Jataka 252
Tila Muṭṭhi Jātaka
The Seed Theft
as told by Eric Van Horn
originally translated by William Henry Denham Rouse, Cambridge University
originally edited by Professor Edward Byles Cowell, Cambridge University
The term “passion” can be used in a positive way, even in the Dharma. You can, for example, be passionate about the Dharma itself. That is a very good kind of passion to have, at least for a time on your Dharma journey.
But generally speaking, passion is something to be overcome, even passion for the Dharma. Passion tends to get us into trouble. It makes our behavior volatile and unpredictable. The worst passions are addictions and compulsions. Lust, for example, is a very dangerous passion. And in this story, passion is equated with the volatility of an angry temperament.
“Now I reflect.” The Master told this story while he was at Jetavana. It is about a passionate man. We learn that there was a monk who was full of bitterness. No matter how little was said to him, he fell into a fury and spoke angrily, showing rage, hatred, and mistrust. The monks discussed the matter in the Dharma Hall. “Friend, how angry and bitter this monk is! He goes barking about for all the world like salt in a fire. Even though he has embraced this peaceful religion, he cannot restrain his anger.” The Master heard this and sent a brother to fetch the man in question. “Are you really as passionate as they say?” he asked. The man said he was. Then the Master added, "This is not the first time, monks, that this man has been passionate. He was just the same before.” And he told them this story from the past.
Once upon a time, Brahmadatta was the King of Benares. He had a son named Prince Brahmadatta. Now kings of former times, even if there might be a famous teacher living in their own city, would send their sons to foreign countries to complete their education. In this way they might learn to lessen their pride and arrogance, to endure heat or cold, and to become acquainted with the ways of the world. And so did this king. When the lad was 16 years old, the King summoned him. He gave him one-soled sandals, a sunshade of leaves, and 1,000 gold coins. Then he said to him, “My son, go to Takkasilā University and study there.”
The boy obeyed. He bade his parents farewell, and in due course he arrived at Takkasilā. There he asked where the teacher lived. He reached there just after the teacher had finished his lecture and was walking up to the door of his house. When the lad set eyes upon the teacher, he loosened his shoes, closed his sunshade, and with a respectful greeting stood still where he was. The teacher saw that he was tired, and he welcomed the newcomer. The lad ate and rested a little. Then he returned to the teacher and stood respectfully by him.
“Where have you come from?” he asked.
“From Benares.”
“Whose son are you?”
“I am the son of the King of Benares.”
“What brings you here?”
“I have come to learn,” replied the lad.
“Well, have you brought a teacher’s fee or do you wish to be my attendant in return for teaching you?”
“I have brought a fee with me,” he replied, and with this he laid his purse of 1,000 gold coins at the teacher’s feet.
The resident pupils attend to their teacher by day and at night they learn from him. But anyone who brings a fee is treated like the eldest son in his house. And this teacher, like the rest, taught the prince on every light and lucky day. In this way the young prince was taught.
(According to the PTS translation, the meaning of a “light and lucky day” is unclear.)
Now one day he went to bathe along with his teacher. There was an old woman who had prepared some white seeds. She had strewn them out in front of her. And there she sat, watching them. The youth looked at these white seeds. They made him feel hungry so he picked up a handful of them and ate them.
“This fellow must be hungry,” she thought, but she said nothing and sat silent.
On the next day the same thing happened. Again the woman said nothing to him. On the third day, he did it again. Then the old woman cried out, saying, “The great teacher is letting his pupils rob me!” And uplifting her arms she wailed in protest.
The teacher turned back. “What is it, mother?” he asked.
“Master, I have been parching (drying) some seeds, and your pupil took a handful and ate them! He did this today, he did it yesterday, and he did it the day before! Surely he will eat me out of house and home!”
“Don’t cry, mother. I will see that you are paid.”
“Oh, I want no payment, master. I only want you to teach your pupil not to do it again.”
“See here, then, mother,” he said. He had two of his pupils take the young fellow by his hands and wack him three times on the back with a bamboo stick, telling him to never do this again.
The prince was very angry with his teacher. With a bloodshot glare, he eyed him from his head to foot. The teacher observed how angry he was and how he looked at him.
The youth applied himself to his studies, and he finished his courses. But he hid the offence away in his heart and determined to murder his teacher. When the time came for him to leave, he said, “Oh my teacher, when I receive the kingdom of Benares, I will send for you. When that happens, please come to me.” And so he exacted a promise from his teacher.
The prince returned to Benares. He visited his parents and showed them what he had learned. The King said, “I have lived to see my son again, and although I am still alive, I would like to see the magnificence of his rule.” So he made his son King in his place.
When the prince enjoyed the splendor of royalty, he remembered his grudge and anger rose within him. “I will be the death of that fellow!” he thought, and he sent a messenger off to fetch his teacher.
“I will never be able to make peace with him while he is young,” the teacher thought, so he did not come. But when the prince’s reign was half over, he thought he could placate him then. So he went to Benares and stood at the King’s door. He sent word that the teacher from Takkasilā had arrived.
The King was glad and had the brahmin brought in. Then his anger rose up and his eyes grew bloodshot. He gestured to those around him, “Ha, the place where my teacher hit still hurts to this day! He has come here with death written on his forehead, to die! Today his life must end!” and he repeated the first two verses:
“Now I remember, for a few poor seeds, in days of yore,
You seized me by the arm, and beat me with a stick full sore.
Brahmin, are you in love with death, and do you nothing fear
For seizing me and beating me, that now you venture here?”
In this way he threatened him with death. Then he listened as the teacher uttered the third verse:
“The gently born who uses blows ungentleness to quell—
This is right discipline, not wrath; the wise all know it well.”
(In other words, the teacher did not have him beaten out of anger but from compassion and wisdom.)
Figure: The Angry King and the Wise Teacher
“And so, great King, understand this. This is no just cause for anger. Indeed, if you had not been taught this lesson by me, you would have gone on to stealing cakes and sweets, fruit, and the like. You would have become greedy through these acts of theft. Then by degrees you would have gone on to house-breaking, highway robbery, and murder in the villages. The end result would have been that you would have been caught and brought before the King as a public enemy and a robber. You would have feared for public punishment when the King would say, ‘Take this man and punish him according to his crimes.’ If that had happened, how could you have come to all the prosperity that you now enjoy? Is it not because of me that you have attained such magnificence?”
In this way the teacher addressed the King. And the courtiers, who stood all around, said when they heard his speech, “Of a truth, my lord, all your magnificence really belongs to your teacher!”
At once the King recognized the goodness of his teacher. He said to him, “I give all my power to you, my teacher! Receive the kingdom!” But the teacher refused, saying, “No, my lord King; I have no wish for the kingdom.”
The King sent to Takkasilā for the teacher’s wife and family. He gave them great power. He made his teacher the royal priest and treated him like a father. He obeyed his teacher’s admonitions. And after many acts of generosity and doing good deeds, he became destined for the heavenly realms.
When the Master ended this discourse, he taught the Dharma, at the conclusion of which the passionate brother became a non-returner. Many others became stream-enterers, once-returners, and non-returners. The Master, said, “At that time the passionate monk was the King, and I was the teacher.”
