Guttila Jātaka

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into the family of a musician. His name was “Master Guttila.” When he grew up, he mastered all the branches of music, and under the name of Guttila the Musician he became the greatest musician in all India. He never married, but instead he took care of his blind parents.

At that time some traders from Benares traveled to Ujjeni (“Ujjain” is a city in India) in order for trade. A holiday was proclaimed. They all celebrated together. They bought scents and perfumes and ointments and all manner of foods and meats. “Go hire a musician!” they cried."

It happened that at the time a man named “Mūsila” was the chief musician in Ujjeni. They sent for him and hired him to perform for them. Mūsila played the lute. He tuned his lute up to the highest key to play upon. (Unlike Western music which has one “tempered” tuning, Indian music has different ways to tune an instrument.) But they had heard the performances of Guttila the Musician, and Mūsila’s music seemed to them like scratching on a mat. So not one of them showed any pleasure in his playing. When Mūsila saw that they did not like his music, he said to himself, “I must have tuned it too sharp, I suppose.” He tuned his lute down to the middle tone and played it like that. Still they sat indifferently. Then he thought, “I suppose they know nothing about music,” and pretending that he, too, were ignorant, played with the strings all loose. As before, they did not respond. Then Mūsila asked them, “Good merchants, why do you not like my playing?”

“What! Are you playing?” they cried. “We thought that you were just tuning up.”

“Why, do you know any better musician,” he asked, "or are you just too ignorant to like my playing?”

The merchants said, “We have heard the music of Guttila the Musician in Benares, and your music sounds like women crooning to soothe their babies.”

“Here, take your money back,” he said, “I don’t want it. But when you go to Benares, please take me with you.”

They agreed and took him back to Benares with them. They took him to the home of Guttila, and then they all went back to their own homes.

Mūsila entered the Bodhisatta’s house. He saw his beautiful lute where it stood, tied up. He took it down and played it. At this the old parents, who could not see him because they were blind, cried out, “The mice are gnawing at the lute! Shoo! shoo! The rats are biting the lute to pieces!”

At once Mūsila put down the lute and greeted the old folks. “Where do you come from?” they asked.

He replied, “I have come from Ujjeni to learn at the feet of the teacher.”

“Oh, all right,” they said. He asked where the teacher was.

“He is out, friend; but he will be back later today,” came the answer.

Mūsila sat down and waited until he came. Then, after some friendly conversation, he said why he was there. Now the Bodhisatta was skilled in telling a person’s character from the oils of the body. He perceived that this was not a good man, so he refused. “Go, my son, this art is not for you.”

Mūsila clasped the feet of the Bodhisatta’s parents to help his cause and begged to them: “Make him teach me!” Again and again his parents asked the Bodhisatta to do so, until he could not stand it any longer. And so he did as he was asked.

Later Mūsila accompanied the Bodhisatta to the King’s palace.

“Who is this, master?” asked the King when he saw him.

“A pupil of mine, great King!” was the reply.

By and bye Mūsila got the attention of the King.

Now the Bodhisatta did not hold back on his knowledge. He taught his pupil everything that he knew himself. When this was done, he said, “Your knowledge is now perfect.”

Mūsila thought, “I have now mastered my art. This city of Benares is the greatest city in all India. My teacher is old, so I will stay here.”

So he said to his teacher, “Sir, I would like to serve the King.”

“Good, my son,” he replied, “I will tell the King.”

He went before the King and said, “My pupil wishes to serve your Highness. Determine what his fee will be.”

The King answered, “His fee shall be the half of yours.”

He went and told this to Mūsila. Mūsila said, “If I am paid the same as you, I will serve. But if not, then I will not serve him.”

“Why?”

“Say, do I not know all that you know?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Then why does he offer me only half?”

The Bodhisatta told the King what had transpired. The King responded, “If he is as perfect in his art as you, he shall receive the same payment as you do.”

The Bodhisatta reported this back to his pupil. The pupil consented to the agreement, and the King, upon being informed of this, replied, “Very well. On what day will you compete against each other?”

“Do it the seventh day from this, oh king.”

The King sent for Mūsila. “I understand that you are ready to test yourself against your master?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” was the reply.

The King tried to dissuade him. “Don't do it,” he said. “There should never be a rivalry between master and pupil.”

“Hold, oh King!” he cried. “Yes, let there be a meeting between me and my teacher on the seventh day. Then we will know who is master of his art.”

So the King agreed. He sent the drum beating around the city with this notice: “Attention! On the seventh day Guttila the Teacher and Mūsila the Pupil will meet at the door of the royal palace to show their skill. Let the people assemble from the city and see their skill!”

The Bodhisatta thought to himself, “This Mūsila is young and energetic. I am old and my strength is gone. What an old man does will not grow and prosper. If my pupil is beaten, there is no great benefit in that. But if he beats me, death in the woods is better than the shame that will come to me.” So he went off to the woods. But he kept returning from the woods because of his fear of death. But then he would just go right back again through fear of shame. And in this way six days passed by. The grass died as he walked, and his feet wore away a path.

At that time, Sakka’s throne became hot. (You may recall from Jātaka 220 that Sakka is the King of the Devas. In Indian mythology Sakka’s throne grew hot when someone was in dire straits.) Sakka meditated and perceived what had happened. “Guttila the Musician is suffering great sorrow in the forest because of his pupil. I must help him!”

So he rushed off and stood before the Bodhisatta. “Master,” he said, “why have you taken to the woods?”

“Who are you?” the Bodhisatta asked.

“I am Sakka.”

Then the Bodhisatta said, “I was afraid that I would lose to my pupil, oh King of the gods, and therefore I ran off to the woods.” And he repeated the first stanza:

“I had a pupil once, who learned from me

The seven-stringed lute’s melodious minstrelsy.

He now would gladly his teacher’s skill outdo.

Oh Kosiya! Will you my helper be!”

(“Kosiya” is a pseudonym for Sakka.)

“Fear not,” said Sakka, “I am your defense and refuge,” and he repeated the second stanza:

“Fear not, for I will help you in your need.

For honor is the teacher’s rightful meed.

Fear not! Your pupil will not rival thee,

But you will prove the better man indeed.”

(“Meed” means “reward.”)

“As you play, you will break one of the strings of your lute and play on only six strings. But the music will be as good as before. Mūsila, too, will break a string, and he will not be able to make music with his lute. Then he will be defeated. And when you see that he is defeated, you will break the second string of your lute, and the third, even on to the seventh. And you will go on playing with nothing but the body of the lute. From the ends of the broken strings the sound will go forth and fill the land of Benares for a space of twelve leagues.”

With these words he gave the Bodhisatta three dice and went on: “When the sound of the lute has filled the city, you must throw one of these dice into the air. Three hundred nymphs will descend and dance before you. While they dance throw up the second, and three hundred more will dance in front of your lute. Then throw the third dice into the air, and three hundred more will come down and dance in the arena. I, too, will come with them. Go on, and fear not!”

In the morning the Bodhisatta returned home. At the palace door a pavilion was set up, and a throne was set up for the King. He came down from the palace and took his seat on the divan in the gay pavilion. All around him were thousands of slaves, women beautifully dressed, courtiers, brahmins, citizens. All the people of the town had come together. In the courtyard they set up seats circle on circle, tier above tier. The Bodhisatta, washed and anointed, had eaten all manner of the finest meats. He had his lute in hand as he sat waiting in his appointed place. Sakka was there, invisible, poised in the air, surrounded by a great company. However, the Bodhisatta saw him. Mūsila too was there, and he sat in his own seat. All around was a great multitude of people.

First the two each played the same piece. When they played, the multitude was delighted, and gave thunderous applause. Then Sakka spoke to the Bodhisatta from his place in the air. “Break one of the strings!” he said. Then the Bodhisatta broke one of the strings. And the string, even though it was broken, gave out a sound from its broken end. It sounded like music divine. Mūsila too broke a string, but no sound came out of it. His teacher broke the second string, and so on to the seventh string. He played on the instrument’s body alone. And the sound continued and filled the town. The multitude waved and waved by the thousands. They threw their handkerchiefs up into the air. They shouted applause by the thousands. Then the Bodhisatta threw one of the dice up into the air. Three hundred nymphs descended and began to dance. And when he had thrown the second and third dice in the same way, there were nine hundred nymphs dancing just as Sakka had said.

Then the King signaled to the multitude. They rose up as one and cried, “Mūsila, you made a great mistake in pitting yourself against your teacher! You do not know your limits!' Thus they cried out against Mūsila, and with sticks and staves and anything that came to hand, they beat and bruised him to death. Then they seized him by the feet and threw him on a dung heap.

The King was delighted. He showered gifts on the Bodhisatta, and so did the people of the city. Sakka likewise spoke in praise of him. He said, “Wise sir, I will send my charioteer Mātali with a car drawn by a thousand thoroughbreds. You will mount my divine car, drawn by a thousand horses, and travel to heaven.” And he left.

When Sakka had left and was back on his throne made from precious stones, the daughters of the gods asked him, “Where have you been, oh King?” Sakka told them everything that had happened. He praised the virtues and good qualities of the Bodhisatta. Then the daughters of the gods said, “Oh King, we long to look at this teacher. Please bring him here!”

Sakka summoned Mātali. “The nymphs of heaven,” he said, “want to see Guttila the Musician. Go get him in my divine car and bring him here.” The charioteer went and brought the Bodhisatta back. Sakka gave him a friendly greeting. “The maidens of the gods,” he said, “want to hear your music, Master.”

“We musicians, oh, great King,” he said, “earn a living by performing our art. I will play for a fee.”

“Play on and I will pay you.”

“The only payment I want is this. Let these daughters of the gods tell me what acts of virtue brought them here. Then will I play.”

Then the daughters of the gods said, “We will gladly tell you about our virtuous acts. But please, first play for us, Master.”

For the space of a week the Bodhisatta played to them. His music surpassed the music of heaven. On the seventh day he asked the daughters of the gods about their virtuous lives, beginning with the first of them. One of them, during the time of the Buddha Kassapa (a previous Buddha), had given an upper garment to a certain monk. She was reborn as an attendant of Sakka and had become chief among the daughters of the gods. She had a retinue of a thousand nymphs. The Bodhisatta asked her, “What did you do in a previous existence that has brought you here?” The manner of his question and the gift she gave is told in the Vimāna story (This probably refers to the “Vimānavatthu” which is the sixth book in the Khuddaka Nikāya.). They spoke as follows:

“O brilliant goddess, like the morning star,

Shedding thy light of beauty near and far,

Whence springs this beauty? Whence this happiness?

Whence all the blessings that the heart can bless?

I ask you, goddess excellent in might,

Whence comes this all-pervading wondrous light?

When you were mortal woman, what did thou

To gain the glory that surrounds thee now?”

“Chief among men and chief of women she

Who gives an upper robe in charity.

She that gives pleasant things is sure to win

A home divine and fair to enter in.

Behold this habitation, how divine!

As fruit of my good deeds this home is mine

A thousand nymphs stand ready at my call.

Fair nymphs, and I the fairest of them all.

And therefore am I excellent in might,

Hence comes this all-pervading wondrous light!”

Another had given flowers for worship to a monk who needed alms. Another had been asked for a scented wreath of five sprays for the shrine, and she gave it. Another had given sweet fruits. Another had given fine perfumes. Another had given a scented spray to the shrine of the Buddha Kassapa. Another had heard the discourses of traveling monks and nuns, and some of the monks and nuns had taken shelter in the house of their family. Another had stood in the water and given a drink to a monk who was eating his meal on a boat. Another living in the world had done her duty to her mother-in-law and father-in-law, never losing her temper. Another had shared her meager food and was virtuous. Another, who had been a slave in some household, without anger and without pride had given away a share of her own food and had been born again as an attendant upon the King of the gods. So all those who are written about in the story of Guttila-vimāna, thirty and seven daughters of the gods, were asked by the Bodhisatta what each had done to come there, and they too told what they had done in the same way by verses.

On hearing all this, the Bodhisatta exclaimed, “It is good for me, in truth, truly it is very good for me, that I came here and heard how even very small acts of merit lead to great glory. When I return to the world of men, I will give all manner of gifts and perform good deeds.” And he uttered this aspiration:

“Oh happy dawn! Oh happy must I be!

Oh happy pilgrimage, whereby I see

These daughters of the gods, divinely fair,

And hear their sweet discourse! Henceforth I swear

Full of sweet peace and generosity,

Of temperance, and truth my life shall be,

Till I come there where no more sorrows are.”

Then after seven days had passed, the King of heaven gave his commands to Mātali the charioteer. He seated Guttila in the chariot and sent him to Benares. And when he got to Benares he told the people what he had seen with his own eyes in heaven. From that time on the people resolved to do good deeds with all their might.