Gāmaṇi-Caṇḍa Jātaka

Once upon a time, monks, when Janasandha was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born as the son of his chief queen. His face was resplendent. He wore a look of auspicious beauty like a golden mirror well-polished. On the day of his naming they called him Ādāsa-mukha, Prince Mirror-face.

Within the space of seven years his father had him taught the Three Vedas and all the duties of this world. And then his father died. The courtiers performed the King’s funeral rites with great ceremony. They made the offerings for the dead, and on the seventh day they gathered together in the palace court and talked together. The prince was very young, they thought, and he could not be made King.

They decided that before he could become King, they would test him. So they prepared a court of justice. In front of the court they placed a throne. Then they went into the prince’s presence and they said, “You must come, my lord, to the law-court.” The prince agreed to this, and with a great company he went to the court, and he sat upon the throne.

Now when the King sat down to prepare for judgement, the courtiers took a monkey and dressed him up to look like a man who is skilled in determining what are good sites for a building. They stood him up on two feet and took him into the judgement hall. “My lord,” they said, “when your father was King this man was the one who used his magic to determine desirable sites on which to build, and he knows his art well. He can see a fault down in the earth as deep as three meters. It was with his help that the place was chosen for the King’s home. Let the King provide for him and give him a post.”

The prince scanned him from head to foot. “This is no man but a monkey,” he thought, “and monkeys can destroy what others have made. But a monkey can not build anything or carry out such a task.” And so he repeated the first stanza to his court:

“It is not a clever builder, but an ape with a wrinkled face.

He can destroy what others make; that is the way of his race.”

“It must be so, my lord!” said the courtiers, and they took him away. But after a day or two they dressed this same creature in grand clothes, and they brought him back once again to the judgement hall. “When your father was King, my lord, this man was a judge who dealt justice. You should take him to help you in the awarding of justice.”

The prince looked at him. He thought, “A man with mind and reason is not as hairy as all that. This witless ape cannot dispense justice.” And he repeated the second stanza:

"There's no wit in this hairy creature; he breeds no confidence.

He knows nothing, as my father taught. The animal has no sense!"

“So it must be, my lord!” the courtiers said, and they led the monkey away. Yet later, once again they dressed up the very same monkey. They brought him to the hall of judgement. “Sire,” they said, “when your father was King this man took care of his father and mother. He paid respect to old age in his family. You should keep him with you.”

Again the prince looked at him and thought, “Monkeys are too unreliable. They can do no such thing.” And then he repeated the third stanza:

“One thing Dasaratha has taught me. No help such a creature would send

To father or mother, to sister or brother, or any who call him friend!”

(“Dasaratha” is another name for his father.)

“So must it be, my lord!” they answered, and they took him away again. And they said to each other, “This is a wise prince. He will be able to rule,” and they made the Bodhisatta King. Throughout the city they made a proclamation by beat of the drum, saying, “The edicts of King Mirror-face!”

(I will state the obvious here. They clearly had low standards for their kings.)

From that time on the Bodhisatta reigned righteously. His wisdom was known throughout all India. To demonstrate his wisdom these fourteen problems were brought to him to decide:

“An ox, a lad, a horse, a basket-knight,

A squire, a msitress, and a young dame,

A snake, a deer, a partridge, and a sprite,

A snake, recluses, a young priest I name.”

This all happened as we shall now explain. When the Bodhisatta was coronated, a servant of King Janasandha named Gāmaṇi-caṇḍa thought to himself, “This kingdom would be glorious if it were governed by someone who is of a proper age to be the King. Now I am old and I cannot serve a young prince. So I will go earn my living by farming in the country.”

So he left the city and traveled about 10 miles to a nearby village. But he had no oxen for farming. And so, after rain had fallen, he begged a friend to loan him two oxen. He ploughed all day with them. He gave them grass to eat, and then he went to the owner’s house to return them. At the moment it happened that the owner was eating his meal with his wife. The oxen entered the house, quite at home. As they entered, the master was raising his plate, and the wife putting hers down. Since they did not invite him to share the meal, Gāmaṇi-caṇḍa left without formally turning over the oxen. During the night, thieves broke into the cow-pen and stole the oxen.

Early on the next day the owner of the oxen entered the cow-shed, but the oxen were gone. He realized that they must have been stolen by thieves. “I’ll make Gāmaṇi pay for this!” he thought, and off he went to see Gāmaṇi.

“I say, return my oxen to me!” he cried.

“Aren’t they in their stall?”

“Now did you properly return them to me?”

“No, I did not.”

“I have brought the King’s officer with me. Come along.”

Now these people have a custom that they pick up a stone or a potsherd and say, “Here’s the King’s officer. Come along!” If any man refuses to go, he is punished. So when Gāmaṇi heard the word “officer,” he went along.

So they headed off to the King’s court. On the way, they came to a village where there lived a friend of Gāmaṇi’s. Gāmaṇi said, “I say, I’m very hungry. Wait here while I go in and get something to eat!” and he entered his friend’s house.

But his friend was not at home. The wife said, “Sir, there is nothing cooked. But wait a moment. I will cook something at once and set it before you.” She climbed a ladder to the grain store, and in her haste she fell to the ground. And as she was seven month’s pregnant, she had a miscarriage.

At that moment, her husband returned. He saw what had happened. “You have struck my wife,” he cried, “and brought on a premature labor! Here’s a King’s officer for you. Come along!” and he carried him off. After this they went on, the two of them, with Gāmaṇi in between.

As they proceeded on their journey, there was a horse at a village gate. He was running away, and the groom could not stop it. The horse keeper called out to Gāmaṇi, “Uncle Caṇḍagāmaṇi, hit the horse with something and head him off!” (The term “uncle” was used as a general term of endearment.) So he picked up a stone and threw it at the horse. But the stone hit him on the foot. It broke the foot like the stalk of a castor oil plant. Then the man cried, “Oh, you’ve broken my horse’s leg! Here’s a King’s officer for you!” and he grabbed hold of him.

Gāmaṇi was now the prisoner of three men. As they led him along, he thought, “These people will denounce me to the King. I can’t pay for the oxen much less the fine for causing an untimely birth, and then where will I get the price of the horse? I would be better off dead.” So as they went along, he saw a forest by the road, and in it there was a hill with a cliff on one side of it. In the shadow of the cliff were two basket makers, a father and son. They were weaving a mat.

Gāmaṇi said, “I say, I want to stop for a moment. Wait here, while I go find into the woods to rest.” And with these words he climbed up the hill and threw himself down the precipice. He landed on the back of the elder basket maker and killed him on the spot. Gāmaṇi got up and stood still.

“Ah, you villain! You murdered my father!” cried the younger basket maker. “Here’s the King’s officer!” He seized Gāmaṇi's hands and took him out of the woods.

“What's this?” asked the others.

“The villain has murdered my father!”

So on they went, the four of them, with Gāmaṇi in the middle.

They came to the gate of another village. The headman was there. He called out to Gāmaṇi, “Uncle Caṇḍa, where are you going?”

“To see the King,” said Gāmaṇi.

“Oh indeed, to see the King. I want to send him a message. Will you take it?”

“Yes, I will do that.”

“Well, I am usually handsome, rich, honored, and healthy. But now I am miserable, and I have jaundice, too. Ask the King why this is. He is a wise man, so they say. He will tell you, and you can bring me his answer.”

To this Gāmaṇi agreed.

At another village a lady of the evening called out to him: “Where are you going, Uncle Caṇḍa?”

“To see the King,” he said.

“They say the King is a wise man. Take him a message from me,” the woman said. “I used to be quite prosperous. Now I don’t get the worth of a betel nut, and nobody courts me. Ask the King how this can be, and then you can tell me.”

At a third village, there was a young woman who told Gāmaṇi, “I cannot live with my husband or with my own family. Ask the King why this is, and then tell me.”

A little further on there was a snake living in an ant hill near the road. He saw Gāmaṇi, and called out,

“Where are you going, Caṇḍa?”

“To see the King.”

“The King is wise. Take a message to him from me. When I go out to get my food, I leave this ant hill faint and famished, and yet I can barely get through the entrance hole with my body. I get out with difficulty, dragging myself along. But when I come in again, I feel satisfied and fat, yet I pass easily through the hole without touching the sides. How is this? Ask the King and bring me his answer.”

And further on a deer saw him and said, “I can’t eat grass anywhere but underneath this tree. Ask the King the reason for this.” And a partridge said, “When I sit at the foot of this ant heap and sing my song, it sounds pretty. But this does not happen anywhere else. Ask the King why this is.” And again, a tree spirit saw him and said, “Where are you going, Caṇḍa?”

“To see the King.”

“The King is a wise man, they say. In former times I was highly revered. Now I don’t receive so much as a handful of twigs. Ask the King what the reason for this is.”

And further on again he was seen by a serpent king who said to him, “The King is said to be a wise man. Ask him this question. The water in this pool used to be as clear as crystal. Why is it that now it has become muddy with scum all over it?”

Further on, not far from a town, certain recuses who lived in a park saw him. They said, “They say the King is wise. There used to many sweet fruits in this park, but now they have grown tasteless and dry. Ask him what the reason for this is.” Still further on, he was approached by some brahmin students who were in a hall at the gate of a town. They said to him, “Where are you going, Caṇḍa?”

“To see the King,” said Caṇḍa.

“Then take a message for us. Until now, whatever passage we learned was bright and clear. Now it does not stay with us, and it is not understood. All is darkness. It is like water in a leaky jar. Ask the King what the reason for this is.”

Gāmaṇi-caṇḍa went before the King with his fourteen questions. When the King saw him, he recognized him. “This is my father’s servant who used to bounce me in his arms. Where has he been living all this time?”

“Caṇḍa,” he said, “where have you been living all this time? We have seen nothing of you for a long while. What brings you here?”

“Oh, my lord, when my lord the late King went to heaven, I left for the country and supported myself by farming. Then this man filed a grievance against me regarding his cattle, and he has brought me here.”

“If you had not been brought here, you would never have come. But I am glad that you were brought here anyway. Now I can see you. Where is that man?”

“Here, my lord.”

“Is it you that summoned our friend Caṇḍa?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Why?”

“He refuses to give back my pair of oxen!”

“Is this so, Caṇḍa?”

“Hear my story too, my lord!” Caṇḍa said, and he told him what had happened. When he had heard the tale, the King confronted the owner about the oxen. “Did you see the oxen,” he asked, “entering the stall?”

“No, my lord,” the man replied.

“Why, man, did you never hear my name? They call me King Mirror-face. Speak out honestly.”

“I saw them, my lord!” he admitted.

“Now, Caṇḍa,” said the King, “you failed to properly return the oxen, and therefore you are in his debt for them. But this man, in saying that he had not seen them, told a direct lie. Therefore with your own hands you will pluck his eyes out, and then you will give him 24 gold coins as the price of the oxen.” Then they led the owner of the oxen out of doors.

“If I lose my eyes, what do I care about the money?” he thought. And he fell at Gāmaṇi's feet and pleaded with him. “Oh master Caṇḍa, keep those 24 gold coins and take these too!” And he gave him some gold coins and ran away.

The second man said, “My lord, this fellow struck my wife and made her miscarry.”

“Is this true, Caṇḍa?” asked the King. Caṇḍa begged to be heard, and he told the whole story.

“Did you really strike her and cause her to miscarry?” asked the King.

“No, my lord! I did no such thing.”

“Now, can you” he said to the other man, “can you heal the miscarriage which he has caused?”

“No, my lord, I cannot.”

“Well, then, what do you want to do?”

“I ought to have a son, my lord.”

“Now then, Caṇḍa, you take this man’s wife to your house. And when you and she give birth to a son, hand him over to the husband.”

Then this man also fell at Caṇḍa’s feet, crying, “Don't break up my home, master!” And with that he threw down some money and ran off.

The third man then accused Caṇḍa of laming his horse’s foot. As before, Caṇḍa described what had happened. Then the King asked the owner, “Did you really ask Caṇḍa to strike the horse in order to turn him around?”

“No, my lord, I did not.” But on being pressed, he admitted that he had said so.

“This man,” said the King, “has told a direct lie in saying that he did not tell you to head back the horse. You may tear out his tongue and then pay him a thousand coins for the horse’s price, a price that I will give you.” But the fellow even gave him another sum of money and ran off.

Then the basket maker’s son said,

“This fellow is a murderer, and he killed my father!”

“Is it so, Caṇḍa?” asked the King. “Hear me, my lord,” Caṇḍa said, and he told him what had happened.

“Now, what do you want?” asked the King.

“My lord, I must have my father.”

“Caṇḍa,” said the King, “this man must have a father. But you cannot bring him back from the dead. So take his mother to your house, and you be a father to him.”

“Oh, master!” cried the man, “don’t break up my dead father’s home!” And he, too, gave Gāmaṇi some money and hurried away.

Thus Gāmaṇi won his suits, and in great delight he said to the King, “My lord, I have questions for you from several persons. May I ask them of you?”

“Go on,” said the King.

So Gāmaṇi told them all in reverse order, beginning with the young brahmins. The King answered them in turn. To the first question, he answered, “In the place where they lived there used to be a crowing cock that knew the time. When they heard his crow, they used to rise up and repeat their texts until the sun rose, and thus they did not forget what they learned. But now there is a cock that crows at the wrong times. He crows in the dead of night or in broad day. When he crows in the depth of night, up they rise, but they are too sleepy to repeat the text. When he crows in broad day, they rise up, but they have not had the chance to repeat their texts. Thus it is, that whatever they learn, they soon forget.”

To the second question, he answered, “Formerly these men used to do all the duties of the recluse, and they were able to attain deep states of meditation. Now they neglect these duties. They do not keep the Precepts. The fruits which grow in the park they give to their attendants. They are lazy and do not properly go on alms rounds. Some stay at home while others beg for all in order to save trouble. This is why this fruit does not grow sweet. If they once more do their duty as recluses, once again the fruit will grow sweet for them. Those men do not know the wisdom of kings. Tell them to live the recluse life.”

He heard the third question and answered, “Those serpent chiefs quarrel with one another and that is why the water is muddy. If they make friends as before, the water will be clear again.” After hearing the fourth question he replied, “The tree spirit used to protect men who passed through the wood, and therefore she received many offerings. Now she gives them no protection, and so she receives no offerings. If she protects them as before, she will receive choice offerings again. She knows not that there are kings in the world. Tell her, then, to guard the men who go up into that wood.”

And on hearing the fifth question he replied, “Under the ant hill where the partridge finds himself able to utter a pleasant cry is a jar of treasure. You should dig it up and keep the treasure.”

To the sixth question he answered, “On the tree under which the deer found he could eat grass is a great honeycomb. He craves the grass on which this honey has dropped, and so he can eat no other grass. You should go and get the honeycomb, send the best of it to me, and eat the rest yourself.”

Then on hearing the seventh question he said, “Under the snake’s ant heap lies a large treasure, and there he lives guarding it. So when he goes out, from greed for this treasure his body sticks to the entrance hole. But after he has fed, his desire for the treasure prevents his body from sticking, so he goes in quickly and easily. Dig up the treasure and keep it.”

Then he replied to the eighth question. “Between the villages where the young woman’s husband lives and where her parents live there is a lover of hers. When she thinks of him she wants to be with him. So she cannot stay in her husband’s house. She says she will go and see her parents, and on the way she stays a few days with her lover. When she has been at home for a few days, she again remembers him. She says that she will return to her husband, and she goes once again to see her lover. Go tell her there are kings in the land. Say she must live with her husband, and if she will not, the King will have her seized, and she will die.”

He heard the ninth question, and to this he said, “The woman used to be courted by one man, and she would not go with another man unless she had broken things off with him. That is how she was treated so well. Now she has changed her ways. She is still with one man while going off with another. So now she receives nothing, and no one wants to be in her company. If she goes back to her old custom, it will be as it was before. Tell her that she should keep to that.”

On hearing the tenth question he replied, “That village headman used to dispense justice fairly so that men were pleased and delighted with him, and in their delight they gave him many gifts. This is what made him handsome, rich, and honored. Now he loves to take bribes, and his judgement is not fair. So he is poor and miserable and jaundiced. If he judges once again with righteousness, he will be once again as he was before. He knows not that there are kings in the land. Tell him that he must use justice in giving judgement.”

And so Gāmaṇi-caṇḍa told all these messages as they were told to him. And the King, having resolved all these questions by his wisdom like a wise Buddha, gave rich presents to Gāmaṇi-caṇḍa. He gave him the village where Caṇḍa lived as a brahmin’s gift, and then he let him go. Caṇḍa left the city, and he told the King’s answer to the brahmin youths and the recluses, to the serpent and to the tree spirit. He took the treasure from the place where the partridge sat. And from the tree beneath which the deer did eat, he took the honeycomb and sent the honey to the King. He broke into the snake’s ant-hill and gathered the treasure from it. To the young woman and the lady of the evening and the village headman he relayed what the King had told him. Then he returned to his own village and lived there for the rest of his life. And afterward he was reborn according to his karma. And King Mirror-face also gave alms and brought about goodness, and finally after his death, he was reborn in a heavenly realm.