The Mahavastu (great story)

by J. J. Jones | 1949 | 502,133 words | ISBN-10: 086013041X

This page describes five hundred merchants (metrical) which is Chapter IX(b) of the English translation of the Mahavastu (“great story”), dating to the 2nd-century BC. This work belongs to the Mahasanghika school of early Buddhism and contains narrative stories of the Buddha’s former lives, such as Apadanas, Jatakas and more..

Chapter IX(b) - The Five Hundred Merchants (metrical)

Arouse your emotion, stir up your hearts, and listen with rapt attention and with devotion in your hearts.[1]

With glad hearts listen to the tale of a former life of the Exalted One, a tale that is bound up with the truth of dharma, and will thrill those who believe.

Now at that time I was the king of horses, and being possessed of pity, I led across in safety a company of merchants from the sea-girt isle of the Sirens.

At that time that company of merchants had gone down to the sea and reached an island[2] which was rich in precious stones, surrounded by the tossing waves.[3]

But their vessel was wrecked on the sea by a monster fish, which swiftly dashed against it with the speed of[4] a Garuḍa[5] with the wind in his wings.

There amid the waste of waters they cried out with anguished voices, calling upon the devas, each one upon the deva he believed in.

Some called on Śiva, others on Vaiśravaṇa, others on Skanda, others on Yama and others on Kuvera. Others again called on thousand-eyed Virūḍhaka, and yet others on Diśā.

(78) They seized the gear, which they had on board for other uses, and plunged into the stream of the salt sea.

Some seized rafts made of the bottle-gourd, others planks made of the silk-cotton tree,[6] others wheels,[7] and others bales of cotton.

Others killed their fellows, that, hanging on to their bodies, they might save their own lives. For the salt sea cannot long abide a dead body.

When they had for that night floated on the salt sea wave, they caught sight of lovely trees growing on a strand.

And as they neared the strand they could see hundreds of women, like unto consorts of the devas, wearing crimson garments.

Some looked like maidens, others were radiant like newly wedded brides. On their hair were fine garlands and bands.

Their heads dazzled with earrings of Jāmbunada gold. With their golden-brown eyes, they made a fine array on the sea-shore.[8]

They plunged into the sea, singing a plaintive sweet strain, “Noble friends,” said they, “do ye at once become the lords of those who are without lords.

“For we dwell here in a wood without husbands or kinsmen. Surely the sea was gracious to us when it brought you to our shore.”[9]

They seized the men by their shoulders, each woman her man, and rescued them from the sea. (79) By every means they sought to cheer the men, saying to each, “Good friend, you must not despond.

“Good friends, live with us women; do not despair as do men who have left their dear kinsmen, their friends, their fathers and sons.

“Enjoy yourselves with us,[10] and though you are but men you will be like a crowd of devas in Nandana, drinking sweet wine of honey, and tasting the fair joys of this isle.”

But with their eyes full of tears the men, standing near the ocean wave, replied to the women and said, “Pray wait a short while that we may throw off our grief.”

The merchants withdrew a short way and gathered together for comfort. They wept and cried like men suffering bereavement.

“O mother,” they wailed, “O father, O sons, O my delightful land, O Jambudvīpa with its lovely and pleasant parks.

“Happy are they who can foregather with their kith and kin, though it be to dwell with them but for one night, and then die.

“How can we, whose minds were set on doing our tasks, live in the forlorn centre of the salt sea with no sorrow in our hearts?”

When they had thus weft and cried and comforted one another, they went to the women’s delightful abodes.

Walking over ground on which the green grass grew, and which was free of stones, grit, gravel and dust, and level and even, they came to a grove.

It was a grove of various trees, aśoka,[11] atimukta,[12] campaka,[13] priyaṅgu[14] and sāl trees, (80) tilakas,[15] vakulas,[16] and kulavakas,[17] and bushes of punnāgas[18] and tālisas.[19]

There were flowering karīras,[20] too, kulatthas,[21] karamardas,[22] and the creeper jīvaka.[23] There were tender creepers of double jasmine,[24] trumpet-flowers,[25] kareṇus[26] and kāvāras.[27]

Aloe-wood trees,[28] kārīs,[29] double jasmine and Arabian jasmine,[30] and priyaṅgu, gorgeous among the bushes of swaying vārṣika[31] and Arabian jasmine with their intoxicating fragrance.

The grove was gay with sāl trees[32] and palmyra trees,[33] full of campakas and aflame with red and yellow aśoka trees.

It was gay and delightful with mango trees, kaiṇikāras,[34] kuravakas,[35] tilakas, and vakulas. And to crown all the Suyāmas[36] graced the fair grove with their presence.

There were flowers and the iron-wood tree,[37] the bhavya,[38] the pālevata,[39] the holy fig-tree,[40] the elephant tree,[41] the hog-plum tree,[42] and fine thickets of the seven-leaved mucilinda.[43]

There were campaka trees crowned with leaves, and hushes of flowering fragrant mango,[44] with various other flowering trees alive with the hum of honey-making bees.

There were the vilvāra[45] tree, the coco-nut, the plantain,[46] the bread-fruit, the palm, the date-tree, the lime, the citron; at no season were they not seen.

The walnut, the tamāla,[47] the plantain, the kiṃśuka,[48] the vine, the bhavya, and the pomegranate—at no season were they not seen.

Some bent under the weight of their crowns of flowers, others bore ripe fruit, and others were languishing. (81) And others were never seen otherwise than thickly branched.

These and other flowers were seen blossoming on the fair trees at all seasons; at no time were they not seen.

In the fair grove were lotus-pools with gently flowing water echoing to the songs of swans and cranes. Others were covered with blue and red and white lotuses—a delight to the eye.

Then some Sirens, beautiful in their dark robes and lovely in their tight-fitting bodices, rose up[49] from the water, and made the merchants forget[50] their long-standing grief.

And then among the rows of trees they graced the blossom-covered lotus-pools, and still more made the merchants forget their grief and the loss of their ship.

Emerging from the fair grove the merchants caught sight of the abodes of the Sirens, glistening like frost, like unto the abodes of the Suras thronged by Apsarases.

Polished[51] and chased within, like Vāsava’s[52] abode in heaven, the abodes of the Sirens reared up to the sky.

With its glittering turrets, its casements and windows, its star-shaped and crescent ornaments, the city of the Sirens looked like a superior fair stronghold.

When the merchants had entered they sat down on roomy couches, and after they had had their nails, hair and beards trimmed, they were provided with a bath.

After their bath they were dressed in splendid clothes, and served with food that was seasoned with flavours and condiments.

(82) There was plentiful meat, the flesh of boars, fish, buffaloes, young goats and sheep, cock peacocks, pheasants, quails, lābakas,[53] francolin partridges, and cranes.

Those Sirens who were skilled thereat played on tabours and drums,[54] on instruments from Sindh[55] and cymbals, the guitar, the lute, the vallakiguṇaka and vallakitūla,[56] the nakula,[57] the seven-stringed Indian lute,[58] the horn[59] and the flute. Others sweetly sung.

When the Sirens saw that the merchants were cheered up, they showed them their fair parks, their rich stores of precious stones, and their wealth of beds, couches and food.

“Here, then,” said they, “you and we can take our joys like the hosts of devas in Nandana. But you must not be careless and go along the way to the south.”

Now he who was the leader of the merchants was a wise, clever and shrewd man. And when he was seated apart by himself, he reflected and wondered why they forbade them to go along that road.

“What if I were to go,” said he, “when this Siren is fast asleep, and take a sword and go along[60] the road to the south of the city.”

So when she was fast asleep, he took a sword and went out along the road to the south of the city.

And as he went along this road he heard a shouting afar off. Following in the direction of the noise he came within sight of a stronghold built as though of copper.

He came up to it and went all round it in search of a gate, but could see none. (83) Still he could hear the sound of many men coming from it.

“O mother,” they were crying, “O father, O sons, O delightful native land, O Jambudvīpa with its parks.

“Happy are they who can foregather with their kith and kin, and live with them were it but for one night, and then die.

“Is it possible that because we followed our calling we shall come to perish in this forlorn island in the middle of the salt flood of ocean?”

As he listened to these lamentations the wise and shrewd merchant espied a tall acacia tree to the north of the stronghold.

He climbed the tree, and then he could see within the stronghold hundreds of men who had been without food for months,[61] and whose nails, hair and beards were long.

Their bodies were emaciated,[62] their skin and flesh shrivelled by the wind and heat. Their clothes were rotting rags; they were tortured by thirst and their hair was unkempt.

Some of them in search of water would scratch the earth with their nails. And when they would stand up, they fell down. When they fell they would wallow[63] on the ground.

And as he sat safely perched in the tree he had climbed, he could see many skulls thrown about and scattered in all directions.

When the men within saw the leaves of the acacia tree suddenly bend down, they all stretched out their joined hands towards the fair tree.

“Who are you, noble sir,” cried they, “are you a deva, a Nāga, a Garuḍa, a Guhyaka, a Suvarṇa[64] (84) or hundredeyed Virūḍhaka, or a Yakṣa?

“Deliver us who are in sore distress, have pity on us, O valiant man. Let these men who are still alive be restored to their land and their fond relations.”

The merchant in the acacia tree, with his eyes full of tears, replied, “Good friend, I am no deva, nor Nāga, nor Garuḍa, nor Guhyaka, nor Suvarṇa. Nor am I thousand-eyed Virūḍhaka, nor yet a Yakṣa.

“I and my friends, good sirs, went down to the sea in quest of wealth. But we were ship-wrecked, and here we are after being rescued by women.

“They treat[65] us right well,[66] as mothers treat their obedient sons. For the women are kind[67] to us[68] and wish us no harm.”

Dismayed at the words they had heard the merchants within said, “We, too, are men who left Jambudvīpa and went down to the sea.

“We, too, were wrecked, and here are we, too, after being rescued by the women. They treated us, too, right well, just as they did you,[69] my friends.

“There were five hundred of us merchants who were rescued by them. Here are now bid two hundred and fifty; the rest have been devoured.[70]

Those of us[71] who were sons, young and soft-voiced, have been devoured by these voracious women, my friend.

“These, my friend, are not women, they are dread Sirens, heartless and armed with knives, Sirens in human guise.”

(85) Then still more distressed did the merchant become, and he bethought him to ask what way of escape there might be from the island of the Sirens.

“Come, friends,” said he, “tell me how we can win deliverance, and how we can escape in safety from this fatal horror.”

And they, out of their kindliness and pity, told him of how they had seen and heard that there was an escape from the island of the Sirens.

“In the month of Kārttikā”, said they, “when the moon is full, there will come hither the horse Valāha,[72] the swift and lovely-maned horse, the best of horses,

“With well-proportioned glossy limbs, clean and fragrant, full-grown, strong, speedy with the speed of the wind, coursing through the air.

“Raven-black his head, lotus-blue his eyes; he is sprung from the race of Valāhaka. His body is white like the summit of Himalaya, and his neigh is like the roar of thunder or of drum.

“When he has fed on grain of rice that is without husk or dust and grows spontaneously, he stands on the sea-shore to the northern side of the island of the Sirens.

“Lifting up his head the king of horses speaks these words, ‘Who of you would go to the shore beyond the salt flood of ocean?

“‘Whom shall I take away to safety? Who, I fray, will say to me “May your promise prosper”?[73] Do you[74] go to him for refuge and he will take you in safety to the shore beyond.”

The leader of the merchants said, “Come, my friends, do you, too, repair to this horse of renown. Leap out of this iron stronghold, this gloomy fortress of the Sirens. (86) Or else dig beneath it and escape to safety.”

“Ah, friend,” said they, “you do not know that this coppery fort of the Sirens is too high to leap over[75] and too firmly founded[76] to dig beneath it.

“Friend, there is no deliverance hence for us, who are tied to karma. It was by the karma of our own deeds that we were dragged away from Jambudvīpa.

“Our own hearts were Yama’s messengers to send us to Yama’s realm. Do ye go, then, without any dallying to your homes.

“And there bid our kinsfolk do acts of charity, my friends. Bid them think no more of going down to the sea.

“So long as one lives with one’s own people, begging round the houses with a potsherd for an almsbowl is better than this misery.

“As long as one lives with one’s own people, having to obey[77] the bidding, orders and commands of another is better than this misery.”

“Well, my friends,” said the merchant, “I will go before she who is asleep wakes up, and comes here and craftily learns what we men intend doing.”

And when he was coming down from the tree there were cries of “Alas! alas!”[78] They bethought them of their native land and were pierced by the shaft of sorrow.

The leader of the merchants on alighting returned the way he had come. He went in and found the others lying fast asleep on their beds.

There he began to ponder as to how he could tell the merchants (87) the true position of affairs without the crafty women knowing.

“For wise men do not commend him who reveals a secret. Drunken and careless men will talk of it, and the telling will be regretted.

“Like a drop of oil[79] a secret revealed is blazoned abroad[80]...

“Hard to find are those men who will keep a secret whether it is good or bad. So let me then keep my secret until the moon is full.

“Then I will tell them after the famous horse has come, when the occasion has come and it is the month I know of.”

To his fellow-merchants he said, “You must not be negligent. Y ou must be moderate in your eating and drinking with the women.”

At the close of that day when the women had fallen fast asleep, all the merchants went to that hidden spot.[81]

And when they had gathered there the merchants questioned (their leader), saying, “Tell us, friend, of this thing that you have seen and heard.”

Kindly and compassionately he told them of what he had seen and heard, and of the way of escape from the island of the Sirens.

Then the merchants declared that all the women were a gang of Sirens. . .[82]

[The leader said], “The king of horses standing on the sea-shore speaks these words: (88) ‘Who of you would go to the shore beyond the salt flood of ocean?

“‘Whom shall I take to safety? Who will say to me, “May your promise prosper?”’ We will go to that refuge. He will take us in safety to the shore beyond.”

When they had heard their leader’s words all the merchants gathered[83] together on the northern shore.

Coming there they saw not far away the king of horses standing on the shore to the north of the island of the Sirens.

Lifting up his head the king of horses spoke these words: “Who of you will go to the shore beyond the salt flood of ocean? Whom shall I take to safety? Who will say to me, ‘Let your promise prosper’?”

When the merchants heard the words of the king of horses, they stretched forth their joined hands and replied,

“We all come to your refuge, O benefactor of the world. Take us to the shore beyond. May your promise prosper.”[84] The king of horses then said, “Now take hold of my tail. I shall be flying away at great speed. But you must bear this in mind.

“If it occurs to any of you to say, ‘This is my wife, this my son, or this my daughter,’ you will again fall into the power of the Sirens.[85]

“But if it occurs to you to say, ‘This is not my wife, this is not my son, or this is not my daughter,’ you will go in safety to the shore beyond.”

(89) When the best of horses had thus instructed the merchants, in pity and compassion he said,

“Come, friends, well is it with you, merchants, good fortune be yours. I shall lead you across, away from this pitiless, fearful, horrible place.”

And carrying the merchants with him he speeded over the earth in the ways of the birds, in the unsupporting air, swiftly flying with heavenly wings in the path of the wind.

Hosts of devas, Dānavas,[86] Bhujaṅgas,[87] Yakṣas and Rākṣasas in their domains waved their garments, and shouted, “All hail, Great Being.[88]

“Without a doubt, thou wilt become ere long a Master, a light of the world. Thou wilt lead all men[89] across to the shore beyond the ocean of old age and death.”

Those of the merchants who thought, “Here is my wife, here my son or here my daughter,” were shaken off the horse’s back and thrown to earth.

Those who did not think, “Here is my wife, here my son or here my daughters,” were led across in safety to the shore beyond.

. . .[90] and so they arrived in Jambudvīpa.

They who will not believe the words of the king of dharma will go to destruction, like the merchants who were destroyed by the Sirens.

But they who will believe the words of the king of dharma will go in safety, like the merchants who were saved by Valāha.

The Exalted One, the Master, calling to mind a former life, a former birth, related this Jātaka in the presence of his monks.

With an exposition of the skandhas, the dhātus, the āyatanas (90) and the ātman,[91] the Exalted One explained the meaning of it.

“When,” said he, “I lived of yore in one of my lives in the round of rebirth that has no beginning nor end, then was I Valāha, the lovely horse, the best of steeds. And Sañjayin was then one of the five hundred merchants.”

Thus rid of old age, of fear, and grief less, he related to the concourse of his monks this story of a former life of his, his infinite sufferings, his faring up and down in the past.

Here ends the [metrical version of the] Jātaka of the Five Hundred Monks led by Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana, who were cast on the island of the Sirens.

Footnotes and references:

1.

A metrical version of the same tale.

2.

Understanding dvīpam with the adj. bahuratnavantam.

3.

Urmītaraṅgamāla, where māla is taken as the compositional form of mālā, “wreath It would not be impossible, however, to equate it with Pali māla in the possible, though doubtful, sense of “foam” or “froth,” “(amid) the foam of the tossing waves.” See P.E.D.

4.

Literally “like”, va, so reading for ca.

5.

See Vol. I, p. 165, n. 2.

6.

Simbalī, Bombak heptaphyllum.

7.

Vṛttim, for the vṛtim of the text. Should it be ghaṭim, “jar”, as in the prose version?

8.

Saripatitīra, where sari is for Sk. sarit or for sara (Pali).

9.

Literally " by whom you were brought,” yena vo ānitā, where vo is for yūyam. See Edgerton, Gram. §20. 44.

10.

Asmehi, instr., cf. Pali amhehi.

11.

See p. 73 n. 6.

12.

See Vol. I, p. 205, n. 4.

13.

  Ibid., p. 172, n. 4.

14.

Panicum italicum.

15.

See Vol. 2, p. 58, n. 7.

16.

Mimusops elengi.

17.

Pali and Sk. kuravaka, = the red amaranth.

18.

Unidentified. P.E.D. queries if the name is dialectical.

19.

See Vol. 2, p. 99, n. 5.

20.

“A thorny plant, described as growing in deserts and fed upon by camels, Capparis aphylla” (M.W.).

21.

“A kind of pulse. Dolichos uniflorus” (M.W.).

22.

Unidentified.

23.

“Name of several plants = Terminalia tomentosa, Coccinia grandis.” (.M.W.)

24.

Navamālikā. See P.E.D. s.v. mālikā. “Jasminum sambac” (M.W.)

25.

Pāṭalaka, Bignonia suaveolens (M.W.).

26.

Pterospermum acerifolium (M.W.).

27.

“The aquatic plant Vallisneria” (M.W.).

28.

Varṣakadhātū? = varṣaka simply for varṣika, “Agallochum” (M.W.). It may, however, be a form of the BSk. vārṣika (see Vol. 2, pp. 105, 112) a name of a variety of Jasminum sambac, Pali vassikā or vassika.

29.

Unidentified.

30.

Mallikā. “Cf Epic Sk. mallikā, Halāyudha 2. 51.” (P.E.D.).

31.

Vārṣikamallika. See notes 18 and 20.

32.

Sārehi for sālehi.

33.

Tārehi for tālehi.

34.

See Vol. I, p. 186, n. 2.

35.

See p. 83 n. 7.

36.

I.e. devas in the company of Suyāma, chief of the Yāma devas, but the allusion to them here is obscure.

37.

Nāgavṛkṣa.

38.

See Vol. I, p. 205, n. 2.

39.

Ibid., n. 3 (where read embryopteris for etnbryopheris).

40.

Pippala so M.W., who also gives pippali = long pepper, Piper Longum. Perhaps it is meant here as the equivalent of Pali pippala (for the usual pipphali, Sk. pippali), “pepper-tree” (See P.E.D.).

41.

Kapittha, or “wood-apple tree”, Feronia elephantum (M.W.).

42.

Reading āmrātaka (Spondias mangifera) for mrotaka, of the text, which latter word is unknown to the dictionaries. One MS. does begin the line with āmrā. Cf. āmra, “mango”, Mangifera indica.

43.

See Vol. 2, p. 58, n. 6.

44.

Sahakāra, so P.E.D. citing KhA. 53.

45.

? = vilva or bilva (Pali billa), the tree Aegle marmelos or Bengal quince, also called Bel. (P.E.D. and M.W.).

46.

Moca “Moriṅga pterygosperma; probably the plantain tree, Musa sapientum” (M.W.).

47.

See Vol. I, p. 168, n. 6.

48.

Butea frondosa (M.W.).

49.

Reading, with two MSS., samuddhṛtā, for samudvṛttā, “swollen” (sc. with water) which Senart prefers, but which forces him to the assumption that the past part., though grammatically agreeing with keci (for kāci) is in sense a qualification of the garments the women wore. But samuddhritā seems much more natural and simple, especially when it is remembered that these women were really Rākṣasīs, who are thus represented as coming out of their natural element.

50.

Literally, “destroyed” nāśayanti.

51.

Literally “rubbed,” ghaṭṭa for ghaṭṭita, past part, of ghaṭṭ.

52.

I.e. Indra.

53.

See p. 74 n. 2.

54.

Āliṅga, see p. 74 n. 4.

55.

Saindhavā. Though this word might here be taken as adjective qualifying, “tabours and drums,” the analogy of the prose passage above (p. 70 text), where it is given as the name of a special instrument, sindhavavādya, suggests that here, too, the word is a substantive.

56.

Evidently the names of two kinds of Indian lute (vallaki).

57.

See Vol. 2, p. 154, n. 6. Edgerton (B.H.S.D.) equates AMg. ṇaula.

59.

? Gomukhī, cf. gomukha.

60.

Upanayeham, explained by Senart as optative of upa-eti. The form upeti is found three lines lower down. Edgerton, Gram. §4. 67, however, says that the use of n as a “hiatus-bridger” is questionable, and he is not convinced that Senart’s explanation is correct.

61.

Māsopavāsika. Edgerton (B.H.S.D.) would prefer to read here, as on p. 71 (text), śvāsopavāsika. See p. 75 n. 2.

62.

Dhamanisantata, see p. 78 n. 3.

63.

Reading viceṣṭanti for viveṣṭanti. So Edgerton (B.H.S.D.), who calls attention to Senart’s remarks in his introduction to Vol. I, p. xii, on the confusion of c and v in the MSS.

64.

For Suparṇa, see Vol. I, p. 165, n. 2.

65.

? Prativartanti, here (?) “to take to,” cf. B.R. “Jmd. (acc) 3u Theil werden.” But Senart admits that his text is far from certain.

66.

Samyag.

67.

Reading priyā for priyam.

68.

Mo, gen. pl. But the text of the whole line is doubtful. As printed it reads Yaṃ priyaṃ mo mānuṣīyo na tā icchanti vipriyam. Senart assumed the lacuna of a whole verse immediately preceding, but was not so confident about this when he came to write his notes. The corresponding prose passage (p. 72, text) has sānaṃ ca yaṃ apriyaṃ na karoma tā cāsmākaṃ vipriyaṃ, necchanti. Though one MS. begins the verse in much the same way as the prose it continues so differently as to make any restoration on the lines of the prose impossible.

69.

Yuṣmākan, genitive, object of prativartensu.

70.

Khāyita. See p. 76 n. 3.

71.

Mam, gen. pl., ye pi maṃ putrakā.

72.

One of the four horses of Viṣṇu. The prose version calls the horse Keśin.

73.

Literally, “whose [will be the words] let my word prosper,” kasya mama ṛdhyatu vacanam. “Tava” for “mama” would be simpler and less involved, as at page 88.

74.

Vo = yūyam. Cf. p. 82 n. 2.

75.

Literally, “is large (or high) when one leaps”—laṅghayante pi varddhati.

76.

Āsīyati, from ā + (= śī). Cf. Pali āsīyati, and see P.E.D., which prefers this derivation to Trenckner’s ā + śyā, and cites Miln. 75, where it is said of the lotus udake āsīyati, “is supported in the water.” Edgerton (B.H.S.D.) explains it as 3rd sg. pass, impersonal of ās, “to sit”.

77.

Literally “not objecting to,” “not refusing,” reading ghaṭṭentasya for ghaṭentasya, as Senart in his notes suggests, though he is doubtful if the verb can have this sense. But see P.E.D., where the figurative sense of ghatṭeti (Sk. ghaṭṭayati) is given as “to offend, mock, object to.”

78.

Avidha. See Vol. I, p. 251, n. 2.

79.

Sc., when lit.

80.

Reading, on the basis of two MSS. tailasya va bindu vikaśati guhyaṃ prakāśitam for the text tailasya viya bindu ca vikaśati prakāsitā. The second pāda has too long a lacuna to admit of restoration.

81.

The metrical version here and elsewhere assumes a knowledge of details which it has not itself given.

82.

A lacuna covering most of the final pāda of this verse and part of the next.

83.

Literally, “went,” agamu (v.l. agamo), aor, 3 pi. See Edgerton, Gram. §32. 112.

84.

Tava vacanaṃ, ṛdhyatu. See p. 89 n. 1.

85.

Reading rākṣasivaśameṣyatha for the text avaśāvaśameṣyatha. Cf. prose version rakṣasīnām vaśam āgatā. Although there does not seem to be any MS. warrant for this emendation, some such change is necessary, for the text reading gives a very obscure sense, “you will go to what is beyond your power.” Some uses of avaśa, indeed, would give a quite inappropriate sense, e.g. avaśaṅgama, “not submitting to another’s will.”

86.

See Vol. I, p. 55, n. 3.

87.

A generic name for snakes or serpents.

88.

Anticipating the identification of Keśin (or Valāha) as a former incarnation of the Buddha.

89.

Jagad, “the world of life.”

90.

Lacuna.

91.

Cf. Vol. 2, p. 90.