Trishashti Shalaka Purusha Caritra

by Helen M. Johnson | 1931 | 742,503 words

This page describes Attacks by Sangamaka which is the fourth part of chapter IV of the English translation of the Mahavira-caritra, contained within the “Trishashti Shalaka Purusha Caritra”: a massive Jain narrative relgious text composed by Hemacandra in the 12th century. Mahavira in jainism is the twenty-fourth Tirthankara (Jina) and one of the 63 illustrious beings or worthy persons.

Saying this, he struck the earth with his hand and rushed out of the assembly-hall. “The Arhats do unbroken penance with the assistance of enemies. May he not know this.” With this thought Śakra watched the malignant god. With a dense cloud about to fall with the rising of a swift wind, hard to look at because of his terrifying appearance, from whom the Apsarases fled in fear, with the planets piled up by a blow from his huge chest, evil, he went to the place where was the Supreme Lord.

His jealousy increased greatly when he saw Śrī Vīra standing so, undisturbed, a disinterested friend of the world. The rogue, a disgrace to the gods, sent down a rain of sand with sudden disaster on the Lord of the World. Just as the moon was hidden by Rāhu, just as the sun by a rainy day, so the Lord of the World’s body was hidden by the stream of sand. When the body-openings were entirely tilled with sand, then the Master was deprived of inspiration and expiration. The Teacher of the World did not move from meditation even the extent of a sesame seed. Does a mountain move because of elephants stooped (to strike with their tusks)?

Then he took away the sand and produced ants with hard beaks that tortured the Lord’s body. They penetrated his limbs one by one and went elsewhere at will, perforating with their sharp beaks like needles in doth. When these proved to be in vain, like the wishes of an unlucky man, he produced stinging insects. There is no limit to the crimes of wicked people. From one attack of theirs, the Lord with his dripping blood, which resembled milk, was like Himalaya with waterfalls. When the Lord of the World was unshaken even by them, the villain made cockroaches with large, pointed beaks, irresistible. Their beaks buried in the Supreme Lord's body, they looked like a line of hair grown up all at once.

When the mind of the Teacher of the World, celebrated for self-concentration, was unmoved even by them, he made huge scorpions, determined on destruction of the meditation. They divided the Blessed One's body with the thorns of the sprouts of their tails, cruel hot javelins that resembled sparks of the fire at the end of the world. When the Lord was undisturbed even by these he, filled with depravity, made numerous ichneumons with many teeth. Making the sound “Khi, khi,” tearing the Blessed One’s body with their teeth, piece by piece, they made pieces of flesh fall. Not accomplishing his purpose even by these, from anger he used serpents with large swelling hoods, cruel arms of Yama. The big serpents encircled Mahāvīra completely from head to foot, like tendrils of cowhage a big tree. They attack him so that their hoods burst; they bite him so that their fangs are broken! When these were hanging like ropes, their poison ejected, he quickly produced sharp-toothed mice. The mice dug into the Master’s body with nails, teeth, mouths, and paws and making water on those places repeatedly, threw acid on the wounds.

These also proving useless, as if turned into a ghoul, angrily he created an elephant with a dub in the form of his upraised tusk. He ran forward, bending the earth, as it were, by his steps, knocking the stars from the sky, as it were, with his uplifted trunk. The elephant seized the Blessed One with the end of his trunk hard to resist and tossed him high up in the air. Thinking, “He, shattered, has gone to pieces,” pitiless, he received him falling from the air, raising his tusks. When he had fallen, he wounded him again and again by blows with his tusks and sparks flew up from the diamond-hard breast (of the Lord). When the rogue-elephant was not able to do anything, the god created a female elephant like a female enemy. She split the Blessed One with tusks and the whole trunk and sprinkled him at will with body-water like poison.

The strength of the cow-elephant being reduced to dust, the basest of gods made a piśāca with the huge teeth of a crocodile. The cavity of his mouth, wide and long, filled with blazing flames, was terrifying as a blazing fire-pit. His uplifted arms were like the pillars of the gate to Yama’s house and his legs and thighs were like tall palm trees. Giving a loud burst of laughter, hissing, with thundering cries of” Kila! Kila!” clothed in leather and carrying a knife, he ran at the Blessed One. When he had been extinguished like a lamp whose oil has given out, inflamed by anger, the pitiless (god) quickly made a tiger. Cleaving the earth, as it were, with the blows of his massive tail; making heaven and earth cry, as it were, with the echoes of his roars, the tiger went to work on the Lord of the World deliberately with teeth hard as diamonds and nails that resembled spear-points.

When the tiger had reached a colorless state, like a tree burned by a forest-fire, the basest of gods created a figure of King Siddhārtha.

“What is this, which is very difficult, that you are doing, my dear? Give up this wandering. Do not disregard my request.”

“In old age Nandivardhana has abandoned me without protection,” Triśalā, who had been created, spoke in this way again and again.

When the Lord's mind was untouched even by the talk of these two, the wretch made a camp with inhabitants. Not finding stones there, the cook, intent on cooking rice, made a hearth out of the Lord’s feet and set down a cooking-pot. The fire, which he kindled at once, burned severely the soles of the feet of the Lord of the World like a forest-fire the foot of a mountain. The Lord's beauty, like that of gold, did not diminish, even when he was burned. Then the basest of gods made an outcaste who had a terrifying cry. The outcaste hung small bird-cages on the Lord's neck, ears, arms, and legs. The Lord's body was so pierced by the birds with blows from their bills and claws that it was perforated with a hundred holes, like a cage of theirs.

When the outcaste was reduced to worthlessness like a ripe leaf in this, too, he created a sharp wind which produced great prodigies. Tossing big trees and grass up in the air, scattering a cloud of dust and stones and gravel in all directions, filling the space between heaven and earth completely, like filling a bellows, the wind picked up the Blessed One again and again and dropped him. His wish unfulfilled even by that sharp wind, this disgrace to the assembly of gods quickly made a cyclone. Strong enough to move mountains, it whirled the Lord like a lump of clay on a wheel. When he was whirled around by the wind that was like a whirlpool in the ocean, the Lord, his mind fixed on one thing, did not leave meditation at all.

“Tormented many times, he is not disturbed, his mind hard as a diamond. How shall I, my word broken, go to the assembly? By his death, not otherwise, his meditation will be destroyed.” With these reflections the basest of gods made a wheel of time. At once the god lifted it which was made of a thousand bhāras[1] of iron, like Rāvaṇa lifting Mount Kailāsa. Picking up the wheel of time which, I think, had been made as another cover for the earth, he threw it on the Lord. Making all the directions terrifying by the mass of flames shooting up, it fell on the Lord of the World like submarine fire on the ocean. From the blow of the wheel which was able to destroy mountain-ranges, the Blessed One sank into the ground up to his knees.

When this happened, the Blessed One regretted this: “We wish to help every one cross (saṃsāra), (but) wc are the cause of his saṃsāra.”

“Since he did not die even when struck by the wheel of time, he is outside the sphere of weapons. What other device is there in this matter? Perhaps he would be disturbed some by favorable attacks.” With this idea the god made them quickly on the Teacher of the World. The villain at once made dawn appear unseasonably by which the sky was made light, filled with flocks of twittering birds. The Lord, high-minded, considering this a celestial illusion, did not relax his meditation, persisting in his vow. The god, after removing that, appeared before him in a heavenly car, lighting up the sky with his earrings, necklace, armlets and diadem, and said:

“Great sage, I am pleased by your strength of character, by the vigor of your penance, by your indifference to life and by the completion of what was undertaken. Enough of that penance torturing the body. Speak! Ask! Do not hesitate. What can I give you? Shall I convey you with this same body to that heaven where wishes are constantly fulfilled by mere wishing? Or shall I lead you to emancipation characterized by liberation from karma rooted in existence without beginning? Or shall I give you here sovereignty abounding in wealth, its. commands accepted respectfully by the lords of the whole world?”

The Lord’s mind being undisturbed by these alluring speeches, the wretch again reflected, as he had obtained no answer: “He made this manifestation of my power futile. I wonder if instruction in love would be futile now. For even great men have been seen to break their heroic vows when they have been looked at coyly by women who have become missiles of love.” With this decision he instructed goddesses by thought and employed the six seasons to assist his illusion. The Śrī of Spring, by whom the introduction was made with the soft murmurs of an excited hen-cuckoo, an actress in the play of love, looked beautiful. The Lakṣmī of Summer, preparing a breath-perfume from the pollen of the blossoming aśoka, like a slave-girl of the maidens of the quarters, bloomed. The Rainy Season appeared, making auspicious tilakas, as it were, at a coronation of love, exactly in the guise of pandanus blossoms. Autumn shone, seeing her own unrestrained beauty, as it were, having become a thousand eyes in the guise of new blue lotuses. The Śrī of Winter wrote, as it were, a paean of the victory of Love with the fresh jasmine-buds which resembled white letters. The Śrī of the Cool Season was covered with jasmines and sinduvāras, like a courtesan maintaining herself from Winter and Spring at the same time.[2] At the same time with the seasons manifesting themselves in this way, goddesses appeared instantly, flag-bearers of Mīnadhvaja.

They, whose bodies were in harmony, performed before the Lord a concert that was like a magic missile, leading to victory of Manmatha. In it some sang jātis[3] with pure vesaras,[4] with smooth tempo, charming with the gāndhāragrāmā.[5]One expert, played the Jute with loud sounds and soft sounds,[6] with tānas[7] going in order and inverted order and with distinct vyaṭjanadhātus.[8] Some played the three kinds of drums,[9] with the sounds of clouds with kinds of distinct na-sounds and dhom-sounds.

Some danced with dance steps belonging to those of space and earth,[10] extraordinary with various karaṇas,[11]with ever new glances of the dominant states.[12] One, her bodice torn at once by violent dramatic action and by aṅgahāras,[13] exposed her arm-pits when she was binding up her loosened hair. One exposed the top of her thigh fair with beautiful orpiment again and again, under pretext of the dramatic action daṇḍapāda.[14]

One showed the circle of the navel, which resembled a tank, by the pretense of fastening the knot of her loosened garment. One, pretending to make the hand-gesture called “elephant’s-tooth,”[15] made the sign of embracing the body closely. One, pulling together her upper garment under the pretext of tightening the waist-cloth, made apparent the surface of the round buttocks. One fair-eyed maiden made attractive for a long time her torso with full, high breasts under pretext of bending.

“If you are free from passion, why do you arouse passion in us? If you are indifferent to the body, why do you not give us even your breast? If you are compassionate, why do you not rescue us now from Kāma, whose bow has been drawn suddenly? If you are indifferent, as amusement, to us who desire love, a little of that is suitable, but not for a life-time. Master, relax your severity. Fulfil our wishes. Do not be averse to our prayer.” Some talked like this for a long time. The Teacher of the World was not disturbed by the songs, music, and dances, nor even by the contortions of their bodies and the enticing talk of the goddesses. Thus the basest of gods, Saṅgamaka, made twenty attacks on the Teacher of the World engaged in kāyotsarga during the night.

At daybreak Saṅgamaka thought: “Oh! He did not leave his meditation at all, like the ocean its shore. So, shall I go to heaven? How can í go with a broken promise? I shall continue to harass him with attacks for a long time.”

Then the Blessed One, his eyes directed on the road touched by sunlight for a distance of six feet, went to the village Vālukā. Saṅgamaka, the basest of gods, created five hundred thieves on the road and deep sand that resembled an ocean of sand. Saying aloud, “Uncle! Uncle!” the thieves embraced the Lord so closely that even a mountain would burst. The Teacher of the World, an ocean of the nectar of tranquillity, his feet sinking in the sand up to his knees, went to the village Vālukā. In this way the basest of gods, cruel by nature, following the Lord, made attacks on him in city, village, forest and elsewhere.

Six months passed while Saṅgamaka was making attacks. Then the Master went to Gokula and a festival was taking place there at that time. As the Blessed One had passed six months fasting, he wished to break his fast and entered Gokula for alms. The basest of gods, evil-minded, created a fault in the alms at every house whatever where the Master went. Employing knowledge and perception, the Master new that the basest of gods had not desisted and he, giving up alms, stood outside in statuesque posture. When the god looked by means of clairvoyance, thinking, “Does he have any frustrated development?” he saw the Lord undisturbed. The god reflected: “He was unshaken by attacks made continuously for six months, like Mt. Sahya by ocean-water. He certainly will not move from meditation for a long time. My procedure against him was useless like that of an elephant in the destruction of a mountain. After abandoning the comfort and pleasures of heaven like one destroyed by a curse, how long have I wandered over the earth, alas! deceived by my own stupidity!”

With these reflections the god, his hands folded respectfully, sad-faced, ashamed, bowed to the Teacher of the World and said: “Just as you were praised by Śakra in the council, so you are. You have been persecuted by me in this way because I did not believe what he said. You have the affirmation of the truth; but I have my vow broken. It was not well done by me. Pardon me for that, Depository of Compassion. I shall go to heaven, pacified, averse to attacks. Do you go without anxiety to villages, mines, cities, et cetera. Enter villages for alms, enjoy food free from faults. The faults in alms before were caused by me, nothing else.”

The Master said: “Dismiss anxiety, god Saṅgamaka. We are dependent on no one. We wander as we like.” The basest of gods bowed to Śrī Vīra saying this and, remorseful, went to Puruhuta’s city.

Now for so long a time the gods living in Saudharma had been joyless, languid, and depressed. Even Śakra, fine apparel and unguents laid aside, exceedingly unhappy, averse to concerts, et cetera, thought to himself: “I was the cause of such severe attacks. The god became angry at my praise of the Master.” Just then Saṅgamaka, soiled with the mud of evil, his great beauty blurred like a mirror sprinkled with water, his vow broken, his senses dull and his lotus-eyes dimmed, arrived at the council-hall Sudharmā, presided over by Śakra. When Śakra had seen Saṅgamaka, he turned his back on him at once and said: “Listen, all you gods, to my words. The god Saṅgamaka, an outcaste in deeds, evil, just by being seen causes evil. Therefore, it is not fitting for him to be seen. That our Master was tormented was a big offence on his part. Is he not afraid of us, if he is not afraid of (future) existence? With the thought, ‘The Arhats do not practice penance from others’ assistance,’ I did not punish this wretch at the time of such attacks. If the basest of gods remains here in future he will cause us evil. Therefore, he must be expelled from this heaven.”

With these words angry Vajrapāṇi kicked the basest of gods with his left foot, like striking a mountain with a thunder-bolt. Knocked down by Māghavan’s soldiers with various weapons, cursed by goddesses whose hands were twisted (into claws), laughed at by the Sāmānikas, the god, who had one sāgara of life remaining, went to the peak of Meru, traveling in an aerial car named Yānaka. Saṅgamaka’s wives announced to Śakra, “We shall follow our lord, if you give the order.” Vāsava permitted them, sad-faced, to follow Saṅgamaka, but he prevented the entire retinue.

On the next day the Teacher of the World, in wandering in that district, entered the enclosure of a cowhouse, wishing to break his fast. There an old woman of the herdsmen devotedly fed the Lord with rice pudding that had been left over, according to rules. The gods nearby, delighted by the Blessed One’s fast-breaking after so long a time, made the five divine things there.

Then the Master went to the city Ālabhikā in his wandering and stood there in statuesque posture, as steady as if he were in a painting. The Indra of the Vidyutkumāras, named Had, came there, circumambulated the Lord, bowed to him, and said: “Lord, you endured attacks by which people like us are torn by anguish at hearing of them. You are superior to diamond. By means of a slight attack still you will destroy the four destructive-karmas[16] and acquire omniscience very soon.” After saying this, Hari, the Indra of the Vidyutkumāras, bowed to the Blessed One with devotion and went to his own home.

The Blessed One left and went to the city Śvetavī and Harisaha,[17] the Indra of the Vidyuts, came there and paid homage to the Lord. After making the same assertion as Hari, he went to his own house.

The Lord went to Śrāvastī and stood motionless in statuesque posture. In this city on that day the people held a great festival with a procession of Skanda’s chariot accompanied by great pomp. The people of the city passed the Blessed One standing in statuesque posture and went to Skanda, carrying the paraphernalia for a pūjā to the statue. After they had bathed and worshipped Skanda’s statue, the people got ready to mount it on the chariot according to rule.

At that time Śakra thought, “How does the Lord wander?” and by clairvoyance saw Vīra standing so and the townsmen. “Why do these people, undiscerning, make a pūjā to Skanda, passing by the Lord?” and Hari went there angrily. Skanda’s statue, inhabited by Śakra, advanced like a mechanical doll to the Blessed One standing in statuesque posture. While the townsmen said, “Look! Skandakumāra will get into the chariot by himself,” he went to the Master. He circumambulated the Blessed One three times, bowed to him, and, seated on the ground, began to serve him. “Who is this entitled to worship from this god? We did not do a fitting thing surely, when we passed him by.” The townsmen saying this, feeling astonishment and joy, showed great honor to the Lord.

The Lord went to Kauśāmbī. The Sun and Moon came there with their aerial cars and paid homage with devotion to the Lord Jina, who was standing in statuesque posture, accompanied by enquiries about a good vihāra.[18] Gradually wandering, the Master went to the city Vārāṇasī and was worshipped by Śakra, who came there with a delighted heart. Then lndra Īśāna bowed with devotion together with enquiries about a good vihāra to the Lord, who had gone to Rājagṛha and was standing in statuesque posture.

Then the Master went to the city Mithilā and was worshipped with a pūjā and friendly enquiries by King Janaka and Indra Dharaṇa. Then in his wandering, the Lord went to the town Viśālī and there the eleventh rainy season from the day of his vow arrived. The Lord, observing a fast of four months, stood in statuesque posture in Baladeva’s temple in the garden Samara in the town. The king of the Nāgas, Bhūtānanda, came there, paid homage to the Lord, announced that omniscience was near and went away. A very advanced layman, named Jinadatta, lived there, compassionate, known as Jīrṇaśreṣṭhin (Ruined Sheth) because of his loss of fortune. At that time Jinadatta had gone to Baladeva’s temple in that garden and he saw the Lord Jina standing in statuesque posture. Deciding, “This ascetic is a (future) omniscient,” he paid homage to the Lord with extreme devotion and thought to himself: “Today the Blessed One is fasting, observing the statuesque posture. It would be a fine thing if he would break fast in my house tomorrow.”

With this hope he served the Lord constantly for four months. On the final day he went to his own house, after inviting the Lord. He, magnanimous, thought about the best food, previously prepared for himself, free from life, suitable for acceptance. Jinadatta stood in his court-yard, his eyes fixed on the Jina’s road, and thought: “I shall certainly give this food to the Master. I am fortunate to whose house the Arhat himself will come and make his fast-breaking, a boat for the ocean of worldly existence. I shall go to meet the Lord as he comes and after circumambulating him three times, I shall pay homage to his lotus-feet. This birth of mine will be the cause of freedom from another birth. Even the sight of the Lord helps to emancipation, how much more his fastbreaking.”

While he, pure-minded, stood, reflecting in this way, the Lord went to the house of Sheth Abhinava. The sheth, his head held high because of his wealth, a wrong-believer, ordered the slave-girl, “After giving alms send away this mendicant quickly, girl.” Holding a wooden ladle, she brought half-cooked pulse[19] and threw it in the Lord of the World's hand, held out as a dish. A drum was beaten by the gods and a waving of garments was made, and a stream of treasure, and showers of flowers and perfume immediately.

Questioned by the people, Sheth Abhinava said deceitfully, “I myself had the Lord break his fast with rice pudding.” “Oh, the gift! The good gift!” After hearing this speech of the gods, the people and the king praised Sheth Abhinava again and again. Jīrṇaśreṣṭhin, standing so, thinking about the Master’s coming, heard the sound of the gods’ drum and thought: “Alas! I am unfortunate. My wish was in vain, since the Lord passing by my house has broken his fast somewhere else.” After breaking his fast, the Lord went elsewhere in his wandering.

A disciple of Pārśva, an omniscient, came to that garden. The king and the people went to him and asked, “Blessed One, what person in this city has acquired a big accumulation of merit?” He replied, “Jīrṇaśreṣṭhin.” The people said: “Why he? The Master’s fast was not broken by him, but it was broken by Abhinava. The stream of treasure fell in the house of Sheth Abhinava. Why has he not acquired a big store of merit, lord?” The omniscient explained: “The Arhat’s fast was broken by Jinadatta in spirit. So he acquired birth in the heaven Acyuta after this birth. If he, having such a character, had not heard the sound of the drum[20] at that time, absorbed in meditation, he would have attained brilliant omniscience then. But, the stream of treasure, fruit in this world of the Arhat’s fast-breaking was obtained by Sheth Abhinava, who is devoid of pure character. There is fruit arising from the Arhat’s fast-breaking which is lacking in devotion and which is not lacking in devotion.” After hearing that, the people, astonished, went to their respective homes.

Now the Blessed Vīra, wandering in towns, villages, mines, towns approached by land and sea, et cetera, went to the city Suṃsumāra. Observing a fast of three days, the Lord performed the penance lasting one night on a stone slab under an aśoka in the garden Aśokakhaṇḍa there.

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

Bhāra might be translated ‘ton,’ as used for an indefinite large amount.

[2]:

Kunda and sinduvāra, the Vitex Negundo. Both these shrubs bloom all the year, so do not seem a very logical choice for this comparison.

[3]:

Jāti, mode. See III, n. 92.

[4]:

Vesara. Probably the same as vesaraṣāḍaba in the Bharatakośa, which says simply ‘rāga.’ MW does not have vesara, and defines ṣāḍaba as ‘N. of particular Rāgas.’ One Ms. glosses vesara with tāna.

[5]:

One of the three scales. See 1, n. 79; Saṅgītamakaranda, I. 4.9 ff.

[6]:

Sakala and niṣkala. See Bharatakośa, s. v.

[7]:

‘Melodic figures.’ See IV, n. 20.

[8]:

A musical composition for the lute. I, n. 482.

[9]:

Three kinds of drums: See 1, n. 151 and Abhi. 2. 207 and com.

[10]:

The . XL 2 defines cārī as “the movement (mainly) with a single foot.” The cārīs are aerial (ākāśika) and earthly (bhaumi). Ibid. XL 7-12.

[11]:

Karaṇa is defined as “the two feet moving (together)” in . XL 2; and as “combined (movement of) hands and feet,” ibid. IV. 30-34.

[12]:

Dṛṣṭibhāva. See . VIII. 52 ff; GOS. 68, 8. 56 ff.

[13]:

An aṅgahāra consists of 6, 7, 8 or 9 karaṇas. , IV. 30-34.

[14]:

The . XL 43 describes a daṇḍapādacārī and in XII. 20-22 a daṇḍapādamaṇḍala. A maṇḍala is a combination of cārīs.

[15]:

See gajadanta, ., IX. 148.

[16]:

Ghātikarma—knowledge-obscuring, faith-obscuring, obstructive, and deluding. See I, App. 11.

[17]:

There were 2 Indras of the Vidyutkumāras. See I, p. 106.

[18]:

This refers to a ritual greeting to sādhus in which the greeter enquires about various aspects of the sādhu’s comfort on his vihār. The formula is given in the Paṭcaprati, sūtra 4, p. 10.

[19]:

Kulmāṣa is half-cooked pulse. My Indian informant stressed that it must be half-cooked.

[20]:

It interrupted his meditation.

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