Ghata Jātaka

Once upon a time, a King named Mahākaṃsa reigned in Uttarāpatha in the Kaṃsa district in the city of Asitañjanā. He had two sons—Kaṃsa and Upakaṃsa—and one daughter named Devagabbhā. On her birthday, the brahmins who foretold the future said of her, “A son born of this girl will one day destroy the country and the lineage of Kaṃsa.” The King was too fond of the girl to put her to death, but leaving her brothers to settle the matter, he lived out his days, and then he died.

When he died, Kaṃsa became the King, and Upakaṃsa was his Viceroy. They thought that there would be an outcry were they to put their sister to death, so they resolved not to give her in marriage to anyone, to keep her husbandless, and watch. And they built a single round tower for her to live in.

Now she had a serving woman named Nandagopā. The woman’s husband, Andhakaveṇhu, was the servant who watched her. At that time a King named Mahāsāgara reigned in Upper Madhurā. He had two sons, Sāgara and Upasāgara. At their father’s death, Sāgara became the King, and Upasāgara was his Viceroy. This lad was Upakaṃsa’s friend. They had been brought up together, and they were trained by the same teacher. But Upasāgara was involved in mischief with the women in his brother’s household, and being discovered, he an away to Upakaṃsa in the Kaṃsa estate. There Upakaṃsa introduced him to King Kaṃsa, and the King treated him with great honor.

One day when Upasāgara was waiting upon the King, he noticed the tower where Devagabbhā lived. When he asked who lived there, he heard the story and instantly fell in love with the girl. And one day Devagabbhā saw him as he went with Upakaṃsa to wait upon the King. She asked who that was. She was told by Nandagopā that it was Upasāgara, son of the great King Sāgara. And likewise, she, too, fell in love with him. Upasāgara gave a present to Nandagopā, saying, “Sister, can you arrange a meeting for me with Devagabbhā.” “Easy enough,” said Nandagopā, and he told the girl about it. Since she was already in love with him, she agreed at once.

One night Nandagopā arranged a meeting. She brought Upasāgara up into the tower, and there he stayed with Devagabbhā. And by their constant love making, Devagabbhā conceived a child. By and bye it became known that she was with child, and the brothers questioned Nandagopā. She made them promise her pardon, and then told them the ins and outs of the matter. When they heard the story, they thought, “We cannot put our sister to death. If she bears a daughter, we will spare the baby. But if she has a son, we will kill him.” And they gave Devagabbhā to Upasāgara to be his wife.

When the time came for the baby to be delivered, she gave birth to a daughter. When the brothers heard this, they were delighted. They gave her the name Lady Añjanā. And they allotted a village named Govaḍḍhamāna to them for their estate. Upasāgara took Devagabbhā and lived with her in the village of Govaḍḍhamāna.

Some time later, Devagabbhā was again with child, and on that very day Nandagopā conceived also. When their time came, they gave birth on the same day. Devagabbhā had a son and Nandagopā had a daughter. But Devagabbhā, in fear that her son might be put to death, sent him secretly to Nandagopā, and received Nandagopā’s daughter in return. They told the brothers of the birth. “Was it a son or daughter?” they asked. “Daughter,” was the reply. “Then see that it is properly raised,” the brothers said. In the same manner Devagabbhā gave birth to ten sons, and Nandagopā gave birth to ten daughters. The sons lived with Nandagopā and the daughters with Devagabbhā, and not a soul knew their secret.

The eldest son of Devagabbhā was named Vāsu-deva (another name for Krishna), the second Baladeva (also “Balarama,” Krishna’s brother), the third Canda-deva (Moon), the fourth Suriya-deva (Sun), the fifth Aggi-deva (Fire), the sixth Varuṇa-deva (heaven), the seventh Ajjuna (also “Arjuna” or “Arjun,” a species of tree), the eighth Pajjuna (also Parjanya, rain cloud), the ninth Ghata-paṇḍita (Ghee sage?), and the tenth Aṁkura (Sprout). They were well known as the sons of Andhakaveṇhu the servitor, the Ten Slave Brothers.

In the course of time, they grew to be big, very strong, fierce, and ferocious. They took to plundering. They even went so far as to plunder a present being conveyed to the King. The people crowded into the King’s court yard, complaining, “Andhakaveṇhu’s sons, the Ten Brothers, are plundering the land!” So the King summoned Andhakaveṇhu. He rebuked him for permitting his sons to plunder. In the same way complaints were lodged three or four times, and each time the King threatened him. In fear for his life and hoping for a promise of safety from the King, he told the secret, that these were not his sons, but they were the sons of Upasāgara.

The King was alarmed. “How can we capture them?” he asked his courtiers. They replied, “Sire, they are wrestlers. Let us hold a wrestling match in the city, and when they enter the ring, we will catch them and put them to death.” So they sent for two wrestlers, Cānura and Muṭṭhika and made a proclamation throughout the city by the beat of a drum, “that in seven days there would be a wrestling match.”

The wrestling ring was prepared in front of the King’s gate. There was an enclosure for the games. The ring was decked out gaily, and the flags of victory were unfurled. The whole city was in a whirl. Line after line rose in the seats, tier above tier. Cānura and Muṭṭhika went down into the ring. They strutted about, jumping, shouting, and clapping their hands. The Ten Brothers came, too. On their way they plundered the washer men’s street. They wore robes of bright colors. They stole perfume from the perfumers’ shops and wreaths of flowers from the florists. And with their bodies all anointed, garlands upon their heads, and earrings in their ears, they strutted into the ring, jumping, shouting, and clapping their hands.

At the moment, Cānura was walking about and clapping his hands. Baladeva, seeing him, thought, “I won't touch that fellow with my hand!” So he grabbed a thick strap from the elephant stable, and jumping and shouting, he threw it round Cānura’s belly. He joined the two ends together, tied them tight, and then lifting him up, he swung him around over his head and threw him on the ground, rolling him outside the arena. When Cānura was dead, the King sent for Muṭṭhika. Up got Muṭṭhika, jumping, shouting, and clapping his hands. Baladeva hit him and crushed in his eyes. And as he cried out—"I’m no wrestler! I’m no wrestler!” Baladeva tied his hands together, saying, “Wrestler or no wrestler, it is all the same to me.” He threw him down to the ground, killing him, and then he threw him outside the arena.

Muṭṭhika in his death-throes, uttered a prayer: “May I become a goblin and devour him!” And he, indeed, became a goblin in a forest by the name of Kāḷamattiya. The King said, “Take away the Ten Slave Brothers.” At that moment, Vāsudeva threw a wheel (a “chakram,” a circular weapon with a sharp edge) that lopped off the heads of the two brothers (the King and his brother). The crowd, terrified, fell at his feet, and begged him to be their protector.

Thus the Ten Brothers, having killed their two uncles, assumed sovereignty over the city of Asitañjanā, and they brought their parents to live there.

They now set out, intending to conquer all India. They arrived at the city of Ayojjhā, the seat of King Kāḷasena. They surrounded the city, destroyed the jungle around it. And breaching the wall, they took the King prisoner. They took sovereignty of the place into their hands.

Then they proceeded to Dvāravatī. Now this city had the sea on one side and the mountains on the other side. They say that the place was haunted by a goblin. A goblin was stationed on watch. When he saw his enemies, he would take the shape of an ass and bray as the ass brays. At once, by goblin magic the whole city would rise into the air and deposit itself on an island in the midst of the sea. When the foe was gone, it would come back and settle in its own place again. This time, as usual, as soon as the ass saw those Ten Brothers coming, he brayed with the bray of an ass. The city rose up into the air and settled on the island. Seeing no city, they turned back, and the city returned to its own place. The Brothers returned, and once again the the ass did as before. And so they were unable to take control of the city of Dvāravatī.

So they visited the sage Kaṇha-dīpāyana and said, “Sir, we have failed to capture the kingdom of Dvāravatī. Tell us how to do it.” He said, “There is an ass walking about in a ditch there. He brays when he sees an enemy, and immediately the city rises in the air. You must clasp hold of his feet, and that is the way to accomplish your end.” They took leave of the ascetic, and all ten of them went to the ass. Falling at his feet, they said, “Sir, we have no help but you! When we come to take the city, do not bray!” The ass replied, “I cannot help braying. But if four of you bring great iron ploughs and dig great iron posts in the ground at the four gates of the city, when the city begins to rise, if you fix a chain of iron fastened to the plough on the post, the city will not be able to rise.” They thanked him. He did not utter a sound while they got the ploughs, fixed the posts in the ground at the four gates of the city, and stood waiting. Then the ass brayed, the city began to rise, but those who stood at the four gates with the four ploughs, having fixed to the posts iron chains which were fastened to the ploughs, the city could not rise. Then the Ten Brothers entered the city, killed the King, and took his kingdom.

In this way they conquered all India. They slew all the Kings in 63,000 cities by the wheel (“chakram”). They lived at Dvāravatī, dividing the kingdom into ten shares. But they had forgotten their sister, the Lady Añjanā. So “Let us make eleven shares of it,” they said. But Aṁkura answered, “Give her my share. I will go into some business for a living. But you must pay my taxes each in your own country.” They agreed. They gave his share to his sister, and with her they lived in Dvāravatī, nine Kings, with Aṁkura engaged in trade.

In course of time, they were all blessed with sons and with daughters. After a long time went by, their parents died. At that period, they say that a man’s life was 20,000 years long.

Then one dearly beloved son of the great King Vāsudeva died. The King, half dead with grief, neglected everything. He lay lamenting and clutching the frame of his bed. Then Ghatapaṇḍita thought to himself, “No one is able to soothe my brother’s grief except for me. I will find some means of soothing his grief for him.” So assuming the appearance of madness, he paced through the whole city, gazing up at the sky and crying out, “Give me a hare! Give me a hare!” All the city was excited. “Ghatapaṇḍita has gone mad!” they said. Just then a courtier named Rohiṇeyya went into the presence of King Vāsudeva, and started a conversation with him by reciting the first stanza:

“Black Kanha, rise! why close the eyes to sleep? why lying there

Your own born brother—see, the winds away his wit do bear,

Away his wisdom! Ghata raves, you of the long black hair!”

When the courtier had spoken, the Master—perceiving that he had risen—uttered the second stanza in his Perfect Wisdom:

“So soon the long-haired Kesava heard Rohiṇeyya’s cry,

He rose all anxious and distressed for Ghata’s misery.”

Up rose the King. He came quickly down from his chamber. And proceeding to Ghatapaṇḍita, he grabbed hold of him with both hands. And speaking to him, he uttered the third stanza:

“In maniac fashion, why do you pace Dvāraka all through,

And cry, ‘Hare, hare!’ Say, who is there has taken a hare from you?”

To these words of the King, he only answered by repeating the same cry over and over again. But the King recited two more stanzas:

“Be it of gold, or made of jewels fine,

Or brass, or silver, as you may incline,

Shell, stone, or coral, I declare

I’ll make a hare.

“And many other hares there be, that range the woodland wide,

They shall be brought, I’ll have them caught. Say, which do you decide?”

On hearing the King’s words, the wise man replied by repeating the sixth stanza:

“I crave no hare of earthly kind, but that within the moon,

O bring him down, O Kesava! I ask no other boon!”

(In India what we call the “Man in the Moon” is called the “Hare in the Moon.”)

“Undoubtedly my brother has gone mad,” the King thought when he heard this. In great grief, he repeated the seventh stanza:

“In truth, my brother, you will die, if you make such a prayer,

And ask for what no man may pray, the moon’s celestial hare.”

Ghatapaṇḍita, on hearing the King’s answer, stood stock still, and he said, “My brother, you know that if a man prays for the hare in the moon and cannot get it, he will die. Then why do you mourn for your dead son?”

“If, Kanha, this you know, and can console another’s woe,

Why are you mourning still the son who died so long ago?”

Then he went on, standing there in the street: “And I, brother, pray only for what exists. But you are mourning for what does not exist.” Then he instructed him by repeating two more stanzas:

“’My son is born, let him not die!’ No man nor deity

Can have that boon. Then wherefore pray for what can never be?

“No mystic charm, nor magic roots, nor herbs, nor money spent,

Can bring to life again that ghost whom, Kanha, you lament.”

The King, on hearing this, answered, “Your intent was good, dear one. You did it to take away my trouble.” Then in praise of Ghatapaṇḍita he repeated four stanzas:

“Men had I, wise and excellent to give me good advice,

But how hath Ghatapaṇḍita opened this day mine eyes!

“Blazing was I, as when a man pours oil upon a fire,

You did bring water, and did quench the pain of my desire.

“Grief for my son, a cruel shaft was lodged within my heart.

You have consoled me for my grief, and taken out the dart.

“That dart extracted, free from pain, tranquil, and calm I keep,

Hearing, O youth, your words of truth, no more I grieve or weep.”

And lastly:

“Thus do the merciful, and thus they who are wise indeed,

They free from pain, as Ghata here his eldest brother freed.”

This is the stanza of Perfect Wisdom.

In this manner Vāsudeva was consoled by Prince Ghata.

After the lapse of a long time, during which he ruled his kingdom, the sons of the Ten Brothers thought, “They say that Kaṇhadīpāyana is possessed of divine insight. Let us put him to the test.” So they engaged a young lad. They dressed him up, and by binding a pillow to his belly, they made it appear as though he were with child. Then they brought him into his presence and asked him, “When, sir, will this woman be delivered?” The ascetic perceived that the time had come for the destruction of the Ten Royal Brothers. So, looking to see what the length of his own life should be, he perceived that he must die that very day. He said, “Young sirs, what is this man to you?” “Answer us,” they replied persistently. He answered, “On the seventh day from now this man will bring forth a knot of acacia wood. With that he will destroy the lineage of Vāsudeva. This will happen even if you take the piece of wood and burn it and cast the ashes into the river.” “Ah, false ascetic!” they said. “A man can never bring forth a child!” and they tied him up with rope and killed him at once.

The Kings sent for the young men and asked them why they had killed the ascetic. When they heard the story, they were frightened. They set a guard on the young lad. On the seventh day he voided from his belly a knot of acacia wood. They burned it and cast the ashes into the river. The ashes floated down the river and stuck on a side gate. And from there sprung an eraka plant (a type of grass).

One day, the Kings decided to go and enjoy themselves in the water. So they came to this side gate. They had a great pavilion erected there, and in that gorgeous pavilion they ate and drank. Then in sport they began to grab each other by the hand and foot, and dividing into two factions, they became very quarrelsome. At last one of them, finding nothing better for a club, picked a leaf from the eraka plant. When he picked it, it became a club of acacia wood in his hand. He used this club to beat many people. Then the others plucked leaves from the eraka also, and those, too, became clubs. They used them to beat each other until they were dead. As they were destroying each other, only four of them—Vāsudeva, Baladeva, the lady Añjanā—their sister—and the chaplain—mounted a chariot and fled away. The rest of them perished, every one.

Now the four who fled away in the chariot came to the forest of Kāḷamattikā. There Muṭṭhika the Wrestler had been born, in accordance with his prayer to be a goblin. When he saw Baladeva, he created a village. And taking the appearance of a wrestler, he started jumping about and shouting, “Who’s for a fight?” snapping his fingers all the while. Baladeva, as soon as he saw him, said, “Brother, I’ll try a fall with this fellow.” Vāsudeva tried his best to dissuade him, but he got down from the chariot, went up to him, and snapped his fingers. The other seized him in the hollow of his hand and gobbled him up like a radish bulb.

Vāsudeva, perceiving that he was dead, traveled on all night long with his sister and the chaplain. At sunrise they arrived at a frontier village. He lay down in the shelter of a bush. He sent his sister and the chaplain into the village with orders to cook some food and bring it to him. A huntsman—whose name was Jarā, or “Old Age”—noticed the bush shaking. “A pig, sure enough,” he thought. He threw a spear and pierced his feet. “Who has wounded me?” cried out Vāsudeva. The huntsman, finding that he had wounded a man, ran off in terror. The King, recovering his wits, got up and called the huntsman: “Uncle, come here, don’t be afraid!” When he came back, Vāsudeva asked, “Who are you?” “My name is Jarā, my lord.” “Ah,” thought the King, “whom Old Age wounds will die, so the ancients used to say. Without doubt I must die today.” Then he said, “Fear not, uncle. Come and bind my wound.” Once the wound was bound, the King let him go. Great pain came upon him. He could not eat the food that the others brought. Then addressing himself to them, Vāsudeva said, “This day I am to die. You are delicate creatures and have no way to earn a living. So learn this science from me.” So saying, he taught them a science and let them go. Then he died immediately.

Thus, except for the lady Añjanā, they perished every one, it is said.