When the Vidyādhara heard these words of Munigupta, that were destined ultimately to result in happiness, he raised his eyebrows and thought to himself, ‘See how even monks can be afflicted by passion; otherwise why would he say that a lay woman is the best of all, pure in her right belief, and that a monk who knows all the sacred texts and is a great ascetic has succumbed to false belief? What use is it to argue with him like this? I will go to that city, and as soon as I get there I will make my own test to determine the truth.’
Manovega bowed down to the Jina and to that ascetic and then angrily rushed away. In an instant he reached the city of Śrāvasti. With his magic powers he made himself appear as the Hindu god Brahmā in the east; the fine likeness of Brahmā was seated on a royal swan and holding a water pot; he had four faces. With his magic powers he took on the form of Visnu appearing in the south; Visnu was seated on the bird Gāruda and held the conch and club and wheel. With his own magic powers he took the form of Rudra, appearing in the west; Rudra held the skull club and the snake Vāsuki was in his hair; he was mounted on his bull. With his magic powers he quickly made a very handsome likeness of the Buddha appear in the north; the Buddha was seated in meditation and was calm in appearance. The devotees of each of these were delighted when they saw the gods, Rudra and the others. The foolish Jain lay disciples, men and women, also went to see what was going on; only Revatī stayed home. Then Manovega used his magic powers to make twenty-five Jinas appear in the middle of the city, along with the eight wondrous signs that accompany them, which include things like haloes, the sound of drums, and a rain of divine flowers. Bhavyasena, the leader of the Jain monks, when he heard that the twenty-five Jinas had appeared, went to see them along with the nuns, the male lay disciples and the female lay disciples.
A group of women then said to the lay disciple Revatī, ‘See, twenty-five Jinas have all come to the center of the city. The monks and nuns, the male lay disciples and the female lay disciples, filled with devotion, have all gone to see them, bearing flowers in their hands for worship. Let us take flowers and rice grains, fruits and incense, sandalwood and lovely lamps and go quickly, my friend, to worship them, too.’ The lay disciple Revatī then said to the pious women, who were contentedly gazing on her lotus-face, ‘I am busy here in the house and cannot go now.’ Her friends, filled with affection, replied, ‘This city alone of all cities is blessed with the protection of the gods like Brahmā you do not belive in the religions devoted to these gods and so it was right that you did not go to see them. But if you do not go when the Jinas have come down here, too busy with tasks that only occasion sin, you will surely go to hell!’ With those words, her friends made ready to go. Revatī told them, ‘The lords of the monks clearly told me that there are only twenty-four Jinas, including those of the past, the present and the future. There is no twenty-fifth Jina, there never has been and there never will be. I know that this is some magician’s trick. Don’t bother me; go home.’ When they heard these words of Revati, the women were utterly taken aback. They left Revati’s house and went about their business.
Bhavyasena with great devotion bowed down to the twenty-five Jinas and then with the other Jains went back to his residence. Manovega saw the entire Jinas community there, but he did not see Revati. Then he abandoned the form of the Jina and took on the guise of a novice monk. Afflicted by fake pains, he fell on the road. He vomited and had diarrhea and groaned; shouting out the name of the lay disciple Revati, he rolled on the ground. Some woman went to Revati’s house and told her, ‘Friend! There is a young monk lying on the road who is calling out your name.’ When she heard this, Revati asked, ‘Where is he?’ The other woman replied, ‘He is lying on the main road.’ Revati then went to the monk. She took him by the hand and brought him home with her.
When the monk got to Revati’s house, he said to her, ‘I am starving. Hurry, give me something to eat.’ Revati first made sure the monk was seated comfortably and then she joyfully offered him some food, for she considered any monk to be a worthy recipient of her gift. No sooner had she brought him some tasty beans to eat, than with his magic power he devoured them all. No sooner had Revatī brought him some rich butter, than that one who used magic powers gobbled that up too, in one swallow, with his tricks. No sooner had she brought him plump sweetmeats than he swallowed them whole, not even bothering to sprinkle them with sugar. No sooner had she brought him tasty seasoned dishes, than he grabbed them from her and belted them down in a single mouthful, before she even properly offered them to him. No sooner had she brought him sweets in a sauce of curds, than that magician gulped them down, not even bothering with the sauce. No sooner did she bring him cakes and sweetened milk, than he drank all the milk, leaving the cakes untouched. Whatever tasty food she gave him to eat, he snatched from her hands and with his magic devoured whole. When he had eaten all that she gave him and was still not sated, he boldly said to Revatt, who was undaunted, ‘Mother! When I heard how famous you are for your firm belief in the Jain doctrine, I came to see you, tormented though I was by hunger and thirst. But the food you have given me has left me still hungry; I have to say that I am not satisfied with what you have served me. Bring me tasty food and lots of it. See to it that I am satisfied at last!’
When she heard these words of the novice monk, Revatt was taken aback. But she did not let herself be discouraged and hastened to give him more food. She made all kinds of things to eat, sweets, sweetmeats, cakes with ghee, dumplings, and delicacies, fried snacks, sweet and savoury. She made him heaping mounds of candies and sweetmeats and she offered them all to him with respect and devotion. And he gobbled everything up. He drank hundreds and thousands of pots of water that she brought for him, gulping them down in a split second. Then that sorcerer began to have diarrhea and to vomit up everything that he had eaten and drunk, not once, but again and again. Revatī cleaned his stinking vomit and faeces with her own hands and threw it all outside. When he saw Revatī’s humility and how she took care of him so carefully and single-mindedly, the Vidyādhara Manovega dropped his appearance as a novice monk and revealed to her his true form as a Vidyādhara. When Revatī saw his divine form, with his gold earrings; when she saw how the many light rays that streamed from his shining teeth whitened the very sky itself, she asked him, ‘Who are you? Why have you come here?’ In answer to Revatī’s questions, the Vidyādhara replied, ‘Know me to be a Vidyādhara named Manovega, O lovely lady! I came here to test you, using my magic to create the gods Brahmā and the others, and then to turn myself into a novice monk. The monk Munigupta told me that seeing you was even more auspicious than seeing the ascetic Bhavyasena, and now I have seen for myself that what he said was true. O Revatī, the monk Munigupta, who guards his thoughts, words and deeds, sends to you his blessings.’ Noble Revatī took five steps towards the Vidyādhara and then gently bowed her head at his feet. Having explained himself to her and having told her how he had come to test her, Manovega, his mind at ease, then vanished.
The Vidyādhara Manovega circumambulated the lofty temple to the Jinas; he praised the Jina and the excellent monk Bhavyasena, leader of the monastic community. He then sat down to listen to Bhayvasena’s discourse along with other lay disciples, who had mastered the meanings of all the sacred texts and who accepted the Jina as their deity. When the discourse was over, Bhavyasena went outside with the speedy Manovega to move his bowels. The Vidyādhara, with his magic, made these three things disappear from the vicinity: ashes, potshards and bricks. When Bhavyasena had finished, he ordered the lay disciple, ‘Quick, quick. Go find some ash or brick or potshards.’ Instead, the lay disciple brought a good-sized clod of earth. Curious to see what would happen, he showed it to the monk. ‘I could not find any one of the three things you asked for, O monk! So take this pure piece of earth I have brought you; it has no living creatures on it.’ The king of monks looked carefully at the clod of earth and then took it in his hand; since he doubted the existence of earth-souls, he then said to the lay disciple,
‘Some teachers say that without exception all the elements like earth contain living souls, but Manovega, I do not accept that.’ With those words, the monk, who did not believe in the existence of earth-souls, took the clod of earth and used it to clean his hands.
Manovega now knew that the lay disciple Revati was adorned with the true right belief and that the monk indeed did doubt the existence of earth-souls. He went back to the monk Munigupta and bowed down before him again and again. He then told him everything that had happened. That done, he went home.
One should never praise a monk who is not a true Jain monk; praising false monks destroys true faith in the Jain doctrine. After all, poison and the nectar of the gods will never be the same. There are six things that are worthy of respect: knowledge, an ascetic possessed of knowledge, those who have attained release, a Jain temple, proper conduct and an ascetic possessed of such conduct. Other than these things that lead frightened souls to turn to religion, there is nothing worthy of devotion. Revati loved to bow down at the lotus feet of the Jain ascetics, as a bee yearns for the taste of lotus pollen. She was not deluded by the magic tricks of the Vidyādhara.
(from the Brhatkathākośa of Hariṣeṇa, No.7)
28
ĀRĀMASOHĀ
Here on the island continent of Jambudīva, which is located in the middle of many continents and oceans, is the famous land called Bharaha, divided into six parts. In the middle of Bharaha is the best of countries called Kusatta, rich in cows and bulls, the abode of every good quality that a country should possess. In the country of Kusatta is the grand village named Thalāsayam, and if you want to know what it is like, you must know how to play with words, making each combination of words refer at once to the village and to something else. This village is like the chest of men and women, wearied from physical exertion; for their chests are filled with their heaving breaths, while the village is filled with much grain; it is like a great sage, who exercises many restraints, while the village is well protected; it is like the coiffure of a lovely woman, which sports a fine part, while the village boasts well-defined and cared-for borders.
The village is charming with its hundreds of happy villagers; it is inaccessible to thieves and wicked kings; it is the home of self-control, compassion and generosity. But strange to say, the village seemed to be peculiarly totally devoid of plant life. One might say: on all four sides of the village, to a distance of a furlong, there was no plant life at all except some grass.
Now there lived in this village a brahmin named Aggisomma, skilled in reciting the Rg and other Vedas. He had a wife, a brahmin lady named Jalanasihā. As they enjoyed together the pleasures of the senses, a daughter was born to them. They named her Vijjupahā. She was endowed with a host of excellent qualities, among them, great beauty. One might say:
She surpassed the women of the gods in her beauty and put to shame the most excellent swans by her soft murmuring speech and her languid gait; she seemed a veritable moonbeam dripping the nectar of immortality; like the goddess Pārvatī she was resplendent in her loveliness.
She was clever and modest, respectful to her elders; she was master of all the arts that are praised in a woman; the virtues of truthfulness, purity and chastity were her natural adornments; she was totally honest by nature, incapable of a crooked thought or deed.
Now when this girl was eight years old her mother was snatched by the jaws of death, which has as its terrible fangs the torments of sickness and old age. Thus it was that the young girl took over all of the work in the house. It was this way:
She would get up at daybreak and milk the cows; then she would smear the courtyard with cowdung and sweep the house and do everything else that was to be done.
And then she would go out to keep watch over the cows as they grazed until midday, when she would bring the cows back and milk them once more.
She would cook for her father and serve him his meal, and only then would this young girl eat; having finished her meal, she would go out once more to look after the cows.
In the evening there were still more chores, so many that she could not sleep; thus was this young girl overwhelmed by the household responsibilities, day after day.
Then one day, feeling totally oppressed and exhausted, the young girl boldly told her father, ‘Father, you must do something to get a mother for me, for I am totally exhausted doing the housework.’ Her father thought to himself, ‘That is a good idea,’ and he found some woman somewhere. But she only threw added burdens onto the shoulders of the young girl, for all she was interested in was bathing herself and rubbing her skin with fine unguents and then donning fancy clothes and jewels. This made Vijjupahā think, ‘I brought this on myself; trying to lessen my burden, I have made my suffering twice as heavy.’ And so it was that once more she would have to go out at dawn and now she would not even come back until mealtime was well over; she would eat whatever was left and go out again, not to return until nightfall. Thus passed twelve years.
One day while she was watching the cows as they grazed she lay down to sleep in the grass, for there was no shade anywhere. It just so happened that a snake made its way to the same clump of grass. Furthermore:
He was large and black with red eyes and a forked tongue that darted hither and thither; he raised his hood and slithered quickly towards her, terrified by something.
A demi-god, the prince of snakes, had possessed his body and so this snake could converse in the language of humans; he woke her up with gentle words.
When he saw that she was fully awake, the snake spoke to her, ‘Child! I have come to you because I am afraid. Wicked snake-charmers pursue me. I am terrified that they will capture me and stuff my body into their basket, where I will suffer no end of misery.
‘Therefore, young girl, I beg of you, wrap me in a corner of your garment. Protect me, for I am terrified. O daughter, make haste!
‘I am possessed by a demi-god, the prince of snakes, and I cannot disobey the commands of the deity that controls the magic formula of the snake-charmers.
‘Do not be afraid; do not hesitate, just do as I say.’
And the girl did as the snake asked her and concealed him in a corner of her garment.
At that moment the snake-charmers rushed upon them, holding bunches of magic herbs in their hands. They asked the young girl, ‘My child, have you seen a large snake pass by this way?’ She replied, ‘I have been sleeping here with my eyes covered. It’s no use asking me about anything.’ At this they said, ‘She is but a child. If she had seen a large snake surely she would have run away in fear. She must not have seen it. Let’s go on up ahead and look there.’ And so they looked everywhere for the snake, ahead along the road and back where they had come from. When they did not see him they sighed, ‘How can it have disappeared right from under our very own eyes?’ With those same eyes wide open in surprise, the snake-charmers gave up and went home.
When they had gone, the girl said to the snake, ‘You can come out. The men have gone.’ The snake crawled out. The demi-god, the snake prince that had inhabited the snake’s body, revealed himself to her; abandoning his form as a snake he allowed her to see his divine form. He told her, ‘Child! I am pleased by the incomparably brave deed you performed just to help another living being in distress. Choose a boon for me to grant you.’
When the girl saw the god with glittering earrings and shimmering jewels, she replied, ‘If you are truly pleased with me, then make some shade for me so that I can look after the cows as they graze without suffering so. There is no shade now and the heat makes me feel so terribly sick.’
The god thought to himself, ‘Is this all she asks of me as a boon, the silly, poor girl? Never mind, I will do something wonderful for her.’ And so he created above her a beautiful garden. Here is what the garden was like:
It had many species of the finest trees; flowers of every season were in bloom there, while all around the garden wafted the scent of pollen from the many blossoms and the sound of drunken bees res
ounded far and wide.
The rays of the sun could not penetrate its lushness; delightful to the mind and adorned by wonderful fragrances and colors, such was the garden that the god made for her.
The god told her, ‘Child! Through my power this garden will follow you wherever you may go. When you go home, at your command it will follow you and remain there, spread out over your head. If you are ever in trouble or in need, call upon me.’ With those words the god disappeared. The girl stayed there until nightfall, her thirst and hunger appeased by the taste of the divine fruit. Then she took her cows and went home. The garden went with her and spread itself out over the house. When her step mother said, ‘Eat!’ she answered, ‘Im not hungry,’ In the last watch of the night she gathered the cows and went into the wilderness. Several more years passed, in this very same routine.
One day as she was sleeping happily in the wilderness under the shelter of her garden, the king of Pādaliputtapura, named Jiasattu, was returning from his victorious campaign. He saw the garden and said to his minister, ‘Make camp here in this delightful garden.’ The minister at once assented and placed the king’s throne under a magnificent mango tree. The king sat down on the throne. Then:
‘The excited horses were tied to strong trees with the best of ropes, while their saddles and reins were hung high on the trees’ branches.
The Forest of Thieves and the Magic Garden: An Anthology of Medieval Jain Stories (Penguin Classics) Page 26
