Jataka 483
Sarabha Miga Jātaka
The Kind Deer
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
The purpose of this story is to celebrate the great genius and wisdom of Sāriputta. It is indicative of the lack of self-promotion and ego that—as gifted and wise as Sāriputta was—apparently very few people were aware of it. But it is also another tale where the protection and reverence for all living beings is stressed. This is a theme in the Dharma from the time of the Buddha.
Having said that, in the story in the beginning, the Buddha asks Sāriputta a question. But we never know what the question was or what Sāriputta’s answer was!
“Toil on, O man.” The Master told this story while he was living at Jetavana. He told it to explain a question he put to the Commander of the Faith (Sāriputta).
At that time the Master put a question succinctly to the Elder. This is the full story, put briefly, of the descent from the world of gods. When the Reverend Piṇḍola Bhāradvāja (an arahant known for his supernatural powers) gained the sandalwood bowl in the presence of the great merchant of Rājagaha using his supernatural power, the Master forbade the monastics to use their miraculous powers. (The story is told in Culla-vagga of the Vinaya Texts. A wealthy merchant had placed a sandalwood bowl on a high pole and challenged any holy person to get it down. Piṇḍola rose in the air by magic power and took it. For this he was criticized by the Master for having used his great gift for an unworthy end. To this day monastics are forbidden from showing any supernatural powers, the most common of which is reading minds.)
Then the schismatics thought, “The ascetic Gotama has forbidden the use of miraculous power. Now he will not do any miracles himself.” Their disciples were disturbed and said to the schismatics, “Why didn’t you take the bowl using your supernatural power?” They replied, “This is not difficult for us, friend. But we think, ‘Who will display his own fine and subtle powers before the laity for the sake of a paltry wooden bowl?’ and so we did not take it. The ascetics of the Sakya class took it and showed their supernatural power for sheer foolish greed. Do not think it is any trouble for us to work miracles. Suppose we leave out of consideration the disciples of Gotama the ascetic. If we like, we, too, will show our supernatural powers with the ascetic Gotama himself. If the ascetic Gotama works one miracle, we will work one twice as good.”
The monastics who heard this told the Blessed One about it. “Sir, the schismatics say they will work a miracle.” The Master said, “Let them do it, brothers. I will do likewise.” Bimbisāra (King of Magadha) heard about this. He asked the Blessed One, “Will you perform a miracle, sir?” “Yes, O King.” “Was there not a command given on this matter, sir?” “The command, O King, was given to my disciples. There is no command that can rule the Buddhas. When the flowers and fruit in your park are forbidden to others, the same rule does not apply to you.” “Then where will you work this miracle, sir?” “At Sāvatthi, under a knot mango tree.” “What do I have to do, then?” “Nothing, sire.”
On the next day, after breaking his fast, the Master went to seek alms. “Where is the Master going?” the people asked. The monastics answered to them, “At the gate of the city of Sāvatthi, beneath a knot mango tree, he is to work a twofold miracle to the consternation of the schismatics.” The crowd said, “This miracle will be a masterpiece. We will go see it.”
Leaving the doors of their houses, they went along with the Master. Some of the schismatics also followed the Master with their disciples. “We too,” they said, “will work a miracle in the place where the ascetic Gotama will work his.”
By and by the Master arrived at Sāvatthi. The King asked him, “Is it true, sir, that you are about to work a miracle?” “Yes, it is true,” he said. “When?” asked the King. “On the seventh day from now, at the full moon of the month of June.” “Should I set up a pavilion, sir?” “Have peace, great King. In the place where I will work my miracle Sakka will set up a pavilion of jewels twelve leagues in size.” “Shall I proclaim this thing through the city, sir?” “Proclaim it, O King.”
The King sent forth the Crier of the Truth on an elephant richly adorned to proclaim this. “News! The Master is about to perform a miracle to the consternation of the schismatics at the Gate of Sāvatthi under a knot mango tree seven days from now!” This proclamation was made each day. When the schismatics heard the news that the miracle would be performed under a knot mango tree, they had all the mango trees near to Sāvatthi cut down, paying the owners for them.
On the night of the full moon the Crier of the Truth made the proclamation, “On this day in the morning the miracle will take place.” By the power of the gods, it was as though all India was at the door and heard the proclamation. Whoever had it in his heart to go, they all went at Sāvatthi, and the crowd extended for twelve leagues.
Early in the morning the Master went on his rounds seeking alms. The King’s gardener, Gaṇḍa or “Knot” by name, was just taking a fine ripe mango fruit to the King. It was thoroughly ripe, as big as a bushel. He saw the Master at the city gate. “This fruit is worthy of the Master,” he said, and he gave it to him. The Master took it, and sitting down then and there, he ate the fruit. Once it was eaten, he said, “Ānanda, give the gardener this stone to plant on this spot here. This shall be the knot mango tree.” The Elder did so. The gardener dug a hole in the earth and planted it.
In an instant the stone burst, roots sprouted forth, and up sprang a red shoot as tall as a plough pole. As the crowd stared it grew into a mango tree of a hundred cubits (150 feet or 4600 centimeters). It had a trunk fifty cubits (75 feet or 2300 centimeters) and branches of fifty cubits in height. At the same time flowers bloomed and the fruit ripened. The tree stood filling the sky. It was covered with bees and laden with golden fruit. When the wind blew on it, the sweet fruits fell.
Then the monastics arrived. They ate the fruit and then retired. In the evening the king of the gods (Sakka), reflecting, perceived that he should make a pavilion of the seven precious things (gold, silver, pearl, coral, cat’s-eye, ruby, and diamond). So, he sent Vissakamma (a deva from the Tāvatiṃsa heaven) and told him to make a pavilion of the seven precious things, twelve leagues in size, covered all over with blue lotus. Here the gods of 10,000 spheres were gathered. The Master, having confounded the schismatics, performed a twofold miracle. He passed splendidly among his disciples causing faith to spring up in the multitudes. He then arose, and sitting in the Buddha’s seat, he taught the Dharma. Twenty crores (1 crore is 10 million) of beings drank from the waters of life. Then they meditated to see where former Buddhas went after they had performed a miracle. They saw that it was the Heaven of the Thirty-three (Tāvatiṃsa heaven).
The Master arose from the Buddha’s seat. He placed his right foot on the top of Mount Yugandhara (a mountain in the Himalayas), and with his left he strode to the peak of Sineru (the mythological center of the universe). He began the monsoon season under the great Coral Tree (in Indra’s heaven) while seated upon the yellow-stone throne. Then for the span of three months he taught the transcendental doctrine (the Abhidhamma, although this did not exist until long after the Buddha’s passing) to the gods.
The people did not know where the Master had gone. They looked and said, “Let us go home,” and they lived in that place during the rainy season. When the rains retreat (vassa) was near to its end and the feast was at hand, the great Elder Moggallāna went and announced it to the Blessed One. The Master asked him, “Where is Sāriputta now?” “He, sir, after the delightful miracle remained with 500 monastics in the city of Samkassa. He is still there.” “Moggallāna, seven days from now I will descend by the gate of Samkassa. Let those who want to see the Tathāgata assemble in the city of Samkassa.”
The Elder consented. He went and told the people. He transported the whole company from Sāvatthi to Samkassa—a distance of thirty leagues—in the twinkling of an eye. With the rains retreat over and the feast celebrated, the Master told king Sakka that he was about to return to the world of men. Then Sakka sent for Vissakamma. He said to him, “Make a stairway for the Dasabala (Buddha) to descend into the world of men.” He placed the head of the stairway on the peak of Sineru and the foot of it by the gate of Samkassa. In between he made three descents side by side: one of gems, one of silver, and one of gold. The balustrade and cornice were of the seven things of price. The Master, having performed a miracle for the world’s benefit, descended by the midmost stair, one made of gems. Sakka carried the bowl and robe. Suyāma carried a yak’s tail fan. Brahma—Lord of all beings—carried a sunshade, and the deities of 10,000 spheres worshipped with divine garlands and perfumes. When the Master stood at the foot of the staircase, first Elder Sāriputta gave him a greeting, as did the rest of the company afterwards.
During this assembly the Master thought, “Moggallāna has shown his supernatural power, and Upāli is well versed in the sacred law. But the quality of high wisdom possessed by Sāriputta has not been demonstrated. Except for me, no other possesses wisdom as full and complete as his. I will make known the quality of his wisdom.” He started by asking a question that is put to ordinary people, and the ordinary people answered it. Then he asked a question within the scope of those of the First Path (stream-entry, or sotāpanna), and they answered, but the ordinary folk knew nothing of it. In the same way he asked questions in turn within the scope of those of the Second (once-returners, or sakadagamin) and Third Paths (non-returners, or anagamin), of the arahants, and of the Chief Disciples. In each case those who were below each grade in turn were unable to answer, but they who were above could answer. Then he put a question within the power of Sāriputta. The Elder could answer this, but no one else could. The people asked, “Who is this Elder who answered the Master?” They were told it was the Captain of the Faith, and Sāriputta was his name. “Ah, his wisdom is great!” they said. After this the quality of the Elder’s great wisdom was known to men and to gods.
Then the Master said to him,
“Some have attainments yet to pass, and some have reached the goal.
Their different deportments say, for you do know the whole.”
Having asked a question that comes within a Buddha’s scope, he added, “Here is a point put succinctly, Sāriputta. What is the meaning of the matter in all its bearings?” The Elder considered the problem. He thought, “The Master asks questions that are appropriate to the progress of the disciples, both those who are in the lower paths and those who are arahants.” As to the general question, he had no doubt. But then he considered, “The proper manner of responding may be described in many ways according to the essential elements of being. How can I discern the Master’s meaning?” He was doubtful about the proper response. The Master thought, “Sāriputta has no doubt of the general question, but he questions what answer I have in mind. If I give no clue, he will never be able to answer, so I will give him a clue.” So he gave him the clue. “See here, Sāriputta. Do you grant this to be true?” (mentioning some point). Sāriputta granted the point.
Having given the hint, he knew that Sāriputta had understood his meaning and would answer fully, starting from the very elements of being. Then the question became clear to the Elder. He could have received a hundred hints, even a thousand. But he, at the Master’s hint, answered the question. It was one that belonged to a Buddha’s knowledge. Then the Master taught the Dharma to the company that covered a span of twelve leagues of ground and drank thirty crores of the waters of life.
The company dispersed, and the Master, going on alms round, returned to Sāvatthi. On the next day, after seeking alms in Sāvatthi, he returned from his rounds. He told the monastics of their duty, and then he entered to his Perfumed Chamber. In the evening the monastics talked of the high worth of the Elder as they sat in the Dharma Hall. “Sāriputta is great in wisdom, sirs. He has wisdom that is wide, wisdom that is swift, wisdom that is sharp, and wisdom that is keen. The Master put a profound question to him, and he answered it fully.” The Master entered and asked what they were discussing as they sat there. They told him. “This is not the first time, monastics,” he said, “that Sāriputta answered a question so succinctly put. He has done so before.” And he told them this story from the past.
Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was the King of Benares, the Bodhisatta lived in the forest. He had been born as a stag.
Now the King delighted in hunting. He was a mighty man. He thought there was no other man worthy of the name of man. One day as he went hunting, he said to his courtiers, “Whoever lets a deer go by him will be punished.” They thought, "One may stand in the house and not find the granary. (This appears to be a proverb whose meaning is lost.) When we see a deer, we must drive him by hook or by crook to where the King is.”
They made a pact among them to this effect and posted the King at the end of a path. Then they surrounded a great thicket and began to beat on the ground with clubs and the like. The first to arrive was our stag. Three times he went around the thicket looking for a way to escape. On all other sides he saw men standing without break, arm jostling arm and standing bow to bow. Only where the King was could he see a chance for escape. With eyes glaring he rushed at the King, blinding him as though he had cast sand in his eyes. Quickly the King saw him. The King shot an arrow, but he missed him.
You must know that these deer are clever about avoiding of arrows. When the shafts come straight at them, the deer stand still and let them fly. If they l come from behind, the deer outrun them. If they fall from above, they bend the back. If they come from the side, they swerve a little. If the shafts are aimed at the belly, they roll right over. And when they have gone by, the deer run off as swift as a cloud that the wind scatters.
So the King, when he saw this stag roll over, thought he had been hit, and he gave a shout. But the stag rose up, and as swift as the wind, he ran off. The stag broke through the circle of men. The courtiers on both sides who saw the stag get away gathered and asked, “Whose post did the stag head for?” “The King’s!” they yelled. “But the King is shouting, ‘I hit him!’ What has he hit? Our King has missed, I tell you! He just hit the ground!” In this way they made fun of the King. “Those fellows are laughing at me,” thought the King. “They do not know what I am made of.” Then girding up his loins, on foot and with sword in hand, he set off hurredly, crying, “I will catch the stag!” He kept him in sight and chased him for three leagues (about 9 miles or 15 kilometers). The stag plunged into the forest, and in plunged the King as well.
Now there was a pit in the stag’s way. It was a great hole where a tree had rotted away. It was sixty cubits deep (about 90 feet or 27 meters). It was full of water to a depth of thirty cubits, and it was covered with weeds. The stag sniffed the smell of the water, and seeing that it was a pit, he swerved to avoid it. But the King went straight ahead and fell in. When the stag no longer heard his footsteps, he turned around. And not seeing the man, he knew that he must have fallen into the pit. So he went back to look. He saw him in dire straits, struggling in the deep water.
But the stag did not bear any malice towards the King. He thought, “Do not let the King perish before my eyes. I will free him from this distress.” Standing on the edge of the pit, he cried out, “Fear nothing, O King. I will deliver you from your distress.” Then with an effort as earnest as if he were saving his own beloved son, he supported himself on a rock. Then he pulled the King up from the pit and comforted him, even though that King had come to kill him. He placed the King on his back, carried him out of the forest, and set him down not far from his army.
Then he admonished the King and established him in the Five Virtues (the five moral precepts). But the King could not leave the Great Being. He said to him, “My lord, king of the stags, come with me to Benares. I will give you the lordship over Benares—a city that spreads over twelve leagues—so that you may rule over it.” But the stag said, “Great King, I am one of the animals. I want no kingdom. If you have any care for me, keep the good precepts I have taught you and teach your subjects to keep them too.” And with this advice, he returned into the forest.
Figure: The stag saves the beleagured King
Likewise, the King returned to his army, and as he remembered the noble qualities of the stag his eyes filled with tears. Surrounded by a division of his army, he went through the city while the drum of the Dharma was beat, and he made this proclamation: “From this day forward, let all the people in this city observe the five virtues.”
But he did not tell anyone of the kindness done to him by the Great Being. After eating many fine foods in the evening time, he reclined on his gorgeous couch. And at daybreak, remembering the noble qualities of the Great Being, he rose up and sat on the couch cross-legged. With heart full of joy he chanted his aspirations in six stanzas:
“Hope on O man, if you are wise, let not your courage tire.
Myself I see, who now have won the goal of my desire.
“Hope on O man, if you are wise, tire not though pained eight score,
Myself I see, who from the waves have fought my way ashore.
“Toil on O man, if you are wise, let not your courage tire,
Myself I see, who now have won the goal of my desire.
“Toil on O man, if you are wise, tire not though pained eight score,
Myself I see, who from the waves have fought my way ashore.
“One that is wise, though overcome with pain,
Would never cease to hope for bliss again.
Many are our feelings, both of joy and woe,
They think not of it, yet to death they go.”
“What comes to pass which is not thought, and that is thought of, fails,
For man or woman’s happiness not thought alone avails.”
As the King was chanting these lines, the sun rose. His chaplain had arrived early to ask about the King’s welfare. And as he stood at the door, he heard this chant. He thought to himself, “Yesterday the King went hunting. He must have missed the stag. And being ridiculed by his courtiers, he declared that he would catch and kill the prey himself. Then he undoubtedly chased him, and being humiliated as a warrior, he fell into a sixty-cubit pit. The merciful stag must have pulled him out without a thought of the King’s offence against him. That is why I think the King is chanting this hymn.”
Thus the brahmin heard every word of the King’s chant. He realized all that had happened between the King and the stag. It became as clear as a face reflected in a well-polished mirror. He knocked at the door with his fingertips. “Who is there?” the King asked. “It is I, my lord, your chaplain.” “Come in, teacher,” the King said. He opened the door. The priest entered. And praying victory for the King, he stood on one side. Then he said, “O great King! I know what happened to you in the forest. As you chased a stag you fell into a pit, and the stag braced himself on the stone sides of the pit. Then he pulled you up and out of it. So remembering his magnanimity, you chanted a hymn.” Then he recited two stanzas:
“The stag that on a mountain steep your quarry was of late,
He bravely gave you life, for he was free from greed and hate.
“Out of the horrid pit, out of death’s jaws,
Leaning upon a rock (a friend in need)
The great stag saved you, so you said with cause,
His mind is far removed from hate or greed.”
“What!” thought the King. “This man did not go hunting with me, yet he knows the whole matter! How can he know this? I will ask him.” And he repeated the ninth stanza:
“O brahmin! Were you there upon that day?
Or from some other witness did you hear?
The veil of passion you have rolled away,
You see it all, your wisdom makes me fear.”
But the brahmin said, “I am no all-knowing Buddha. I just overheard the hymn that you sang—without missing the meaning—and so the affair became clear before me.” To explain this, he repeated the tenth stanza:
“O lord of men! I did not hear that thing,
Nor was I there to see that day,
But from the verses you did sweetly sing
Wise men can gather how the matter lay.”
The King was delighted and gave him a rich present.
From then on the King was devoted to almsgiving and good deeds, and his people were also devoted to good deeds. So as they died, they went to swell the hosts of heaven.
Now one day the King went into his park with the chaplain to shoot at a target. At that time Sakka had been wondering where all the new sons and daughters of the gods had come from. They were great in number. Upon reflection, he could see the whole story: how the King had been rescued from the pit by that stag, how he had become stablished in virtue, and how by the power of this King, so many people did good deeds that heaven was being filled. And now the King had gone into his park to shoot at a target. He went there so that he might proclaim with the voice of a lion the virtue of the stag. He would reveal that he was Sakka. And poised in the air he would teach the Dharma and declare the goodness of mercy and the Five Virtues. After that, he would return.
Now the King was preparing to shoot at the target. He strung a bow and fitted an arrow to the string. At that moment, by his power Sakka made the stag appear between the King and the target. The King saw it and did not fire the arrow. Then Sakka entered the body of the chaplain and repeated the following stanza to the King:
“Your shaft is death to many a mighty thing,
Why do you hold it quiet on the string?
Let the shaft fly and kill the stag forthwith,
’Tis right for monarchs, O most sapient King!”
The King responded in a stanza:
“I know it, brahmin, no less sure than you,
The stag is meat for warrior men, I knew,
But I am grateful for a service done,
And therefore hold my hand from running threw.”
Then Sakka repeated a couple of stanzas:
“’Tis no stag, O mighty monarch! But a Titan is this thing,
You are King of men. But kill it—of the gods you will be King.
“But if you hesitate, O valiant King!
To kill the stag because he is your friend,
To death's cold river and to death’s dread King
You and your wife and children shall descend.”
At this the King repeated two stanzas:
“So be it. To death’s river and death’s King
Send me, my wives and children, all my train
Of friends and comrades, I’ll not do this thing,
And by my hand this stag shall not be slain.
“Once in a grisly forest full of dread
That very stag saved me from hopeless woe.
How can I wish my benefactor dead
After such service done me long ago?”
Then Sakka came out from the chaplain’s body, and he took on his own form. And poising in the air, he recited a couple of stanzas which showed the noble worth of the King:
“Live long on earth, O true and faithful friend!
Comfort with truth and goodness this domain.
Then hosts of maidens round you shall attend
While you as Indra mid the gods shalt reign.
“From passion free, with ever-peaceful heart,
When strangers crave, supply their weary need,
As power is given you, give, and play your part,
Blameless, till heaven shall be your final deed.”
So saying, Sakka—king of the gods—continued as follows: “I came here to test you, O King, and you have given me no lament. Only be vigilant.” And with this advice, he returned to his own realm.
When the Master ended this discourse, he said, “This is not the first time, monastics, that Sāriputta knew in detail what was said only in general terms. But the same thing has happened before.” Then he identified the birth: “At that time Ānanda was the King, Sāriputta was the chaplain, and I was the stag.”
