Jataka 419
Sulasā Jātaka
The Story of Sulasā
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
While I am not sure that the story of a woman killing a man who threatens her as exactly uplifting, the point of the story is more about the woman’s wit in saving herself. Keep in mind that this was ancient India where women were treated like cattle, so a story about a woman using her wits would have been pretty radical.
“Here is a golden necklace.” The Master told this story while he was living at Jetavana. It is about a female servant of Anāthapiṇḍika. The story is that one feast day, when she was going with a number of fellow servants to a pleasure garden, she asked her mistress Paṇṇalakkhaṇadevī for an ornament to wear. Her mistress gave her an ornament of her own. It was worth 100,000 gold pieces. She put it on and went along with the other servants to the pleasure garden. There a certain thief coveted the ornament, and with the intention of killing her and taking the ornament, he began talking to her. And in the garden he gave her fish, meat, and strong drink. “He does it, I suppose, because he is attracted to me,” she thought.
In the evening when the others lay down to rest after their sports, she rose and went to him. He said, “Mistress, this place is too public. Let us go somewhere more private.” She thought, “Anything can be done here. He must be anxious to kill me and take what I am wearing. I’ll teach him a lesson.” So she said, “Master, I am thirsty because of the strong drink. Get me some water.” And taking him to a well, she asked him to draw some water, handing him the rope and bucket. The thief let down the bucket. Then as he was stooping to draw up the water, the girl—who was very strong—pushed him hard with both hands and threw him into the well. “You won't die that way,” she said, and so she threw a large brick on his head. He died on the spot.
When she came back to the town and gave her mistress the ornament, she said, “I was very nearly been killed today for that ornament,” and she told the whole story. The mistress told Anāthapiṇḍika, and he told the Tathāgata. The Master said, “Householder, this is not the first time that servant girl has been endowed with wits, rising to the occasion. She has also done so before. And it is not the first time she killed that man. She did that once before, as well.” And at Anāthapiṇḍika's request, he told this story from the past.
Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, there was a beautiful woman in the town. She was called Sulasā. She had a train of 500 courtesans. Their price was 1,000 gold pieces a night.
In the same city there was a robber named Sattuka. He was as strong as an elephant. He used to enter rich men’s houses at night and plunder them at will. The townsmen assembled and complained about this to the King. The King ordered the city watch to post bands here and there, have the robber caught, and to cut off his head.
When they caught him, they bound his hands behind his back and led him to the place of execution, beating him in every square with whips. The news that he had been taken excited the whole city. Sulasā was standing at a window, and looking down on the street she saw the robber. She fell in love with him at first sight and thought, “If I can free that stout fighting man, I can give up this bad life of mine and live respectably with him.” In the same way as is described in the Kaṇavera Birth (Jatakā 318) she gained his freedom by sending 1,000 gold pieces to the chief constable of the city. Then she lived with him in delight and harmony.
After three or four months the robber thought, “I will never be able to stay in this one place. But I can’t leave empty handed. Sulasā’s ornaments are worth 100,000 gold pieces. I will kill her and take them.” So one day he said to her, “Dear, when I was being hauled along by the King’s men, I promised an offering to a tree deity on a mountaintop. She is now threatening me because I have not paid it. Let us make an offering.” “Very well, husband. Prepare and send it.” “Dear, it will not do to send it. Let us both go and present it, wearing all our ornaments and with great fanfare.” “Very well, husband. We will do so.”
He had her prepare the offering, and when they reached the mountain foot, he said, “Dear, the deity—seeing this crowd of people—will not accept the offering. Let us two go up alone and present it.” She consented, and he made her carry the container. He was armed to the teeth. And when they reached the top, he set the offering at the foot of a tree which grew beside a precipice 100 times as high as a man. He said, “Dear, I have not come to present the offering. I have come with the intention of killing you and going away with all your ornaments. Take them all off and make a bundle of them in your outer garment.” “Husband, why would you kill me?” “For your money.” “Husband, remember the good I have done for you. When you were being hauled along in chains, I gave up a rich man’s son for you, and I paid a large sum and saved your life. And even though I might get 1,000 gold pieces a day, I never look at another man. Such a benefactress I am to you. Do not kill me, I will give you much money and be your slave.” With these entreaties she spoke the first stanza:
Here is a golden necklace, and emeralds and pearls,
Take all and welcome. Give me place among your servant girls.
Then Sattuka spoke the second stanza in accordance with his purpose:
Fair lady, lay your jewels down and do not weep so sore.
I’ll kill you, else I can’t be sure you’ll give me all your store.
Sulasā’s wits rose to the occasion. She thought, “This robber will not give me my life. But I’ll take his life first by finding a way to throw him down the precipice.” She spoke the two stanzas:
Within my years of sense, within my conscious memory,
No man on earth, I do protest, have I loved more than thee.
Come hither, for my last salute, receive my last embrace,
For never more upon the earth shall we meet face to face.
Sattuka did not suspect her purpose, so he said, “Very well, dear. Come and embrace me.” Sulasā walked around him in respectful salutation three times, kissed him, and said, “Now, husband, I am going to make obeisance to you on all four sides.” She put her head on his foot, did obeisance at his sides, and went behind him as if to do obeisance there. Then with the strength of an elephant she took him by the buttock and threw him head over heels down that place of destruction 100 times as high as a man. He was crushed to pieces and died on the spot. Seeing this deed, the deity who lived on the mountain top spoke these stanzas:
Wisdom at times is not confined to men,
A woman can chew wisdom now and then.
Wisdom at times is not confined to men,
Women are quick in counsel now and then.
How quick and keen she was the way to know,
She slew him like a deer with full-stretched bow.
He that to great occasion fails to rise
Falls, like that dull thief from the precipice.
One prompt a crisis in his fate to see,
Like her, is saved from threatening enemy.
Figure: One giant leap for man
So Sulasā killed the robber. When she descended from the mountain and went back to her attendants, they asked where her husband was. “Don't ask me,” she said. And mounting her chariot, she went back to the city.
After the lesson, the Master identified the birth: “At that time the two people then were the same two as now, and I was the deity.”
