Chapter 11 - The story of Kṛśā Gautamī

[Source: Kah-gyur, xi., pp. 122-130. The principal theme of this tale occurs in the 25th chapter of the Dsanglun, but the Bhikṣuṇī Utpalavarṇā is the heroine of the story. Kṛśā Gautamī (Kisagotamī among the Southern Buddhists) has been made known by the work translated by Captain Rogers from the Burmese under the title of “Buddhagoṣa’s Parables” (London, 1870, pp. 98, &c.), and has afforded a subject for comparisons with certain points in Greet tales to Prof. Rohde (see Zeitschrift für das Gymnasialwesen, 1876, Feb., p. 118).—S.]

A rich householder of Vārāṇasī named Gautama, who travelled with goods to Takṣaśilā, contracted a friendship there with another householder, and the two men made an agreement that their children should marry each other. To Gautama was born a daughter, who received the name of Kṛśā Gautamī. After she had been taught to read, she had to apply herself to learning such work as women do. Now her father had been in the habit of associating with courtesans, so he entrusted his daughter’s instruction to a woman of that class. The daughter began to study with her. After she had done so for some time she said, “As I have acquired what was to be learnt, I will go away.” But the woman objected that she must first complete her studies properly; it was too soon for her to go away yet. The girl replied that she had already studied enough, and that she would go away. Then the woman took a paint-box and said that she would give herself a broken head if the girl was determined to go away. The girl begged her not to do that, and promised to remain. Then said the woman, “Kṛśā, you believed that you had learnt everything, and yet you did not know this. Who would give herself a broken head for the sake of a stranger child? You know nothing then.”

After the girl had tarried with her somewhat longer, she wanted to go away again. The woman declared that if that happened she would jump into the well. The girl besought her not to do that, and promised to stay. The woman said, “Kṛśā, you believed that you had learnt everything, and you did not even know so much as this, that no one jumps into a well for the sake of a strange child. As you did not know that, you must stop here.”

After the girl had stayed there some time longer, she again wanted to go away. The woman said that she need not wait long. She was going to bring in some milk, she said. The girl could drink it and then go away. The woman brought the milk, and in the girl’s presence mixed oil and honey with it. Then she drank some of it, and having done so, rendered it loathsome, and told the girl to drink it. The girl refused to do so, whereupon the woman took to crying. When the neighbours heard this, they came together and asked her why she was crying. When the woman had explained the matter, the neighbours asked the girl why she would not drink the milk which had been prepared for her. The girl replied that she could not swallow what was loathsome. Thereupon the woman smote her breast repeatedly and said, “Wherefore should I give her what is loathsome to drink?” The neighbours seriously set to work to make the girl drink. But when she was going to drink, the woman seized her by the hand, slapped her face with the palm of her hand, and said, “O Kṛśā, you believed that you had learnt all that was to be learnt. If that had been the case, you would certainly never have let that be given you to drink which you knew was loathsome. Consequently you know nothing.” Having thus spoken, she drove the girl away.

After some time a merchant and five hundred traders came to Madhyadeśa with merchandise. In the presence of these traders the merchant constantly spoke against women. Those traders had previously consorted with the courtesans of that place. But the courtesans now found that they and their leader only scoffed at women, and visited no courtesan’s house. So they held counsel together', saying that whereas the traders who formerly came from Takṣaśilā used to have converse with them, they were now entirely devoid of all passion. And so no man consorted with the women. Some of the courtesans said that they had heard that the merchant, who knew how to repress passion, blamed women severely, and that the traders, who were devoted to him, had therefore discontinued all converse with them. One of their number', an old woman, asked, “If I, by means of my daughter’, effect a change in him, will ye make me your superior? Ānd, in case she did not succeed, she promised to pay a penalty of five hundred kārṣāpaṇas.

Thereupon the old woman hired a house in the neighbourhood of the traders, and provided it with a great quantity of domestic implements. The merchant’s servants used to go there and borrow some of those implements. She said to them: “Who are ye, young men?”

They replied: “We serve the merchant from Takṣaśilā.”

She said: “O youths, my son also is a merchant, and he has travelled into another land with merchandise. As I suppose that his servants, like yourselves, are borrowing implements from other people, ye are at liberty to use all the utensils which are in this house, just as if they were your own.”

So the servants made daily use of those utensils, and when the merchant had asked them whence they obtained them, and they had repeated to him the old woman’s words, a friendly feeling was excited within him, and he said: “As she has shown you kindness, she shall he my mother.” They told the old woman that their master prized her kindness highly, and regarded her as his mother. Thereupon she said that it would be desirable for her to become acquainted with him, and she asked them to invite the merchant to her house. There she received him with friendly words, saying that she found that he was like her son in appearance, and that he also bore the same name as her son, so that there was no difference between the two. Afterwards she told the wife of the master of the house to send for her daughter, whom she ordered to manifest her respect for her [adopted] brother. When the maiden appeared, and the merchant perceived her beauty, he desired to obtain her as his wife. The old woman said that there was only this drawback; that, as he was not regularly known to her, he might, if he married her daughter, leave her in the lurch. And so, for her security, she demanded that he should bring all his goods into her house. Agreeing to this, he brought his goods into her house. But the old woman immediately took them out of it by another door. When this was done, she promised to give him her daughter.

On the appointed day, and at the appointed hour, she invited the courtesans, adorned with all kinds of ornaments, to the wedding feast, during which they wandered to and fro. The merchant said: “Mother dear, are there only women here, and not a single man?” She yawned. One of the others secretly whispered into his ear: “O merchant, do you not perceive what is going on here? All these women are courtesans. How should there be any man present?” Then he perceived that he had really taken a courtesan to wife, and consequently that he had been duped. Moreover the girl demanded payment from him for her society. But he replied that the whole of his property had been taken away, and that he had no money besides.

When he had gone fast asleep, the old woman wrapped him up in a mat and deposited him in the middle of the market-place. When the daylight arrived, and many of the people who dwelt in the city began to come and go, he awoke, and, seeing how he had been treated, he gave way to despair. With eyes filled with tears, he wandered through the squares, the streets, and the roads of Vārāṇasī, and, plagued by hunger, in order to obtain food, he went to the spot where the day-labourers betook themselves. At that time the householder Gautama was building himself a house. As he was looking for day-labourers, the young merchant was brought up to him by one of the others. But the youth seemed to him too young and too little accustomed to work of that kind, so he ordered another man to be sought for. But the youth looked Gautama in the face with tearful eyes. Then Gautama asked him who he was, and whence he came. Full of grief at his pitiful condition, with tearful eyes and choking voice, he slowly said: “O father, as the result of former deeds did I prosperously arrive here from the northwards lying city of Takṣaśilā. But now I know not whither I shall go, nor do I know how I shall get back there.” When the householder Gautama perceived how cast down he was, and understood what he said, he felt kindly disposed towards him, and asked him if he knew many persons in Takṣaśilā. Receiving an affirmative reply, he asked him if he knew such and such a householder. “O father, I know him, for he is my own father,” answered the merchant. The householder Gautama was greatly pleased, and told the youth that he must not mourn or weep, adding, “As you shall be my son-in-law, this house shall belong to you.” Then the youth took courage, and gave up being mournful. Gautama conferred upon him food, drink, clothes, and ornaments, a dwelling-house and a storehouse, and friendly words. And he said to his wife, “O good one, your son-in-law has come. As the wedding is about to take place, have all things in readiness.” Thereupon he was going to fix the day and hour for the wedding, but the youth bade him wait a little longer, as he wished to get possession of his property first. Gautama wanted to prevent him from doing that, saying there was property enough in the house. But he replied: “What shall I do with the property?” As he wished to revenge himself upon the courtesan, he said: “O father, as this is so, I will not marry after the fashion of a man of low family.” Thereupon he left Vārāṇasī.

As he wandered this way and that, he came to the bank of a river, and saw a corpse floating in the water. Ā raven, which was on the bank, and which wanted to feed on the corpse, could not reach it with its beak. Thereupon it rubbed its beak on a piece of wood, and the beak lengthened. Then the raven fed upon the corpse. Afterwards the raven rubbed its beak upon another piece of wood, and then the beak returned to its former length. The merchant took pieces of those two kinds of wood, and returned home.

He then took five hundred kārṣāpaṇas and went to the house of that courtesan, and said to her: “O fair one, as I had no money, you turned me out of the house. Now, as I have money, come let us be friends.” She, who cared for money, made friends with him. Meanwhile, however, the merchant rubbed the wood on her nose, which became very long. She called in all the doctors, and showed them her nose, but none of them could cure her. Given up by all the doctors, she betook herself to the merchant, and begged him to forgive her, and to cure her nose. He replied that he would do so as soon as she had restored him his property. She promised to do so in the course of the day. He rubbed her nose with the second piece of wood, the nose became as it had been before. Then she gave him back all the goods which he had brought with him. After that the merchant, with very great joy, took Kṛśā Gautamī to wife.

The householder Gautama possessed some arable land in a hill district, and he bade his son-in-law go thither with his wife. When the time came for the wife to expect her confinement, her husband allowed her, at her request, to go to her parents’ house, in order that she might there be cared for by her mother. After her confinement and the naming of her boy, she returned with him to her husband.

When the time of her second confinement drew near, she again expressed a desire to go to her parents’ house. Her husband set off with her and the boy in a waggon, but when they had gone half-way she gave birth to a boy. When her husband saw that this was about to take place, he got out of the waggon, sat down under a tree, and fell asleep. While he was completely overcome by slumber, a snake bit him, and he died. When his wife in her turn alighted from the waggon, and went up to the tree, in order to bring her husband the joyful tidings that a son was born unto him, he, as he had given up the ghost, made no reply. She seized him by the hand, and found that he was dead. Then she began to weep. Meantime a thief carried off the oxen.

After weeping for a long time and becoming very mournful, she looked around on every side, pressed the newborn babe to her bosom, took the elder child by the hand, and set out on her way. As a heavy rain had unexpectedly fallen, and all lakes, ponds, and springs were full of water, and the road was flooded by the river, she reflected that if she were to cross the water with both the children at once, she and they might meet with a disaster, and therefore the children had better be taken over separately. So she seated the elder boy on the bank of the river, and took the younger one in her arms, walked across to the other side, and laid him down upon the bank. Then she went back for the elder boy. But while she was in the middle of the river, the younger boy was carried off by a jackal. Standing in the middle of the river, the mother waved her hands, trying to scare away the jackal. Tire elder boy thought that his mother was calling him, and sprang into the water. The bank was very steep, so he fell down and was killed. The mother hastened after the jackal, which let the child drop, and ran off. When she looked at it, she found that it was dead. So after she had wept over it, she threw it into the water. When she saw that her elder son was being carried along by the stream, she became still more distressed. She hastened after him, and found that he also was dead. Bereft of both husband and children, she gave way to despair, and sat down alone on the bank, with only the lower part of her boḍy covered. There she listened to the howling of the wind, the roaring of the forest and of the waves, as well as the singing of various kinds of birds. Then wandering to and fro, with sobs and tears of woe, she lamented the loss of her husband and the two children.

As every action by gradual steps approaches maturity, so it came to pass that at that time her parents, along with their numerous domestics, were destroyed by a hurricane, only one man escaping with his life. When she, weeping and wailing, suddenly came upon that man, and saw him all aghast, she asked what was the matter. He smote his breast before her, and, sobbing and weeping, told her what had happened. When she had heard that, she again began to weep and wail, and asked what sin she had committed in her earlier existence, that she should have lost all at once her husband and her children, as well as all her relatives. And she came to the conclusion that she ought not to live any longer at home, seeing that her misery would only become greater there. So she wandered about till she came to a hill village, where she took up her abode with an old woman who span cotton. And after recovering from her fatigue she took to spinning along with her.

There was in that village a young weaver who lived by his craft, and who was in the habit, from time to time, of buying cotton yarn from that old woman. One day, when she had served him with fine yarn, he asked her whence that came, seeing that she formerly span him only coarse yarn. She told him about the woman who was living in her house; thereupon he expressed a wish to take that woman as his wife, and to provide her with food and clothing and other necessaries of life. The old woman, after having received from him the money for the yarn and food, bade him wait for an answer; then, perfumed, and adorned with flowers, she went to Kṛśā Gautamī and told her the whole story, praising the qualities of the weaver, saying that he asked her to be his wife, and advising her to accept his proposal. Although at first she opposed the idea, yet at last she gave in, and the marriage took place. Now the weaver was a rough, passionate man, who used constantly to beat her with his fist and with a stick; so she told the old woman that she had married her to a Rākṣasa, and that she did not know what she should do, for he beat her every day with his hand and with a stick. The old woman comforted her, and said that he would beat her only so long as no son was born to him, but that later on she and her son would hold their own. When she was in the family way the weaver began to treat her kindly, but she treated him with contempt: with that, however, he put up.

One day the weaver, whom his friends had liberally treated with intoxicating beverages, came home dazed with drink. He found the door closed: his wife was just on the point of being confined, and when he called out to her to open the door, her pains prevented her from being able to do so, so he went away in great wrath. When her child was born she opened the door, and as soon as her husband came in she joyfully told him of the birth of their son. But he, whose rage was not yet appeased, being overcome by evil, declared that she, who had already despised him before the son’s birth, would put him to death, in collusion with her son, after the son had grown up. Then he ordered her to light a fire, and set a cauldron over it, and to pour oil into the cauldron and make it boil, and then to fling the new-born babe into the oil and boil it. When she remonstrated with him, begging that he would not kill his own child, he beat her with a stick. Overcome by this cruelty, she threw the child into the boiling oil. When it was cooked he ordered her to take it out and eat its flesh. When she refused, he beat her most severely all over her body, whereupon she ate the child’s flesh. When her husband’s rage was appeased, and he was full of remorse and overcome by sleep, Kṛśā Gautamī took as much food as she could carry, and went away.

She attached herself to some travellers from the north who had disposed of their goods in Vārāṇasī. Remarking her beauty, their caravan-leader conceived a passion for her, and asked her who she was and whither she was going. She replied, “My husband has been bitten by a snake; of my two sons, one has been carried off by a jackal, and the other has perished in the waters; and nay father and my mother have been killed by a storm. I, who am now without any protector, am wandering at will, and I am going to journey along with this company of travellers.” The caravan-leader made her his wife. Soon afterwards the travellers were suddenly attacked by robbers, in fighting with whom the caravan-leader was killed, and Kṛśā Gautamī became the wife of the robber chief. But in his turn the robber found his death at the hands of the king of that country, and Kṛśā Gautamī was transferred to the king’s zenana. The king died, and she was buried alive in his tomb, after having had great honour shown her by the women, the princes, the ministers, and a vast concourse of people. Some men from the north country, who were wont to rob graves, broke into this one also. The dust they raised entered into Kṛśā Gautamī’s nostrils, and made her sneeze. The grave-robbers were terrified, thinking that she was a Vetāla, and they fled; but Kṛśā Gautamī escaped from the grave through the opening which they had made. Conscious of all her troubles, and affected by the absence of provisions, just as a violent storm arose, she went out of her mind. Covered with merely her underclothing, her hands and feet foul and rough, with long locks and pallid complexion, she wandered about until she reached Śravastī.

There, at the sight of Bhagavant, she recovered her intellect. Bhagavant ordered Ananda to give her an over robe, and he taught her the doctrine, and admitted her into the ecclesiastical body, and he appointed her the chief of the Bhikṣuṇīs who had embraced discipline.