Jataka 385
Nandiyamiga Jātaka
Nandiyamiga's Story
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
This is a story about reverence and respect for one’s parents. I know that this is a difficult topic for many people. Our relationships with our parents are often imperfect. But there is a certain nobility in having respect for our elders.
I have experienced both sides of this equation. I am from an Anglo culture where elders are not highly regarded. But I live in New Mexico, and Hispanic and Native American culture have great respect for their elders. I sometimes find it a little jarring to be treated so roughly in one culture, and with such kindness in another.
“Will you go to the King’s Park?” The Master told this story while he was at Jetavana. It is about a monk who supported his mother. He asked the brother, “Is it true that you support lay folk?” “Yes, lord.” “Who are they?” “My father and mother, lord.” “Well done, well done, brother. You keep up the custom of the wise people of old, for they, too, even when born as animals, gave their lives for their parents.” And then he told them this story from the past.
Once upon a time when the Kosala King was reigning over the Kosalas in the Sāketa country in the city of Oudh, the Bodhisatta was born as a deer. When he grew up, he was named “Nandiyamiga” (literally, Nandiya the deer). He was excellent in character and in his conduct, and he cared for his father and mother.
The Kosala King loved to go hunting, and every day he went to hunt ẉith a great retinue. He pursued his hunting with such fervor that his people could not carry on their farming and their trades. The people gathered together and consulted with each other, saying, “Sirs, this King of ours is destroying our trades. Our home life is perishing. What if we were to enclose the Añjanavana park, put in a gate, dig a tank and sow grass there. Then we will go into the forest with sticks and clubs in our hands, beat the thickets, and drive the deer into the park like cows into a pen. Then we would close the gate, send word to the King about what we have done, and then go about our business.”
“That is what we should do,” they said. And so with one will they made the park ready. And then entering the wood, they enclosed a space of a league (about 3 miles) each way.
At the time Nandiya had taken his father and mother into a little thicket and was lying on the ground. The people arrived just then with various shields and weapons in their hands. They encircled the thicket arm to arm. Some entered the thicket looking for deer. Nandiya saw them and thought, “It is good that I should abandon my life today and give it for my parents.” So rising and saluting his parents he said, “Father and mother, these men will see all three of us if they enter this thicket. There is only one way that you can survive. Your life is more important than mine. I will give you the gift of your life. Hide in the skirts of the thicket. I will walk out, and they will think there can only be one deer in this little thicket. Then leave once they are gone.
So he got their permission and stood ready to run. As soon as the thicket was beaten by the people, he came out. And thinking that there could be only one deer there, they did not enter. Nandiya went among the other deer, and the people drove them along into the park. Then they closed the gate. They told the King and went back to their own homes.
From that time on, the King always went there and shot a deer. Then he either took it and went away, or sent for it and had it fetched. The deer arranged their turns, and he to whom the turn came stood on one side. They took him away when he was shot.
Nandiya drank water from the tank and ate the grass, but his turn did not come yet. Then after many days his parents longed to see him and thought, “Our son Nandiya, king of deer, was as strong as an elephant and in perfect health. If he is alive he will certainly leap the fence and come to see us. We will send him word.” So they stood near the road, and seeing a brahmin, they asked in human voice, “Sir, where are you going?” “To Sāketa,” he said.” So sending a message to their son, they spoke the first stanza:
Will you go to the King’s Park, brahmin, when Oudh you’re travelling through?
Find out our dear son Nandiya and tell him our message true:
“Your father and mother are stricken in years and their hearts do yearn for you.”
The brahmin replied, “It is well,” and accepted. He went to Sāketa, and on the next day, he entered the park. He asked “Who is Nandiya?” The deer went up to him and said, “I am Nandiya.” The brahmin gave him the message. Nandiya, hearing it, said, “I might go, brahmin. I might certainly leap the fence and go. But I have enjoyed regular food and drink from the King, and this puts me in his debt. Besides, I have lived for a long time among these deer. It is improper for me to go away without doing good to this King and to them, or without showing my courage. When my turn comes, I will do good to them and gladly go.” And so explaining this, he spoke two stanzas:
I owe the King my daily drink and food.
I cannot go till I have made it good.
To the King’s arrows I’ll expose my side.
Then see my mother and be justified.
The brahmin—hearing this—went away.
On the day when his turn came, the King arrived with a great retinue into the park. The Bodhisatta stood on one side. The King said, “I will shoot the deer.” He fitted a sharp arrow to the bow. The Bodhisatta did not run away as other animals do when they are afraid of death. But fearless and making charity his guide, he stood firm, exposing his side with mighty ribs. The King was overcome by love and could not discharge the arrow. The Bodhisatta said, “Great King, why do you not shoot the arrow? Shoot!”
“King of deer, I cannot.”
“Then see the merit of the virtuous, oh great King.”
Then the King, pleased with the Bodhisatta, dropped his bow and said, “This senseless length of wood knows your merit. Shall I who have sense and am a man not know it? Forgive me. I give you security.”
“Great King, you give me security, but what will this herd of deer in the park do?”
“I give it to them too.”
So the Bodhisatta, having gained security for all of the deer in the park, for birds in the air and fishes in the water—in the way described in the Nigrodha Birth (Jātaka 12)—established the King in the Five Precepts. He said, “Great King, it is good for a king to rule a kingdom by abandoning the ways of wrongdoing, abiding by the ten kingly virtues (generosity, morality, renunciation, honesty, gentleness, asceticism, non-violence, patience, uprightness) and acting with righteousness.
Alms, morals, charity, justice and penitence,
Peace, mildness, mercy, meekness, patience.
These virtues planted in my heart I feel,
Then springs up love and perfect inward heal.
Figure: “…see the merit of the virtuous, oh great King.”
With these words he showed forth the kingly virtues in the form of a stanza, and after staying some days with the King, he sent a golden drum around the town, proclaiming the gift of security to all beings. And then saying, “Oh King, be watchful,” Nandiya went to see his parents.
Of old in Oudh a king of deer I might,
By name and nature, Nandiya, delight.
To kill me in his deer park came the King,
His bow was bent, his arrow on the string.
To the King’s arrow I exposed my side,
Then saw my mother and was justified.
These were the stanzas inspired by Perfect Wisdom.
At the end of the story, the Master taught the Four Noble Truths. At the end of the teaching, the monk who supported his mother was established in the First Path (stream-entry). Then the Master identified the birth: “At that time the father and mother were members of the royal family, the brahmin was Sāriputta, the King was Ānanda, and I was the deer.”
