Culladhanuggaha Jātaka

Once upon a time during the reign of Brahmadatta, King of Benares, the Bodhisatta was reborn as Sakka (King of the Tāvatiṃsa heaven, which is the highest and most important deva realm). At that time a certain young brahmin from Benares completed his studies at Takkasilā University, and having attained proficiency in archery, he was known as the clever Little Archer. His master thought, “This young man has acquired skill equal to my own,” and he gave him his daughter in marriage.

The clever Little Archer married her, and wishing to return to Benares, he set out on the road. Halfway on his journey, they came to a place where an elephant had laid waste to a village. No man dared to go there. But the clever Little Archer, even though the people tried to stop him, took his wife and climbed up to the entrance of the forest. When he was in the midst of the wood, the elephant rose up to attack him. The Archer shot him in the forehead with an arrow that pierced him through and through. It came out at the back of his head, and the elephant fell down dead on the spot. The clever Archer, after making sure this place was secure, went on to another wood. And there 50 robbers were threatening the road.

At this spot, too, men tried to stop him. Nevertheless, he climbed a hill until he found the place where the robbers had killed a deer. They had roasted the deer and were eating the venison. The robbers saw him approach with his gaily attired wife, and they tried to capture him. But the robber chief was skilled in reading a man’s character. He gave one look at him and recognized him as a distinguished hero, so he did not try to fight him.

The clever Archer sent his wife to these robbers, saying, “Go and ask them to give us some meat and bring it to me.” So she went and said, “Give me some meat.” The robber chief said, “He is a noble fellow,” and he told his men to give the meat to her. The robbers said, “What! Is he to eat our roast meat?” So they gave her a piece of raw meat. The Archer, having a good opinion of himself, was angry with the robbers for offering him only raw meat. The robbers said, “What! Is he the only man, and are we merely women?” They threatened him and rose up to attack him.

The Archer wounded and struck to the ground 49 robbers with the same number of arrows. But he had no arrows left with which to kill the robber chief. There had been 50 arrows in his quiver. He had used one of them to kill the elephant, and he had used the rest to kill the robbers. So he knocked down the robber chief. He sat on his chest. He told his wife to get his sword and to cut off the robber chief’s head. But at that moment there arose in her a passion for the robber chief. So she placed the the sword in his hand and gave only the sheath to her husband. The robber chief grabbed the sword and cut off the head of the Archer.

After killing her husband, he took the woman with him. As they traveled together he asked about her origins. “I am the daughter,” she said, “of a world-famous professor at Takkasilā.”

“How did he get you for his wife?” he said.

“My father,” she said, “was so pleased with his accomplishments that he gave me to him for his wife. And because I fell in love with you, I let you kill my lawful husband.”

The robber chief thought, “This woman has killed her lawful husband. As soon as she sees some other man, she will treat me in the same way. I must get rid of her.”

As they traveled along, he saw that their path was cut off by what was usually a poor little shallow stream, but now it was flooded. He said, “My dear, there is a savage crocodile in this river. What are we to do?”

“My lord,” she said, “take all the ornaments I wear and make them into a bundle in your upper robe. Carry them to the far side of the river, and then come back and take me across.”

“Very well,” he said. He took all of her adornments and went down to the stream. He hurried over to the other bank. Then he left her behind and fled.

On seeing this she cried, "My lord, you go as if you are leaving me. Why do you do this? Come back and take me with you.” And addressing him she uttered the first stanza:

Since you have gained the other side,

With all my goods in bundle tied,

Return as quickly as may be

And carry me across with thee.

The robber, on hearing her as he stood on the far bank, repeated the second stanza:

Your fancy, lady, ever roves

From well-tried faith to lighter loves,

Me, too, you would soon long betray,

Should I not now flee far away.

The lady screamed aloud while he ran away with all her adornments. Such was the fate that overtook the poor fool through excess passion. And being quite helpless, she went over to a clump of cassia plants and sat there weeping.

At that moment Sakka, looking down upon the world, saw her overcome with desire and weeping for the loss of both her husband and her lover. Thinking he would go and rebuke her and put her to shame, he took with him Mātali and Pañcasikha (his charioteer and a “gandharva,” a celestial being and musician). He went and stood on the bank of the river and said, “Mātali, you become a fish, Pañcasikha, you change into a bird, and I will become a jackal. I will put a piece of meat in my mouth. Then I will go and sit in front of this woman, and when you see me there, you, Mātali, are to leap up out of the water and fall in front of me. I will drop the piece of meat I have in my mouth and spring up to seize the fish. At that moment, you, Pañcasikha, are to pounce upon the piece of meat. Then fly up into the air, and you, Mātali, are to fall back into the water.”

In this way Sakka instructed them. They said, “Good, my lord.” So Mātali changed into a fish, Pañcasikha into a bird, and Sakka became a jackal. And taking a piece of meat in his mouth, he went and placed himself in front of the woman. The fish leaped up out of the water and fell before the jackal. The jackal dropping the piece of meat he held in his mouth and sprang up to catch the fish. The fish jumped up and fell into the water, and the bird seized the piece of meat and flew up into the air. The jackal thus lost both the fish and the meat and sat sulkily looking towards the clump of cassia. The woman saw this and said, “Because he was too greedy, he did not get either the meat or the fish.” And then she saw the point of the trick. She laughed heartily.

The jackal, on hearing this, uttered the third stanza:

Who makes the cassia thicket ring

With laughter, though none dance or sing,

Or clap their hands, good time to keep?

Fair one, laugh not, when you should weep.

On hearing this, she repeated the fourth stanza:

O silly jackal, you must wish

You had not lost both flesh and fish.

Poor fool! well may you grieve to see

What comes of your stupidity.

Then the jackal repeated the fifth stanza:

Another’s faults are plainly seen,

’Tis hard to see one’s own, I glean.

I think you too must count the cost,

When spouse and lover both are lost.

On hearing his words she spoke this stanza:

King jackal, ’tis just as you say,

So I will go on far away,

And seek another wedded love

And strive a faithful wife to prove.

Then Sakka, King of heaven, hearing the words of this vicious and unchaste woman, repeated the final stanza:

He that would steal a pot of clay

Would steal a brass one any day.

So she who was her husband’s bane

Will be as bad or worse again.

Thus did Sakka put her to shame and brought her to repent. And then Sakka returned to his own realm.