HE FOX AND THE LION.
1. When the most excellent Buddha was in the Dzetawon monastery, surrounded by his disciples, desiring to correct a religious who was in the habit of keeping bad company, he narrated the following story: At the time that the Princes Bramanas reigned at Baranathee, Phralaong was then a lion, father to two little ones, one male and the other female. The first was named Menandza. The lion’s household, when Menandza was grown up and had married, was composed in all of five individuals. Menandza, strong and bold, went out every day in quest of prey for the support of his four relations that remained in the den. One day, in the middle of one of his predatory excursions, he happened to meet with a fox, which was lying on his belly, in a most respectful posture. On being asked by the proud lion, with a terrific voice, heightened by a threatening glance, what he was doing, the fox respectfully answered: “I am humbly prostrated here to do homage and pay my respects to your majesty.” “Well,” said Menandza; and he took him alive to his den. As soon as the father saw the fox, he said to his son: “My son, the fox is an animal full of cunning and deceit, faithless, without honour, addicted to all wicked practices, and always engaged and embroiled in some bad affairs; be on your guard; beware of such a companion, and forthwith send him away.” Unheeding his father’s wise advice, Menandza persisted in his resolution, and kept his new friend with him.
On a certain day the fox intimated to Menandza that he longed to eat the flesh of a young colt. “Where is the[158] place these animals are wont to graze?” asked Menandza. “On the banks of the river of Baranathee,” replied the fox. Both started immediately for the indicated spot. They saw there a great number of horses bathing in the river. Menandza, in an instant, pounced upon a young one, and carried it to his den. “It is not prudent,” said the old father, “to eat those animals which belong to the king. One day he will cause you to be shot from a distance with arrows, and kill you. No lion that eats horse-flesh has ever lived long. From this day cease to attack those animals.” Deaf to such wholesome warnings, Menandza continued to carry destruction among the horses. News was soon conveyed to the king that a lion and a fox were making great havoc among his horses. He ordered the animals to be kept within the town. The lion, however, contrived to seize some and carry them away. Orders were given to keep them in an enclosure. Despite this precaution, some horses disappeared. Enraged at this, the king called a bowman and asked him whether he could transfix a lion with his arrows. The bowman said that he could do it. Hereupon, leaving the king, he went and hid himself behind a post, waiting for the offender. It was not long ere he made his appearance; but the cautious fox had remained somewhat to the rear, hidden in a drain. In one start, the lion, with the quickness of lightning, was on the wall, and straightway he went to the stable. The bowman said within himself: “The lion’s movements are very quick; I will wait until he come back loaded with his prey.” He had scarcely revolved this thought in his mind, when the lion was already on his way back carrying a horse. The bowman, all ready, shot an arrow that transfixed the fierce animal. The lion made a start, crying with a terrific voice, “I am wounded.” The fox, hearing his friend’s accents, and the sharp whistling of the bow-string, knew at once what had happened. He said to himself, shaking his head: “There is no friendship, forsooth, with the dead; my friend has[159] fallen under the bowman’s arrow; my life is safe; I will go back to my former place.”
The wounded lion, making a last effort, went back to his den, and dropped dead at its entrance.
Menandza’s relatives, perceiving the wound and the blood gushing out of it, understood at once that he had been shot through with an arrow, and that the fox was the cause of his miserable and untimely end. His mother gave vent to her grief as follows: “Whoever associates with the wicked shall not live long; behold my Menandza is no more, because he followed the fox’s advice.” The father, in his turn, bewailed the loss of his son: “He who goes in company with the wicked shall meet with some evil fate; witness my son, whom his desolate mother sees weltering in the very blood she gave him.” His sister cried aloud: “He who does not follow the advice of the good shall repent of it; he is mad, and, like my brother, shall come to an untimely and cruel end.” Menandza’s wife exclaimed: “He who belongs to a superior rank ought to beware to associate with those of a rank inferior to his own, otherwise he soon becomes as despicable as those he associates with. He loses his position, and becomes the laughing-stock of all.”
Buddha concluded his discourse with this reflection, that no one ought to keep company with those that are wicked and of an inferior position. The religious profited so well by the lecture that he broke at once with his former friends, and soon reached the state of Thautapan. The fox has been since Dewadat, Menandza, the religious, the object of the lecture, Menandza’s sister, Oopalawon; his wife, Kema; his mother, Yathaudara; his father, Phralaong.
THE JACKAL AND THE HUNTER.
2. When the most excellent Phra was in the Weloowon monastery, alluding to Dewadat, who aimed at harming him, he spoke as follows: “At the time the Princes[160] Bramanas reigned at Baranathee, Phralaong was then a jackal, presiding over 500 other jackals of his own tribe. His dwelling-place was in a cemetery. One day it happened that the inhabitants of Radzagio made a great feast, where every one ate and drank as much as he liked. The repast was nearly over when some one asked for a last piece of meat, to give the finishing-stroke to his appetite. He was told that not the smallest morsel remained. On hearing this unwelcome news, he rose up, laying hold of a wooden club, and went straight to the cemetery. Then stretching himself on the ground, he lay down as if dead. Phralaong, cautiously drawing near to the pretended dead body, smelt it from a becoming distance, and soon discovered the snare laid for him. Coming up close to him, he suddenly seized the club with his teeth, pulling it with all his might. The young man did not let go his hold. The animal, withdrawing, said to the hunter: “Young man, I perceive now that you are not dead.” The hunter, goaded with shame and anger, rose up, and with more energy than dexterity flung his club at the jackal; but he missed him. “Go away,” said he, “wretched beast; you may boast that you have escaped this time.” “Yes,” mildly replied the jackal; “I have been saved from your club; but no one shall ever be able to preserve you from the punishment in the eight great hells.” Having thus spoken, he soon disappeared. The young man, having washed away in the ditch the dust that covered him, walked back, quite disappointed, into the town. The hunter was the same that subsequently became Dewadat. As to the jackal, he is the same that has since become Buddha.
THE PIGEON AND THE HUNTER.
3. When Phra was in the Dzetawon monastery, desiring to give instruction to the young son of a nobleman, named Ootara, he spoke as follows. At the time the Princes Bramanas[161] reigned at Baranathee, Phralaong was a pigeon. There was then a man in that country who was wont to catch pigeons, bring them to his house, and carefully feed them until they became fat, when he then sold them at a high rate. Together with other pigeons, Phralaong was caught and brought over to the house. But he would not peck the grain that was spread before him. “Should I eat,” said he to himself, “I will soon get fat, and then be sold like others.” He soon became wretchedly thin. Surprised at this, the hunter took the pigeon out of the cage, placed it on the palm of his hand to examine it more closely and find the cause of its great leanness. Phralaong, watching the opportunity of a favourable moment when the attention of his guardian was called to some other object, flew away to his own old place, leaving the hunter quite vexed at and ashamed of his confiding simplicity. The hunter is in these days Dewadat; and the pigeon is now Buddha himself.
Here is the abridgment of two stories, well known to the readers of fables.
4. When Phralaong was a deer, he became intimate friend with the bird khaoukshia and a turtle. On a certain night it happened that a hunter having laid down his net, the deer was caught. A tortoise that was near to the place came and bit the net; the deer then soon made his escape from the dangerous position he was in. Whilst this was going on the friendly khaoukshia, perceiving the danger his friend was in, amused the hunter by flying right and left close to him, to retard his progress towards the place where the net was laid. Mad at the escape of the deer, he seized the turtle and thrust her into his bag. But the wily bird contrived by its peckings to make a large hole in the bag, and the tortoise too made her escape.
5. One day Phralaong, being then a husbandman, observed once, to his great surprise, that a lion of an uncommon size paid frequent visits to his rice field, and[162] ate and destroyed many of the young plants. On a certain occasion he examined closely the intruder, and perceiving the extremities of his feet, he discovered that the pretended lion was but a colt that had clothed himself in a lion’s skin.
NEMI.
When the most excellent Buddha was in the country of Mitila, he went, attended by a great many Rahans, to the monastery of Meggadawa, situated in the middle of a beautiful grove of mango trees. He spoke as follows to the assembly: “Beloved Bickus, in former times I lived in this very place where we are now congregated, and was the ruler of the country of Mitila.” He then remained silent. Ananda respectfully entreated him to condescend to narrate to them some of the principal events that happened at that time. Buddha assented to the request, and said: “Formerly there reigned at Mitila a prince named Minggadewa. During 82,000 years he remained a prince, and spent all his time in the enjoyment of all sorts of pleasure; he was crown prince of that country during the same space of time, and reigned as king during a similar period.”
On a certain day the barber of the king having detected a grey hair on the royal head, exhibited it to his astonished regards. The king, struck at such a sight, soon understood that this object was the forerunner of death. He gave up the throne, and resolved to become a Rahan. Having put into execution his resolve, he practised with the greatest zeal the highest virtues, and after his death migrated to one of the fortunate seats of Brahmas. The 82,000 princes who succeeded him followed his footsteps, inherited his virtues, and after their demise obtained a place in the same seat.
Prince Minggadewa, who had opened the way to such a succession of pious monarchs, perceiving that his race[163] was near being extinct, left the seat of Brahmas and took flesh in the womb of the queen of the king who then governed Mitila. On the tenth month the queen was delivered of a son, who received the name of Nemi. The pounhas who were invited to the palace to tell the horoscope of the royal child assured the king that this child would follow the example of all his predecessors who had left the throne and embraced the profession of Rahans.
From his tender age the young prince displayed the most liberal and pious dispositions in making abundant alms, and fervently observing all the religious practices. All the inhabitants of that kingdom followed his example, and when some one died, he migrated to one of the Nats’ seats. During those happy times, hell seemed to have become quite unnecessary.
On a certain day Nemi appeared to be most anxious to know which was the most excellent practice, the bestowing of alms, or the observance of the precepts. The great Thagia came down from his glorious seat, encompassed with an incomparably shining brightness, and went to the place where the prince was busy revolving this thought in his mind. The angelical visitor told him that the bestowing of alms could only procure an admittance into the seats of Nats, but that a perfect compliance with the ordinances of the law opened the way to the seats of Brahmas. As soon as he had given his decision, he returned to his blissful seat. On his arrival he found crowds of Nats given up to rejoicings. The Thagia gave them a detailed narrative of all that he had seen on earth during his errand, and in particular eulogised at great length the religious dispositions of Prince Nemi. Enraptured with the heart-moving description they heard, all the Nats at once exclaimed that they wished to see in their seats so accomplished and virtuous a prince. The Thagia commanded a young Nat, named Matali, to have his carriage ready, depart for the country of Mitila, and[164] bring to this fortunate seat the ruler of that country. Matali, bowing before the Thagia, forthwith left the seat of Nats in a magnificent chariot. It was then the day of the full moon, when all the inhabitants of Mitila were busily engaged in discharging their prescribed religious duties. On a sudden there appeared, issuing from the east, the magnificent and bright equipage of the Nat, splendidly emerging from the bosom of clouds at the same time as the moon in its full. Surprised at such an unexpected sight, all wondered, and believed that two moons were miraculously rising on that occasion. They were soon undeceived by the nearer approach of Matali’s carriage. The messenger went to the king, and conveyed to him the intelligence that the Nats were exceedingly anxious to see him. Without a moment’s hesitation the king stepped into the carriage, and abandoned himself to the guidance of his heavenly guide. “Two roads are now opened before us,” said Matali, “the one through the dismal dungeons, where the wicked are consigned to undergo punishment for their offences, and the other through the blissful seats, where the good are enjoying the rewards allotted to them for their virtues. Which of the two do you wish to follow?” The prince said that he wished to visit both places. Matali answered in a mild tone of voice that his request should be complied with.
The celestial guide directed his rapid course through the regions of desolation, where dwells an eternal horror. The first object they met with was a broad and deep river, filled with frightful whirlpools, where the water seemed as if boiling. It was glowing like a flame, and the whole mass of water appeared like a lake of fire. The river is called Wattoorani. On the banks of that river stand the infernal ministers, armed with all sorts of sharp-edged instruments, cutting, wounding, piercing the unfortunate wretches, who try to get out of that horrible and burning water. They are forcibly pushed again into the same place of torments, and tumble over pointed darts, whence[165] they are taken up and roasted on living coals. Nothing is heard but the horrifying howlings and yells of those unfortunate beings, who are waiting with the greatest impatience the moment of their deliverance. “What are the crimes,” asked the terrified prince, “that have committed the unfortunate inhabitants of this place to undergo such unheard-of sufferings?” “They are,” replied Matali, “the persecutors of the weak, the heartless oppressors of the poor, &c., who are doomed to undergo such punishments.” Thence the guide drove rapidly to another place, where dogs, each with five hideous heads, famished eagles, and devouring crows, fed with a ravenous hunger on the bodies of unfortunate victims, the flesh of which is incessantly reproduced to afford a continual prey to these never-satiated ferocious animals. “These,” said Matali, “suffer for having done no good to their fellow-creatures, for preventing others to do some, and for having borne envy to their neighbours.”
Here follows a long description of the other places of hell, given to Nemi by his celestial guide. We omit it, lest its tedious and revolting particulars tire and disgust the reader. Suffice it to mention that the torments of Tantalus are described here with a horrifying correctness, such as almost casts into the shade the description given to us by the Latin poet.
Having ranged the various regions of hell, and heard all the particulars given to him by Matali, Nemi was suddenly brought over to the beautiful, smiling, and blissful seats of the blessed. He soon descried at a distance the celebrated palace, made of diamonds, disposed in an immense square of twelve youdzanas on each side, and five stories high; then the garden, the tank, and the padetha tree. In that palace Biranee occupied a splendid apartment; she was then lying on a soft sofa, surrounded by more than a thousand beauties. “What good works,” asked Nemi, “has Biranee practised, to deserve such a magnificent reward?” Matali replied, “This daughter of[166] Nats was formerly a slave in the house of a pounha. She was always very attentive to all the duties of her position, and at the same time regularly observed the precepts of the law. On a certain day her mistress, who was wont to feed eight Rahans daily, fell into a fit of anger, and said that she was unable to bear any longer the fatigue attending the maintenance of these religious. But the young slave, full of religious zeal, took upon herself the labour of feeding the Rahans. For this good and meritorious work she is enjoying the happiness of her present position.”
Nemi was successively led into the various seats of the inhabitants of those blissful regions, and his guide explained at great length the good works that had procured to each of them the respective happy situation which they enjoyed, and occasionally mentioned the period of time they were allowed to dwell in those abodes of unparalleled happiness. He was finally introduced to the presence of the great Thagia, who is the chief of all Nats. Having finished the survey of all the seats of Nats, Nemi was brought back to the seat of men in his own capital by the same celestial guide.
On his return Nemi saw himself surrounded by his pious subjects, who eagerly inquired of him all the particulars respecting his journey. He minutely explained to them all that he had seen both in the region of hell and in those of Nats, and concluded by exhorting his people to be liberal in bestowing alms, that they might hereafter be admitted to share in the enjoyment of the Nats’ happiness.
Nemi, perceiving that his hairs were turning grey, became still more zealous in the practice of alms-deeds, and resolved to embrace the profession of Rahans. But previous to his taking such a step he had his son Ralaradzana appointed to succeed him. With that prince terminated the long succession of kings who in the decline of their lives became Rahans.