No. 32.  The Nacca Jataka

"A pleasing note is yours, a lovely back,
A neck in hue like lapis lazuli;
And a fathom's length your outstretched feathers reach.
But withall, by your dance is lost yonder bride."

This story about a Brother with many belonging was told by the Master while staying at the Jetavana.

"Is this report true, Brother," said the Master, "that you have many belongings?"

"Yes, sir." replied the Brother.

"Why have you come to own so many belongings?" inquired the Buddha.

Without listening beyond this point, the Brother tore off his clothes and stood stark naked before the Buddha, crying, "Well then, I'll just go about like this!"

"Oh, fie on thee!" exclaimed everyone present.

Then that man ran away and reverted to the lower state of a layman.

Later on when the Brethren were gathered together in the Hall of Truth, they talked about the man's improper behaviour in the presence of the Master. Then the Buddha entered the Hall of Truth and asked what the conclave was discussing.

"Sir, we were discussing the impropriety of that Brother," they replied, "In your presence and right before all of your followers, both male and female, he lost all sense of shame and just stood there stark naked as if he were a village-urchin. Then upon finding himself loathed by everyone, he lost his faith and reverted to the lower state of a layman."

"Brethren, this is not the only loss his shamelessness has caused him," replied the Buddha, "for in bygone days he lost a jewel of a wife just as he has now lost the jewel of the Faith." Then the Master told the following story from the past.

Once on a time, during the First Cycle of the world's history, the quadrapeds elected the Lion to be their king, the fishes chose the monster-fish Anniula as theirs, and the birds selected the Golden Mallard. Now King Golden Mallard told his lovely young daughter that he would grant any boon that she might ask of him. In repsonse, his daughter asked to be allowed to choose a husband for herself.

In fulfilment of his promise, King golden Mallard mustered all the birds together in the country of the Himalayas. After the swans, peacocks and all other manner of birds had arrived, they
flocked together on a great plateau of bare rock. Then the king sent for his daughter and bade her go and choose a husband after her own heart.

As she reviewed the immense gathering of birds, her eye lighted upon a splendid peacock who had a neck with jewelled sheen and a tail of varying hues. Attracted by his splendour, she chose him, saying, "Let this one be my husband."

The assembly of the birds then went up to the peacock and said, "O Friend, this princess, in her search for a husband from among all these birds in attendance, has fixed her choice upon you."

"Until this every moment you have never seen how active I can really be," said that peacock. To express his extreme joy, he spread his wings and began to dance and so swept away was he by his emotions, the dancing peacock exposed himself in defiance of all decency!

Filled with shame at the sight of the peacock's impropriety, King Golden Mallard said, "This fellow has neither modesty within his heart nor decency in his outward behaviour. I certainly will not give my daughter to one who is wtithout sham."

Right then and there in the midst of all that assembly of the birds, he recited the following stanza:

"A pleasing note is yours, a lovely back,
A neck in hue like lapis lazuli;
And a fathom's length your outstretched feathers reach.
But withall, by your dance is lost yonder bride."

Then in front of the whole gathering, the Mallard King gave his
daughter to a young mallard who was that monarch's nephew. Shamed at his loss of the mallard princess, the peacock rose straight up from that place and flew away. Then King Golden Mallard returned to his dwelling-place.

"Thus, Brethren," said the Master, "this is not the only time that a breach of modesty has caused loss to our former Brother. Just as his recent behavious has caused him to lose the jewel of the Faith, so in bygone days it cost him a jewel of a wife."

When he had ended this lesson, Buddha revealed the connection and identified the Birth by saying, "The Brother with the many belongings was the peacock of those byegone days, and I myself was the Royal Golden Mallard."

No. 38. The Baka Jataka

"Guile profits not your very guileful folk.
Mark what the guileful crane got from the crab!"

Tradition says that a Brother once dwelt at the Jetavana who was exceedingly skillful in all operations to be performed with a robe, including cutting, joining, arranging, and stitching. Because of his great skill, he used to fashion robes for the Brothers, which is how he acquired the name of the 'Robe-tailor.'

What, you masy ask, did he do? Well, he exercised his craftmanship on old bits of cloth, transforming them into nice soft robes. After the dyeing process was done, he would enhance their colour through the use of a wash containing flour. He would finish the task by rubbing the garnment with a shell until he had rendered quite smart and attractive. Then he would lay his handiwork aside.

Being ignorant of robe-making, the Brethren used to come to him with brand-new cloth, saying, "We don't know how to make robes, you make them for us."

"Sirs," he would reply, "a robe takes a long time to make. However, here's one that I have just finished. You can take this one, if only you will leave behind the cloths you now carry in exchange."

Then the Robe-tailor brought out the robe that he had made and showed it to the Brethren. Seeing that it was of fine colour and not knowing of what it was made out of, they thought it was a good, strong garnment. So they handed their brand-new cloth to the 'Robe-maker' and went off with the robe he had given them. But later when that robe was being washed in hot water, it revealed its true nature. Once they saw the worn patches that were visible here and there, they regretted the bargain that they had struck with the Robe-tailor. Eventually that Brother became well-known everywhere for his abiity to hookwink all those who came to him.

Now, there was another robe-maker in a hamlet nearby who also used to hookwink everyone just as that brother did at theJetavana. This second man's friends among the Brethren said to him, "Sir, they say that at Jetavana there is a robe-maker who deceives everyone in the same manner as you do."

"Well then," thought the second tailor, I shall endeavour to pull the wool over the eyes of that Robe-tailor!"

He then made out of rags a very fine robe, which he dyed a beautiful shade of orange. After putting on that robe and went to Jetavana. As soon as the Robe-tailor saw that orange garnment moment he began to covet it. So he said to its owner, "Sir, did you make that robe?"

"Yes, I did, sir," the village tailor replied.

"Let me have that robe, sir and I'll give you another in its place." said the Jetavana's Robe-tailor.

"But, sir, we village-Brethren find it hard to obtain the Requisites. If I give you this one, what shall I have to wear?"

"Sir, I have some brand-new cloth at my lodging," replied the Jetavana's Robe-tailor. "Take it and make another robe for yourself."

"Reverend sir, herein have I shown you my own handiwork. But, as you desire this garment for your own, what else can I do? Here, take it."

After having hookwinked the other by exchanging that rag-robe for new cloth, the village tailed went his own way.

After wearing that botched robe in his turn, the Jetavana's Robe-tailor became aware that it was made out of rags as he was washing it in warm water. In this manner, he was put to shame when the whole of the Brotherhood heard the news that he had been decieved by a country bumpkin.

Later when the Brethren were discussing the news while seated in the Hall of Truth, the Master entered and inquired of the topic of their discussion. After the Brethren told him all about it, the Master said:

"Brethren, tbis is not the only occasion the Jetavana robe-maker's engaging in deceptive tricks. In bygone times he did just the same. But just as that country tailor has now beat him at his own game, so was he also shamed in bygone times." Then the Buddha told the following story of the past.

Once upon a time, the Bodhisatta came to life as a Tree-sprite at stood near a lotus pond in a forest haunt. In those days the pond's water used to fall very low each summer. Although not very big, that pond was plentifully stocked with fish.

When a crane arrived on the scene and spied the swimming fishes, he said to himself, "I must find a way to cajole and eat these fish."

Then that crane sat down in deep thought by the side of the water. When the fishes caught sight of him, they said, " Of what are you thinking, my lord, as you sit there?"

"I am thinking about you," the crane replied.

"And just what is your lordship thinking about us?" inquired the fish.

"The water in this pool is low, the available food so scarce, and the summer heat so intense, that I have been worrying about your future," replied the crane.

"What are we to do, my lord?" asked the fish.

"If you're ready and willing to heed my kind advice, I will take you up in my beak, one by one, and then carry you all off to a fine large pool that I know of that is covered with the five varieties of lotuses. Then I shall put each of you down there so that your future shall be ensured."

"My lord," said the fish, "no crane ever took the slightest thought for our welfare since the beginning of the world. It seems far more likely that you will eat us one by one."

"No. I promise to not eat you if you will only trust in my good intentions," replied the crane. "Moreover, if you don't believe that I am speaking the truth, then select one of your number to go with me to that fair yonder pond so that he might see it for himself."

Believing that the crane had spoken in ernest, the pond's inhabitants selected a great big fish who was blind in one eye as their representative. Thinking that the great fish would be a match for the crane whether afloat or ashore, they said, "Here's the one to go with you."

So the crane put that great fish in his beak and carried him off to that pool full of lotuses. After showing the fish the whole extent of it, the crane returned him to his brethren in the old pond.

After hearing about all the carms of the new poll full of lotuses, the fish grew eager to go there. "Very good, my lord," said the fish to the crane. "Please take us across one by one to our new home."

Then crane then put that big one-eyed fish in his beak and then carried him back to the edge of the other pool, so that the fish could see the lotus flowers floating on the water. In actuality, however, the crane had alighted in a Varana-tree which grew on the pool's banks. Then after dropping that great fish into the fork of the tree, the crane pecked his passenger to death, ate its flesh and then let the bones fall to the ground at the foot of the tree.

After returning to the home of the fishes, he said, "I've deposited that great fish in the pool. Who will go next?"

The same fate awaited each of the remaining fish. One by one, he carried them off to the tree on the banks of the lotus pond, and ate them all. Although the crane had managed to consume all the fishes, there was still a crab remaining in the old pond. Desiring to eat him as well, the crane said, "Mister crab, now that I have finished transporting all those fishes to their new home in a fine large pool covered with lotuses,I am ready to take you there too. So Come along."

"How will you carry me across?" inquired the crab.

"Why, in my beak, to be sure," replied the crane.

"But you might drop me like that," said the crab. "I think that it is better that I stay right where I am."

"Don't be frightened," soothed the crane. "I promise to keep tight hold of you all the way."

Thought the crab to himself, "I bet he hasn't really put those fish in the pool. But, if he would really put me in, that would be capital. Perhaps I really should let him take me there. Then if he doesn't live up to his word, then, I'll nip his head right off and that will be the death of him."

So he spoke thus to the crane, "Although you would never be able to hold me tight enough, friend crane, we crabs have got an astonishingly tight grirp. Why don't you let me take hold of your neck with my claws? Then I would be able to hold on tight during our entire journey together."

Not suspecting that the crab intended to trick him, the crane readily gave his assent and then allowed the crab to grip hisneck with pincers that had the strenth of those of a smith.

As soon as the crab was ready, he said, "Now you can start."

Then crane transported the crab through the air, showed his passenger the lotus pool, and then started off for the tree.

"The pool is this way, you idiot," said the crab. "Why are you taking me the wrong way?"

"Quite right, how idiotic of me!" said the crane, "and very much are you my dear nephew! I suppose you thought I was your slave to lift you up and carry you about! Well take a look at that heap of bones at the foot of yonder tree. Just as I ate up all those stupid fishes, so I shall eat you too."

"It was through their own folly that those fish lost their lives," replied the crab. "But do not think you shall have an opportunity to do the same to me. The more likely outcome is that I shall kill you instead. Fool that you were, did you not see that the trickster himself was being tricked? If death must be the outcome, then we shall both die together for before I fall to my own death I'm going to chop your head clean off!"

Then the crab began to squeeze the crane's neck in the iron grip of its tightening pincher claws. The crane's mouth gaped wide open and tears began to stream from his eyes. Trembling for his life, the crane cried out, "Dear Lord, I promise not to eat you if you will only spare my life!"

"Well then, you foolish bird, just step on over to the edge of yonder pool and put me in," said the crab.

The crane eagerly did as he was told. He stepped down to the pool and placed the crab in the mud at the water-edge. But just before he entered the water,the crab reached out and nipped off the crane's head as deftly as if he were clipping the bud off a lotus stalk with a knife.

After observing this amazing turn of events, the Tree-sprite who dwelt in a nearby tree made the entire forest ring with applause by repeating the following stanza in sweet tones:

"Guile profits not your very guileful folk.
Mark what the guileful crane got from the crab!"

"Brethren," said the Master, "this is not the first time that the Jetavana's Robe-tailor has been hoodwined by that robe-maker from the country. In the past he had the tables turned in just the same manner."

His lesson ended, the Buddha revealed the connection, and identified the Birth, by saying, "The Jetavana robe-maker was the crane of those days, the robe-maker from the country was the crab, and I myself was the Tree-sprite."

No. 145. The Badha Jataka

"How many more shall midnight bring? Your plan
Is idle. Naught but wifely love could curb
Her lust; and wifely love is lacking quite."

This story was told by the Master while staying at the Jetavana, about hankering after the wife of one's mundane life. The incidents of the introductory story is told in the Indriya-jataka [No. 433].

The Master spoke thus to the Brother, "It is impossible to keep guard over a woman; no guard can keep a woman in the right path. You yourself found in former days that all your safeguards were unavailing; and how can you now expect to have more success?"

And so saying, be told this story of the past.

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in. Benares, the Bodhisattva was born a parrot. A certain brahmin in the Kasi country was like a father to him and to his younger brother, treating them like his own children. Potthapada was the Bodhisattva's name, and Radha was his brother's.

Now the brahmin had a bold bad wife. As he was leaving home
on business, he said to the two brothers, "If your mother, my wife, is minded to be naughty, stop her."

"We will, papa," said the Bodhisattva, "if we can; but if we can't, we will hold our peace."

Having thus entrusted his wife to the parrots' charge, the brahmin set out on his business. Every day thenceforth his wife misconducted herself; there was no end to the stream of her lovers in and out of the house.

Moved by the sight, Radha said to the Bodhisattva, "Brother, the parting injunction of our father was to stop any misconduct on his wife's part, and now she does nothing but misconduct herself. Let us stop her."

"Brother," said the Bodhiaatta, "your words are the words of folly. You might carry a woman about in your arms and yet she would not be safe. So do not essay the impossible." And so saying he uttered this stanza:

"How many more shall midnight bring? Your plan
Is idle. Naught but wifely love could curb
Her lust; and wifely love is lacking quite."

And for the reasons thus given, the Bodhisattva did not allow his brother to speak to the brahmin's wife, who continued to gad about to her heart's content during her husband's absence. On his return, the brahmin asked Potthapada about his wife's conduct, and the Bodhisattva faithfully related all that had taken place.

"Why, father," he said, "should you have anything more to do with so wicked a woman?" And he added these words, "My father, now that I have reported my mother's wickedness, we can dwell here no longer."

So saying, he bowed at the brahmin's feet and flew away with Kadha to the forest.

His lesson ended, the Master taught the Four Truths, at the cloae whereof the Brother who hankered after the wife of hia mundane life was established in the fruition of tha first Path.

"This husband and wife," said the Master, "were the brahmin and his wife of those days, Ananda was Radha, and I myself Potthapada."

No. 208. The Sumsumara Jataka

"Rose-apple, jack-fruit, mangoes too
across the water there I see;
Enough of them, I want them not;
my fig is good enough for me.
Great is your body, verily,
but how much smaller is your wit!
Now go your way, Sir Crocodile,
for I have had the best of it."

This story the Master told at Jetavana, about Devadatta'a attempts to murder him. When he heard of these attempts, the Master said, " This is not the first time that Devadatta has tried to murder me; he did the same before, and yet could not so much an make me afraid." Then he told this story.

Once upon a time, while Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisattva came to life at the foot of Himalaya as a Monkey. 'He grew strong and sturdy, big of frame, well-to-do, and lived in a forest haunt by a curve of the river Ganges.

Now at that time there was a Crocodile dwelling in the Ganges. The Crocodile's mate saw the great frame of the monkey, and she
conceived a longing for his heart to eat. So she said to her lord:

"Sir, I desire to eat the heart of that great king of the monkeys!"

"Good wife," said the Crocodile, "I live in the water and he lives on dry land: how can we catch him?"

"By hook or by crook," she replied, "caught he must be. If I don't get him, I shall die."

"All right," answered the Crocodile, consoling her, "don't trouble yourself. I have a plan; I will give you his heart to eat."

So when the Bodhisattva was sitting on the bank of the Ganges, after taking a drink of water, the Crocodile drew near, and said:

"Sir Monkey, wliy do you live on bad fruits in this old familiar place) On the other side of the Gauges there is no end to the mango trees, and labuja trees, with fruit sweet as honey! Is it not better to cross over and have all kinds of wild fruit to eat?"

"Lord Crocodile," the Monkey made answer, "deep and wide is the
Ganges: how shall I get across?"

"If you will go, I will mount you on my back, and curry you over."

The Monkey trusted him, and agreed. "Come here, then," said the
other," up on my back with you!" And up the monkey climbed. But
when the Crocodile had swum a little way, he plunged the Monkey under the water.

"Good friend, you are letting me sink!." cried the Monkey. "What is that for?"

Said the Crocodile, "You think I'm carrying you out of pure good nature? Not a bit of it: My wife has a longing for your heart, and I want to give it her to eat!"

"Friend," said the Monkey, "it is nice of you to tell me. Why, if our heart were inside us when we go jumping among the tree-tops, it would be all knocked to pieces!."

"Well, where do you keep it?" asked the other.

The Bodhisattva pointed out a fig-tree, with clusters of ripe fruit, standing not far off. "See," said he, "there are our hearts hanging on yon fig-tree."

"If you will show me your heart," said the Crocodile, "then I won't kill you."

"Take me to the tree, then, and I will point it out to you hanging upon it."

The Crocodile brought him to the place. The Monkey leapt off his back, and climbing up the fig-tree sat upon it. "0 silly Crocodile!" said he, "you thought that there were creatures that kept their hearts in a tree-top! You are a fool, and I have outwitted you! You may keep your fruit to yourself. Your body is great, but you have no sense." And then to explain this idea he uttered the following stanzas:

"Rose-apple, jack-fruit, mangoes too across the water there I see; Enough of them, I want them not; my fig is good enough for me!

"Great is your body, verily, but how much smaller is your wit!
Now go your way, Sir Crocodile, for I have had the best of it."

The Crocodile, feeling as sad and miserable as if he had lost a thousand pieces of money, went back sorrowing to the place where he lived.

When the Master had ended this discourse, he identified the Birth:

"In those days Devadatta was the Crocodile, the lady Cinca was his mate, and I was the Monkey."

No. 215.  Kacchapa Jataka

"The Tortoise needs must speak aloud,
Although between his teeth
A stick he bit: yet, in spite of it,
He spoke--and fell beneath.
And now, 0 mighty master, mark it well.
See thou speak wisely, see thou speak in season.
To death the Tortoise fell:
He talked too much: that was the reason."

This is the story told by the Master while staying in Jetavana, about Kokalika. The circumstances which gave rise to it are set forth under the Mahatakkari Jataka [no. 481]. Here again the Master said:

"This is not the only time, Brethren, that Kokalika has been ruined by talking; it was the same before." And then he told the story as follows.

Once on a time Brahmadatta was king of Benares, and the Bodhisatta, being born to one of the king's court, grew up, and became the king's adviser in all things human and divine. But this king was very talkative; and when he talked there was no chance for any other to get in a word. And the Bodhisatta, wishing to put a stop to his much talking, kept watching for an opportunity.

Now there dwelt a Tortoise in a certain pond in the region of Himalaya. Two young wild Geese, searching for food, struck up an acquaintance with him; and by and bye they grew close friends together. One day these two said to him: "Friend Tortoise, we have a lovely home in Himalaya, on a plateau of Mount Cittakuta, in a cave of gold! Will you come with us?"

"Why," said he, "how can I get there?"

"Oh, we will take you, if ouly you can keep your mouth shut, and say not a word to any body."

"Yes, I can do that," says he; "take me along!"

So they made the Tortoise hold a stick between his teeth; and
themselves taking hold so of the two ends, they sprang up into the air.

The village children saw this, and exclaimed: "There are two geese carrying a tortoise by a stick!"

By this time the geese flying swiftly had arrived at the space above the palace of the king, at Benares. The Tortoise wanted to cry out:

"Well, and if my triends do carry me, what is that to you, you caitiffs?" and he let go the stick from between his teeth, and falling into the open courtyard he split in two. What an uproar there was!

"A tortoise has fallen in the courtyard, and broken in two!" they cried. The king, with the Bodhisattva, and all his court, came up to the place, and seeing the tortoise asked the Bodhisatta a question.

"Wise Sir, what made this creature fall?"

"Now's my time!" thought he. "For a long while I have been wishing to admonish the king, and I have gone about seeking my opportunity. No doubt the truth is this: the tortoise and the geese became friendly; the geese must have meant to carry him to Himalaya, and so made him hold a stick between his teeth, and then lifted him into the air; then he must have heard some remark, and wanted to reply; and not being able to keep his mouth shut he must have let himself go; and so he must have fallen from the sky and thus come by his death." So thought he; and addressed the king: "0 king, they that have too much tongue, that set no limit to their speaking, ever come to such misfortune as this!"

And he uttered the following verses:

"The Tortoise needs must speak aloud,
Although between his teeth
A stick he bit: yet, spite of it,
Ho spoke--and fell beneath.

"And now, 0 mighty master, mark it well.
See thou speak wisely, see thou speak in season.
To death the Tortoise fell:
He talked too much: that was the reason."

"He is speaking of me!" the king thought to himself; and asked the Bodhisattva if it was so.

"Be it you, 0 great king, or be it another," replied he, "whosoever talks beyond measure comes by some misery of this kind." And so he made the thing manifest. And thenceforward the king abstained from talking, and became a man of few words.

This discourse ended, the master identified the Birth: "Kokalika, was the tortoise then, the two famous Elders were the two wild geese, Ananda was the king, and I was his wise adviser."

No. 321.  The Kutidusaka Jataka

"He that inconstancy betrays, a light and fickle mind,
Unstable proved in all his ways, no happiness may find.
Monkey, in virtue to excel, do thou thy utmost strive,
And safe from wintry blast to dwell, go, hut of leaves contrive."

This was a story told by the Master while dwelling at Jetavana, about a young diaciple who burnt down the hut of leaves of the elder Mahakassapa. The incident that led to the story originated in Rajagaha.

At that time, they say, the elder was living in a cell in the forest near Rajagaha. Two young novices ministered to his wants. The one of them was serviceable to the elder, the other was ill-behaved. Whatever was done by his comrade, he makes as if it were done by himself. For instance, when the other lad had placed water to rinse the mouth, he goes to the elder and saluting him, says, "Sir, the water is ready. Pleaae to rinse your mouth." And when his companion had risen betimes and swept out the elder's cell, as soon as the elder appears, he knocks things about hither and thither, and makes as if the whole cell had been swept out by himself.

The dutiful disciple thought, "This ill-behaved fellow claims whatever I do just as if he had done it himself. I will expose his cunning behaviour." So when the young rogue had returned from the village and was sleeping after his meal, he heated water for the bath, and hid it in a back room, and then put merely a small quantity of water in the boiler. The other lad upon waking went and saw the steam rising up and thought, "No doubt our friend has heated the water and put it in the bathroom." So going to the elder he said, "Sir, the water is in the bathroom. Please, take your bath." The elder went with him to take a bath, and finding no water in the bathroom asked where the water was. The lad went hastily to the heating chamber and let down a ladle into the empty boiler. The ladle struck against the bottom of the empty vessel, and gave forth a rattling sound. (Thenceforth the boy was known by the name of "Rattle- Ladle.")

At this moment the other lad fetched the water from the back room, and said, "Sir, please take your bath." The elder had his bath, and being now aware of Rattle-Ladle's misconduct, when the boy came in the evening to wait upon him, he reproached him and said, "When one that is under religious vows has done a thing himself, then only has he the right to say, 'I did that.' Otherise it is a deliberate lie. Henceforth be not guilty of conduct like this."

The boy was wroth with the elder, and next day refused to go into the town with him to beg for alms. But the other youth accompanied the elder. And Rattle-Ladle went to see a family of the elder's retainers. When they had inquired where the elder was, he answered that he remained at home ill. They asked what he ought to have. He said, " Give me so and ao," and took it and went to a place where he fancied and ate it and returned to the hermitage.

The next day the elder visited that family and sat down with them. The people said: "You are not well are you? Yesterday, they say, you stopped at home in your cell. We send you some food by the hand of such and such a lad. Did your reverence partake of it?"

The elder held his peace, and when he had finished his meal,
returned to the monastery. In the evening when the boy came to wait upon him, the elder addressed him thus:

"You went begging, Sir, in such and such a family, and in such and such a village. And you begged saying, 'The elder must have so and so to eat.' And then, they say, you ate it yourself. Such hogging is highly improper. See that you are not guilty of such misconduct again."

So the boy for ever so long nursed a grudge against the elder, thinking: "Yesterday merely on account of a little water he picked a quarrel with me. And now being indignant and now becoming indignant because of my eating a handful of rice in the house of his retainers, he quarrels with me again. I will find out the right way to deal with him."

And next day, when the elder had goneinto the city for alms, he took a hammer and broke all the vessels used for food, and setting fire to the hut of leaves, took to his heels. While still alive he became a preta in the world of men, and withered away till he died and was born again in the Great Hell of Avici. And the fame of his evil deeed spread abroad amongst the people.

So one day some Brethren came from Rajagaha to Savatthi, and after putting away their bowels and robes in the Common Room they went and saluting the Master sat down. The Master conversed pleasantly with them and asked whence they had come. "From Rajagaha, Sir."

"Who is the teacher that preaches there?" he said.

"The Great Kassapa, Sir."

"Is Kassapa quite well, Brethren?" he asked.

"Yes, Reverend Sir, the elder is well. But a youthful member of the fraternity was so angry on account of a reproof he gave him, that he set fire to the elder's hut of leaves, and made off."

The Master, on hearing this,said: "Brethren solitude is better for Kassapa than keeping company with a fool like this." And so saying he repeated a stanza in the Dhammapada:

"To travel with the vulgar herd refuse,
And fellowship with foolish folk eschew,
Thy peer or better fur a comrade choose
Or else in solitude thy way pursue."

Moreover, he again addressed the Brethren and said: "Not only now, Brethren, did this youth destroy the hut and fell wroth with one that reproved him. In former times too he was wroth. And then he told them a legend of the past.

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta reigned in Benares, the Bodhisattva came to life as a young singila bird. And when he grew to be a big bird, he settled in the HImalaya country and built him a nest to his fancy, that was proof against the rain. Then a certain monkey in the rainy season, when the rain fell without intermission, sat near the Bodhisattva, his teeth chattering by reason of the severe cold. The Bodhisattva, seeing him thus distressed, fell to talking with him, and uttered the first stanza:

"Monkey, in feet and hands and face
So like the human form,
Why buildest thou no dwelling-place,
To hide thee from the storm?"

The monkey, on hearing this, replied with a second stanza:

"In feet and hands and face, 0 bird,
Though close to man allied,
Wisdom, chief boon on him conferred,
To me has been denied."

The Bodhisattva, on hearing this, repeated yet two more couplets:

"He that inconstancy betrays, a light and fickle mind,
Unstable proved in all his ways, no happiness may find.
Monkey, in virtue to excel, do thou thy utmost strive,
And safe from wintry blast to dwell, go, hut of leaves contrive."

Thought the monkey, "This creature, through dwelling in a place that is sheltered from the rain, despises me. I will not suffer him to rest quietly in this nest."

Accordingly, in his eagerness to catch the Bodhisattva, he prepared to spring upon him. But the Bodhisattva flew up into the air, and winged his way elsewhere. And the monkey, after smashing up and destroying his nest, betook himself off.

The Master, having ended his lesson, identified the Birth: "At that time the youth that fired the hut was the monkey, and I myself was the singila bird."

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