Jataka 359
Suvaṇṇamiga Jātaka
The Golden Deer
as told by Eric Van Horn
originally translated by H.T. Francis and R.A. Neil, Cambridge University
originally edited by Professor Edward Byles Cowell, Cambridge University
There are many cases in the Pāli Canon where women are the moving force for men to attain awakening, or at least to be faithful to the practice of virtue. It shows how even at a time when women were regarded as little more than cattle, The Buddha and the Buddhist tradition hold that the most important aspect of a human being is their behavior and not their status.
“Oh Golden-foot.” The Master told this story while he was at Jetavana. It is about a maiden of gentle birth who was from Sāvatthi. She was, they say, the daughter in the household of a benefactor of the two chief disciples at Sāvatthi. She was a faithful disciple, fondly attached to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṇgha. She did many good deeds. She was devoted to the path and dedicated to almsgiving and similar deeds of respect.
There was another family in Sāvatthi of equal rank but of dissenting views chose her in marriage. Her parents said, “Our daughter is a faithful follower, devoted to the Three Treasures, given to alms and other good works, but you hold dissenting views. And as you will not allow her to give alms or to hear the Dharma or to visit the monastery or to keep the moral law or to observe holy days as she pleases, we will not give her to you in marriage. You should choose a maiden from a family of views similar to yourselves.”
When their offer was rejected, they said, “When she comes to our house, your daughter can do everything as she pleases. We will not prevent her. Only grant us this boon.”
“Take her then,” they answered. So they celebrated the marriage festivity at an auspicious time and led her home.
She proved faithful in the discharge of her duties and to be a devoted wife. She rendered due service to her father-in-law and mother-in-law. One day she said to her husband, “I wish, my lord, to give alms to our family monks.”
“Very well, my dear, give them what you please.”
So one day she invited these monks, and making a great entertainment, she fed them with choice food. And taking a seat apart from them she said, “Holy sirs, this family is ignorant of the value of the Three Treasures. Well then, sirs, until this family understands the value of the Three Treasures, will you agree to receive your food here?” The monks assented and often ate their meals there.
Later she once again addressed her husband. “Sir, the monks come here often. Why do you not come to see them?”
On hearing this he said, “Very well, I will see them.”
On the next day she told him when the monks had finished their meal. He came and sat respectfully on one side, talking affably with the monks. Then the Captain of the Faith (Sāriputta) preached the Dharma to him. He was so charmed with the exposition of the faith and the deportment of the monks, that from that day forward he prepared mats for the elders to sit on. He strained water for them, and during the meal listened to the exposition of the Dharma. By and bye his dissenting views gave way. So one day the elder taught the Four Noble Truths to the man and his wife. And when the discourse ended, they both attained the fruition of the First Path (stream-entry). After that all of them, from his parents down to the hired servants, gave up their dissenting views and became devoted to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṇgha.
So one day this young girl said to her husband, “What, sir, have I to do with the household life? I wish to adopt the holy life.”
“Very well, my dear,” he said, “I, too, will become a monastic.”
And he conducted her with great pomp to sisterhood and had her ordained as a novice. Then he, too, went to the Master and begged to be ordained. The Master admitted him first to novice and afterwards to full orders. They both progressed on the path, and shortly thereafter they both became arahants.
One day a discussion arose in the Dharma Hall. They said, “Sirs, a certain woman by reason of her own faith and that of her husband became novices. And both of them, having adopted the holy life and progressing on the path, became arahants.”
The Master, when he came, asked what was the topic the monks were discussing. On hearing what it was, he said, “Monks, not only now did she set her husband free from the bonds of passion. Formerly, too, she freed even sages of old from the bonds of death.” And with these words he held his peace. But being pressed by them, he told them this story from the past.
Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was reborn as a young stag. He grew up to be a beautiful and graceful creature of the color of gold. His forefeet and hindfeet were covered, as it were, with a preparation of lac (a shiny varnish). His horns were like a silver wreath. His eyes resembled round jewels, and his mouth was like a ball of crimson wool. The doe that was his mate was also a handsome creature, and they lived happily and harmoniously together.
Many thousands of dappled deer followed in the herd of the Bodhisatta. While they were living in this way, a certain hunter set a snare in the deer drives. So one day the Bodhisatta, while leading his herd, entangled his foot in the snare. Thinking that he would break the noose, he tugged at it and cut the skin of his foot. Again he tugged it and hurt himself, and a third time he injured the tendon.
The noose penetrated to the very bone. Not being able to break the snare, the stag was so alarmed by the fear of death that he uttered a succession of cries. When they heard him, the deer fled in a panic. But the doe, as she ran, looked at the herd. Not seeing the Bodhisatta she thought, “This panic must certainly have something to do with my lord.” She ran in haste to him. And with many tears and lamentations she said, “My lord, you are very strong. Why can you not break the snare? Use your strength and break it.” And stirring him up in this way to make a great effort, she uttered the first stanza:
Oh Golden-foot, no effort spare
To loose yourself from tangled snare.
How could I joy, bereft of thee,
To range amidst the woodland free?
The Bodhisatta, on hearing this, responded in a second stanza:
I spare no effort, but in vain,
My liberty I cannot gain.
The more I struggle to get loose,
The sharper bites the tangled noose.
Then the doe said, “My lord, fear not. By my own power I will beg the hunter, and by giving up my own life I will gain yours in exchange.” And having comforted the Great Being, she embraced the blood-stained Bodhisatta.
Then the hunter approached. He had his sword and spear in hand as if destroying a flame at the beginning of a cycle. On seeing him, the doe said, “My lord, the hunter is coming. By my own power I will rescue you. Do not be afraid.” And having comforted the stag, she went to meet the hunter. She stood at a respectful distance, saluted him and said, “My lord, my husband is the color of gold. He is endowed with all the virtues, and he is the king of many thousands of deer.” And having sung the praises of the Bodhisatta, she begged for her own death if only the king of the herd might remain alive. And she repeated the third stanza:
Let on the earth a leafy bed,
Hunter, where we may fall, be spread.
And drawing from its sheath your sword,
Slay me and spare my precious lord.
Figure: “Slay me and spare my precious lord.”
The hunter, on hearing this, was struck with amazement. He said, “Even human beings do not give up their lives for their king, much less the beasts. What can this mean? This creature speaks with a sweet voice in the language of men. Today I will spare her life and that of her mate.” And greatly charmed with her, the hunter uttered the fourth stanza:
A beast that speaks with voice so bright,
Ne’er came before within my sight.
Rest now in peace, my gentle deer,
And cease, Oh Golden-foot, to fear.
The doe, seeing the Bodhisatta set at ease, was highly delighted. She returned thanks to the hunter and repeated the fifth stanza:
As I today rejoice to see
This mighty beast at liberty,
So, hunter, you did loose the trap,
Rejoice with all your fervent clap.
And the Bodhisatta thought, “This hunter has granted life to me and this doe and to many thousands of deer. He has been my refuge, and I ought to be a refuge to him.” And from a heart of supreme virtue, he thought, “One ought to make a proper return to one’s benefactor.” So he gave the hunter a magic jewel which he had found in their feeding ground, and he said, “Friend, from now on do not take the life of any creature. But with this jewel set up a household and maintain a wife and children and give alms and do other good works.” And having given him this directive, the stag disappeared in the forest.
The Master here ended his lesson and identified the birth: “At that time Channa was the hunter, this female novice was the doe, and I was the royal stag.”
(Channa was the Buddha’s charioteer when he was a “prince.”)
