Rohanta Miga Jātaka

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was King in Benares, his chief consort’s name was Khemā. At that time the Bodhisatta was born in the Himalaya region as a stag. He was golden-hued and beautiful. His younger brother was named Citta-miga, or Dapple Deer. He also was the color of gold as was his younger sister Sutanā.

Now the Great Being’s name was Rohanta, and he was king of the deer. Traversing two ranges of the mountains, he lived in the third range beside a lake called Lake Rohanta. He was surrounded by a herd of 80,000 deer. He used to support his parents, who were old and blind.

Now a hunter, who lived in a village of hunters near Benares, came to the Himalayas where he saw the Great Being. He returned to his village, and on his deathbed he told his son, “My boy, in a part of our hunting-ground there is a golden deer. If the King should ask, you may tell him about it.”

One day Queen Khemā, at dawn, had a dream. And this was the manner of that dream. A gold-colored stag sat on a golden seat. He gave a discourse to the Queen on the Dharma with a honey-sweet voice. It was like the sound of a golden bell tinkling. She listened with great delight to this discourse, but before the discourse had ended, the deer rose and ran away. Then she awoke, crying out, “Catch that stag for me!” The attendants, hearing her cry, burst out laughing. “Here is the house shut close, door and window, where not even a breath of air can get in. And at such a time my lady calls out to catch the stag for her.” By that time she understood that it had been a dream. But she said to herself, “If I say that it was a dream, the King will not pay any attention to it. But if I say that it is my woman’s desire, he will attend to it with great care. I will hear the discourse of the golden stag!”

Then she lay down as if she were sick. The King came in and asked, “What is wrong with my Queen?” he said. “Oh, my lord, it is just my natural desire.” “What do you wish?” “I wish to hear the discourse of a holy golden stag.” “Why, my lady, what you want does not exist. There is no such thing as a golden stag.” She said, “If I don’t get it, I must die on the spot.”

She turned her back on the King and lay still. “If there is one, it shall be caught,” the King said. Then he questioned his courtiers and brahmins, just as in the Peacock Birth (Mora Jātaka, Jātaka 159), about whether there were such things as golden deer. Finding that there were, he summoned the huntsmen. He asked, “Which of you has seen or heard of such a creature?” The son of the hunter told the story as he had heard it. “My man,” said the King, “when you bring me this deer, I will reward you richly. Go and bring it here.”

He gave the hunter some money for expenses, and then he dismissed him. The man said, “Never fear. If I cannot bring the stag, I will bring his skin. If I can’t get that then I will bring his hair.” Then the man returned home. He gave the King’s money to his family. Then he went out to find the royal stag. “Where shall I lay my snare,” he mused, “so as to catch him?” He saw his chance at a watering hole. He twisted a stout cord of leather thongs and set it with a pole at the place where the Great Being would go down to drink water.

On the next day, the Great Being—accompanied by the 80,000 deer—was on his search for food when he came to drink water at the usual place. Just as he was going down, he was caught in the noose. Then he thought, “If I cry out because of my capture, my entire troop will flee in terror without drinking.” Although he was tied fast at the end of the pole, he stood pretending to drink as if he were free. Once the 80,000 deer had drunk and were clear of the water, he jerked at the noose three times to break it if possible. The first time he cut his skin. The second time cut into his flesh, and on the third time he strained a tendon so that the snare touched the bone. Then, unable to break it, he uttered the cry of his capture. The entire herd of deer fled terrified in three groups. Citta-miga could not see the Great Being in any of the three troops. “This danger,” he thought, “which has come upon us, has fallen on my brother.” Then returning, he saw him there caught fast. The Great Being caught sight of him and cried, “Don’t stand there, brother, there is danger here!” Then he urged him to flee, repeating the first stanza:

“In fear of death, O Cittaka, those herds of creatures flee,

Go you with them, and linger not, for they shall still live free.”

The three stanzas that follow are said by the two alternately:

“No, no, Rohanta, I’ll not go, my heart has drawn me near,

I’m ready to lay down my life, I will not leave you here.”

“Then blind, with none to care for them, our parents both must die,

O go, and let them live with you. O do not stop here by!”

“No, no, Rohanta, I’ll not go, my heart has drawn me near,

I’m ready to lay down my life, I will not leave you here.”

He took his stand, supporting the Bodhisatta on the right side, and cheering him on.

Sutanā also, the young doe, ran about among the deer. But she could not find her brothers anywhere. “Some danger,” she thought, “must have fallen on my brothers.” She turned around and went back to find them. When the Great Being saw her coming, he repeated the fifth stanza:

“Go, timid doe, and run away, an iron snare holds me,

Go with the rest, and linger not, and you shall all be free.”

The three next stanzas are said alternately as before:

“No, no, Rohanta, I’ll not go, my heart has drawn me near,

I'm ready to lay down my life, I will not leave you here."

“Then blind, with none to care for them, our parents both must die,

O go, and let them live with you. O do not stop here by!"

“No, no, Rohanta, I’ll not go, my heart has drawn me near,

I’ll lose my life, but never leave you snared and captured here.”

Thus she also refused to obey. She stood by his left side consoling him.

Now the huntsman saw the deer herd scampering off. He heard the cry of capture. “It must be that the king of the herd is caught!” he said. And tightening his girdle, he grasped the spear and quickly ran up. The Great Being repeated the ninth stanza as he saw him coming:

“The furious hunter, arms in hand, see him approaching near!

And he will kill us here today with arrow or with spear.”

Citta did not flee even though he saw the man. But Sutanā, not being brave enough to stand still, ran a little way from the fear of death. Then with the thought, “Where shall I flee if I desert my two brothers?” she returned. Then she renounced her own life (i.e., accepting her own death), with death on her brow, and stood by the left side of her brother.

To explain this, the Master recited the tenth stanza:

“The tender doe in panic fear a little way did fly,

Then did a thing most hard to do, for she returned to die.”

When the hunter came up, he saw these three creatures standing together. A compassionate thought arose in his heart as he guessed they were brothers and sister born of one womb. “Only the king of the herd,” he thought, “is caught in the snare. The other two are bound with the ties of honor. What can their relationship be to him?” He put the question to them:

“What are these deer that wait upon the prisoner, though free,

Nor for the sake of very life will leave him here, and flee?”

Then the Bodhisatta answered:

“My brother and my sister these, of one same mother born,

Nor for the sake of very life will leave me here forlorn.”

These words made his heart even more soft. Citta, that royal stag, perceived that his heart had grown soft. He said, “Friend hunter, do not imagine that this creature is a deer and no more. He is king of 80,000 deer. He is one who lives a virtuous life. He is tenderhearted to all creatures. He has great wisdom. He supports his father and his mother who are now blind and old. If you slay a righteous being like this, in slaying him you slay mother and father, my sister and me, all five. But if you grant my brother his life, you grant life for the five of us.” Then he repeated a stanza:

“Grown blind, with none to care for them, they both will perish so,

O grant mercy to all the five, and let my brother go!”

When the hunter heard this holy discourse, he felt joy in his heart. “Fear not, my lord,” he said, and he repeated the next stanza:

“So be it. See I now set free the parent-fostering deer,

His parents when they find him safe shall make a merry cheer.”

As he said this, he thought, “What do I want with the king and his honors? If I hurt this royal deer, either the earth will open and swallow me up, or a thunderbolt will fall and strike me. I will let him go.” So approaching the Great Being, he pulled down the pole and cut the leather thong. Then he embraced the deer and led him down to the water. He tenderly and gently released him from the noose. He dressed the ends of the tendon, the lips of the flesh-wound and the edges of the skin. He washed off the blood with water, gently treating him again and again. By the power of his love and the Great Being’s perfection, all grew whole again. Sinews, flesh, and skin, hide and hair covered the foot. No one would have guessed where he had been wounded. The Great Being stood there, full of happiness. Citta looked on him and rejoiced, and he rendered thanks to the hunter in this stanza:

“Hunter, be happy now, and may all of you happy be,

As I am happy to behold the mighty stag set free.”

Now the Great Being thought, “Is it of his own doing this hunter snared me or was it at the bidding of another?” And he asked why he had been captured. The huntsman said, “My lord, I have nothing to do with you. But the King’s consort, Khemā, desires to hear you give a discourse about virtue. Therefore, I captured you at the King’s bidding.” “That being so, my good friend, you did a bold thing to set me free. Come, bring me to the King, and I will give a discourse before the Queen.” “Indeed, my lord, kings are cruel. Who knows what may come of it? I don’t care for any honor the King might show me. Do as you wish.”

But still the Great Being thought it was a bold thing to set him free. He must give him a chance of winning the promised prize. So he said, “Friend, chafe my back with your hand.” He did so. His hand became covered with golden hairs. “What shall I do with these hairs, my lord?” “Take them, my friend. Show them to the King and Queen. Tell them here are hairs from that golden stag. Take my place and give them a discourse in the words of these verses I shall repeat. When she hears you, that alone will be sufficient to satisfy her craving.” “Recite the Dharma, O king!” the man said.

So he taught the hunter ten stanzas of the holy life. He described the Five Virtues (Precepts) and dismissed him with an admonition to be vigilant. The hunter treated the Great Being as one would treat a teacher. He walked around him clockwise three times. He did the four obeisances, and wrapping the hairs in a lotus leaf, he went away. The three animals accompanied him for a while, then after feeding and drinking, they returned to their parents.

The father and mother questioned him: “Rohanta, my son, we heard that you had been caught. How is it that you are free?” They put the question in a stanza:

“How did you win your liberty when life was nearly done,

How did the hunter set you free from treacherous trap, my son?”

In answer to which the Bodhisatta repeated three stanzas:

“Cittaka won me liberty with words that charmed the ear,

That touched the heart, that pierced the heart, words uttered sweet and clear.

“Sutanā won me liberty with words that charmed the ear,

That touched the heart, that pierced the heart, words uttered sweet and clear.

“The hunter gave me liberty, these charming words to hear,

That touched the heart, that pierced the heart, words uttered sweet and clear.”

His parents expressed their gratitude, saying:

“He with his wife and family, O happy may they be,

As we are happy to behold Rohanta now set free!”

Now the huntsman came out of the wood and went to the King. Then saluting him, he stood on one side. When the King saw him, he said:

“Come tell me, hunter, do you say, ‘See the deer’s hide I bring?’

Or have you no deer’s hide to show because of anything?”

The hunter replied:

“Into my hands the creature came, into my privy snare,

And was caught fast. But others, free, attended on him there.

“Then kindness made my flesh creep, a feeling strange and new.

If I should slay this deer (thought I) then I shall perish too.”

“What were these deer, O hunter, what their nature and their ways,

What color theirs, what quality, to merit such high praise?”

The King put this question to him several times over as someone quite astonished. The hunter replied in this stanza:

“With silvery horns and graceful shape, with hide and fell most bright,

Red slot, and shining brilliant eyes, all lovely to the sight.”

As he repeated this stanza, the huntsman placed those golden hairs of the Great Being in the King’s hand, and in another verse, he summed up the description of the character of these deer:

“Such is their nature and their ways, my lord, and such these deer,

They used to find their parents food, I could not fetch them here.”

In these words, he described the qualities of the Great Being. And of the stag Citta and of Sutanā the doe, he said this: “The royal stag, O King, showed me his hairs, commanding me to take his place, and to declare the Dharma before the Queen in ten stanzas of a holy life.” Then sitting on a golden throne, he declared the Dharma in those stanzas.

The Queen’s craving had been satisfied. The King was pleased. He repeated these stanzas as he rewarded the huntsman with great honor:

“A jeweled earring I give you, a hundred drachms of gold,

A lovely throne like flower of flax, with cushions laid fourfold,

“Two wives of equal rank and worth, a bull and cow five score,

My benefactor! and I’ll rule with justice evermore.

“Trade, farming, gleaning, usury, whate’er your calling be,

See that you are true, but by these support your family.”

(A drachm of gold is about 1/16 ounce.)

When he heard these words of the King’s, he answered, “No house or home for me. Grant me, my lord, your blessing to become an ascetic.” The King gave his consent. He handed over the King’s rich gifts to his wife and family and went away to Himalaya. There he embraced the ascetic life. He cultivated the Eight Attainments (jhānas) and became destined for Brahma’s world. And the King embraced the Great One's teaching and went to swell the hosts of heaven. The teaching endured for a thousand years.