announced and the blind, the poor, and other unfortunate persons went to obtain food, the mother and father sent forth their daughter, saying, “Daughter, go bring us food.” So the daughter of a wealthy house, pride overcome with misfortune, hid her shame, took a bowl, and went with poor folk to procure food. “How many portions will you have?” she was asked. “Three,” she replied. So they gave her three portions. She carried the food back to her parents, and the three sat down to eat together. The mother and daughter said to the treasurer, “Master, misfortune comes even to prominent families. Eat without regarding us and do not worry.” After a good deal of urging, they prevailed upon him to eat. But after he had eaten, he was unable to digest his food, and when the sun rose, he died. The mother and daughter wept and wailed and lamented.

On the following day the young girl went the second time to procure food. “How many portions will you have?” [189] “Two.” She carried the food back to her mother, and after a good deal of urging, prevailed upon her to eat. The mother yielded to her pleading and consented to eat, but died on that very day. The young girl, left alone to herself, wept and wailed and lamented over the misfortune that had come upon her. On the following day, suffering the pangs of hunger keenly, she went weeping in the company of beggars to procure food. “How many portions will you have, daughter?” “One,” was her reply.

A householder named Mitta, remembering that she had received food for three days, said to her, “Perish, vile woman. To-day, at last, you have come to know the capacity of your belly.” This daughter of a respectable family, modest and timid, felt as though she had received a sword-thrust in her bosom, or as though salt water had been sprinkled on a sore. She immediately replied, “What do you mean, sir?” “Day before yesterday you took three portions, yesterday two, to-day you take but one. To-day, then, you know the capacity of your belly.” “Sir, do not think that I took these for myself.” “Why then did you take them?” “Sir, day before yesterday we were three, yesterday we were two, to-day I am left alone.” “How is that?” he inquired.

She then told him the whole story from the beginning. As he listened to her story, he was unable to control his tears, but was overcome by the power of the grief that arose within him. Finally he said to her, “My dear girl, if this is the case, do not worry. Hitherto you have been the daughter of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, but from this day forth you shall be my very own daughter.” And he kissed her on the head, conducted her to his own house, and adopted her as his own oldest daughter.

One day she heard loud and piercing screams in the refectory, whereupon she said to her foster-father, “Father, why do you not keep these people quiet when you dispense alms?” “It is impossible to do it, dear daughter.” “Father, it is quite possible.” “How would you do it, dear daughter?” “Father, [190] put a fence around the refectory and hang two gates through which the people may pass in and out, allowing only sufficient space for one person to pass through at a time. Then direct the people to pass in through one gate and out through the other. If you do this, they will receive their alms peaceably and quietly.” When the householder had heard her plan he remarked, “A happy device, dear daughter,” and did as she suggested. Now up to that time her name had been Sama, but through her construction of a fence (vati) she received the name Sāmāvatī. From that time on there was no more tumult in the refectory.

Now the treasurer Ghosaka had long been accustomed to hear this noise in the refectory and rather liked to hear it; for it always made him think, “That is the noise in my refectory.” But after hearing no noise at all for two or three days, he asked the householder Mitta, who came one day to wait upon him, “Are alms being give to the blind, the poor, and other unfortunate persons?” “Yes, sir.” “How then does it happen that for two or three days past I have not heard a sound?” “I have arranged matters so that the people now receive alms without making any noise.” “Why didn’t you do so before?” “I didn’t know how, sir.” “How did you happen to find a way just now?” “My daughter told me how to do it, sir.” “Have you a daughter whom I have never seen?” Then the householder told him the whole story of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, beginning with the outbreak of the plague and ending with his adoption of the young girl as his own oldest daughter.

Then said the treasurer to him, “If this is the case, why did you not tell me? My friend’s daughter is my own daughter.” So he sent for her and asked her, “Dear girl, are you the daughter of the treasurer?” “Yes, sir, I am.” “Well then, do not worry; you are my own daughter.” Then he kissed her on the head, gave her five hundred women for her retinue, and adopted her as his own oldest daughter.

One day a festival was proclaimed in this city. Now at this festival daughters of respectable families, who do not ordinarily go out, go on foot with their own retinue [191] and bathe in the river. Accordingly on that day Sāmāvatī also, accompanied by her five hundred women, went right through the palace court to bathe in the river. King Udena stood at his window and saw her. “Whose are those nautch-girls?” he inquired. “Nobody’s nautch-girls, your majesty.” “Then whose daughters are they?” “Your majesty, that is the daughter of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, and her name is Sāmāvatī.” Now the king fell in love with the girl the moment he saw her, and immediately sent word to the treasurer Ghosaka, “Send me the maiden they say is your daughter.” “I will not send her, your majesty.” “Do not act thus. Do as I ask and send her.” “Your majesty, we householders do not give young girls, for fear people will say they are abused and maltreated.” Angered by the treasurer’s reply, the king caused the treasurer’s house to be sealed and the treasurer and his wife to be seized and turned out of doors.

When Sāmāvatī returned after her bath and found no way of entering the house, she asked, “What does this mean, dear father?” “Dear daughter, the king sent for you; and when we refused to give you to him, he caused the house to be sealed and caused us to be turned out of doors.” “Dear father, you made a great mistake. When one who is a king commands, you should not say, ‘We do not give.’ You should rather say, ‘If you will take our daughter with her retinue, we will give her to you.’” “Very well, dear daughter. If that is your desire, I will do as you say.” Accordingly Ghosaka sent a message to that effect to the king, and the king accepted his offer, saying, “Very well.” Then the king conducted Sāmāvatī with her retinue to the royal palace, conferred the ceremonial sprinkling on her, and elevated her to the dignity of chief consort. The other women became her ladies-in-waiting.

Part 4. Winning of Vāsuladattā by Udena

Yet another of Udena’s queen-consorts was Vāsuladattā, [192] daughter of Caṇḍa Pajjota, king of Ujjeni. One day, as Caṇḍa Pajjota was returning from his pleasure-garden, he surveyed his own splendor and asked, “Is there any other soever possessed of splendor like mine?” “Splendor such as it is, King Udena of Kosambi possesses exceeding great splendor.” “Very well, let us take him captive.” “It is impossible to capture him.” “By employing some means or other, let us capture him all the same.” “It is impossible, your majesty.” “Why?” “He understands the art of charming elephants. By reciting spells and playing his elephant-charming lute, he either drives elephants away or captures them at his pleasure. No one possesses so many riding-elephants as he.” “I suppose it is impossible for me to capture him.” “If you are bent on doing it, have a wooden elephant made and turned loose near him. Let him hear of a good mount, be it elephant or horse, and he will go a long way for it. When he is close by, you can capture him.” “A stratagem indeed!” exclaimed the king.

So the king had a mechanical elephant made of wood, wrapped about with strips of cloth and deftly painted, and turned it loose on the bank of a certain lake near the country of his enemy. Within the belly of the elephant sixty men walked back and forth; every now and then they loaded their shovels with elephant dung and dumped it out. A certain woodman saw the elephant, and thinking to himself, “Just the thing for our king!” went and told the king, “Your majesty, I saw a noble elephant, pure white even as the peak of Kelasa, just the sort of elephant your majesty would like.”

Udena mounted his elephant and set out, taking the woodman along as a guide and accompanied by his retinue. His approach was [193] observed by spies, who went and informed Caṇḍa Pajjota. The latter straightway dispatched armies on both flanks of his enemy, allowing the space between them to remain open. Udena, unaware of his enemy’s approach, continued to pursue the elephant. He recited his spell and played his lute, but all to no purpose. The wooden elephant, driven with great speed by the men concealed within its belly, made as if it failed to hear the charm and continued its flight. The king, unable to overtake the elephant, mounted his horse. On and on sped the horse, galloping so rapidly that by degrees the army of the king was left far behind and the king was quite alone. Then Caṇḍa Pajjota’s men, who were posted on both flanks, captured Udena and turned him over to their king. Udena’s army, perceiving that their leader had fallen into the hands of the enemy, built a stockade just outside of Ujjeni and remained there.

Canda Pajjota, having thus captured Udena alive, clapped him into prison behind closed doors and kept wassail for three days. On the third day Udena asked his keepers, “Friends, where’s your king?” “Carousing, for, says he, ‘I’ve landed my enemy.’” “What does your king mean by acting like a woman? He has captured a royal adversary and surely ought either to release him or to kill him. He has brought humiliation upon us and is ‘carousing’— indeed!” The keepers went and reported the incident to the king. The king came and asked, “Is it true that you said thus and thus?” “Yes, your majesty.” “Very well, I will release you. They say you have such and such a charm; will you give it to me?” “Certainly I will give it to you; but when you receive it, will you pay me homage?” “I pay you homage? I’ll not pay you homage.” “Then I’ll not give it to you.” [194] “In that case I will have you executed.” “Do so; you are lord of my body, not of my mind.”

When the king heard Udena’s defiant answer, he thought to himself, “How in the world can I get the charm? I have it. I’ll have my daughter learn it from him, and then I’ll learn it from her. It would never do to let anyone else learn a charm like this.” So he said to Udena, “Will you divulge the charm to another, if the other will pay you homage?” “Yes, your majesty.” “Well then, we have in our house a hunchbacked woman. She will sit behind a curtain; you remain outside and have her repeat the charm.” “Be she hunchback or cripple, I will teach her the charm, provided she will pay me homage.”

Then the king went to his daughter Vāsuladattā and said, “Dear daughter, there is a certain leper who knows a priceless charm. You sit behind a curtain, and he will remain outside and repeat it to you. You get it from him, for it would never do to let anyone else learn it, and then I will get it from you.” After this sort, for fear of their making love, did Canda Pajjota feign that his daughter was a hunchback and Udena a leper. So Vāsuladattā seated herself behind a curtain, and Udena remained outside and caused her to repeat the charm.

One day Udena repeated the words of the charm over and over again to Vāsuladattā, but the latter was unable to reproduce it correctly. Thereupon Udena cried out, “Dunce of a hunchback, your lips are too thick and your cheeks too pudgy! I’ve a mind to beat your face in! Say it this way!” Vāsuladattā replied in anger, “Villain of a leper, [195] what do you mean by those words? Do you call such as I hunchback’?” Udena lifted the fringe of the curtain and asked, “Who are you?” Said the maiden, “I am Vāsuladattā, daughter of the king.” “When your father spoke to me, he described you as a hunchback.” “When he spoke to me, he made you out a leper.” Both said, “He must have said it for fear of our making love.” Then and there within the curtain they made love, and from that time on there was no learning charms or getting lessons. The king regularly asked his daughter, “Daughter, are you learning your lessons?” “Yes, father.”

Now one day Udena said to Vāsuladattā, “My dear, a husband can do that which neither father nor mother nor brothers nor sisters can do. If you will save my life, I will give you a retinue of five hundred women and make you my chief consort.” “If you will carry out your promise without fail, I will save your life.” “My dear, I will do so without fail.” “Very well, husband.” So she went to her father, saluted him, and stood respectfully on one side. Her father asked her, “Daughter, is your task completed?” “Not quite completed, father.” “What do you require, daughter?” “We must have at our disposal a door and a mount, father.” “Why this request?” “Father, this is what my teacher says: ‘In order to work the charm, a certain medicinal herb is necessary, and this must be obtained at night at a time indicated by the stars.’ [196] Therefore whenever we are obliged to go out, whether it be early or late, we must have a door and a mount at our disposal.” “Very well,” said the king, giving his consent. They secured permission to use a certain door at any time they pleased.

Now the king was possessed of the five conveyances: a female elephant named Bhaddavati, which could travel fifty leagues a day; a slave named Kaka, who could travel sixty leagues a day; two mares, Celakanthi and Munjakesi, which could travel a hundred leagues a day; and an elephant named Nalagiri, which could travel a hundred and twenty leagues a day.

Story of the Past: Canda Pajjota wins the five conveyances

It seems that before the appearance in the world of the present Buddha, the king had been the servitor of a certain ruler. Now one day as this ruler was returning from his bath outside of the city, a certain Private Buddha who had entered the city to receive alms came out with his bowl clean as it had been washed, having received not a single morsel of food by reason of the evil influence of Māra over all the residents of the city. Indeed when the Private Buddha reached the gate of the city, Māra approached him in disguise and asked him, “Reverend Sir, did you receive anything?” “But have you made it possible for me to receive anything?” “Well then, turn back and go in again. Now I will make it possible for you to receive alms.” “I will not go back again.” Had the Private Buddha returned, Māra would once more have taken possession of the bodies of all the residents of the city and would have subjected him to the embarrassment of hand-clapping and rude laughter.

Now when this ruler [197] saw the Private Buddha returning with his bowl clean as it had been washed, he asked him, “Reverend Sir, did you receive anything?” “I have gone my round and am coming out, brother.” The ruler thought to himself, “His reverence does not answer the question I asked him, but tells me something I did not ask about. It must be that he failed to receive anything.” The ruler looked at his bowl and saw that it was empty. Not knowing whether the food in his house was ready or not, and therefore, brave though he was, not daring to take his bowl, he said, “Wait a moment, Reverend Sir.” So saying, he went home quickly and asked, “Is our food ready?” Receiving the answer that it was ready, he said to his servitor, “Friend, there is no one possessed of greater speed than you. Make the greatest possible speed, and when you reach his reverence, say to him, ‘Reverend Sir, give me your bowl,’ and then take his bowl and return to me.”

At the mere word of his master the servitor set out, obtained the bowl, and brought it back. The ruler filled the bowl with his own food and said, “Convey this to his reverence with all speed. I make over to you the merit of this action.” The servitor went quickly, gave the bowl to the Private Buddha, saluted him with the Five Rests, and said to him, “Reverend Sir, the time is short. I went and returned with the greatest possible speed. As the fruit of this speed, may I obtain the five conveyances able to travel fifty, sixty, a hundred, and a hundred and twenty leagues a day respectively. As I returned and went, my body was heated by the rays of the sun. As the fruit of this, in the various places where I shall be reborn, may I possess authority equal to the power of the rays of the sun. My master has made over to me the merit of this alms. In consequence of this [198] may I be a partaker of the Truth you have seen.” The Private Buddha said, “So be it,” and returned thanks in the following Stanzas,

May all you’ve wished and prayed for come out well;

May all your aspirations be fulfilled, even as the moon at the full.

May all you’ve wished and prayed for come out well;

May all your aspirations be fulfilled, as by the jewel Dew of Light.

This was the king’s deed in a previous state of existence. He was now Caṇḍa Pajjota, and in consequence of this deed he came to possess these five conveyances. End of Story of the Past.

Now one day the king went out to amuse himself in the garden. “Now’s the time to flee,” thought Udena. So he filled several big leather sacks with gold and silver coins, placed the sacks on the back of the female elephant, assisted Vāsuladattā to mount, and away they went. The harem guards saw what was happening and went and told the king. The king sent out a force in pursuit. “Go quickly,” said he. When Udena perceived that a force had set out in pursuit, he’ opened a sack of gold and scattered the coins along the way. His pursuers stopped to pick up the coins and then hurried along. Then he opened a sack of silver and scattered the coins along the way. While his pursuers delayed because of their greed for silver, [199] Udena reached his own stockade built without the city. When his men saw him coming, they surrounded him, and escorted him back to Kosambi. When he arrived there, he sprinkled Vāsuladattā and raised her to the rank of chief consort.

Part 5. Rejection of Māgandiyā by the Buddha

Still another maiden who gained the dignity of chief consort of the king was Māgandiyā. She, we are told, was the daughter of the Brahman Māgandiya, who lived in the Kuru country, her mother also bore the name Māgandiyā and her father’s younger brother likewise bore the name Māgandiya. She was as beautiful as a celestial nymph. Now her father was unable to find a husband who was worthy of her; and although scions of all the great families in the country asked for her hand, her father sent them all away, reviling them and saying, “You are not worthy of my daughter.”

Now one day, as the Teacher surveyed the world at early dawn, he perceived that the Brahman Māgandiya and his wife possessed the dispositions requisite for the attainment of the Fruit of the Third Path. Therefore, taking his own bowl and robe, he went to a place just outside of a certain market-town, where the Brahman was tending the sacred fire. The Brahman surveyed the person of the Tathāgata, beholding in him the perfection of physical beauty, and thought to himself, “There is no other man in the whole world comparable to this man. I will give my daughter to this man to cherish and support.” Accordingly he said to the Teacher, “Monk, I have a single daughter, and all this time I have not seen a man worthy of her. But you are suitable for her, and she is suitable for you. For you [200] ought to have a wife, and she ought to have a husband. I will give her to you. Wait right here until I come back.” The Teacher said not a word, but remained silent.

The Brahman went home quickly and said to his wife, “Wife! wife! I saw a man who is worthy of our daughter. Hurry! hurry! Dress her in her beautiful garments.” So the Brahman had his daughter dressed in her beautiful garments, and taking daughter and wife with him, went to the Teacher. The whole city was agitated. “All this time,” said the people, “this man has said of every suitor, ‘He is not suitable for my daughter,’ and has refused to give her to anyone. But it is reported that he has said, ‘To-day I saw a man who is suitable for my daughter.’ What manner of man can he be? Let us go see him.” So a great throng of people went out of the city with him.

Now when the Brahman set out with his daughter, the Teacher, instead of remaining in the place mentioned by the Brahman, moved away from that place and took his stand in another place, leaving a footprint. (When the Buddhas establish a footprint, it appears only in a trodden place and not elsewhere, and only those for whom it is established can see it. Let elephants or other wild animals tread upon a footprint of the Buddhas to render it invisible, or let a violent storm pour forth rain upon it, or let the roaring winds beat upon it, yet not one of them can obliterate it.)

Now the Brahman’s wife said to the Brahman, “Where is this man?” The Brahman replied, “I said to him, ‘Remain in this place.’ Where can he possibly have gone?” He looked all about, and seeing his footprint, said, “Here is his [201] footprint.” Now the Brahman’s wife was familiar with the three Vedas, including the verses relating to signs. So she repeated the verses relating to signs, considering carefully the signs borne by the footprint before her. Finally she said, “Brahman, this is no footprint of one who follows the Five Lusts.” So saying, she pronounced the following Stanza,

The footprint of a lustful man will be squatty;

That of a wicked man, violently pressed down;

Of one infatuate, the footprint will be shuffling;

This is the sort of footprint made by one who has rolled back the Veil of Passion.

Then said the Brahman to her, “Wife, you are always seeing crocodiles in the water-vessel and thieves hiding in the house. Be still.” “Brahman, you may say what you like, but this is no footprint of one who follows the Five Lusts.”

Just then the Brahman looked around and saw the Teacher. “There is the man!” said he. Thereupon the Brahman went to him and said, “Monk, I give you my daughter to cherish and support.” The Teacher, instead of saying, “I have need of your daughter,” or “I have no need of your daughter,” said to him, “Brahman, I have something to say to you.” “Say it, monk,” replied the Brahman. Thereupon the Teacher told him how Māra had pursued him from the time of the Great Retirement to the time of the Session under the Goatherd’s Banyan-tree, and how, when Māra seated himself under the Goatherd’s Banyan-tree, overcome with sorrow at the thought, “Now this man has escaped from my power,” Māra’s daughters came to assuage their father’s sorrow and endeavored to seduce him by appearing before him in the forms of women both young and old. [202] “At that time,” said the Teacher,

Having seen Craving, Pining, and Lust,

I had no desire for the pleasures of love.

What is this body, filled with urine and dung?

I should not be willing to touch it, even with my foot.

At the conclusion of the Stanza the Brahman and his wife were established in the Fruit of the Third Path.

As for Māgandiyā, she said to herself, “If this man has no need of me, it is perfectly proper for him to say so, but he declares me to be full of urine and dung. Very well! By virtue of the fact that I possess birth, lineage, social position, wealth, and the charm of youth, I shall obtain a husband who is my equal, and then I shall know what ought to be done to the monk Gotama.” And then and there she conceived hatred towards the Teacher.

(Did the Teacher know, or did he not know, that she had conceived hatred towards him? He knew. If he knew, why did he pronounce the Stanza? For the sake of the other two. For the Buddhas take no account of hatred directed against them, but preach the Law solely for the sake of those who are worthy to attain the Paths and the Fruits.)

Her mother and father took her and committed her to the charge of her uncle Culla Māgandiya, and then retired from the world and attained Arahatship. Culla Māgandiya thought to himself, [203] “My daughter is not suited to be the wife of a low person, but is suited to be the consort of a king.” Accordingly he adorned her with all the adornments, took her with him to Kosambi, and presented her to King Udena, saying, “This jewel of a woman is worthy to become a consort of your majesty.” When the king saw her, he fell deeply in love with her, conferred the ceremonial sprinkling upon her, provided her with a retinue of five hundred ladies-in-waiting, and raised her to the dignity of chief consort.

Thus the king had three chief consorts with a retinue of fifteen hundred nautch-girls.