Mātaṇga Jātaka

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was the King of Benares, the Great Being was born outside the city as a Caṇḍāla’s son. (“Caṇdāla” is the name of the lowest caste—the outcasts—although this caste did not exist at the time of the Buddha.) They gave him the name of Mātaṅga, the Elephant. (“Mātaṇga” is a synonym for outcastes.) Afterwards he attained wisdom, and for his fame, he was known as the Wise Mātaṅga.

Now at that time one Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā (literally “one who sees good omens”) was a daughter of a Benares merchant. And every month or two she used to come and amuse herself in the park with a crowd of companions. One day, the Great Being had gone to town on some business, and as he was entering the gate, he met Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā. He stepped aside and stood quite still. From behind her curtain Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā saw him, and she asked, “Who is that?” “A Caṇḍāla, my lady.” “Bah,” she said, “I see something that brings bad luck.” And washing her eyes with scented water, she turned to leave. The people with her cried out, “Ah, vile outcast, you have lost us free food and strong drink today!” In rage they pummeled Mātaṅga the wise with their hands and feet. When he finally became unconscious, they went away.

After a while he recovered consciousness and thought, “The crowd around Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā beat me for no reason. I am an innocent man. I will not budge until I see her and not a moment before.” With this resolve, he went and lay down at the door of her father’s house. When they asked him why he lay there, his said, “All I want is Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā.” One day passed, then a second, a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. The resolve of the Buddhas is immovable. Therefore, on the seventh day, they brought out the girl and gave her to him. Then she said, “Rise up, master and let us go to your house.” But he said, “Lady, I have been beaten by your people. I am weak. Take me on your back and carry me.” So she did, and in full view of the citizens, she went out of the city to the Caṇḍāla settlement.

There the Great Being kept her for a few days. He did not break the rules of caste in even the slightest way. Then he thought, “Only by renouncing the world, and in no other way, shall I be able to show this lady the highest honor and give her the best gifts.” So, he said to her, “Lady, if I am unable to gain anything from the forest, we cannot live. I will go there. Wait until I return, but do not worry.” He gave instructions to the household not to neglect her, then he went off into the forest and embraced the life of a spiritual seeker. He undertook the training with such diligence so that in seven days he developed the Eight Attainments (jhānas) and the Five Supernatural Faculties (confidence or faith, energy, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom). Then he thought, “Now I will be able to protect Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā.”

So by his supernatural powers he returned. He landed at the gate of the Caṇḍāla village from where he proceeded to the door of Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā's house. But when she heard his return, she came out and began to weep, saying, “Why have you deserted me, master, and why have you become a spiritual seeker?” He said, “Never mind that, lady. I will make you more glorious than you ever thought possible. Will you be able to say to the people, “My husband is not Mātaṅga. He is the Great Brahma?” “Yes, master, I can say it.” “Very well. When they ask you where your husband is, you must reply, ‘He has gone to Brahma’s heaven.’ If they ask, when will he come back, you must say, ‘In seven days he will come, breaking the moon’s disk when it is full.” With these words, he went away to the Himalaya Mountains.

Now Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā said what she had been told to in Benares. The people believed, saying, “Ah, he is the Great Brahma, and therefore he does not visit Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā. Let it be so.” On the night of the full moon, at the time when the moon stands still in mid-course, the Bodhisatta assumed the appearance of Brahma. And amidst a blaze of light that filled the entire kingdom of Kāsi and the city of Benares—twelve leagues in extent—he broke through the moon and came down. Three times he circled the city of Benares in the air. He received the worship of the great crowd with perfumed garlands and such. Then he turned his face towards the Caṇḍāla village.

The devotees of Brahma gathered and went to the Caṇḍāla village. They covered Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā's house with white cloths. They swept the ground with sweet smelling things. They scattered flowers, burned incense, spread an awning, and prepared a splendid seat. Then they lit a lamp of scented oil. They laid sand that was as white smooth as a silver plate at the door. They hung banners. And before the house was fully decorated, the Great Being came down. He entered and sat for a while on the seat.

At that time Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā was in her monthly terms. His thumb touched her navel, and she conceived a child. The Great Being said to her, “Lady, you are with child. You will give birth to a son. You and your son will receive the highest honors and tributes. The water that washes your feet will be used by kings for the ceremonial sprinkling throughout all India. The water you bathe in shall be an elixir of long life. Those who sprinkle it on their heads will be free from all disease. They will not know poor luck. Anyone who puts their head on your feet and salutes you will receive 1,000 gold coins. They who stand within your hearing and salute you will receive 100 gold coins. Anyone who stands within your sight and salutes you will receive one rupee. Be vigilant!” And with these instructions, in full view of the crowd, he rose up and re-entered the moon.

The devotees of Brahma gathered and stood there through the whole night. In the morning, they had her enter a golden litter. And taking it on their heads, they carried her into the city. A great assembly of people came to her, crying aloud, “The wife of the Great Brahma!” They worshipped her with scented garlands and other such things. Those who were allowed to lay their heads on her feet and salute her received a purse of 1,000 gold coins. Those who salute her within earshot received 100. Those who saluted her standing within her sight received one rupee each. In this way they included in their gifts the whole city of Benares, twelve leagues in extent. They received a total of eighteen crores.

Having made the circuit of that city, they brought her to the center of it. There they built a great pavilion. They hung curtains in it. They had her live there amidst much glory and prosperity. Before the pavilion, they built seven great entrance gates and a palace seven storys tall. A Great deal of good merit was gained on their account.

In that same pavilion, Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā gave birth to a son. On his name-day, the brahmins gathered. They named him Maṇḍavya-kumāra, the Prince of the Pavilion, because he was born there.

In ten months, the palace was finished. From that time on, she lived in it, highly honored. Prince Maṇḍavya grew up there amidst great magnificence. When he was seven or eight years old, the best teachers from the length and breadth of India gathered They taught him the three Vedas. From the age of sixteen he provided food for the brahmins. Sixteen thousand brahmins were fed continually. The alms were distributed at the fourth gateway.

Now on one great festival day they prepared a quantity of rice porridge. Sixteen thousand brahmins sat by the fourth gateway. They ate the food accompanied with fresh ghee of a golden yellow and a mix of honey and lump sugar. And the prince himself, brilliantly adorned with jewels and with golden slippers upon his feet and a staff of fine gold in his hand, was walking about and giving directions. “Ghee here, honey here.”

At that time, the wise Mātaṅga was seated in his hermitage in the Himalaya Mountains. He turned his mind to see what news there was of Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā’s son. Seeing that he was growing in the wrong way, he thought, “Today I will go and teach the young man. I will teach him how to give so that the gift will bring great fruit.” He flew to Lake Anotatta. There he washed his mouth and prepared himself. Then standing in the district of Manosilā, he donned a pair of colored garments, put on the ragged robe, took his earthen bowl, and went through the air to the fourth gateway. There he landed just by the alms-hall, where he stood on one side. Maṇḍavya, looking his way, saw him. “Where do you come from,” he cried. “You, recluse, you misbegotten outcast, are you a goblin and not a man?” Then he repeated the first stanza:

“From where come you, in filthy garments dressed,

A creature vile and goblin-like, I see,

A robe of refuse-rags across your breast,

Unworthy of a gift—who do you be?”

The Great Being listened, then with gentle heart addressed him in the words of the second stanza:

“The food, O noble sir! is ready set,

The people taste, and eat, and drink of it,

You know we live on what we chance to get,

Rise! let the low-caste fool enjoy a bit.”

Then Maṇḍavya recited the third stanza:

“For brahmins, for my blessing, by my hand

This food is got, the gift of faithful heart.

Away! what boots it in my sight to stand

’Tis not for such as you, vile wretch, depart!”

Thereupon the Great Being repeated a stanza:

“They sow the seed on high ground and on low,

Hoping for fruit, and on the marshy plain,

In such a faith as this your gifts bestow,

Worthy recipients so you will obtain.”

Then Maṇḍavya repeated a stanza:

“I know the lands where I intend to sow,

The proper places in this world for seed,

Brahmins highborn, that holy scriptures know,

These are good ground and fertile fields, indeed.”

Then the Great Being repeated two stanzas:

"The pride of birth, o’erwhelming self-conceit,

Drunkenness, hatred, ignorance, and greed,

Those in whose hearts these vices find their seat,

They all are bad and barren fields for seed.

“The pride of birth o’erwhelming, self-conceit,

Drunkenness, hatred, ignorance, and greed,

Those in whose hearts these vices find no seat,

They all are good and fertile fields for seed.”

The Great Being repeated these words again and again. But Maṇḍavya grew angry. He cried, “The fellow talks too much. Where have my attendants gone that they do not cast the fool out?” Then he repeated a stanza:

“Ho Bhaṇḍakucchi, Upajjhāya ho!

And where is Upajotiya, I say?

Punish the fellow, kill the fellow, go

And by the throat throw the vile fool away!”

The men heard his call. They came up at a run, and saluting him, they asked, “What are we to do, my lord?” “Did you ever see this base outcast?” “No, sir, we did not know he had come in at all. He is doubtless some juggler or cunning rogue.” “Well, why do you stand there?” “What are we to do, my lord?” “Why, strike the fellow’s mouth, break his jaw, beat his back with rods and cudgels. Punish him. Take the wretch by the throat. Knock him down. Throw him out of this place!” But before they could come at him, the Great Being rose up in the air. And there—poised—he repeated a stanza:

“Revile a sage! To swallow blazing fire as much avails,

Or bite hard iron or dig down a mountain with your nails.”

Having uttered these words, the Great Being rose high in the air while the youth and the brahmins gazed at the sight.

Explaining this, the Master recited a stanza:

“So spoke the sage Mātaṅga, champion of truth and right,

Then in the air he rose aloft before the brahmins’ sight.”

He turned his face to the east, and he landed on a certain street. He wanted his footsteps to be visible. He begged alms near the eastern gate. Then, having collected a quantity of mixed foods, he sat down in a certain hall and began to eat. But the deities of the city gathered. They found it intolerable that this King should speak in a way that would annoy their sage. So the eldest goblin among them seized hold of Maṇḍavya by the neck and twisted it. The others seized the rest of the brahmins and twisted their necks. But out of respect for the Bodhisatta, they did not kill Maṇḍavya. “He is his son,” they said, and they only tormented him. Maṇḍavya’s head was twisted so that it looked backwards over his shoulders. His hands and feet were stiff and stark. His eyes were turned up as though he were a dead man. There he lay stark. The other brahmins spun round and round, dribbling spit at the mouth. People went and told Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā, “Something has happened to your son, my lady!” She hastily went to him, and seeing him, she cried, “Oh, what is this!” and she recited a stanza:

“Over the shoulder twisted stands his head,

See how he stretches out a helpless arm!

White are his eyes as though he were quite dead,

O who is it has brought my son this harm?”

Then the bystanders repeated a stanza, telling her about it:

“A hermit came, in filthy garments dressed,

A creature vile and goblin-like to see,

With robe of refuse-rags across his breast,

The man thus beaten by your son, is he.”

On hearing this, she thought, “No one else has this power. Without doubt it must be the wise Mātaṅga! But one who is steadfast and full of goodwill to all creatures will never go away and leave all these folk to torment. Now in what direction has he gone?” She put this question in the following stanza:

“In what direction did the wise one proceed?

O noble youths, pray answer me this thing!

Come let us make atonement for the misdeed,

Our son to life again that we may bring.”

The young men answered her in this manner:

“That wise one, up into the air rose he,

Like moon in mid-career the fifteenth day,

The sage, truth-consecrated, fair to see,

Towards the east moreover went his way.”

This answer given, she said, “I will seek my husband!” And taking pitchers of gold and cups of gold with her, surrounded with a company of waiting women, she went and found the place where his footsteps had touched the ground. She followed these until she came to him sitting on a seat and eating his meal. She approached him, and she saluted him. Then she stood still. On seeing her, he placed some boiled rice in his bowl. Diṭṭha-maṅgalikā poured water for him from a golden pitcher. He washed his hands and rinsed out his mouth. Then she said, “Who has done this cruel thing to my son?” repeating this stanza:

“Over the shoulder twisted stands his head,

See how he stretches out a helpless arm!

White are his eyes, as though he were quite dead,

O who is it has brought my son this harm?”

The stanzas which follow are said by the two alternately:

“Goblins there are, whose might and power is great,

Who follow sages, beautiful to see,

They saw your son ill-minded, passionate,

And so they have beaten your son with glee.”

“Then it is goblins who this thing have done,

Do not be vexed, O holy man, with me!

O brother! full of love towards my son

To here, for refuge, to your feet I flee!”

“Then let me tell you that my mind does hide

Nor then nor now a thought of enmity,

Your son, through fancied knowledge, drunk with pride,

Knows not the meaning of the Vedas three.”

“O brother! truly a man may find

All in a blink his sense quite gone blind.

Forgive me my one error, O wise sage!

They who are wise are never fierce in rage.”

The Great Being, satisfied by her reply, said, “Well, I will give you the elixir of life to make the goblins leave,” and he recited this stanza:

"This fragment of my leavings take with you,

Let the poor fool Maṇḍavya eat a piece,

Your son will be made whole, restored to you,

And so the goblins will their prey release.”

When she heard the words of the Great Being, she held out a golden bowl, saying, “Give me the elixir of life, my lord!” The Great Being dropped some of his rice gruel in it, and he said, “First put the half of this into your son’s mouth. Mix the rest with water in a vessel and put it into the mouths of the other brahmins. They will all be made whole.” Then he rose up and departed to the Himalaya Mountains. She carried the pitcher off on her head, crying, “I have the elixir of life!” Arriving at the house, she first put some of it into her son’s mouth. The Goblin fled away. The King got up. He brushed off the dust, asking, “What is this, mother?” “You know well enough what you have done. Now see the miserable plight of your followers!” When he looked at them, he was filled with remorse. Then his mother said, “Maṇḍavya, my dear son, you are a fool, and you do not know how to give so that the gift may bear fruit. People like this are not fit for your bounty. That is only for those like the wise Mātaṅga. From now on, do not give anything to evil men like these. Only give to the virtuous.” Then she said:

“You are a fool, Maṇḍavya, small of wit,

Not knowing when to do good deeds is fit,

You give handouts to those whose misdeeds are great

To evildoers and intemperate.

“Garments of skin, a mass of shaggy hair,

Mouth like an ancient well with grass o’ergrown,

And see what ragged cloth the creatures wear!

But fools are saved not by such things alone.

“When passion, hate, and ignorance, away from men are driven,

Give to such calm and holy men, much fruit for this is given.”

“Therefore from this time forward, do not give to wicked men like these. Give to those in this world who have reached the eight Attainments (jhānas), righteous recluses and brahmins who have gained the Five Transcendent Faculties, Pacceka Buddhas. Give your gifts to these. Come my son, let me give our servants the elixir of life and make them whole.”

So saying, she had the leftovers of the rice gruel taken and put in a pitcher of water. She sprinkled it over the mouths of the 16,000 brahmins. Each one got up and brushed off the dust.

Then these brahmins, having been made to eat the leftovers of a Caṇḍāla, were thrown out of caste by the other brahmins. They departed in shame from Benares and went off to the kingdom of Mejjha. There they lived with the King of that country. But Maṇḍavya remained where he was.

At that time there was a brahmin named Jātimanta. He was very religious. He lived near the city of Vettavatī on the banks of the river of that name. He was a man who was very proud of his birth. The Great Being went there, resolved to humble the man’s pride. He made his dwelling near him but further upstream. One day, having nibbled at a tooth-stick (the Indians use a fibrous stick for cleansing the teeth), he let it fall into the river, intending that it should get entangled in Jātimanta’s knot of hair. Accordingly, as he was washing in the water, the stick became entangled in his hair. “Curse the brute!” he said when he saw it. “Where has this come from, a pest! I will enquire.” He proceeded up stream where he found the Great Being. He asked him, “To what caste do you belong?” “I am a Caṇḍāla.” Did you drop a tooth-stick into the river?” “Yes, I did.” “You brute! Curse you, vile outcast, a spell on you. Don’t stay here. Go further downstream.”

But even when he went to live downstream, the tooth-sticks he dropped floated upstream against the current and stuck in Jātimanta’s hair. “Curse you!” he cried. “If you stay here, in seven days your head will burst into seven pieces!” The Great Being thought, “If I allow myself to be angry with the man, I will not be keeping my virtue. But I will find a way to break down his pride.”

On the seventh day, he prevented the sunrise. All the world was without light. They went to the recluse Jātimanta and asked, “Is it you, sir, who prevents the sun from rising?” He said, “That is not my doing. But there is a Caṇḍāla living by the riverside, and this must be his doing.” Then the people went to the Great Being and asked him, “Is it you, sir, who keeps the sun from rising?” “Yes, friends,” he said. “Why?” they asked. “The recluse who is your favorite hates me. I am an innocent man. When he comes and falls at my feet to ask for mercy, then I will let the sun go.”

They went and dragged Jātimanta along and cast him down before the Great Being’s feet. They tried to appease him, saying, “Sir, please let the sun go.” But he said, “I cannot it go. If I do, his head will burst into seven pieces.” They said, “Then, sir, what are we to do?” “Bring me a lump of clay.” They brought it. “Now place it on the head of this recluse and let him down into the water.” After making these arrangements, he let the sun rise. No sooner was the sun set free, then the lump of clay split into seven pieces. The recluse plunged under the water. Having thus humbled him, the Great Being thought, “Now where are those 16,000 brahmins?” He saw that they were with the King of Mejjha, and he resolved to humble them. Using his supernatural power, he landed in a neighborhood of the city. With his bowl in hand, he walked about the city seeking alms. When the brahmins saw him, they said, “If he stays here even a couple of days, he will leave us without a refuge!” Hastily they went to the King. They cried, “O mighty King, he is a juggler and charlatan. Take him prisoner!” The King was ready enough.

The Great Being, with his mess of mixed foods, was sitting beside a wall on a bench eating. As he was eating his food, the King’s messengers found him. They struck him with a sword and killed him. After his death, he was born in the Brahma world. It is said that in this birth the Bodhisatta was a mongoose-tamer, and in this servile occupation he was likewise put to death. The deities were angry. They poured down on the whole kingdom of Mejjha a torrent of hot ashes and wiped it out from among kingdoms. And so it is said:

“So the whole nation of Mejjha was destroyed, as they say,

For glorious Mātaṅga’s death, the kingdom swept away.”