Jataka

Crossing the Wilderness :  Apannaka Jātaka

In the sanctuary of Jetavana Monastery, nestled near the rhythmic pulse of Sāvatthī, the revered Buddha found his temporary abode. On a day that wore the warm sun like a halo, the affluent merchant known to all as Anāthapindika embarked on his journey of piety. A procession of loyal servants trailed behind him, their arms buckling under the weight of opulent gifts - vast arrays of flowers, redolent perfumes, fabrics fine enough to make the gods envious, robes of resplendent hues, and pots brimming with the sweetness of catumadhu.

Anāthapindika, like a moth drawn to the celestial glow of the Buddha, proceeded to pay his respects, a cornucopia of offerings cradled in his arms. Reverently, he settled into a fitting location, the texture of the sacred ground imprinting itself upon his conscience.

On this particular day, Anāthapindika was not alone. A retinue of five hundred associates, followers of various doctrines, shadowed him. These were men seeking wisdom in the swirling eddies of different teachings. Upon meeting the Buddha, they too fell into a sequence of reverence, paying their respects before finding their places in the congregational circle, tethered to the charismatic pull of the merchant.

And there, at the heart of this confluence of seekers, the Buddha sat, radiant and tranquil. His visage bore the serene elegance of a full moon, a luminescent aura dancing around his form. It was a sight of transcendent beauty, one that seared itself into the minds of all present, a testament to a presence that was both earthly and divine.

There, perched on a seat of red stone, he was an image of regal vitality, evoking the fierce nobility of a young lion as his voice rang out clear and sonorous, every syllable a ripple in the silence, a proclamation of the Dhamma, sweet as nectar and enchanting to the ear. Upon the receipt of the Buddha's enlightening sermon, the five hundred, like leaves surrendering to the autumn gust, renounced their former practices, finding solace in the protective shelter of the Triple Gem.

Anāthapindika and his friends became regular visitors, their offerings of flowers and incense perfuming the air, their ears attuned to the Buddha's teachings. They opened their hearts, were mindful of the precepts, and with unwavering dedication, observed the Uposatha days. Yet, when the Buddha bid Sāvatthī adieu, journeying back to Rājagaha, these men, like wandering ships lost in the tumultuous sea, reneged on their newfound faith, reverting to their erstwhile beliefs.

Seven or eight moons waxed and waned before the Buddha returned to the tranquillity of Jetavana. Anāthapindika, bearing the weight of the lapsed faith of his friends, once again brought them to the Buddha. They paid their respects, though their spirits bore the stain of their digression. Anāthapindika confessed to the Buddha the disheartening reality - they had forsaken their sanctuary and resumed their former practices.

In his voice, a mirror of crystalline purity, borne from the steadfast honesty of countless eons, the Buddha queried, “Have you indeed forsaken the Triple Gem's refuge, seeking shelter in other doctrines?” Unable to deny the truth in the presence of such clear-sighted wisdom, the men affirmed their transgression, their confession echoing in the silence, “Indeed, Blessed One, it is so.”

“Laymen,” the Buddha began, his voice a blend of compassion and stern admonition, “between the deepest pits of hell below and the highest realms of heaven above, across the infinite expanse of worlds that stretch in all directions, there exists no equal, let alone a superior, to a Buddha. The merits accrued from virtuous conduct, from obeying the precepts, are boundless.”

He expounded on the virtues of the Triple Gem, the benefits that lay in their embrace - liberation from the cycle of rebirth, the suffering that stained every mortal life. Meditation upon the Triple Gem was the path to Enlightenment, he elucidated. “By forsaking such a refuge,” he admonished, “you have undeniably erred.”

He painted a poignant image of those in the past who, lost in their foolishness, mistook a false refuge for a genuine one and met with cataclysmic disasters, falling prey to yakkhas in the wilderness, their existence obliterated. Yet those who held fast to the truth survived and even thrived in that very wilderness.

Anāthapindika, his hands folded in reverence, hailed the Buddha and implored him to recount the stories of the past. “For aeons, I cultivated the Ten Perfections to dispel the veil of ignorance that shrouds the world, to conquer suffering,” the Buddha declared. “Listen well, for I shall speak.” His voice commanded their undivided attention as he prepared to reveal the truth, to cast the full moon of wisdom from behind the clouds of rebirth, illuminating the obscured path for them.

In the era of antiquity, when the reign of Brahmadatta adorned the city of Bārānasi, our Bodhisatta emerged from a merchant's womb, maturing into a man of discerning wisdom and keen business acumen. Parallel to his existence, another merchant thrived in the same city, a man of startling naivety and glaring lack of sensibility.

As fate twined their paths, the two merchants found themselves readying five hundred carts each, loaded to the brim with Bārānasi's rich merchandise, poised to embark on a journey in the same direction at the selfsame hour. The wise merchant, upon weighing the consequences of the joint caravan, mused, “Should this greenhorn travel with me, the road shall buckle under the weight of a thousand carts. The procurement of wood and water for the men will strain our resources, and the grasslands may not satiate the hunger of all our oxen. A resolution must be reached – either he precedes me, or I take the lead.”

With this in mind, he proposed a choice to the other merchant, “Our simultaneous journey might strain the road and its resources. Would you prefer to journey ahead or tread on the path I carve?”

The naive merchant, blinded by the ostensible advantages of leading the way, thought, “Being at the vanguard of the journey would award me a path untarnished by tires, a pick of the fresh grasslands for my oxen, a variety of untouched wild herbs for my men, water undisturbed by fellow travellers, and the power to dictate the terms of my trade.” Weighing these benefits, he responded, “I'll gladly venture ahead, my friend.”

The wise merchant, though outwardly acquiescent, relished the idea of trailing the naive merchant. He envisioned how the carts ahead would smoothen the rough terrain, how the old grass munched by the oxen ahead would pave the way for a fresh green carpet for his own oxen, how the water dug out by the leading caravan would quench his own men's thirst, and how the price set by the other merchant would free him from haggling. “Very well, my friend,” he concurred, “do lead the way.”

True to his word, the naive merchant embarked on the journey. In time, he reached the brink of a wilderness. Preparing for the formidable sixty-yojana journey across the desert, he filled his large water jars to the brim.

A yakkha, a ghostly creature, who haunted these wildernesses had been observing the caravan. When the caravan was smack in the middle of the wilderness, he wielded his magical prowess to summon a splendid carriage, drawn by youthful, pristine white bulls. With a dozen yakkhas masquerading as sword and shield-bearing retinue, he, appearing as a lord of great power, rode his carriage, his hair and clothes moist, a wreath of blue lotuses and white water lilies adorning his head. His attendants too were wet, garlanded in fragrant blossoms, even the hooves of the bulls and the carriage wheels were caked in mud.

The naive merchant, leading his caravan to avoid the dust thrown up by the wind, was met by the yakkha. The latter manoeuvred his carriage alongside the merchant's, exchanged warm greetings and engaged in genial chatter as the carriages rolled on side by side.

“We have set forth from Bārānasi, sir,” the naive merchant divulged. "It appears your retinue and you are soaked, muddy even. The lotuses and water lilies adorning your person are intriguing. Did the road ahead bless you with showers?

“What?! Are you jesting?” The yakkha exclaimed in astonishment. “That emerald whisper of a forest over yonder is a reservoir of rain. Beyond its verdant veil lie plentiful water bodies, their surfaces ever disturbed by rain, and an array of lakes embellished with lotuses and water lilies.” Disguising his intention with a feigned curiosity, he inquired, “What does your vast convoy of carts carry?”

“We transport merchandise of high value,” responded the unsuspecting merchant.

“Ah, what burdens does this last cart bear, seemingly sagging under its load?” questioned the yakkha, as the final cart lumbered past.

“It is laden with water.”

“Astute of you to carry water this far, yet its necessity dwindles given the abundance of it up ahead. The weight of these cumbersome jars hampers your journey. You would fare better to discard them, empty their contents, and lighten your load. Alas, we have lingered here far too long. We must hasten our journey. Farewell!” And with that abrupt departure, he steered his carriage away swiftly, his men following suit. Once out of sight, they retraced their steps back to their city.

The gullible merchant, under the influence of the yakkha’s deceit, shattered the jars, not retaining even a measly cupful of water. He commanded his men to hasten their journey. But, as predicted, they found no water, and soon, parched throats and exhaustion reigned. With the sun's descent, they arranged their carts in a circular formation and hobbled the oxen to the wheels, providing no relief to the parched beasts. Deprived of water, cooking rice was impossible. Weary, the men collapsed to the ground and drifted to sleep. As darkness enveloped the desert, the yakkhas descended in an onslaught, annihilating every man and beast. They feasted on the flesh, leaving behind only skeletal remains before withdrawing. Bones scattered around the site, while the five hundred carts stood undisturbed with their untouched loads. Thus, the heedless young merchant was instrumental in the annihilation of his entire caravan.

After the passage of six weeks since the naive merchant's departure, the wise merchant embarked on his journey with his convoy of five hundred carts. Upon reaching the brink of the wilderness, he filled his water jars. Gathering his men, he warned them, “Not a drop of water shall be squandered without my explicit consent. Moreover, this wilderness is rife with venomous flora. Do not consume any leaf, flower, or fruit unfamiliar to you without consulting me.” With this stringent cautionary advice, he guided his caravan into the wilderness.

Once they had traversed the heart of the wilderness, the yakkha materialized on the path as before. The wise merchant, taking note of the yakkha's crimson eyes and audacious demeanor, suspected a sinister presence. “I know for a fact that water is a rarity in this desert,' he pondered. 'Furthermore, this stranger casts no shadow4. A yakkha he must be. He must have duped the foolish merchant, but little does he realize who he is up against now.” Turning to the yakkha, he warned, “Begone! We are merchants, prudent in our ways. We will not discard our water until we have seen a credible source for replenishment!” Without another word, the yakkha sped away.

Upon the yakkha’s departure, the merchant’s men gathered around him, “Sir, the men we encountered were drenched and adorned with lotuses and water lilies. They informed us about an upcoming forest, where rains are incessant. Should we

not dispose of our water to lessen the weight of our carts and quicken our journey?”

The wise merchant called for a halt and gathered all his men. “Does any man among you remember hearing, before this day,” he questioned, “of the existence of a lake or a pool in this desert?”

“No, sir,” they replied. “It has always been known as the 'Waterless Desert.'”

“These strangers claim that a forest lies ahead, where rain is a constant visitor. How far can a rain wind carry?”

“A yojana, sir.”

“Has anyone here seen the peak of a single storm cloud?”

“No, sir.”

With a firm nod, the wise merchant warned his men, “Then it stands to reason that we should not heed the advice of strangers, particularly those whose appearance seems suspicious. The yakkhas seek to deceive us, to lead us to our doom. We must adhere to our initial plan and conserve our water until we reach a reliable source."

With this, the wise merchant and his caravan continued their journey, prudently prepared for the challenges ahead, unlike their ill-fated predecessors. They knew that wisdom and caution were their strongest allies in this vast, treacherous desert.

In the grand, time-sculpted theatre of the past, when Brahmadatta reigned in Bārānasi, it was thus that the ill-fated fools met their fate, while those who held to the lamp of truth were spared the yakkhas' deathly embrace. They journeyed on with confidence, their paths lit by the unwavering beacon of truth, until they reached their desired haven. They, then, retreated to the safety of their homes, their hearts light with victory.

The fortitude of truth does more than just offer temporal happiness. It lays down the bricks for the path that leads to the celestial abode of Brahma heavens and ultimately guides the wayfarer to the revered stage of arahatship. On the contrary, embracing the shadowy deceits of untruth births you either in the four lower realms of existence or in the most deplorable conditions among mankind.”

After he imparted these pearls of Dhamma, the Buddha witnessed the blossoming of understanding in his five hundred disciples, who attained the first path. He then concluded with the identification of the birth, “In that bygone era, the misguided followers of Devadatta were the ill-starred men of the foolish merchant, with Devadatta himself in the role of the unfortunate merchant. My own followers were the men of the wise merchant, and it was I who wore the mantle of the wise merchant.”