Amba Jātaka

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was King of Benares, his chaplain’s family was wiped out by malaria. Only one son was able to escape unharmed. He went to Takkasilā University, and under a world-renowned teacher, he learned all the arts and accomplishments. Then he bade his teacher farewell and departed with the intention to travel to different lands. On his travels he arrived at a frontier village. Near to this was a great village of outcast Caṇḍālas (a low social class).

At that time the Bodhisatta lived in this village as a learned sage. He knew a charm that could make fruit ripen out of season. In the early morning he would take his carrying pole and go forth from that village until he reached a mango tree that grew in the forest. And standing seven feet away, he would recite a charm and then throw a handful of water on the tree. In a twinkling the dried leaves would fall, new leaves would sprout, flowers blew and flowers fell, and the mango fruits would swell out. In but one moment they were ripe, sweet, and luscious. They grew like divine fruit, and then they dropped from the tree! The Great Being chose and ate as many as he wanted. Then he filled the baskets hanging from his pole, went home, and sold the fruit. In this way he provided a living for his wife and child.

Now the young brahmin saw the Great Being offer ripe mangoes for sale out of season. “Without doubt,” he thought, “it must be because of some charm that these fruits grow. This man can teach me this priceless charm.” He watched to see how the Great Being procured his fruit, and he discovered it was exactly as he had thought. Then he went to the Great Being’s house when he had not yet returned from the forest. And pretending that he knew nothing, he asked the wise man’s wife, “Where is the teacher?” She said, “He has gone to the woods.” He waited there until he saw him come home. Then he went up to him, and taking the pole and baskets from him, he carried them into the house where he set them down. The Great Being looked at him and said to his wife, “Lady, this youth has come to get the charm. But no charm will stay with him because he is not a good man.” But the youth was thinking, “I will get the charm by being my teacher’s servant.” And so from that time on he did all that was to be done in the house. He gathered wood, pounded the rice, did the cooking. He brought all that was needed for face washing. He washed their feet.

At a later time the Great Being’s wife gave birth to a son. The brahmin did everything that was necessary at the childbirth. One day the wife said to the Great Being, “Husband, this lad, even though he is well-born, performs menial service for us in order to obtain the charm. Let him have it, whether it stays with him or not.” To this he agreed. He taught him the charm, and then he said, “My son, this is a priceless charm, and you will get great gain and honor with it. But when the King or his great minister asks you who your teacher was, give him my name. For if you are ashamed that a low-status man taught you the charm, and if you say that your teacher was a great magnate of the brahmins, you will get no more fruit from the charm.” “Why should I hide your identity?” the lad said. “Whenever I am asked, I shall say it is you.” Then he saluted his teacher, and from the low-status village he departed. He was thinking about the charm, and in due time he arrived in Benares. There he sold mangoes, and he gained great wealth.

Now one day the keeper of the park presented a mango to the King that he had bought from the young brahmin. The King ate it. He asked from where he had procured so fine a fruit. “My lord,” was the answer, “there is a young man who brings mangoes out of season and sells them. It is from him I that I procured it.” “Tell him,” “the King said, “that from now on he should bring the mangoes here to me.” This the man did, and from that time forward the young man took his mangoes to the King’s household. Eventually the King invited him to enter his service. He became a servant of the King, and he gained great wealth. And little by little he grew into the King’s confidence.

One day the King asked him, “Young man, where do you get these mangoes out of season? They are so sweet and fragrant and of fine color. Does some serpent or garuḷa (a giant mythical bird) give them to you? Perhaps it is a god? Or is this the power of magic?” “No one gives them to me, O mighty King!" replied the young man. “But I have a priceless charm, and this is the power of the charm.” “Well, what do you say about showing me the power of the charm one of these days?” “By all means, my lord, I will,” he said.

On the next day the King went with him into the park and asked to be shown this charm. The young man was willing, and approaching a mango tree, he stood at a distance of seven feet from it. He repeated the charm and threw water against the tree. In an instant the mango tree had ripe fruit on it. A shower of mangoes fell, a very storm. The company showed great delight, waving their kerchiefs. The King ate of the fruit and gave him a great reward. He said, “Young man, who taught you this marvelous charm?” “Now,” thought the young man, “if I say a lowly caṇḍāla taught me, I will be put to shame. They will scorn me. I know the charm by heart, and now I can never lose it. So I will say it was a world-renowned teacher.” So he lied and said, “I learned it at Takkasilā University from a teacher who is renowned the wide world over.” As he said these words denying his teacher, at that very instant the charm lost its power. But the King, greatly pleased, returned with him into the city.

On another day the King wanted to eat mangoes. He went into the park, and taking his seat on the stone bench that was used for state occasions, he asked the youth to get him mangoes. The youth, willing enough, went up to a mango tree. And standing at a distance of seven feet from the tree, he set about repeating the charm. But the charm did not work. Suddenly he knew that he had lost the power of the charm. He stood there ashamed. But the King thought, “Before this fellow gave me mangoes even in the midst of a crowd, and like a heavy shower the fruit rained down. Now he stands there like a rock. What can be the reason for this?” He asked about this by repeating the first stanza:

“Young student, when I asked it you of late,

You brought me mango fruit both small and great,

Now no fruit, brahmin, on the tree appears,

Though the same charm you still reiterate!”

When he heard this, the young man thought to himself, “If I say that on this day no fruit is to be had, the King will be angry.” So he thought to deceive him with a lie and repeated the second stanza:

“The hour and moment suit not. so wait I

Fit junction of the planets in the sky.

The due conjunction and the moment come,

Then will I bring you mangoes plenteously.”

“What is this?” the King wondered. “The fellow said nothing of planetary conjunctions before!” To resolve this question, he repeated two stanzas:

“You said no word of times and seasons, nor

Of planetary junctions heretofore.

But mangoes, fragrant, delicate in taste,

Of color fine, you brought in plenteous store.

“Aforetime, brahmin, you produced so well

Fruit on the tree by muttering of your spell.

Today you cannot, mutter as you may.

What means this conduct, I would have you tell?”

Hearing this, the youth thought, “There is no deceiving the King with lies. If, when the truth is told, he punishes me, let him punish me, but I will tell the truth.” Then he recited two stanzas:

“A low-caste man my teacher was, who taught

Duly and well the charm, and how it wrought,

Saying, ‘If you are asked my name and birth,

Hide nothing, or the charm will come to nought.’

“Asked by the Lord of Men, though well I knew,

Yet in deceit I said what was not true.

‘A brahmin’s spells,’ I lying said, and now,

Charm lost, my folly bitterly I rue.”

Hearing this, the King thought to himself, “The wicked man would not care for such a treasure! When one has a treasure so priceless, what has status got to do with it?” And in anger he repeated the following stanzas:

“Nimb, castor oil, or plassey tree, whatever be the tree

Where he who seeks finds honeycombs, ’tis best of trees, thinks he.

“Be it Khattiya, Brahmin, Vessa, he from whom a man learns right—

Sudda, Caṇḍāla, Pukkusa—seems chiefest in his sight.”

“Punish the worthless churl, or even slay,

Hence hale him by the throat without delay,

Who having gained a treasure with great toil,

Throws it with excessive pride away!”

(“Khattiya, Brahmin, Vessa, Sudda, Caṇḍāla, and Pukkusa” are the names of the Indian castes. However, this must be a later addition. At the time of the Buddha, the caste system as it later emerged did not yet exist.)

The King’s men did so, saying, “Go back to your teacher and win his forgiveness. Then, if you can learn the charm once more, you may come here again. But if not, you may never again set eyes on this country.” And in this way they banished him.

The man was forlorn. “There is no refuge for me,” he thought, “except for my teacher. I will go to him. I will beg for his forgiveness, and I will learn the charm again.” So lamenting, he went back to that village. The Great Being saw him coming. He pointed him out to his wife, saying, “See, lady, here comes that scoundrel again with his charm lost and gone!” The man approached the Great Being. He greeted him and sat on one side. “Why are you here?” asked the teacher. “O my teacher!” the man said, “I uttered a lie. I denied my teacher, and now I am utterly ruined and undone!” Then he recited his transgression in a stanza, asking again for the charms:

“Oft he who thinks the level ground is lying at his foot,

Falls in a pool, pit, precipice, trips on a rotten root.

Another treads what seems a cord, a jet-black snake to find,

Another steps into the fire because his eyes are blind.

So I have erred, and lost my spell. But you, O teacher wise,

Forgive! And let me once again find favor in your eyes!”

Then his teacher replied, “What did you say, my son? If you give a sign to the blind, he steers clear of pools and the like. But I told it to you once, and what do you want here now?” Then he repeated the following stanzas:

“To you in right due manner I did tell,

You in due manner rightly learned the spell,

Full willingly its nature I explained,

Ne’er had it left you, had you acted well.

“Who with much toil, O fool! Had learned a spell

Full hard for those who now in this world dwell,

Then, foolish one! A living gained at last,

Throws all away, because he lies will tell,

“To such a fool, unwise, of lying fain,

Ungrateful, who cannot himself restrain,

Spells, he begs! Mighty spells we give not him.

Go off away, and ask me not again!”

Thus dismissed by his teacher, the man thought, “What is life to me?” and plunging into the woods, he died in despair.