# The Folk-Lore Journal/Volume 4/Folk-Tales of India (pp. 45-63)

FOLK-TALES OF INDIA.
(Continued from vol. iii. page 366.)
By the Rev. Dr. Richard Morris.
The Dîpi Jâtaka.
The Panther and the Kid.
VERY long ago the Bodhisat was reborn in a certain village in the Magadha country. When he grew up he abandoned worldly pleasure, adopted the life of a holy recluse, and attained to the supernatural knowledge arising from ecstatic meditation.
​After dwelling for a long time in Himavat he went to Râjagaba to get salt and vinegar, and then he caused a hermitage to be made right in the midst of the cattle-runs upon the hills.
At that time the goat-herds said: "Let the goats graze about here." Then they made them go on to the hill-runs, and there they lived and enjoyed themselves.
One day as the goatherds were driving their flocks homeward at sunset a kid, straying far away, was not missed when the goats started (for their folds), and so was left behind. But a certain panther perceived the kid lagging in the rear, and stood at the entrance (of the pen) thinking, "I'll eat that kid." She, too, having seen the panther, thought, "To-day I shall be killed! I'll have a pleasant talk with this panther and cause him to be tender-hearted, and so by some artifice I'll save my life." Then even from afar she held pleasant converse with him, and while coming along spake the following gâthâ:—
"Dear uncle, I hope you find yourself well, And comfort and ease enjoy in these wilds; My mother doth wish to know how you fare,
Well-wishers of you indeed are we all."
On hearing this the panther thought: "This deceitful thing seeks to cajole me by saying 'uncle.' She don't know how cruel I am." Then he uttered the following gâthâ:—
"On my tail have you stept, you false-speaking kid. You have done me much harm, you careless young thing! Do you think to cajole and escape me to-day By your calling me 'uncle,' and other fine names?"
The other, on hearing this, replied, "Don't talk like that uncle"; and then uttered the following gâthâ:—
"Your face was toward me, your tail was unseen; In front did I come, and not in the rear. Far out of my reach was your appendage behind; How then could I tread on the end of your tail?"
"There is no place to which my tail does not extend," replied the panther, as he spake the following gâthâ:—
"My tail is full long and reaches so far, As to cover the earth and quarters all four, And mountains and streams do fall in its way; How then could you miss to step on my tail?"
When the kid heard this she thought, "This wicked creature is not to be influenced by friendly talk so I'll address him as an enemy." Then she spake the following gâthâ:—
"Long ago did I hear of the length of your cue, From my father and mother and brother besides. To avoid your long tail, O panther depraved, Through the air did I come, and touched not the ground."
"I am aware," said he, "that you came through the air, but as you were making your way you came and caused me to lose my prey." Then he spake the following gâthâ:—
"O kid, I did see you come through the air. The beasts you alarm'd and frighted full sore; They all took to flight and ran far away. And thus you quite spoilt the food that I eat."
When the other heard that she was frightened to death and was unable to adduce any other reason. In a suppliant tone she said, "uncle, do not commit such a cruel deed but spare my life." The other seized her by the shoulders, even while she was making her appeal, then killed and devoured her.
The moral of this story is given by the Buddha in the following gâthâs:—
"Thus e'en the little kid in piteous terms Did beg the panther spare her tender life; But he, athirst for blood, did tear her throat, And then her mangled body quickly ate.
"Unkind of speech, unjust the wicked is, Nor listens he at all to reason's voice. Nor friendly is with those that would be kind; With force full strong he must be kept in bounds."
The Vaddhaki Sukâra Jâtaka.
Very long ago, when Brahmadatta reigned at Benares, the Bodhisat was re-born as a tree-sprite. At that time, close to Benares, there had sprung up a village of carpenters.
A certain artisan, on going to the forest for wood, found a young hog that had fallen into a pit, took it home and brought it up. When it grew to its full size it became bigbodied, had curved tusks, and behaved itself properly. But because it was reared up by the carpenter it always went by the name of the carpenter's hog. When the carpenter was engaged in chopping down a tree the hog used to drag off the tree with its snout, laying hold of it with its mouth, collected the adze and hatchet, chisel and mallet, and took up the end of the measuring line.
At last the carpenter, through fear lest any one should (steal and) eat it, brought it with him and let it loose in the wood. The hog went into the forest, and, on looking about for a safe and pleasant dwelling-place, saw among the mountains an immense cave, a pleasant abode abounding in tubers, roots, and fruits. He saw there several hundreds of hogs, and went and joined them. He also said to them, "I happened to catch sight of you as I was wandering about just now, and since I have met with you and have come across this delightful spot I shall now at once take up my abode here along with you."
"It's quite true," they replied, "that this is a pleasant place, but it is not free from danger." "I was aware of that, too, as soon as I saw you, because I noticed that those living here were lean and pale. But what have you to be afraid of here?"
"A tiger comes here very early, takes whichever he sees and off he goes," they replied.
"But does he take his prey constantly (day by day), or only at intervals?" he asked. "Constantly," they answered.
"But how many tigers are there?" "Only one." "Are not so ​many of you a match for one?" "We are not a match for the tiger." "I'll capture the tiger if you'll only follow my instructions. Where does that tiger live?" "On yonder mountain," they replied. Making preparations for war he caused the hogs to be drilled at night, saying, "War, indeed, is carried on in three modes: by immense numbers of troops, by hosts of chariots, and hosts of waggons." He therefore went about with an immense army (of hogs).
As he was well acquainted with the slope of the ground be determined that it would be best to carry on war in this region (where the hogs were living). In the centre he arranged and placed those that were suckling hogs along with their dams ; then he apportioned a place to the old sows, next to the hoglings; then to the adult hogs; and, lastly, he distributed the long-tusked hogs fit for war, very powerful hogs, to the number of forty thousand individuals. So in this part he made and placed a strong array of forces. In front of his own position he caused a circular pit to be dug, and behind it he constructed a rampart (dyke) with a gradual incline like a mountain slope.
The dawn arose e'en while he, with his fighting-hogs to the number of sixty or seventy, was going about directing operations in this place and that, encouraging them to be of good heart and to fear nothing. When the tiger woke up he set out, aware that it was time (for feeding), and stood with his face toward the hogs. Standing on the mountain summit he opened his eyes and beheld the hogs.
The carpenter's hog gave orders to his followers to stare back at the tiger (with a defiant air), and they did so. The tiger opened his jaws and drew in a breath. The hogs also did the same. The tiger relieved himself; so did all the hogs. In this manner they imitated whatever he did.
The tiger thought to himself: "Formerly, when I used to look at the hogs, they tried to run off, but were unable to escape. To-day my enemies do not take to flight, but actually imitate whatever I do. There is, too, a commander of these hogs, standing on a rising ridge of ground (below). I don't think I shall get the better of them to-day." Then he turned back and went forthwith to his lair.
But there was a certain false hermit who ate of the flesh of the ​animals taken by the tiger. When he saw him coming back empty-handed he entered into conversation with him, and spake the following gâthâ:—
"On other days in roaming o'er this wood, The hogs you overcame and slew the best. But you to day quite sad have here come back. Thy strength, tiger bold, is now all gone."
On hearing this the tiger gave utterance to the following gâthâ:—
"These hogs erewhile were wont to scamper off, And seek their cave, each one in piteous plight; But now in colunms firm they boldly grunt. 'Tis hard to-day to beat them where they stand."
Then that false ascetic excited the tiger to renewed effort, saying, "Don't be afraid, go; and when you have given a roar, make a spring, then all affrighted they will break up and make off."
The tiger on being stirred up to make a fresh attempt, plucked up courage, went back, and stood on the mountain top.
The carpenter's hog stood between the two pits (i.e., between the excavated pit and the dyke). "Master," said the hogs, "that big thief has returned." "Don't be alarmed, I'll capture him now."
The tiger roared, and then bounded over the carpenter's hog, who, as he was making a spring, turned quickly aside and dropped straight into the excavated pit. The tiger, unable to moderate his speed, went rolling over and over across the face of the dyke, and fell into that part of the excavated pit where the entrance was very narrow, and there he was, as it were, completely jammed in.
The carpenter's hog came out of the pit, and with lightning-speed struck his tusk into the tiger's groin, until he severed the region of the kidneys, then he buried his tusk into the flesh that possessed five savours. Then he wounded the tiger on the head, and, tossing him aside, he cast him outside the pit, saying to his followers, "Here, take hold of your foe!"
Those that came first got the tiger's flesh, but those that came later on went about smelling the mouths of the others.
"Tiger's flesh of some kind, is it not?"
​The hogs were not quite pleased about it.
The carpenter's hog, on noticing their looks, said: "Why, I pray are you dissatisfied?" "Master," they replied, "on account of this one tiger that false hermit will be quite able to bring ten tigers.' "Who may that be?" he inquired. "An immoral ascetic," they replied.
"The tiger was in truth killed by me. Will he prove a match for me?" So saying he went forth with his troop of hogs for the purpose of capturing the hermit.
As the tiger tarried (and did not return) that false ascetic went in the direction the hogs were advancing, thinking that the hogs had surely captured the tiger. On seeing them marching along he fled, taking with him his eight requisites, which, on being pursued, he threw away, and with great haste got up an Udambara-tree.
"Master!" said the hogs; "we are now done for: the ascetic has run away and got up a tree." "What sort of a tree?" he asked. "An Udambara-tree," they replied.
The commanding hog issued the following directions: "Let the sows bring water, let the hoglings dig up the ground, let the long-tuskers grub up the roots, and let the rest surround the tree and keep guard!"
While they were thus occupied the leader himself struck a single blow at the thick tapering root of the Udambara ('twas like striking with an axe), and at once caused the tree to fall. The hogs surrounding the tree brought the false ascetic to the ground, and rent him piecemeal until they had eaten all the flesh from the bone.
Then they made the carpenter's hog sit down on the trunk of the Udambara-tree, and with water brought in a shell (belonging to the false ascetic) they consecrated him as king.
From that time forward—it is said—until this day they made kings sit in a fine chair made of Udambara-wood and consecrated him with three shells.
A sprite that dwelt in this dense wood beheld that wonderful sight as he stood in a hole in the trunk facing the hogs, and uttered the following gâthâ:—
"All hail! O host of hogs assembled here. Your friendship rare and strange to-day I've seen, And now aloud proclaim what has been done. The hogs, I see, have slain a tiger fierce; By concord firm that bound them one and all They killed their foe and rid themselves of fear."
The Dabbhapuppha Jâtaka.
In times long since past, when Brahmadatta reigned at Benares, the Bodhisat was reborn as a tree sprite.
At that time a jackal named Sly (Mâyâvî), along with its mate, lived in a certain place near the bank of the river. It came to pass one day that the female jackal thus addressed her spouse: "Husband, a longing has seized me. I wish to eat a rohita-fish." The male jackal replied: "Don't worry about it. I'll bring it you."
Going to the bank of the river he muffled his feet with some jungle-grass and went straight along the bank.
At that time two otters, named Diver (Gambhîracârî) and Lander (Anatîvacârî), stood on the bank of the river looking out for fish. One of them, Diver, catching sight of a big rohita-fish, dived into the water, and caught it by the tail; but the fish was strong, and went along, dragging the otter with it.
So he called out to Lander, "Here's a big fish that's quite enough for both of us. Come, and be my partner."
While talking with the other he spake the following gâthâ:—
"I greet thee well, my friend, O hasten to my aid, A big fish have I caught That drags me here and there."
The other, on hearing this, spake the following gâthâ:—
<poem>"Good luck to thee, my friend. Tight hold keep on that fish. I'll draw it quickly up. Like Garala does snakes."
​Then those two together brought out the rohita-fish, set it upon the land and killed it. On coming to divide it a quarrel arose, and they sat down, with the fish alongside them, unable to apportion the prey.
At that moment the jackal came up to that place, and, on seeing him, both of them went forth at once to welcome him, saying, "This fish, friend Tawny, was captured by both of us together; but a quarrel has arisen between us, because we are unable to divide it in such a way as to satisfy each of us. Do you divide it, and give each his just share." Thereupon they spake the following gâthâ:—
"A bickering here you'll find. Pray listen, friend, to us; Come end our quarrel now, And stop this fierce dispute."
On hearing this the jackal, in explanation of his own power (as a settler of disputes), spoke the following gâthâ:—
"A just judge once was I, And weighty cases tried. Your quarrel soon I'll end.
And this contention stop."
And as he was making the division he uttered the next gâthâ:—
"Let Lander take the tail, The head may Diver have; The judge the rest will take, The middle is his share."
Having thus apportioned the fish the jackal said to the others: "Don't quarrel, but eat both head and tail." Then, with the middle of the fish in his mouth, he went off under their very eyes. They, like one who had lost a law-suit of a thousand pence, sat down chap-fallen and spake the following gâthâ:—
"For some long time much food there would have been If we to-day no quarrel had begun; But now the jackal sly has us deceived
And carried off the middle of our fish."
The jackal went home to his wife, delighted that she should get such a fine white fish to eat.
​On seeing him come she joyfully exclaimed:—
"Just as a king full glad would be, Did he a kingdom get,
So I to-day rejoice to see
My husband with his prey."
Having uttered this gâthâ, she inquired what means he had used to secure his booty—
"How now did you that land-born are A river fish obtain? I ask you, sir, pray tell me how
Your booty you did gain."
The jackal, informing her of the device he had used, spake the following gâthâ:—
"By litigation they are lean, Their fish they have quite lost. The otters now their suit have lost; Enjoy the fish, my dear."
"Thus when disputes 'mong men arise
To law they have recourse. The judge their suit full soon decides.
And fees they have to pay; And though their means get less and less The king's chest fuller gets."
The Dûta Jâtaka.
The Messenger of Lust.
Very long ago, when Brahmadatta reigned at Benares, the Bodhisat was re-born as his son. When he grew up he studied sciences at Takkasilâ, and, after the death of his father, he ascended the throne.
He was very particular as to his food ; they therefore called him King Dainty. It is said that he partook of his food with such ceremonies and costly array as to expend a hundred thousand pence upon one dish of food ; for when he took his meals he did not ​partake of them within the palace, but, out of a desire to gain notoriety from the public, who watched the ceremonious arrangements connected with the meals, he caused a jewelled pavilion to be made, and when he took his meals he caused it to be decorated, and sat on a couch made of gold, surmounted by the white parasol of state. Surrounded by men and women servitors he ate his food out of a golden dish that cost a hundred thousand pence.
Then a certain greedy man, on seeing all this serving of the king's food, longed to taste the fare, and was unable to restrain his desire. He, however, thought of a device, so, girding up his loins and throwing up his hands, he approached the king, shouting loudly—"Oh! make way! I am a messenger, a messenger!"
At that time it was a custom among the people not to stop any one crying out "I am a messenger!" Therefore, the multitude made way for him, and allowed him an opportunity of passing through their midst.
He rushed along into the king's presence, took a piece of meat from the dish and put it into his mouth. Then the sword-bearer drew out his sword with the intention of cutting off his head, but the king forbade him to strike, saying: "Don't be afraid; eat away!"
After washing his hands he sat down. At the end of the meal the king ordered water and also betel-leaf to be given him.
"Well, you say you are a 'messenger.' Whose messenger are you?"
"O, great king, I am the messenger of lust and of the belly. Lust gave me a command to you—made me a messenger, and sent me here." Then he spake the following gâthâs:—
"The lust that makes men travel far and wide, And e'en from foes a boon to ask and take, Hath sent me on its errand here to-day. Restrain thy wrath, be angry not, O king.
"The lust that all men day and night here sways, And makes them do its will and its behest, Hath sent me on its errand here to-day, Restrain thy wrath, be angry not, O king."
​The king, on hearing these words of his, thought—"That's true. These beings are messengers of the belly, and go about urged on by lust, and lust causes them to go about. Oh! how charmingly has this brâhman spoken." So he was pleased with the man, and spake the following gâthâ:—
"To thee, O brâhman, skilled in sacred lore, I give a thousand cows, all red of hue. A leader of the herd, a bull, I add, For thou hast said in jest the sober truth.
"Both thou and I, nay, all that live on earth. Emissaries are, I trow, of carnal lust. Then why should I, a messenger like thee, Withhold my hand, and not give thee a boon?"
And, moreover, when he had thus spoken, he was pleased, and bestowed upon the brahman great honour, saying: "Of a truth this great man has told us a thing that we had not previously heard or thought of."
The Kuhaka Jâtaka.
In days long since past, when Brahmadatta reigned at Benares, there lived near a certain village a false and deceitful ascetic. A wealthy landowner made a hermitage for him in the forest, and there let him live, and provided him with the best of food, prepared in his own house. Believing that ascetic to be "virtuous," the landowner, for fear of thieves, brought one hundred golden pieces to his hermitage, and buried them, saying, "Reverend sir, perhaps you'll have an eye to it." Then the ascetic replied, "It is not fit, sir, to talk thus to those who have renounced the world. We have no desire at all for another's wealth." Believing the other's word the landowner departed, saying, "Well! be it so."
The wicked ascetic said to himself, "On so much wealth as this I shall be able to live."
​After some days had passed he took the gold and hid it in a certain place on the road (outside the village), then he returned and stayed on in the hermitage. The next day, having taken his meals in his friend's house, he said to him, "I have, sir, lived a long time dependent upon you; but since to those dwelling too long in one place there is association with men, and this fellowship is indeed a sin in those devoted to a religious life, I shall therefore take leave of you and go (elsewhere)."
Though the landowner besought him again and again to stay on, he did not wish to remain. Then said he, "Since such is the case, sir, take your departure." He accompanied him as far as the entrance to the village, and then turned back. The ascetic, going on a little way, thought to himself, "I must outwit this yeoman." Having placed a single blade of grass in his long, matted hair, he made his way back. "How is it, reverend sir, that you have come back?" asked the landowner. "Sir," he replied, "a blade of grass from the roof of your house clung to my hair. Ascetics must not take anything that is not given them (not even a single blade of grass), therefore I've come back with it."
The landowner said, "Go, sir, since you have given it up." Then he thought, "This holy man seems to me to be very sensitive, for he does not take even a blade of grass belonging to another." He was much pleased with the ascetic, saluted him and bade him good-bye. At that time the Bodhisat, on his way to a border village to transact business, took up his abode in that quarter. On hearing what the ascetic had been saying he thought, "Surely this depraved ascetic intends to carry something off." He inquired of the yeoman, "Have you, sir, entrusted anything to the care of that ascetic?" "Yes, sir," he replied, "a hundred gold pieces." "Well then you had better go after him and question him about it," said the Bodhisat. He went to the hermitage, but, not finding him there, speedily returned, saying, "It is not there, sir."
"Well, since your gold has not been taken by any one else, it must have been taken by that deceitful ascetic. Come let's follow after him and seize him." Rushing after him, they caught that artful ascetic, ​beat him both on his hands and feet, made him bring back the gold, which they took possession of.
When the Bodhisat saw the gold he said, "You stuck to and carried off a hundred palas of gold, though you did not suffer a blade of grass to stick to you." Upbraiding him, he uttered the following gâthâ:—
"Thy words were smooth and soft, O crafty monk, Full friendly was thy speech, O artful saint. No blade of clinging grass thou took'st away, Yet thou didst steal and carry off our gold."
After the Bodhisat had thus rebuked him he gave him good advice: "Never again, deceitful ascetic, do such an act." Then (after his death) he went to receive the reward due to his deeds.
The Manisûkara Jâtaka.
In times long since past, when Brahmadatta reigned at Benares, the Bodhisat was reborn in a certain village, in the family of a brahman. When he grew up he saw the disadvantages of worldly pleasure; and, having crossed three mountain ranges, he dwelt in a hermitage as a holy anchorite. Not far from him there was a jewelled cave, in which lived some thirty hogs. Not far off the cave there dwelt a lion, whose shadow appeared in the crystal cave.
On seeing the lion's shadow the hogs were terrified and alarmed, and got thin and pale. They thought to themselves, "On account of the brightness of this crystal (cave) does this shadow appear; we'll make it dirty and dull." Going to a pool at no great distance off, they rolled themselves in the mud, came back, and rubbed themselves against the crystal cave. Through being rubbed by the hogs' bristles the cave became brighter. The hogs not seeing a means (of making the crystal dull) said, "We'll ask the anchorite what plan to adopt for making this crystal cave lose its lustre." They paid a visit to the Bodhisat, saluted him, stood on one side (at a respectful distance), and uttered the following gâthâs:—
"We thirty hogs for seven long years Within this cave have dwelt. 'We'll spoil this lustrous crystal cave.' This was our firm resolve.
"The more we rubbed, the more it shone (Our brains it puzzled sore). O brâhman true, we you entreat
To say what's to be done."
Then the Bodhisat, by way of informing them, spake the next gâthâ:—
"This crystal gem is pure and bright, No lustre does it lack; No power have you to make it dull. Away with you, ye hogs!"
The Kâka Jâtaka.
The drunken Crows.
Very long ago, when Brahmadatta reigned at Benares, the Bodhisat was re-born as a sea-sprite.
It happened that a certain crow, with his wife, came to the seashore in search of food. At that time folks, after making nâga-offerings on the sea-shore, of milk, ghee, fish, flesh, spirits, &c., went away home.
The crow, on going to that spot where the offerings were left, noticed the milk, and the rest. Having partaken of the milk, he drank a good drop of the spirituous liquors; so both crows got quite drunk. They sat down on the beach and prepared to bathe, saying, "We'll enjoy some sea-sport."
By chance a great wave came, caught the female crow and ingulphed her in the sea. Then a fish seized and devoured her. On this the male crow roared and cried, saying, "My wife is dead."
Many crows on hearing the noise of his lamentation flocked together and asked him why he cried so.
​"Your (poor) friend," answered he, "while bathing on the beach was carried off by a big wave." Whereat they all cried and roared and made a general wailing.
Then this thought occurred to them—"What's the use, indeed, of this sea-water to us? We'll bale out the water, empty the sea, and then get our friend out."
Then they all went on filling their mouths and spitting out the water. At last their throats got dry with the salt-water, and they all flew up and went on shore for a spell of rest. Their jaws were weary, their mouths dry, and their eyes red for want of sleep; then they addressed one another—"Oh! how's this? We have taken the sea-water and have poured it away outside (i.e., on the land), but the places from which we have taken the water are at once filled up again. We find it impossible to empty the sea.
"E'en now our weary jaws do ache,
Our mouths indeed are parched and dry. We work and toil, no rest we have,
Yet still again the sea doth fill."
And when they had thus spoken they made a great lamentation, saying: "This crow had, indeed, such a (beautiful) beak, such well-rounded wings, such a (lovely) complexion and figure, such a sweet voice, and she is lost to us (for ever) through this thief of a sea." While they were thus bewailing, the sea-sprite appeared to them in a horrible form and put them to flight.
And in this way they (the sprites of the sea) got peace.
Sabbadâtha Jâtaka.
Long, long ago, when Brahmadatta reigned at Benares, the Bodhisat, who was the domestic priest of the reigning sovereign, was well versed in the three vedas and the eighteen sciences, and was well acquainted, moreover, with a charm (mantra) for conquering the (whole) earth. (The meditation-charm is called the earth-conquering ​spell.) It came to pass one day that while the Bodhisat was sitting on a stone seat in a certain part of the palace-courtyard he resolved to repeat the spell, and did so. It is said that it was not possible to impart the spell to any one, except in a proper formula; he, therefore, repeated it in a convenient spot (where no one could listen). While he was reciting it, a certain jackal lying in a hole heard and learnt the spell. It is said that in a previous state of existence the jackal had been a brâhman familiar with the charm for conquering earth.
As soon as the Bodisat had repeated it, he arose, saying, "Surely! I know this spell now." The jackal, leaving his hiding-place, said: "O, brâhman, I know this spell even better than you do!" When he had thus spoken he scampered off.
The Bodhisat, knowing that the jackal would do great mischief, followed him for some distance, crying out, "Seize (him)! seize (him)!"
The jackal fled and made his way into the forest, and, as he went along, he gave a certain she-jackal a slight nip on the body. "Well, sir!" said she. "Are you acquainted with me or not?" he asked. "I am not," she replied.
He repeated the spell for conquering the earth, and so ruled over many hundreds of jackals, and also brought around him all quadrupeds (elephants, lions, tigers, hogs, deer, &c.)
And, moreover, when he had done this he became a king, Sabbadâtha by name, and made a certain she-jackal his principal queen.
A lion stood on the back of two elephants while Sabbadâth, the jackal king, with his chief queen, the she-jackal, sat on the lion's back, and was highly honoured.
By reason of his great distinction he became remiss, pride arose within him, and he resolved to capture the city of Benares. Attended by all the quadrupeds he came to a place near Benares. (His host extended to the distance of twelve yojanas.) While in this position he sent a message to the king that he should either give up his kingdom or do battle.
The inhabitants of Benares, who were greatly terrified and alarmed, remained within the city, the gates of which they kept closed.
​The brâhman drew near to the king, saying, "O king, fear not! Let it be my task to wage war with the jackal, Sabbadâtha, for no one else but me is capable of warring against him!" and thus he relieved the fears of both the king and citizens.
Then he ascended the watch-towers over the gates for the purpose of ascertaining what means Sabbadâtha would use to take possession of the kingdom, and cried out: "O, Sabbadâtha, what will you do in order to take this kingdom?"
"I will cause a lion's roar to be uttered, and, having terrified the multitude with the sound, I will take possession of the city."
When the Bodhisat had ascertained the means to be employed, he came down from the tower and gave orders, by beat of drum, that all the dwellers in the city of Benares within an entire circuit of twelve yojanas should plaster up the orifices of their ears with bean-meal. The populace, as soon as they heard the edict that had been proclaimed, having got hold even of the cats, plastered up both their own ear-orifices and also those of all the (domestic) quadrupeds with bean-meal, so that it was not possible, indeed, for them to hear a sound made by another.
Then the Bodhisat again ascended the watch-tower, and cried out, "Sabbadâtha!"
"Well, what is it, brâhman?" he replied.
"What is it you are going to do in order to take possession of this kingdom?" he asked.
"I'll frighten the multitude by causing a lion's roar to be uttered, and, having destroyed the lives of all, I'll take the kingdom."
"You are not able," said the brahman, "to cause a lion's roar to be uttered, for maned-lion-kings of noble birth will not obey an old jackal like you."
The jackal, obstinate and proud, replied: "Never mind the other lions; I'll e'en cause the lion, on whose back I am sitting, to utter a loud roar."
"Well, then, do so if you are able!"
Striking with his foot the lion on whose back he was sitting, the jackal bade him roar.
​The lion, pressing his mouth on the elephant's frontal globe, thrice roared an indisputable lion's roar.
The elephants became alarmed, and caused the jackal to fall at their heels; then they trod upon his head and crushed him to pieces. There forsooth Sabbadâtha lost his life.
The elephants, too, on hearing the lion's' roar, were frightened to death, and, wounding one another, they also there suffered loss of life. Except the lions, all the quadrupeds (the rest of the deer, hogs, &c. save the hares and cats) lost their lives in that place.
The lions then made off and entered the forest. For twelve yojanas round there was nothing but a mass of flesh. The Bodhisat, coming down from the tower, caused the gates of the city to be opened. And by beat of drum throughout the city he issued the following order:—"Having removed the bean-meal from your ears, let all those desirous of flesh take it."
The populace ate what moist-flesh they could, desiccated the remainder, and made dried-flesh of it. In that time, it is said, that the making of dried-flesh arose.
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. iii. No. 426, p. 479.
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. ii. No. 283, p. 405.
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. ii. No. 400, p. 333.
* ↑ i.e. Garala is a gigantic bird that carries on war with nâgas and snakes.
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. ii. No. 216, p. 319.
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. i. p. 375.
* ↑ This phrase admits of a double meaning, The ascetic takes olokete in the sense of "to look at" (with a longing eye).
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. ii. No. 285, p. 417.
* ↑ i.e. naturally. It is a real gem, and not glass or paste.
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. i. No. 146, p. 497.
* ↑ Jâtaka Book, vol. ii. No. 241, p. 243.