Culla Sutasoma Jātaka

Once upon a time in what is now Benares, there was a city called Sudassana. And in it there lived King Brahmadatta. His chief consort gave birth to the Bodhisatta. His face was glorious as the full moon, and therefore he was named Somakumāra (pleasing or agreeable son).

When he arrived at the years of discretion, because of his fondness for Soma juice and his habit of pouring drinks of it, men knew him as Sutasoma (Soma-distiller). When he was of age, he was instructed in the liberal arts at Takkasilā University. On his return home, he was presented with a white umbrella (the symbol of royal authority) by his father. He ruled his kingdom righteously and ruled over a vast domain.

He had 16,000 wives with Candadevī as his chief consort. By and by he was blessed with a large family. But he grew discontented with domestic life. So he went into a forest and thought about embracing the holy life. One day he summoned his barber and said to him, “When you see a grey hair on my head, you are to tell me.” The barber agreed to do so. And by and by he saw a grey hair, and he told the King about it. The King said, “Then, sir barber, pull it out and place it in my hand.” The barber plucked it out with a pair of golden tweezers and laid it in his hand. The Great Being, when he saw it, exclaimed, “My body is subject to old age.” And in a fright, he took the grey hair, descended from the terrace, and seated himself on a throne placed in the sight of the people. Then he summoned 80,000 councilors headed by his general, 60,000 brahmins headed by his chaplain, and many other subjects and citizens. He said to them, “A grey hair has appeared on my head. I am an old man, and you are to know that I am to become an ascetic.” Then he repeated the first stanza:

Good friends and citizens assembled here,

Hearken, my trusty councilors, to me,

Now that grey hairs upon my head appear,

Henceforth it is my will a monk to be.

On hearing this, each one of them repeated this stanza in a fit of dejection:

Such random words as these in uttering

You make an arrow quiver in my heart,

Remember your seven hundred wives, O King,

What will become of them, should you depart?

Then the Great Being spoke the third stanza:

Their sorrows soon another will console,

For they are young in years and fair to see,

But I am bent upon a heavenly goal

And so I am resolved a monk to be.

His councilors were unable to answer the King. They went to his mother and told her about it. She came in hot haste and asked him, “Is this true what they say, dear son, that you long to be an ascetic?” She repeated two stanzas:

Ill-fated was the day, alas! that I

Was hailed as mother to a son like thee,

For heedless of my tears and bitter cry,

You are resolved, O King, a monk to be.

Accursed was the day, alas! that I,

O Sutasoma dear, gave birth to thee,

For heedless of my tears and bitter cry,

You are resolved, O King, a monk to be.

While his mother lamented, the Bodhisatta uttered not a word. She remained apart all by herself, weeping. Then they told his father. And he came and repeated a single stanza:

What is this Law that leads you to become

Eager to quit your kingdom and your home?

With your old parents left behind to dwell

Here all alone, seek you a hermit’s cell?

On hearing this the Great Being held his peace. Then his father said, “My dear Sutasoma, even though you have no affection for your parents, you have many young sons and daughters. They will not be able to live without you. At the very moment when they are grown up, will you become an ascetic?” and he repeated the seventh stanza:

But you have many a child, I glean,

And all of tender years,

When you no longer may be seen,

What sorrow will be theirs!

Hearing this the Great Being repeated a stanza:

Yes, I have many a child, I glean,

Of tender years are they,

With them full long though I have been,

I now must part away.

In this way the Great Being declare the Dharma to his father. And when he heard his exposition of the Dharma, he held his peace. Then they told his 700 wives. They descended from the palace tower and went into his presence. And embracing his feet, they lamented and repeated this stanza:

Your heart in sorrow, sure, must break

Or pity is to you unknown,

That you can holy orders take,

And leave us here to weep alone.

The Great Being, on hearing their lamentation as they threw themselves at his feet and cried aloud, repeated yet another stanza:

My heart in sorrow may not break,

Though I feel pity for your pain,

But holy orders I must take,

That I may heavenly bliss attain.

Then they told his Queen Consort. She was heavy with child, and her time was near. She approached the Great Being and saluted him. And standing respectfully on one side, she repeated three stanzas:

Ill-fated was the day, alas! that I

O Sutasoma dear, married thee,

For heedless of my tears and bitter cry

You are resolved, O King, a monk to be.

Accursed was the day, alas! that I

O Sutasoma dear, married thee,

For you would leave me in my throes to die,

Determined as you are a monk to be.

The hour of my birth will soon fly by,

And I would ask my lord should stay with me

Until my child is born, before that I

See the sad day that I am without thee.

Then the Great Being repeated a stanza:

The hour of your birth will soon fly by,

Until the babe is born, I’ll stay with thee,

Then will I leave the royal child and fly

Far from the world a holy monk to be.

On hearing his words, she was no longer able to control her grief. And holding her heart with both her hands, she said, “From now on, my lord, our glory is no more.” Then wiping away her tears, she loudly lamented. The Great Being repeated a stanza to console her:

My Queen, with eye like darkest flower,

Dear Candā, do not weep for me,

But climb once more your palace tower,

I go without one thought of thee.

Being unable to bear his words, she mounted the palace tower and sat there weeping. Then the Bodhisatta’s elder son saw it. He said, “Why does my mother sit here weeping?” and he repeated this stanza in the form of a question:

Who has upset you, mother dear,

Why do you weep and stare at me?

Whom of my kin that I see here

Was so wicked I must slay for thee.

Then the Queen uttered this stanza:

No harm, dear son, may touch his head,

Who lives to work such woe for me.

For know it was your King who said,

”I go without one thought for thee.”

Hearing her words he said, “Dear mother, what is this that you say? If this be so, we will be helpless.” And lamenting, he spoke this stanza:

I who once ranged the park to see

Wild elephants engage in fight,

If my dear sire a monk should be,

What should I do, in my poor plight?

Then his younger brother—who was seven years old—saw them both weeping. He went up to his mother and said, “My dear ones, why do you weep?” When he heard the reason he said, “Well, cease to weep. I will not allow him to become an ascetic.” He comforted both of them, and with his nurse, he went down from the palace tower. He went to his father and said, “Dear father, they tell me you are leaving us against our will and that you will be an ascetic. I will not allow you to do this.” And grabbing his father firmly by the neck, he uttered this stanza:

My mother, lo! is weeping and

My brother, too, would keep you still.

So I will hold you by the hand,

Not let you go against our will.

The Great Being thought, “This child is a source of danger to me. How will I get rid of him?” He looked at his nurse and said, “Good nurse, behold this jewel ornament. This is yours if you take the child away so he is not a hindrance to me.” So he promised her this bribe and repeated this stanza:

Up nurse and let the little boy

Remove him to some other place,

So he should not disturb my joy

And inhibit my heavenly race.

She took the bribe. And comforting the child, she took him to another place. Lamenting, she repeated this stanza:

What now if I reject outright

—I need it not—this jewel bright?

For should my lord a hermit be,

What use would jewels be to me?

Then his commander-in-chief thought, “This King has concluded that he has little treasure in his house. I will let him know that he has a great quantity.” So standing up, he saluted him and repeated this stanza:

Your coffers filled with treasure vast,

Great wealth have you, O King, amassed.

The world is all subdued by thee,

Be you at ease; no hermit be.

Hearing this, the Great Being repeated this stanza:

My coffers filled with treasures vast,

Great wealth has been by me amassed.

The whole world is subdued by me,

I leave it all a monk to be.

Upon hearing this, he departed.

A rich merchant named Kulavaddhana stood up. And saluting the King, he repeated this stanza:

Great wealth have I, O King, amassed,

Beyond all power of reckoning vast.

Behold I give it all to thee,

Be you at ease; no hermit be.

On hearing this the Great Being repeated a stanza:

O Kulavaddhana, I know,

Your wealth on me you would bestow,

But I a heavenly goal would win,

So I renounce this worldly din.

As soon as Kulavaddhana had heard this, he left.

The King said to his younger brother Somadatta, “Dear brother, I am as discontented as a wild cock in a cage. My dislike for household life gets the better of me. Today I will become a hermit. You should rule this kingdom.” And handing it over to him, he repeated this stanza:

O Somadatta, sure I feel

Strange loathing o’er my senses steal

At thought of my defilements

To-day my hermit life begins.

On hearing these words, Somadatta, too, longed to be a hermit. And to make this clear, he repeated another stanza:

Dear Sutasoma, go and dwell

Live happily in hermit cell.

I, too, a hermit want to be,

For life is nothing without thee.

Sutasoma refuted this by repeating a half-stanza:

You may not go, or through the land

Home life would all come to a stand.

On hearing this the people threw themselves down at the feet of the Great Being. And lamenting, they said:

Should Sutasoma go away,

What would become of us, we pray?

Then the Great Being said, “Well, grieve not. Although I have been with you for a long time, I now must leave you. There is no permanence in any existing thing.” And teaching the Dharma to the people, he said,

Like water through a sieve, our day

So brief alas! fast slips away.

With life thus determined, I glean,

No room for carelessness is seen.

Like water through a sieve, our day

So brief alas! fast slips away.

With life thus determined all round,

Only the fool is careless found.

Bound fast by lusts, wherein they fell,

Such men enlarge the bounds of Hell.

Crowd the brute world and realm of ghosts,

And multiply the demon hosts.

In this way the Great Being instructed the people in the Dharma. He climbed to the top of the Palace of Flowers and stood on the seventh story. He cut off his topknot with a sword and cried, “I am now nothing to you. Choose a king of your own.” And with these words, he threw his topknot—turban and all—into the midst of the people. The people seized hold of it, and as they rolled over and over on the ground, they lamented loudly. A cloud of dust rose at this spot to a great height. The people stepped back. They looked at it, and said, “The King must have cut off his topknot and thrown it, turban and all, into the midst of the crowd, and that is why a cloud of dust has risen near the palace.” They lamented and uttered this stanza:

That cloud of dust, see how it towers

Hard by the royal House of Flowers.

Famed King of Right, we think, our lord

Has shorn his locks off with a sword.

The Great Being sent an attendant and had all the requisites for an ascetic brought to him. He had a barber remove his hair and beard. And throwing his magnificent robe on a couch, he cut off strips of dyed cloth. He dressed himself in these yellow patches. He fastened an earthen bowl on the top of his left shoulder, and with a mendicant staff in his hand, he paced backwards and forwards on the topmost story. Then he descended from the palace tower and stepped out into the street. No one recognized him as he walked. Then his 700 royal wives ascended the tower. Not finding him and seeing only the bundle of his adornments, they went down and told the other 16,000 women. They said, “Mighty Sutasoma, your dear lord, has become an ascetic.” They lamented loudly as they left.

When the people learned that he had become an ascetic, the whole city was greatly stirred. The people said, “They tell us that our king has become a monk.” They gathered at the palace door and cried, “The king must be here or there.” They ran to all the places frequented by him, but they could not find the king. They wandered to and fro, uttering their lament in these stanzas:

Here are his golden palace towers

All hung with wreaths of scented flowers,

Along with many a lady fair

Our king would oftentimes repair.

Here wreathed with flowers and wrought of gold

His gabled hall one may behold,

With all his kinsfolk by his side,

Our king would range in all his pride.

This is his garden bright with flowers

Through all the season’s changing hours,

Along with many a lady fair

Our king would oftentimes repair.

His lake covered with lotus blue,

Haunt of wild birds, here comes in view,

Along with many a lady fair

Our king would oftentimes repair.

In this way the people lamented in these various places. Then they returned to the palace yard and repeated this stanza:

King Sutasoma, sad to tell,

Has left his throne for hermit cell,

And clad in yellow, goes his way

Like some lone elephant astray.

Then they also went forth, leaving all their household possessions. They took their children by the hand and went to the Bodhisatta. Their parents and young children and 16,000 dancing girls went along with them. The whole city had the appearance of a deserted place. Behind them followed the country folk. The Bodhisatta set out in the direction of the Himalayas with a company covering twelve leagues. (A league is three miles or 4.83 kilometers.) Then Sakka, taking note of his Renunciation of the World, addressed Vissakamma (the celestial architect). He said, “Friend Vissakamma, King Sutasoma is renouncing the world. He should have a place to live. And there will be a huge gathering along with them.” So he sent him, saying, “Go and build a hermitage thirty leagues long and five leagues broad on the banks of the Ganges in the Himalayan country.” This he did. He provided all that was required for the ascetic life in this hermitage. He made a footpath straight to it, and then he returned to the deva world.

The Great Being entered the hermitage by this path, and after he was the first one ordained, he admitted the rest to orders. By and by many were ordained. There were so many that a space of thirty leagues was filled with them.

How the hermitage was built by Vissakamma and how a great many took orders and how the Bodhisatta’s hermitage was arranged, all this is explained in the Hatthipāla Birth (Jātaka 509).

If a thought of desire or any other false thought sprang up in the mind of anyone, the Great Being approached him through the air. And sitting cross-legged in space, he would admonish addressed him in a couple of stanzas:

Call not to mind love’s sports of yore

While still a smiling face you wore,

Lest that Fair City of Delight

Should waken lust and slay you quite.

Indulge without or stint or stay

Good will to men by night and day,

So shall you win the deva home

Where all that do good deeds shall come.

And this company of saints—abiding by his admonition—became destined to the Brahma world, and the story is to be told exactly as it is in the Hatthipāla Birth (Jātaka 509).