Jataka 506

Campeyya Jātaka

King Campeyya

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

This is a layered story in which the Bodhisatta, although he has a great deal of good karma, is reborn as a snake because of momentary jealousy. In Buddhism, being reborn as a snake is considered particularly inauspicious because snakes do not have arms or legs. But because he has so much good karma, he also has great power. He is able at one point to change his physical form. But he also has a consort, which shows that he has not yet overcome sense desire. What we see is a being with many good qualities, but who still has some work to do.

It is also worth noting the great love, compassion, and kindness of his consort, Sumanā. In this life, she is the Buddha’s wife Yasodhara when he was still a layperson.

“Who is it like?” The Master told this story while living in Jetavana. It is about the fast-day vows. (These are the vows taken by lay people on the Uposatha day. It is the Eight Precepts taken by novice monks and nuns.) The Master said, “It is well done, lay brothers, that you have taken the fast-day vows. Wise men of old likewise even renounced the glory of being a Serpent King and lived under these vows.” Then at their request he told them a story from the past.

Once upon a time, when Aṇga was the King of Aṇga and Magadha was the King in Magadha, the Campā River was between the realms of Aṇga and Magadha. This was a place where serpents lived, and here the serpent King Campeyya held sway.

Sometimes King Magadha ruled the Aṇga country, sometimes King Aṇga ruled Magadha. One day King Magadha, having fought a battle with Aṇga and gotten the worse of it, mounted his charger and took to flight pursued by Aṇga’s warriors. When he came to the Campā River, it was in flood. But he said, “Better death drowned in this river than death at the hands of my enemies!” Then man and horse plunged into the stream.

Now the serpent King Campeyya had built a jeweled pavilion under the water. And there at this moment, in the midst of his court, he was carousing raucously. The King and his horse plunged into the river right in front of the Serpent King. The serpent, beholding this magnificent monarch, took a liking to him. Rising from his seat, he bid the King to sit down on his own throne. He told him not to fear and asked why he had plunged into the water. The King told him what had happened. Then the serpent said, “Fear not, O great King! I will make you the master of both kingdoms.” In this way he consoled him, and for seven days he showed him high honor.

On the seventh day, he with King Magadha left the serpent palace. Then by the power of the Serpent King, King Magadha captured King Aṇga and killed him. Then he ruled over the two kingdoms together. From that time on there was firm affiance between him and the Serpent King.

Every year he built a magnificent, jeweled pavilion on the bank of the Campā River where he offered tribute to the Serpent King. The Serpent King would appear with a large retinue from his palace to receive the tribute, and all the people beheld the glory of the Serpent King.

At that time the Bodhisatta was from a poor family. He used to go with the King’s people down to the riverside. There, seeing the Serpent King’s glory, he became jealous of it. And in this desire, he died. Then seven days after the death of the serpent King Campeyya, the Bodhisatta—having given alms and lived a virtuous life—was reborn in his palace on his royal couch. When he saw his body, he was filled with remorse. “As a consequence of my good deeds,” he said, “I have karma stored up in the six chief worlds of sense as corn is laid up in a granary. But here am I born in this reptile shape. What do I care for life!”

And so he thought of putting an end to himself. But a young female serpent named Sumanā, seeing him, said, “This must be Sakka, mighty in power, born here to us!” Then they all came and made offerings to him. They had all kinds of musical instruments in their hands. That serpent’s palace became as if it were the palace of Sakka. The thought of death left him. He accepted his serpent shape and sat on the couch in magnificent dress and adornment. From that time on his glory was great, and he ruled over the serpents.

Later he repented, thinking, “Why do I want this reptile shape? I will take the fasting vows. In this way I will shake myself free from this place. Then I will go into the human realm. I will learn the Four Noble Truths, and I will make an end of suffering.”

And yet he remained in that same palace, fulfilling the fasting vows. And when the young female serpents came about him all gaily adorned, he violated his vow of virtue. Then he went from the palace into the park. But they followed him there, and his vow was broken just as before. Then he thought, “I must leave this palace and go into the world of men, and there I must live under the fasting vows.”

So from then on he left the palace on fast-days and lay on the top of an antheap by the high road. This was not far from a frontier village. He said, “Those who want my skin or any part of me, let them take it. Or if any would have me for a dancing snake, let them make me so.” In this way he offered his body as a gift. And contracting his hood, he lay there observing the fast-day vows.

Those who went back and forth on the highway saw him. They worshipped him with scents and perfumes. And the people who lived in that frontier village, holding him to be a serpent king of great power, set up a pavilion over him. They spread sand before it and worshipped him with perfumes and scented things.

Now people began to desire sons by him, having faith in the Great Being and worshipping him. The Great Being stayed there observing the fasting vows on the fourteenth and fifteenth days of the half-moon lying on the antheap. And on the first day of the lunar half, he returned to his palace. And as he continued to fulfill his vows, time went by.

One day his consort Sumanā spoke to him. “My lord, you want to go among men to keep your fast-vows. But the world of men is dangerous. It is full of fear. Suppose some danger comes to you. Tell me by what sign I will learn about it.” Then the Great Being led her to the side of a lucky pond and said, “If anyone strikes me or does me harm, the water in this pond will become turbid. If a roc bird carries me off, the water will disappear. If a snake-charmer seizes me, the water will turn the color of blood.” Having explained these three signs to her, he left his palace to keep the fast of the fourteenth day. He went and lay down on the antheap, illuminating the antheap with the sheen of his body. His body was as white as a coil of pure silver. On his head it was like a ball of red wool. In this birth the Bodhisatta’s body was thick as a plough-head. In the Bhūridatta Birth (Jātaka 543) it was as thick as a thigh. And in the Saṅkhapāla Birth (Jataka 524) it was as big as a trough-canoe with an outrigger.

In those days there was a young brahmin of Benares. He went to Takkasilā University to study at the feet of a world-renowned teacher. From him he learned the charm that commands the senses. Going home along that road, what should he see but the Great Being. “I will catch this snake,” he thought, “and I will travel through town and village and royal city, making him dance and amassing great profits.” So he procured magical herbs, and repeating the magic charm, he approached the snake. No sooner had he heard the sound of this charm, than the Great Being’s ears felt as it they had been pierced by burning splinters. His head was as if it had been broken by the blow of a sword. “What have we here!” he thought. And putting his head out from under the hood, he saw the snake-charmer. Then he thought, “My poison is powerful, and if I am angry and send out the breath of my nostrils, his body will be shattered and scattered like a fist-full of chaff. Then my virtue will be broken. I will not look at him.” Closing his eyes, he drew his head back into the hood.

The brahmin snake-charmer ate an herb, repeated his charm, and spit on him. Wherever the spittle touched him, blisters arose. Then the man seized him by the tail, dragged him, laid him out at full length, and with a staff, he squeezed him until he was weak. Then putting a tight hold on his head, he crushed him hard. The Great Being opened his mouth wide, and the man dropped spittle in it. He broke his teeth; his mouth was full of blood. But the Great Being so feared that he might break his virtue, that he withstood all this torment and never so much as opened an eye to glance at him. Then the man said, “I’ll weaken this royal snake!” From head to tail he squeezed the snake’s body as though he would crush his very bones to powder. Then he wrapped him in a cloth-wrap, gave him what they call the rope-rubbing, caught him by the tail, and gave him the cotton blow, as they call it. The Great Being’s body was smeared with blood, and he was in great pain. Seeing that the serpent was now weak, the man made a reed basket in which he laid the snake.

He carried him to the village and made him perform for the crowd. Black or blue, round figure and square, little or large—whatever the brahmin desired, that the Great Being did, dancing, spreading his hood as if by hundreds or by thousands. (That is, by his swift motion giving the appearance of thousands of hoods.) The people were so pleased that they gave much money. In one day he would make a thousand rupees and be given objects worth another thousand.

At first the man had intended to let him go free once he got a thousand pieces of money. But once he got that, he thought, “In a small frontier village I have gained all this. From kings and courtiers how much wealth may I look to win!” So he bought a cart and a carriage. His attendant loaded his goods into the cart while he sat in the carriage. And so, with an attendant throng, he traveled town and village, making the Great Being perform. He intended to show him off before King Uggasena in Benares and then let him go.

He used to kill frogs and give them to the royal snake. But each time the snake refused to eat so that no one might be killed for his sake. Then the man gave him honey and fried corn. But the Great Being refused to eat these also. He thought, “If I eat, I will be in this basket until I die.”

In a month’s time the brahmin arrived in Benares. There he made much money by making the snake perform in the villages beyond the gates. The King also sent for him and commanded a performance. The man promised this for the next day, which was the last day of the half-month. Then the King sent a drum beating about the city with a proclamation that on the next day a royal snake would dance in the palace court, and that the people should gather in their multitudes to see it.

On the next day the courtyard of the palace was decorated, and the brahmin was summoned. He brought in the Great Being in a jeweled basket on a colorful rug. He set this down and took a seat. The King came down from the upper chamber and sat on his royal seat in the midst of a great throng of people. The brahmin took out the Great Being and made him dance. The people could not keep still. Thousands of kerchiefs waved in the air, and a shower of jewels of all seven kinds fell about the Bodhisatta.

It was now a full month since the serpent had been caught, and during all that time he had taken no food. Now Sumanā began to think, “My dear husband has been gone a long time. It is now a month since he has returned. What can the matter be?” So she went and looked at the pond, and lo, the water was as red as blood! Then she knew that he must have been caught by a snake-charmer. She left the palace and went to the antheap. She saw the place where he had been caught and the place where he had been tormented. She wept. Then she went to the frontier village and inquired about him. She learned all that had happened, so she went on to Benares. And in the midst of the people, hovering above the palace court in the air, she stood now lamenting. As he danced, the Great Being looked up in the air and saw her. And being ashamed, he crept into his basket, and there he lay.

The King cried out, “What is the matter now?” Looking this way and that, he saw her poised in the air and recited the first stanza:

“Who is it like the lightning shines, or like a blazing star?

Goddess or Titaness? I think no human thing you are.”

Their conversation is given in the following stanzas:

“No Goddess I, nor Titaness, nor human, mighty King

A female of the serpent kind, come for a certain thing.”

“Full of wrath and rage you show,

From your eyes the teardrops flow.

Say what wrong or what desire

Brings you, lady? I would know.”

“Crawling serpent, fierce as flame!

So they called him, one there came,

Seized him for his profit, sire,

Freedom for my lord I claim!”

“How could such a starveling wight

Catch a creature full of might?

Daughter of the serpents, say,

How to discern the snake aright?”

“Such his might, that e’en this town

He could burn to cinders down.

But he loves the holy way,

And seeks austerity’s renown.”

Then the King asked how the man had caught him. She replied in the following stanza:

“On holy days the royal snake

At the four-ways used to take

Holy vows. A juggler caught him.

Free my husband for my sake!”

After these words she added yet these two other stanzas, begging his release:

“Lo sixteen thousand women gay with jewel and with ring,

Beneath the waters counted him their refuge and their king.

“Justly, gently set him free,

Buy the serpent liberty,

With gold, a hundred cows, a village.

That will merit win for thee.”

Figure: Sumanā pleads for the Bodhisatta’s release.

Then the King recited three stanzas:

“Justly now and gently see

I buy the serpent liberty

With gold, a hundred cows, a village,

That will merit win for me.

“A jeweled earring give to you, a hundred coins of gold,

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

“A bull, a hundred cows, two wives of equal birth with thee,

Release the holy snake, the deed will meritorious be.”

To this the hunter replied:

“I want no gifts, your majesty,

But let the serpent now go free.

Thus I now release the serpent,

The deed will meritorious be.”

After this speech he took the Great Being out of his basket. The Serpent King came forth and crept into a flower where he discarded his shape and reappeared in the form of a magnificently arrayed young man. There he stood as though he had ruptured the earth and burst through. And down from the sky Sumanā came and stood beside him. The Serpent King stood reverently joining his hands in respect to the King.

To make all clear, the Master recited two stanzas:

“The Serpent King Campeyyaka addressed the King, now free,

‘O King of Kāsi, fostering lord, all honor now to thee!

I do you reverence, ere I go again my home to see.’”

“Superhuman beings may

Hardly win belief, they say.

If you speak the truth, O serpent,

Where’s your palace? Show the way.”

But the Great Being, to make him believe, swore an oath in these two stanzas:

“Should the wind move mountains high,

Moon and sun fall from the sky,

Flow upstream the running rivers,

I, O King! could never lie.

“Split the sky, the sea run dry,

Bounteous mother earth awry

Crumpling roll, uproot Mount Meru,

Yet, O King, I could not lie!”

But notwithstanding this assurance, he still disbelieved the Great Being, and said:

“Superhuman beings may

Hardly win belief, they say.

If you speak the truth, O Serpent!

Where’s your palace? Show the way.”

Again he repeated the same stanza, adding, “You must be grateful for my good deeds. Whether I believe you or not, however, that is for me to decide.” He made this clear in the next stanza:

“Deadly envenomed, full of might,

Quick in quarrel, shining bright,

You are freed by me from prison,

Then is gratitude my right.”

The Great Being made an oath to win his belief:

“He that will no thanks return,

Happiness should never learn,

He should die in basket-prison,

He in horrid hell should burn!”

Now the King believed him, and he thanked him:

“As that vow of yours is true,

Anger flee and hate eschew,

As we flee the fire in summer,

May the roc-birds flee from you!”

The Great Being, too, said another stanza to thank the King:

“As a mother would have done

To an only well-loved son,

You are kind to all the serpents,

We will serve you, everyone.”

Now the King was eager to visit the serpent’s world. He gave a command that his army should prepared to go in the following stanza:

“Yoke the royal cars, and stand

Trained Cambodian mules at hand,

Elephants in golden trappings,

We will visit serpent-land!”

The next is a stanza of the Perfect Wisdom:

“Bounce the tabors, thump the drums,

Conch and cymbal sounds and thrums,

Glorious amid host of women

See King Uggasena comes.”

At the moment he left the city, the Great Being—using his power—made an enclosing wall of the seven precious things (gold, silver, pearl, coral, cat’s-eye, ruby, and diamond), gate-towers, and a road approaching the home of the serpents visible in their world. He adorned them gloriously. By this road the King entered the palace with his following where he saw a delightful spot with mansions in it.

Explaining this, the Master said:

“The lord of Kāsi saw the ground sprinkled with golden sand,

Fair flowers of coral strewn around, gold towers on every hand.

“So then the King did enter in Campeyya’s halls divine,

Which like the brazen thunderbolt or ruddy sun did shine.

“Into Campeyya’s halls divine the King his entrance made,

A thousand perfumes scent the air, a thousand trees give shade.

“Within Campeyya’s palace once the King his step advanced,

Celestial harps made melody, fair serpent-maidens danced.

“He is shown a golden seat

Cushioned and with sandal sweet,

Where the bevy of fair maidens

Tread the halls with thronging feet.”

No sooner was he seated there, than they set divine food of choice flavor before him. They also gave it to the 16,000 women and to the rest of the company. For seven days, along with his retinue, he partook of the divine food and drink and enjoyed all manner of pleasure. Sitting in his fair seat he praised the glory of the Great Being. “O King of the serpents,” he said, “why did you leave all this magnificence to lie on an ant-heap in the world of men and to keep the fast-day vows?” The Great Being told him.

To explain this, the Master said:

“There the King in pleasure stayed.

To Campeyya then he said,

‘Glorious mansions these of thine!

Ruddy like the sun they shine.