Tittira Jātaka

Once upon a time during the reign of Brahmadatta, King of Benares, a world-renowned professor at Benares gave instruction in science to 500 young brahmins. One day he thought, “As long as I stay here, I meet with hindrances to the holy life, and my pupils are not perfected in their studies. I will retire into a forest home on the slopes of the Himālayas and carry on my teaching there.” He told his pupils, and, bidding them to bring sesame, husked rice, oil, garments and such, he went into the forest. There he built a hut of leaves and took up his residence close by the highway. His pupils, too, each built a hut for himself. Their families sent rice and such, and the natives of the country said, “A famous professor, they say, is living in such and such a place in the forest and giving lessons in science. They brought presents of rice, and the foresters also offered their gifts, while a certain man gave a milch cow and a calf to supply them with milk.

Now a lizard and her two young ones went to live in the hut of the teacher, and a lion and a tiger ministered to him. A partridge also lived there, and from hearing their master teach sacred texts to his pupils, the partridge got to know three Vedas. The young brahmins became very friendly with the bird. Bye and bye—before the youths had become proficient in the sciences—their master died. His pupils had his body burned. They set up a stupa of sand over his ashes, and with weeping and lamentation they adorned it with flowers.

The partridge asked them why they wept. “Our master,” they replied, “has died while our studies are still incomplete.” “If this is so, do not be distressed. I will teach you science.” “How do you know it?” “I used to listen to your master while he was teaching you, and I learned three Vedas by heart.” “Then will you teach us what you have learned.” The partridge said, “Well, listen.” And he expounded subtle points to them as easily as a stream flows down from a mountain height. The young brahmins were delighted and learned science from the accomplished partridge. And so the bird stood in the place of the renouned teacher and gave lectures in science.

The youths made him a golden cage and—fastening an awning over it—they served him with honey and parched grain in a golden dish. They gave him colored flowers, and they paid great honor to the bird. It was blazed abroad throughout all India that a partridge in a forest was instructing 500 young brahmins in sacred texts.

At that time men proclaimed a high festival. It was a gathering of people on a mountain top. The parents of the youths sent a message for their sons to come and see the festival. They told the partridge, and entrusting the learned bird and all the hermitage to the care of the lizard, they left for their home cities. At that moment a wicked ascetic was wandering about here and there, and he came to this spot. When he saw him, the lizard started a friendly conversation with him. He said, “In such and such a place you will find rice, oil, and the like. Boil some rice and enjoy yourself.” And so saying, he then went off in search of his own food. Early in the morning the wretch boiled his rice. He also killed and ate the two young lizards, making a dainty dish of them. At midday he killed and ate the learned partridge and the calf, and in the evening—no sooner did he see the cow had come home—than he killed her, too, and ate the flesh. Then he lay down grunting at the foot of a tree and fell asleep.

In the evening the lizard returned. And missing her young ones, she went about looking for them. A tree-sprite saw the lizard all a tremble because she could not find her young ones. Using her divine power, the tree-sprite stood in the hollow of the trunk of the tree and said, “Cease trembling, lizard. Your young ones and the partridge and the calf and cow have been killed by this wicked fellow. Give him a bite in the neck and bring about his death.” And talking with the lizard, the deity spoke the first stanza:

Your harmless offspring he did eat,

Though you did rice in plenty give.

Your teeth make in his flesh to meet,

Don’t let the wretch escape alive.

Then the lizard repeated two stanzas:

Filth does his greedy soul, like nurse’s garb, besmear,

His person all is proof against my fangs, I fear.

Flaws by the base ingrate are everywhere espied,

Not by the gift of worlds can he be satisfied.

The lizard thought, “This fellow will wake up and eat me,” and to save her own life, she fled.

Now the lion and the tiger were on very friendly terms with the partridge. Sometimes they used to come and see the partridge, and sometimes the partridge went and taught the Dharma to them. Today the lion said to the tiger, “It has been a long time since we saw the partridge. It must be seven or eight days. Go and bring back news of him.” The tiger readily agreed, and he arrived at the place the very moment that the lizard was running away. There he found the vile wretch sleeping. In his matted locks could be seen some feathers of the partridge, and nearby were the bones of the cow and calf. King tiger—seeing all this and missing the partridge from his golden cage thought—“These creatures must have been killed by this wicked fellow,” and he roused him with a kick. At the sight of the tiger the man was terribly frightened. Then the tiger asked, “Did you kill and eat these creatures?” “I neither killed nor ate them.” “Vile wretch, if you did not kill them, tell me who else would? And if you do not tell me, you are a dead man.” Frightened for his life he said, “Yes, sir, I did kill and eat the young lizards and the cow and the calf, but I did not kill the partridge.” And even though he protested, the tiger did not believe him. He asked, “From where did you come?” “My lord, I sold merchant’s wares for a living in the Kāliṅga country, and after trying one thing and another, I came here.” But when the man had told him everything that he had done, the tiger said, “You wicked fellow, if you did not kill the partridge, who else could have done so? Come, I will bring you before the lion, the king of beasts.” So the tiger went off, driving the man before him. When the lion saw the tiger bringing the man with him, he spoke the fourth stanza in the form of a question:

Why come in haste, Subāhu, are you here,

And why with you does this good youth appear?

What need for urgency is here, I pray?

Quick, tell me truly and without delay.

(Subāhu is the name of the tiger.)

On hearing this the tiger spoke the fifth stanza:

The partridge, sire, our very worthy friend,

I doubt, today has come to a bad end.

This fellow’s antecedents make me fear

We may ill news of our good partridge hear.

Then the lion spoke the sixth stanza:

What may the fellow’s antecedents be,

And what the crimes that he confessed to thee,

To make you doubt that some misfortune may

Have fallen on the learned bird today?

Then in answer to him king tiger repeated the remaining verses:

As peddler thro’ Kāliṅga land

Rough roads he travelled, staff in hand.

With acrobats he has been found,

And harmless beast in toils has bound.

With gamblers, too, has often played,

And snares for little birds has laid.

In crowds with bludgeon-sticks has fought,

And gain by measuring corn has sought.

False to his vows, in midnight fray

Wounded, he washed the blood away.

His hands he burned thro’ being bold

To snatch at food too hot to hold.

Such was the life I heard he led,

Such are the crimes upon his head,

And since we know the cow is dead,

And feathers in his locks appear,

I greatly for friend partridge fear.

The lion asked the man, “Did you kill the learned partridge?” “Yes, my lord, I did.” The lion—on hearing him speak the truth—was anxious to let him go. But king tiger said, “The villain deserves to die,” and then and there he gashed him with his teeth. Then he dug a pit and threw the body into it. When the young brahmins returned home, not finding the partridge, they left the place with weeping and lamentation.