                                          
                       JATAKA TALES OF THE BUDDHA
                                 Part I
                                          
                               Retold by
                         Ken & Visakha Kawasaki
                                          
                          Bodhi Leaves No. 135

                 Copyright 1995 Ken & Visakha Kawasaki


                      BUDDHIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY
                      KANDY              SRI LANKA

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                         DharmaNet Edition 1995


             Transcribed directly from BPS Pagemaker files
                        Formatting: John Bullitt

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           //Namo tassa Bhagavato Arahato Sammasambuddhassa//
                                          

                                          
                            Apannaka Jataka
                        Crossing the Wilderness
                                          
                              Jataka No. 1
                                           
                                           
  While the Buddha was staying at Jetavana Monastery near Savatthi, the 
  wealthy banker, Anathapindika, went one day to pay his respects. His 
  servants carried masses of flowers, perfume, butter, oil, honey, 
  molasses, cloths, and robes. Anathapindika paid obeisance to the 
  Buddha, presented the offerings he had brought, and sat down 
  respectfully. At that time, Anathapindika was accompanied by five 
  hundred friends who were followers of heretical teachers. His friends 
  also paid their respects to the Buddha and sat close to the banker. 
  The Buddha's face appeared like a full moon, and his body was 
  surrounded by a radiant aura. Seated on the red stone seat, he was 
  like a young lion roaring with a clear, noble voice as he taught them 
  a discourse full of sweetness and beautiful to the ear.
  
    After hearing the Buddha's teaching, the five hundred gave up their 
  heretical practices and took refuge in the Triple Gem: the Buddha, the 
  Dhamma, and the Sangha. After that, they went regularly with 
  Anathapindika to offer flowers and incense and to hear the teaching. 
  They gave liberally, kept the precepts, and faithfully observed the 
  Uposatha Day.[*] Soon after the Buddha left Savatthi to return to 
  Rajagaha, however, these men abandoned their new faith and reverted to 
  their previous beliefs. 
    
    [*] The Uposatha is the full, new, and half-moon days, when many 
         Buddhists observe the Eight Precepts.
       
    
    Seven or eight months later, the Buddha returned to Jetavana. 
  Again, Anathapindika brought these friends to visit the Buddha. They 
  paid their respects, but Anathapindika explained that they had 
  forsaken their refuge and had resumed their original practices. 
     
    The Buddha asked, "Is it true that you have abandoned refuge in the 
  Triple Gem for refuge in other doctrines?" The Buddha's voice was 
  incredibly clear because throughout myriad aeons He had always spoken 
  truthfully.
    
    When these men heard it, they were unable to conceal the truth. 
  "Yes, Blessed One," they confessed. "It is true."
    
    "Disciples," the Buddha said "nowhere between the lowest of hells 
  below and the highest heaven above, nowhere in all the infinite worlds 
  that stretch right and left, is there the equal, much less the 
  superior, of a Buddha. Incalculable is the excellence which springs 
  from obeying the Precepts and from other virtuous conduct."
    
    Then he declared the virtues of the Triple Gem. "By taking refuge 
  in the Triple Gem," He told them, "one escapes from rebirth in states 
  of suffering." He further explained that meditation on the Triple Gem 
  leads through the four stages to Enlightenment. 
    
    "In forsaking such a refuge as this," he admonished them, "you have 
  certainly erred. In the past, too, men who foolishly mistook what was 
  no refuge for a real refuge, met disaster. Actually, they fell prey to 
  yakkhas -- evil spirits -- in the wilderness and were utterly 
  destroyed. In contrast, men who clung to the truth not only survived, 
  but actually prospered in that same wilderness." 
    
    Anathapindika raised his clasped hands to his forehead, praised the 
  the Buddha, and asked him to tell that story of the past.
    
    "In order to dispel the world's ignorance and to conquer 
  suffering," the Buddha proclaimed, "I practised the Ten Perfections 
  for countless aeons. Listen carefully, and I will speak." 
    
    Having their full attention, the Buddha made clear, as though he 
  were releasing the full moon from behind clouds, what rebirth had 
  concealed from them. 
    
    
    
  Long, long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Baranasi, the 
  Bodhisatta was born into a merchant's family and grew up to be a wise 
  trader. At the same time, in the same city, there was another 
  merchant, a very stupid fellow, with no common sense whatsoever. 
    
    One day it so happened that the two merchants each loaded five 
  hundred carts with costly wares of Baranasi and prepared to leave in 
  the same direction at exactly the same time. The wise merchant 
  thought, "If this silly young fool travels with me and if our thousand 
  carts stay together, it will be too much for the road. Finding wood 
  and water for the men will be difficult, and there won't be enough 
  grass for the oxen. Either he or I must go first." 
    
    "Look," he said to the other merchant, "the two of us can't travel 
  together. Would you rather go first or follow after me?" 
    
    The foolish trader thought, "There will be many advantages if I 
  take the lead. I'll get a road which is not yet cut up. My oxen will 
  have the pick of the grass. My men will get the choicest wild herbs 
  for curry. The water will be undisturbed. Best of all, I'll be able to 
  fix my own price for bartering my goods." Considering all these 
  advantages, he said, "I will go ahead of you, my friend."
    
    The Bodhisatta was pleased to hear this because he saw many 
  advantages in following after. He reasoned, "Those carts going first 
  will level the road where it is rough, and I'll be able to travel 
  along the road they have already smoothed. Their oxen will graze off 
  the coarse old grass, and mine will pasture on the sweet young growth 
  which will spring up in its place. My men will find fresh sweet herbs 
  for curry where the old ones have been picked. Where there is no 
  water, the first caravan will have to dig to supply themselves, and 
  we'll be able to drink at the wells they have dug. Haggling over 
  prices is tiring work; he'll do the work, and I will be able to barter 
  my wares at prices he has already fixed." 
    
    "Very well, my friend," he said, "please go first."
    
    "I will," said the foolish merchant, and he yoked his carts and set 
  out. After a while he came to the outskirts of a wilderness. He filled 
  all of his huge water jars with water before setting out to cross the 
  sixty yojanas [*] of desert which lay before him. 
    
    [*] //Yojana//: a unit of distance, about seven miles.
    
    
    The yakkha who haunted that wilderness had been watching the 
  caravan. When it had reached the middle, he used his magic power to 
  conjure up a lovely carriage drawn by pure white young bulls. With a 
  retinue of a dozen disguised yakkhas carrying swords and shields, he 
  rode along in his carriage like a mighty lord. His hair and clothes 
  were wet, and he had a wreath of blue lotuses and white water lilies 
  around his head. His attendants also were dripping wet and draped in 
  garlands. Even the bulls' hooves and carriage wheels were muddy.
    
    As the wind was blowing from the front, the merchant was riding at 
  the head of his caravan to escape the dust. The yakkha drew his 
  carriage beside the merchant's and greeted him kindly. The merchant 
  returned the greeting and moved his own carriage to one side to allow 
  the carts to pass while he and the yakkha chatted.
    
    "We are on our way from Baranasi, sir," explained the merchant. "I 
  see that your men are all wet and muddy and that you have lotuses and 
  water lilies. Did it rain while you were on the road? Did you come 
  across pools with lotuses and water lilies?"
    
    "What do you mean?" the yakkha exclaimed. "Over there is the 
  dark-green streak of a jungle. Beyond that there is plenty of water. 
  It is always raining there, and there are many lakes with lotuses and 
  water lilies." Then, pretending to be interested in the merchant's 
  business, he asked, "What do you have in these carts?" 
    
    "Expensive merchandise," answered the merchant.
    
    "What is in this cart which seems so heavily laden?" the yakkha 
  asked as the last cart rolled by.
    
    "That's full of water." 
    
    "You were wise to carry water with you this far, but there is no 
  need for it now, since water is so abundant ahead. You could travel 
  much faster and lighter without those heavy jars. You'd be better off 
  breaking them and throwing the water away. Well, good day," he said 
  suddenly, as he turned his carriage. "We must be on our way. We have 
  stopped too long already." He rode away quickly with his men. As soon 
  as they were out of sight, he turned and made his way back to his own 
  city. 
    
    The merchant was so foolish that he followed the yakkha's advice. 
  He broke all the jars, without saving even a single cupful of water, 
  and ordered the men to drive on quickly. Of course, they did not find 
  any water, and they were soon exhausted from thirst. At sunset they 
  drew their carts into a circle and tethered the oxen to the wheels, 
  but there was no water for the weary animals. Without water, the men 
  could not cook any rice either. They sank to the ground and fell 
  asleep. As soon as night came, the yakkhas attacked, killing every 
  single man and beast. The fiends devoured the flesh, leaving only the 
  bones, and departed. Skeletons were strewn in every direction, but the 
  five hundred carts stood with their loads untouched. Thus the heedless 
  young merchant was the sole cause of the destruction of the entire 
  caravan. 
    
    Allowing six weeks to pass after the foolish trader had left, the 
  Bodhisatta set out with his five hundred carts. When he reached the 
  edge of the wilderness, he filled his water jars. Then he assembled 
  his men and announced, "Let not so much as a handful of water be used 
  without my permission. Furthermore, there are poisonous plants in this 
  wilderness. Do not eat any leaf, flower, or fruit which you have never 
  eaten before, without showing it to me first." Having thus carefully 
  warned his men, he led the caravan into the wilderness.
    
    When they had reached the middle of the wilderness, the yakkha 
  appeared on the path just as before. The merchant noticed his red eyes 
  and fearless manner and suspected something strange. "I know there is 
  no water in this desert," he said to himself. "Furthermore, this 
  stranger casts no shadow. He must be a yakkha. He probably tricked the 
  foolish merchant, but he doesn't realize how clever I am."
    
    "Get out of here!" he shouted at the yakkha. "We are men of 
  business. We do not throw away our water before we see where more is 
  to come from!" 
    
    Without saying any more, the yakkha rode away. 
    
    As soon as the yakkhas had left, the merchant's men approached 
  their leader and said, "Sir, those men were wearing lotuses and water 
  lilies on their heads. Their clothes and hair were wringing wet. They 
  told us that up ahead there is a thick forest where it is always 
  raining. Let us throw away our water so that we can proceed quicker 
  with lightened carts."
    
    The merchant ordered a halt and summoned all his men. "Has any man 
  among you ever heard before today," he asked, "that there was a lake 
  or a pool in this wilderness?" 
    
    "No, sir," they answered. "It's known as the 'Waterless Desert.' "
    
    "We have just been told by some strangers that it is raining in the 
  forest just ahead. How far does a rain-wind carry?"
    
    "A yojana, sir." 
    
    "Has any man here seen the top of even a single storm-cloud?" 
    
    "No, sir." 
    
    "How far off can you see a flash of lightning?"
    
    "Four or five yojanas, sir." 
    
    "Has any man here seen a flash of lightning?" 
    
    "No, sir." 
    
    "How far off can a man hear a peal of thunder?"
    
    "Two or three yojanas, sir." 
    
    "Has any man here heard a peal of thunder?"
    
    "No, sir." 
    
    "Those were not men, but yakkhas," the wise merchant told his men. 
  "They are hoping that we will throw away our water. Then, when we are 
  weak and faint, they will return to devour us. Since the young 
  merchant who went before us was not a man of good sense, most likely 
  he was fooled by them. We may expect to find his carts standing just 
  as they were first loaded. We will probably see them today. Press on 
  with all possible speed, without throwing away a drop of water!"
    
    Just as the merchant had predicted, his caravan soon came upon the 
  five hundred carts with the skeletons of men and oxen strewn in every 
  direction. He ordered his men to arrange his carts in a fortified 
  circle, to take care of the oxen, and to prepare an early supper for 
  themselves. After the animals and men had all safely bedded down, the 
  merchant and his foremen, swords in hand, stood guard all through the 
  night. 
    
    At daybreak the merchant replaced his own weak carts for stronger 
  ones and exchanged his own common goods for the most costly of the 
  abandoned merchandise. When he arrived at his destination, he was able 
  to barter his stock of wares at two or three times their value. He 
  returned to his own city without losing a single man out of all his 
  company.
    
    
    
    This story ended, the Buddha said, "Thus it was, laymen, that in 
  times past, the foolish came to utter destruction, while those who 
  clung to the truth escaped from the yakkhas' hands, reached their goal 
  in safety, and returned to their homes again.
    
    "This clinging to the truth not only endows happiness even up to 
  rebirth in the Realm of Brahma,[*] but also leads ultimately to 
  Arahatship. Following untruth entails rebirth either in the four 
  states of punishment or in the lowest conditions of mankind." After 
  the Buddha had expounded the Four Truths, those five hundred disciples 
  were established in the Fruit of the First Path.
    
    [*] The Realm of Brahma refers to the highest heavens, where beings 
         enjoy radiant bliss.
    
    
     The Buddha concluded his lesson by identifying the Birth as 
  follows: "The foolish young merchant was Devadatta,[*] and his men 
  were Devadatta's followers. The wise merchant's men were the followers 
  of the Buddha, and I myself was that wise merchant."
    
    [*] Devadatta was a cousin of the Buddha. He tried to kill the 
         Master several times, but always failed. See Jataka No.3, 
         immediately below.
    
                                 * * *
                                          
                                          
                                          
                          Serivavanija Jataka
                         The Traders of Seriva
                                          
                              Jataka No. 3
                                           
    
  So that a disheartened bhikkhu would have no regrets in the future, 
  the Buddha told him this story at Savatthi to encourage him to 
  persevere. "If you give up your practice in this sublime teaching 
  which leads to Nibbana," the Buddha told him, "you will suffer long, 
  like the trader of Seriva who lost a golden bowl worth a hundred 
  thousand pieces."
    
    When asked to explain, the Buddha told this story of the distant 
  past.
    
    
    
  Five long aeons ago, the Bodhisatta was an honest trader selling fancy 
  goods in the kingdom of Seriva. Sometimes he travelled with another 
  trader from the same kingdom, a greedy fellow, who handled the same 
  wares.
    
    One day the two of them crossed the Telavaha river to do business 
  in the bustling city of Andhapura. As usual, to avoid competing with 
  each other, they divided the city between them and began selling their 
  goods from door to door.
    
    In that city there was a ramshackle mansion. Years before the 
  family had been rich merchants, but by the time of this story their 
  fortunes had dwindled to nothing, and all the men of the family had 
  died. The sole survivors were a girl and her grandmother, and these 
  two earned their living by working for hire. 
    
    That afternoon, while the greedy peddler was on his rounds, he came 
  to the door of that very house, crying, "Beads for sale! Beads for 
  sale!" 
    
    When the young girl heard his cry, she begged, "Please buy me a 
  trinket, Grandmother."
    
    "We're very poor, dear. There's not a cent in the house and I can't 
  think of anything to offer in exchange." 
    
    The girl suddenly remembered an old bowl. "Look!" she cried. 
  "Here's an old bowl. It's of no use to us. Let's try to trade it for 
  something nice." 
    
    What the little girl showed her grandmother was an old bowl which 
  had been used by the great merchant, the late head of the family. He 
  had always eaten his curries served from this beautiful, expensive 
  bowl. After his death it had been thrown among the pots and pans and 
  forgotten. Since it hadn't been used for a very long time, it was 
  completely covered with grime. The two women had no idea it was gold. 
    
    The old woman asked the trader to come in and sit down. She showed 
  him the bowl and said, "Sir, my granddaughter would like a trinket. 
  Would you be so kind as to take this bowl and give her something or 
  other in exchange?" 
    
    The peddler took the bowl in his hand and turned it over. 
  Suspecting its value, he scratched the back of it with a needle. After 
  just one covert look, he knew for certain the bowl was real gold. 
    
    He sat there frowning and thinking until his greed got the better 
  of him. At last he decided to try to get the bowl without giving the 
  woman anything whatever for it. Pretending to be angry, he growled, 
  "Why did you bring me this stupid bowl? It isn't worth half a cent!" 
  He threw the bowl to the floor, got up, and stalked out of the house 
  in apparent disgust. 
    
    Since it had been agreed between the two traders that the one might 
  try the streets which the other had already covered, the honest 
  peddler came later into that same street and appeared at the door of 
  the house, crying, "Beads for sale!" 
    
    Once again the young girl made the same request of her grandmother, 
  and the old woman replied, "My dear, the first peddler threw our bowl 
  on the ground and stormed out of the house. What have we got left to 
  offer?"
    
    "Oh, but that trader was nasty, Grandmother. This one looks and 
  sounds very kind. I think he will take it." 
    
     "All right, then. Call him in." 
    
    When the peddler came into the house, the two women gave him a seat 
  and shyly put the bowl into his hands. Immediately recognizing that 
  the bowl was gold, he said, "Mother, this bowl is worth a hundred 
  thousand pieces of silver. I'm sorry but I don't have that much 
  money."
    
    Astonished at his words, the old woman said, "Sir, another peddler 
  who came here a little while ago said that it was not worth half a 
  cent. He got angry, threw it on the floor, and went away. If it wasn't 
  valuable then, it must be because of your own goodness that the bowl 
  has turned into gold. Please take it, and just give us something or 
  other for it. We will be more than satisfied." 
    
    At that time the peddler had only five hundred pieces of silver and 
  goods worth another five hundred. He gave everything to the women, 
  asking only to keep his scales, his bag, and eight coins for his 
  return fare. Of course, they were happy to agree. After profuse thanks 
  on both sides, the trader hurried to the river with the golden bowl. 
  He gave his eight coins to the boatman and got into the boat. 
    
    Not long after he had left, the greedy peddler returned to the 
  house, giving the impression of having reluctantly reconsidered their 
  offer. He asked them to bring out their bowl, saying he would give 
  them something or other for it after all. 
    
    The old woman flew at him. "You scoundrel!" she cried. "You told us 
  that our golden bowl was not worth even half a cent. Lucky for us, an 
  honest trader came after you left and told us it was really worth a 
  hundred thousand pieces of silver. He gave us a thousand for it and 
  took it away, so you are too late!" 
    
    When the peddler heard this, an intense pain swept over him. "He 
  robbed me! He robbed me!" he cried. "He got my golden bowl worth a 
  hundred thousand!" He became hysterical and lost all control. Throwing 
  down his money and merchandise, he tore off his shirt, grabbed the 
  beam of his scales for a club, and ran to the riverside to catch the 
  other trader.
    
    By the time he got to the river, the boat was already in midstream. 
  He shouted for the boat to return to shore, but the honest peddler, 
  who had already paid, calmly told the ferryman to continue on. 
    
    The frustrated trader could only stand there on the river-bank and 
  watch his rival escape with the bowl. The sight so infuriated him that 
  a fierce hate swelled up inside him. His heart grew hot, and blood 
  gushed from his mouth. Finally, his heart cracked like the mud at the 
  bottom of a pond dried up by the sun. So intense was the unreasoning 
  hatred which he developed against the other trader because of the 
  golden bowl, that he perished then and there. 
    
    The honest trader returned to Seriva, where he lived a full life 
  spent in charity and other good works, and passed away to fare 
  according to his deserts.
    
    
    
  When the Buddha finished this story, he identified himself as the 
  honest trader, and Devadatta as the greedy trader. This was the 
  beginning of the implacable grudge which Devadatta held against the 
  Bodhisatta through innumerable lives.
  
                                          
                                 * * *
  
  
  
                          Matakabhatta Jataka
                     The Goat That Laughed and Wept
                                          
                             Jataka No. 18
                                           
                                           
  One day, while the Buddha was staying in Jetavana, some bhikkhus asked 
  him if there was any benefit in sacrificing goats, sheep, and other 
  animals as offerings for departed relatives. 
    
    "No, bhikkhus," replied the Buddha. "No good ever comes from taking 
  life, not even when it is for the purpose of providing a Feast for the 
  Dead." Then he told this story of the past.
    
    
    
  Long, long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Baranasi, a brahmin 
  decided to offer a Feast for the Dead and bought a goat to sacrifice. 
  "My boys," he said to his students, "take this goat down to the river, 
  bathe it, brush it, hang a garland around its neck, give it some grain 
  to eat, and bring it back."
    
    "Yes, sir," they replied and led the goat to the river.
    
    While they were grooming it, the goat started to laugh with a sound 
  like a pot smashing. Then, just as strangely, it started to weep 
  loudly. 
    
    The young students were amazed at this behavior. "Why did you 
  suddenly laugh," they asked the goat, "and why do you now cry so 
  loudly?"
    
    "Repeat your question when we get back to your teacher," the goat 
  answered. 
    
    The students hurriedly took the goat back to their master and told 
  him what had happened at the river. Hearing the story, the master 
  himself asked the goat why it had laughed and why it had wept. 
    
    "In times past, brahmin," the goat began, "I was a brahmin who 
  taught the Vedas like you. I, too, sacrificed a goat as an offering 
  for a Feast for the Dead. Because of killing that single goat, I have 
  had my head cut off 499 times. I laughed aloud when I realized that 
  this is my last birth as an animal to be sacrificed. Today I will be 
  freed from my misery. On the other hand, I cried when I realized that, 
  because of killing me, you, too, may be doomed to lose your head five 
  hundred times. It was out of pity for you that I cried."
    
    "Well, goat," said the brahmin, "in that case, I am not going to 
  kill you." 
    
    "Brahmin!" exclaimed the goat. "Whether or not you kill me, I 
  cannot escape death today." 
    
    "Don't worry," the brahmin assured the goat. "I will guard you."  
    
    "You don't understand," the goat told him. "Your protection is 
  weak. The force of my evil deed is very strong."
    
    The brahmin untied the goat and said to his students, "Don't allow 
  anyone to harm this goat." They obediently followed the animal to 
  protect it. 
    
    After the goat was freed, it began to graze. It stretched out its 
  neck to reach the leaves on a bush growing near the top of a large 
  rock. At that very instant a lightning bolt hit the rock, breaking off 
  a sharp piece of stone which flew through the air and neatly cut off 
  the goat's head. A crowd of people gathered around the dead goat and 
  began to talk excitedly about the amazing accident. 
    
    A tree deva [*] had observed everything from the goat's purchase to
  its dramatic death, and drawing a lesson from the incident, admonished 
  the crowd: "If people only knew that the penalty would be rebirth into 
  sorrow, they would cease from taking life. A horrible doom awaits one 
  who slays." With this explanation of the law of kamma the deva 
  instilled in his listeners the fear of hell. The people were so 
  frightened that they completely gave up the practice of animal 
  sacrifices. The deva further instructed the people in the Precepts and 
  urged them to do good.

    [*] Devas are celestial beings, ranging from the highest gods to
        simple tree spirits.
    

    Eventually, that deva passed away to fare according to his deserts. 
  For several generations after that, people remained faithful to the 
  Precepts and spent their lives in charity and meritorious works, so 
  that many were reborn in the heavens. 
    
    
    
  The Buddha ended his lesson and identified the Birth by saying, "In 
  those days I was that deva." 
    
                                 * * *
  
  
  
                             Kuhaka Jataka
                     The Straw Worth More Than Gold
                                          
                             Jataka No. 89
                                           
                                           
  The Buddha told this story at Jetavana about a conniving bhikkhu, who 
  was the source of much trouble to other bhikkhus.
    
    
    
  Long, long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Baranasi, a shifty 
  ascetic with long, matted hair, lived near a certain little village. 
  The landowner had built a modest hermitage in the forest for him, and 
  daily provided him with excellent food in his own house. 
    
    The landowner had a great fear of robbers and decided that the 
  safest course to protect his money was to hide it in an unlikely 
  place. Believing the matted-haired ascetic to be a model of sainthood, 
  he brought a hundred pieces of gold to the hermitage, buried them 
  there, and asked the ascetic to keep watch over the treasure. 
    
    "There's no need to say more, sir, to a man like me who has 
  renounced the world. We hermits never covet what belongs to others." 
    
    "That's wonderful," said the landowner, who went off with complete 
  confidence in the hermit's protestations. 
    
    As soon as the landowner was out of sight, the ascetic chuckled to 
  himself, "Why, there's enough here to last a man his whole life!"
    
    Allowing a few days to elapse, the hermit dug up the gold and 
  reburied it conveniently by the road. The following morning, after a 
  meal of rice and succulent curries at the landowner's house, the 
  ascetic said, "My good sir, I've been staying here, supported by you, 
  for a long time. Frankly, living so long in one place is like living 
  in the world, which is forbidden to ascetics like me. I really cannot 
  remain here any longer; the time has come for me to leave."  
    
    The landowner urged him to stay, but nothing could overcome the 
  hermit's determination. 
    
    "Well, then," said the landowner, "if you must go, good luck to 
  you."  Reluctantly, he escorted the ascetic to the outskirts of the 
  village and returned home.
    
    After walking a short way by himself, the ascetic thought it would 
  be a good thing to cajole the landowner. Sticking a straw in his 
  matted hair, he hurried back to the village. 
    
    "What brings you back again?" asked the surprised landowner.  
  
    
    "I just noticed that a straw from your roof got stuck in my hair. 
  We hermits must not take anything which has not been given to us, so I 
  have brought it back to you." 
    
    "Throw it down, sir, and go your way," said the landowner. 
  "Imagine!" he said to himself. "This ascetic is so honest he won't 
  even take a straw which does not belong to him. What a rare person!" 
  Thus, greatly impressed by the ascetic's honesty, the landowner bid 
  him farewell again.
     
    At that time the Bodhisatta, reborn as a merchant, was travelling 
  to the border on business and happened to stop at that same little 
  village, where he witnessed the ascetic's return with the piece of 
  straw. Suspicion grew in his mind that the hermit must have robbed the 
  landowner of something. He asked the rich man whether he had deposited 
  anything in the ascetic's care.
    
    "Yes," the landowner answered rather hesitantly, "a hundred pieces 
  of gold."
    
    "Well, why don't you just go and see if it's still safe?" the 
  merchant suggested.
    
    The landowner went to the deserted hermitage, dug where he had left 
  his money, and found it gone. Rushing back to the merchant, he cried, 
  "It's not there!"
    
    "The thief is certainly that long-haired rascal of an ascetic," 
  said the merchant. "Let's catch him." 
    
    The two men ran after the rogue and quickly caught him. They kicked 
  him and beat him until he showed them where he had hidden the gold. 
  After they had gotten back the money, the merchant looked at the coins 
  and scornfully asked the ascetic, "Why didn't this hundred pieces of 
  gold trouble your conscience as much as that straw? Take care, you 
  hypocrite, never to play such a trick again!"
    
    When his life ended, the merchant passed away to fare according to 
  his deserts.
     
    
    
  When he had ended his lesson, the Buddha said, "Thus you see, monks, 
  that this monk was as conniving in the past as he is today." Then he 
  identified the Birth by saying, "This monk was the scheming ascetic of 
  those days, and I was the wise and good merchant." 
    
  
                            * * * * * * * *


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                         DISTRIBUTION AGREEMENT
                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 TITLE OF WORK: Jataka Tales of the Buddha, Part I (Bodhi Leaves #135)
 FILENAME: BODHI135.ZIP
 AUTHOR: Ken & Visakha Kawasaki
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