Visaka Gets Married presents Buddhist Literature through English with glimpses into Indian culture and traditions of over twenty five centuries ago.
Visaka is a model only for those aspiring to be like her – a chief patroness of a Buddha sāsana – a mother unto the saṅgha – a character as rare as a Buddha himself. Therefore, the modern girl need not feel put off by, or skeptic of, her perfections of character. It takes all sorts to make a world. People differ according to the conditions around them and their aspirations. There were all sorts of noble people, great hearts, ranging from king to vicious murderer, during Buddha's life-time who attained purity and arahantship; and others who counted among the eighty great disciples of the Buddha – according to their separate aspirations. They achieved the highest fruit of the sāsana. But not Visaka or Anāthapindika. Visaka is not a role model for every woman; but her high principles, her sense of duty and propriety are worth copying.
For a Buddha sāsana to thrive, patrons and patronesses like Visaka and Anāthapindika. are most assential. They come into the world only when a Buddha does. So, let us appreciate the patrons of the sāsana.
The Betrothal
Five hundred comely maids with jewels shimmering from top to toe, wherever such adornments could be worn to advantage, were waiting anxiously and eagerly for that adult voice that ruled their lives to say, “You may leave now.” Hiding all their eagerness and excitement, they would then step out on to the road, and with true feminine grace, make their way to the river to sport there; for that was the day of the annual water festival in Sāketha; the only day of the year when young maids of all ranks in life, usually closeted in their homes, were allowed to walk freely on the street. Visaka had five hundred attendant companions ready to set off with her, and they were all very excited, as this was also the day when young men, of all walks of life, including sons of kings, ministers, brahmins, and other aristocrats left their homes, to line the streets each in the quest of his heart’s desire - some young beauty to be garlanded and marked for himself.
In some cases, it was the parents who came out, in the hope of finding a suitable bride for a son trying to escape bonds of wedlock.
It was not only the young ones that enjoyed this day. It excited fond parents, well-wishing friends, uncles, aunts, and all kinds of relatives, and above all, grand-parents bubbling with excitement at the prospect of witnessing yet another family wedding.
Eight disheartened brahmins were returning home after a vain search all over India, for a bride for a difficult young nobleman, who seemed in no hurry to be tied up in matrimony, The young person in question had, in order to escape the constant nagging of his parents, described to them the kind of maid he would care to wed, leaving in their minds a picture of an ethereal beauty, a nymph, “with skin unblemished, and as soft as that of a blue lotus petal.” He had said, adding, as the exasperated parents got up to leave, “She should be able to retain her beauty were she to bear ten children, and still look as fresh as a sixteen year old.”
The despairing parents turned in appeal to learned brahmins, well versed in the Veda, for help; and the young man, certain that none of them, or all of them put together, would ever be able to accomplish such a task, sat back and relaxed with a most ungentlemanly grin spread upon his handsome face.
“Hmmm! Difficult but not impossible,” the brahmins had said after much consideration and consultation with one another, “we’ll find her.” Having been showered with extremely expensive gifts for that assurance alone, and with enough fare to look after them comfortably through a difficult journey, eight of them had set off on this ‘mission’ of finding a nymph among humans. It was no easy task, but according to Veda such beauties had to exist in India during that time.ime. So they were hopeful. But the search was difficult, and was becoming arduous; The Brahmins were almost losing hope; yet, they had been pretty well provided for to make them comfortable through a long journey, no matter how long, and they loathed disappointing their generous benefactor. However, after a vain search through the length and breadth of India, the disheartened brahmins, feeling weary and defeated were returning home to Sāvatti by a different route, and had stopped in Sāketha to rest; it was there that they came to hear of the nature of the festivities that were to take place in this city the following day, and hopes revived.
Stationing themselves in the pavilion of the city hall overlooking the river, the next morning, this team of eight were scanning the street for the perfect maid, when Visaka and her friends, like morning glory in motion, came into view. And, they stared spell-bound at this epitome of beauty; a perfect picture of feminine grace, and elegance! What a stroke of luck,” they seemed to be thinking, “We’ve found her at last!”
Exchanging exultant glances and nodding excitedly to one another, they turned to fix their gaze on Visaka once more, reluctant to lose even a moment of such a pretty sight. She could be having all the marks of a beauty if only her teeth were right; to see her teeth, they would have to resort to a contrivance, since one cannot examine a woman, as one does a horse.
Then, suddenly, with no warning whatever, as fate would have it, a few drops of rain, few but heavy, began to fall, threatening to drench them all. Everybody in the street, including all of Visaka’s companions ran for the nearest shelter, which was the city hall itself, overlooking the street and the river; but not so Visaka. She, a singular figure of feminine perfection now left in an otherwise deserted street, changed course too, but not her pace; unaffected by the rain that was now falling fast, she continued to walk slowly and with no apparent hurry - towards the self same shelter as her friends had made for.
The Brahmins, very impressed at first by her unsurpassing beauty were beginning to have doubts.
“A lazy one,” observed one of them.
“A pot of porridge would be a hard day’s earning for the man who makes her his wife” added another.
The young lady in question overheard them. With a polite “Excuse me sirs,” she intervened, “what makes you say so?”
“Just look at yourself, you’re wet through and through. All your friends ran in and escaped being drenched; but you alone, did not seem in any hurry at all to reach a shelter; you wouldn’t even so much as exert yourself to quicken a step!”
“Oh! Is that why?” she said with a disarming smile. “I could run faster than any of them if I had chosen to. There’s a reason for my not having done so.”
“What reason?”
“There are four kinds of beings on earth that ought not to descend to running; besides, there’s another.”
“What four?”
Visaka managed to suppress the amused smile that came to her lips at their ignorance, but not the twinkle in her eyes as she thought, “Don’t they know even that?”
“Since you ask,” she replied respectfully, “I must tell. Firstly, If a king, bedecked in all his regalia were to run like a common farm-hand in his loin cloth, the sight would be ugly and he would be scoffed and insulted by all. A king should walk with slow majesty. Secondly, the royal elephant too dressed in its regalia, should walk slowly in the stately fashion of elephants. It would look ridiculous running. Thirdly are ascetics, whose steps should be slow, measured and dignified. An ascetic who runs would receive no respect. And fourthly comes the woman. It is most unbecoming of a woman to run. There is no femininity, no grace, and no propriety in a woman who runs like a man; that I should not descend to such impropriety is the reason I did not run.”
Eight pairs of appreciative eyes glowed under their graying brows as Visaka made her little speech. Their opinion of her had changed once more.
These judges of beauty, with chins resting thoughtfully between thumb and finger, or stroking their whitening beards, were now complimenting her wisdom - in undertones.
“A pretty speech.”
“Full of good sense.”
“Perfectly expressed.”
“Charmingly.”
The sweet manner in which she spoke, with lips moving slightly to reveal just a glimpse of her beautiful teeth now and then - the sort our difficult young man in question had described in particular detail, had pleased them very much. Wanting to see more of them, and to gain this end, one of them said,
“You said there was another reason besides these four. Pray, what is that?”
“Parents bring up daughters with special care,” she began treating them to another of her enchanting smiles, “that they may grow without mark or blemish that they may find for the daughters, suitable young men to look after them. That will not be possible if a young girl were to resort to unnecessary running and then fall by some accident. She could injure herself, or, perhaps be disfigured. Such a maid would be, to her parents, a source of worry and pain for it won’t be easy to give her in marriage. I don’t want to be a source of worry or pain to my parents that way – though I will not be a burden. That’s why I didn’t run. Besides, what’s wrong in getting a little wet?” she added, with a few raindrops still glistening on her face; and her eyes twinkled.
“No harm at all! It suits her well.” They were thinking.
“The wet clothes can soon be changed; and the ornaments would dry too.” Visaka was still explaining and the brahmins had all agreed on one point.
“Such wisdom accords with her peerless beauty.”
The oldest of them, a quaint old brahmin, with a knot of wavy grey hair sitting comfortably on his crown, and another dangling precariously at the bottom of his white beard, threatening to come undone at the slightest provocation, was struggling to open a box that had not seen daylight since the day they had started off on their quest of a fair young lady for a difficult young man, so many months ago.
He extracted from it, at last, a garland which he held high in his raised hands. The maids gasped at the sight of it; Visaka smiled. The flowers were made of delicate gold, studded with blue sapphires of varying shapes and sizes, joined in filigree with diamonds gleaming in between.
The elder, full of paternal affection, slipped it gently round Visaka’s fair neck as she bent to receive it and then stepping back, he looked into her questioning eyes.
“From which city are you?”
“Savatthi.” He said gently.
Visaka was glad. “That’s where Lord Buddha spends his rainy seasons - mostly,” she noted. “Good for me,” she thought.
“What’s his family name?”
“Migara.”
“What is his name?”
“Poornawardena.”
“Hmmm aristocrats.” She thought. “Father will be happy.” and fell silent.
A message was soon dispatched, and Visaka’s father sent five hundred carriages for Visaka to return home in her changed status, as was the custom then. The eight Brahmins in their own carriages brought up the rear.
They were received most cordially and treated to a sumptuous meal during which Visaka’s father put to them many questions. Satisfied that the families were equal in birth and status, he next wanted to know the extent of the young man’s wealth.
“Forty croes.” Said one of them almost proudly.
“Nothing compared to mine - a mustard seed by Mahāmeru,” thought Dananjaya, the young nobleman and courtier; but that did not bother him, for true to his name, meaning ‘Victor of Wealth’ he had enough gold in his coffers to distribute through an entire city and still have more left to repeat. His coffers never lessened no matter how much he gave! This was the beneficence of an offering he had once made to a Pacceka Buddha with an accompanying wish, a very long time ago, in distant saṁsāra.
What offering? What Wish? It is interesting to know. So let us for a while deviate from Visaka.
Dananjaya
Very many eons ago, a wealthy nobleman, a courtier in the king’s service, known as the courtier of Banares, came to hear from an astrologer that the city was going to be struck by drought in three years from then. He got about preparing for it. He got his men to cultivate more than they had ever done before, and had one thousand two hundred and fifty granaries, (1,250) filled with all kinds of grain; he had more stored in cauldrons, pots, pans and boxes , and when all ground space was taken up, he had still more of it stored under-ground.
The drought came, and farming became impossible; months grew into years, and slowly but surely their stocks were diminished, and yet the sun continued to blaze. Many were the servants that needed to be fed, and their stocks of grain in the cauldrons, pots and such vessels had also reached their end and there came a day when the servants could not be fed any longer. The courtier calling all his servants together, gave them permission to leave, to find succour elsewhere, in some place not affected by the drought. “You may return when the drought has ended.” He said, “Or you may even stay away if you so wish. I will not blame you if you do so, as I’m sending you away at a difficult time.”
Reluctantly though they all left; they had no alternative but to leave and fend for themselves or stay and die of starvation. The Courtier, his lady, their son and the daughter-in-law, with just one very loyal servant who had decided to stay with them, come what may, were now left to share whatever meager rations they were left with underground; and the sun still blazed! More months passed - even that which they had mixed with clay and plastered on to the mud walls got used up – but the drought continued and people were dying of starvation. Even in the situ mansion there was no food to be got except for about a measure of rice which the nobleman’s wife had hidden away for a difficult day.
When times were getting extremely hard, she had one day, managed to scrape up some paddy from a chunk in the wall, which she had wetted, and then separated – the paddy from the mud – with her own delicate fingers, not made for such rough work. This paddy she had washed and cleaned and husked and got some rice the amount of a measure, which was what she had hidden away for a difficult day.
This was all that was left in the house one day when her husband having returned from the king’s service asked her if there was anything to cook “I’m so very hungry” he had sighed.
“There’s about a measure of rice.”
“Where?”
“In a pot under the kitchen floor hidden away from thieves.”
“Then take it out and cook,” he seemed hardly able to speak properly.
The rice would have been enough for two days if they were to have porridge with it. But it would give them only one meal if they were to have rice with it; she told him so.
“We have… but a few more hours… left to live. What does it… matter? Let us have a bellyful… of rice each…, one last time,” he said panting for breath all the time.
So she cooked rice with it, divided it into five portions, and put her husband’s share into his golden plate, and set it before him.
Just at that moment, a Paccka Buddha, had risen from Niroda Samapatthi, and was surveying the world to see who, in this drought stricken country, would have some food to offer Him that day, and if that person would be good enough, generous enough, and have enough merit to make Him an offering. (Niroda Samapatthi is experiencing Nibbana for seven consecutive days during which no food is taken or needed. But on rising from it the hunger of the arahant is such that he would not survive without food any longer. Great is the merit that accrues to one who is fortunate enough to get this opportunity to offer a meal to such a one at such a time. One should have extra ordinarily good karma – exceptionally good karma to get such an opportunity as to come within view of a Pacceka Buddha surveying the world after Nirodha samapaththi.)
The Pacceka Buddha saw that this courtier, in the jaws of death though he was, would gladly let go of that last meal of his, last in that life, in favour of a better cause. So down He came as quick as lightening, and stood like a golden image, in front of the starving Courtier family. Their hunger vanished at the sight. A billion thoughts flashed through their minds.
The courtier fell to thinking, “Great is the merit that comes from offerings made to worthy ones! Though I may have given generously in the past, there must have been something amiss in what I had given or how; or to whom I had given, that I have come to face such a drought as this. It should not happen to me ever again; not ever in samara.” With such thoughts foremost in his mind, he took the alms bowl from the Buddha’s hand, and respectfully and reverentially, began emptying his plate into it. When half of it had been served, the Buddha covered the bowl with his hand, to indicate it was enough, but the courtier, would not be stopped. He had a wish to make.
“This is but one fifth of a whole most venerable sir, that I’m offering; half of that too is most negligible; Let me offer my full share, that the merit I get from it be full too – It is not for here and now that I make this wish, venerable sir, for I have but a few hours left to live; but for the life times beyond, in saṁsāra. May by the strength of this offering I’m making now, I never see a drought such as this – ever in saṁsāra, may my living come to me easily, and not by any trade. Let two thousand five hundred granaries be always mine, and when I look up into the sky and wish them to be filled may they be filled with the choicest of grain that I may feed an entire city, or even all of India with it, without them ever lessening however much I give. May this same lady be my wife, and may we have the same son, and the same daughter-in-law, and the same servant throughout.” This nobleman, who could hardly speak a few moments ago spoke these words as clearly and confidently as he normally spoke! This wish made, he offered his entire share to the Buddha.
His wife followed suit, wishing to have a little pot that would cook sweet rice, from which a city or more of hungry people could be fed, and that the rice in the pot should ever remain the same until one and all had been fed. She too wished to have the same husband, the same son, the same daughter-in-law, and the same servant. The other three also gave up their shares in turn making their own separate wishes. One wish was common to all five of them – that they should always come together in saṁsāra, in the same relationships.
“So be it” was the Pacceka Buddha’s blessing as He left them, resolving that He should be seen returning all that way, to his dwelling on GandaMahān Pabba in The Himalayas, and also that they should see how the rice they had offered would suffice five hundred Pacceka Buddhas! ‘Where faith is, no gift is small;’ and they saw how the rice in the bowl swelled – It swelled ‘like fruit abundant from a tiny seed’ sown in the right field; it kept swelling until five hundred alms bowls had filled, and five hundred Pacceka Buddhas had partaken of it. They watched with clasped hands and pious joy this wonder of nature – karma’s timeless system of division that multiplies; they watched with clasped hands, karma’s timeless system of instant multiplication defying all rules of modern mathematics, fill five hundred alms bowls with just one!
They watched five hundred Pacceka Buddhas partake of the food they had offered, and then, with hearts full of joy and stomachs empty to the bone, lay down for the inevitable to come.
But the inevitable came contrary to expectation.
Hunger pains soon overcame the courtier. “Do see dear,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “If there’s anything at the bottom…. to scrape up for ourselves,”
She did not have the heart to tell him that she had already washed the pot. “I’ll show him,” she thought as she struggled to her feet. She dragged herself to the pot and lifted the lid. Marvel of marvels, the pot had filled to the brim with rice warm, sweet, soft, milky, and inviting! They soon had their fill and sent word outside.
Great were the crowds that thronged to be fed!
They gave of everything that day! – rice from a pot that never emptied; grain from the granaries that had filled once more; seed paddy from a box that ever remained the same, and gold from a bag that never lessened no matter how much was taken out of it, for that had been the wish the son had made as he offered his share of the rice-food to the Pacceka Buddha! They gave that day as none could give. The intensity of their goodness of heart, their faith, their generosity had been such that it softened the skies. The scorching fury of nature succumbed; and rain fell in torrents!
Their servant set to work with the golden plough he had wished for and got. The plough dug far and wide, as he had wished, at the mere touch of a golden string.
That day, the merit of their past generosities and complexities of goodness must have surfaced and joined together in strength to bring to their door-step a Pacceka Buddha risen from Nirodha Samapatthi to receive that supreme gift of theirs.
The foursome, with their ever loyal servant traversed saṁsāra together, sometimes in the heavens, sometimes on earth, ever generous and ever reaping the sweet fruits of goodness they had sown together. Treasures sprung from the ground wherever they were born; and in the time of our Lord Buddha Gauthama, the courtier Banares returned to the world – to grace the city of Baddiya in Magada the realm of King Bimbisara; his wife of that time was also born to a family of nobles, and when they came of age, were married.
Between them, they fed the entire population of Baddiya.
Before long, they had a son – the same as they had wished for; the one who had wanted to have an ever replenishing bag of gold, from which to distribute to his heart’s content - that was Dananjaya, Visaka’s father.
* * *
Visaka must and will have a handsome dowry,” he was thinking; “She can make all of Savatthi rich.”
Two days later, the Brahmins, overburdened with the gifts they had received for the Migaras and themselves were on their way back home to Savatthi.
The news made Migara, nobleman and courtier, jubilant. He could have kissed the Brahmins and jumped for joy if only he were a boy! The daughter of the richest man in Kosala, and grand-daughter of the richest man in all India, was going to be his daughter-in-law! He was the happiest man on earth that day! “No time must be lost.” He declared, and hastened to King Kosala with the news. “We’re going there soon to fetch her.”
“Why, they are my very special possession, I brought them here myself!” exclaimed the king. “I’m coming with you. They were Bimbisara’s gift to me.”
He stressed on ‘gift’ glancing sideways at his queen, and giving her a naughty wink, for they remembered only too well how this so called ‘gift’ had been extracted out of the good hearted king and brother-in-law.
The two of them were brothers-in-law in a dual sense, each having married the other’s sister.
King Kosala often remembered how he had visited King Bimbisara one day with the express purpose of wheedling from his brother in law one of the latter’s wealthy bankers and courtiers. This put King Bimbisara in a predicament. He could not think any among them who could be asked to leave. He could not bring himself to do it. The good hearted king was thinking the hurt he would be causing to his very loyal courtiers. So, reluctantly though, he shook his head slowly to indicate his answer. The word ‘no’ would not come out from him. But King Kosala would not take it for an answer
“You are a mean man, brother-in-law, you have here, in Baddiya alone, five nobles of extraordinary wealth, with treasures just lying about in their back-yards, with nothing to do. I’m asking for only one, and you’re begrudging me.”
There had been altogether five courtiers in King Bimbisara’s court including the Great Meda or Mendaka Courtier, Visaka’s grand-father. They had had treasures in their back-yards arisen for them and them only; treasures that disappeared at the touch of the wrong hand. How did treasures disappear at the touch of the wrong hands? One instance is what happened to the treasures of Jotiya . (It is a long story given as briefly as possible, at the end of this book.)
“It’s not being mean; I don’t know whom to ask. These families have been here for centuries, and have multiplied to tens or hundreds of thousands. They are deeply rooted here; they have grown unshakable.”
That was the truth too and nothing else to it.
“Well then, I can take root here too, and will not leave until and unless I get one.” had been the stubborn rejoinder.
Sāketha
A few days later saw King Kosala himself conducting his newly won prize, young Dananjaya, with family, retinue, and all his wealth in just one bag, away from his ancestral home and Magada, to Sāvatti in the kingdom of Kosala. They had a long way to go, but it was pleasant travelling. Beautiful villages, miles and miles of green fields, orchards, and lakes displaying hosts of red, white and blue lotuses, hindered their progress. They kept mainly to the river-side, and stopped only at night, to rest. But still, their progress was slow as there was so much to see and admire. After some days, when dusk was falling, they came upon a spot of breath-taking beauty, which they had never seen the like of it before - an ever winding river of clear blue water flowed gracefully down, carrying in her current, twigs and twine and brine, and once in a way, a juicy mango or two, fallen from an overhanging branch. These seemed to be enjoying the ride down-stream, tossing and turning and dipping, and surfacing again as if in some kind of water-ballet peculiar to them alone. Clusters of trees laden with luscious fruit stood invitingly on the bank impatient to be picked and tasted.
In a meadow not far off, gaily coloured flowers tossed and fluttered gently in the soft evening breeze.
The place caught Dananjays’s fancy.
“Whose territory is this?” he exclaimed.
“Mine.”
“In which case, your majesty, this very quiet place will be more convenient for me and this large following of mine, than the bustling city.
“So be it” said, the king.
They pitched tents in a field overlooking the river. King Kosala tarried awhile to build for his friend, for so he called Dananjaya, a self-contained city. He named it Sāketha, for having come upon it at eventide, made Danajaya its lord and master, bestowed a hundred villages, upon him, and rode on.
The villages were soon exempted from taxes; and how dearly he was loved for it!
Very soon, dwellings ranging from cottages, to mansions and palaces; pleasure parks, travelers’ rests, and suchlike came up like mushrooms, under the most able guidance of their lord and master, Visaka’s father; and it was no great task for him with his inexhaustible resources of wealth and man-power. Occasional celebrations and festivities in their calendar added zest to their already happy lives. One of them was the start of the season for sowing. That was when people streamed in from all directions to Dananjaya’s house – a veritable palace it was – to get seed-paddy from his wife, Sumana Devi, who distributed it from a box that never emptied.
Buddhist monasteries were a main feature within the city and outside. Monks, covered from neck to toe in golden yellow robes, doing their morning rounds for alms, each taking a different route, was a common sight. Devotees stood at their doorways with food in hand to offer to a holy one who, they were certain, would come their way too. Often, monks in tens, twenties, fifties or more would be seen walking single-file, slowly and serenely, to a single house for alms – on having been respectfully invited. Very often hundreds of them walked to Danajaya’s house for alms-food, and how happy Visaka was then, serving alms and attending to all the little needs of the monks ever so reverentially!
Another most interesting feature of a different nature was the common play-field where children of all ages played happily and noisily together. Their favourite game was racing—racing of an uncommon sort.
It was past this field that Dananjaya, with a bag slung over his shoulder, chose to take his daily walk. The race started when he, turning a corner at a junction, emerged from behind a palm tree that marked the avenue of trees that led to his residence, coming into full view of the players. Play ended for the little ones then and the race started. Throwing their play-things aside, or jumping off their swings, and shouting excitedly, they would race pell-mell towards him only just managing, with all sorts of gyrations, not to cannon headlong into the good-hearted gentleman who distributed from his bag, not gold, but goodies With their hands full with an array of sweets and shouting all manner of thanks behind them, and some of them running backwards, they would race back, only to collide with some late comers running in the opposite way – what a sight! a tangle of legs waving furiously in the air, while hands remained folded tightly, clutching tenaciously onto the sweets, and not letting go, no matter what! Eventually untangled, and somewhat quietened (temporarily, until they had done justice to the goodies,) they would resume the race back to the play-ground; but not before some little imp had, with the simple expedient of sticking out a foot in the right direction at the right time, managed to bring a half a dozen or more of the hilarious party down again in another tangled mass of unidentifiable limbs. The ones left out, attracted more to the fray, than the play, dived in heartily and sometimes, a stray mongrel, having no way of being an active party in the scene, would sit on its hind, yapping away spiritedly, as if to cheer them on.
King Kosala, on his rare visits to Sāketha, enjoyed this spectacle far more than all its beautiful scenery.
* * *
“Dananjaya has been a boon and a blessing to my country,” thought he as he reminisced fondly; saying aloud,
Coming out of his reverie he told Migara determinedly. “I’m coming with you”
A message was dispatched immediately, “The king is coming with us; his retinue is great; let me know if you can host them all.”
“Let ten kings come and all their retinue; they won’t be too many for me.” The great hearted father of Visaka had replied.
So thither they prepared to set off; king, ministers, commander-in-chief and all, leaving only the caretakers behind.
The responsibility of allotting accommodation for the great number of visitors had fallen upon Visaka. It was no great task for her, and she set to it with alacrity.
“The king, of course, can be housed in the palace he usually stays in when he visits us. The ministers also can have the same mansions.” Visaka was saying to her father and mother who were keen to know how she would get about it.
“The commander in chief and the soldiers?” asked Dananjaya, the courtier.
“We can house them in the mansions south and north of the palace and we will let the village chief appoint the serving families,” said Visaka.
“Migara, should be placed closed to the king,” said Sumana Devi, Visaka’s mother. “Shall we assign for him the castle to the east of the palace?” said Visaka. Dananjaya agreed.
“And, we’ll let the care takers choose the serving families,” said Visaka.
Dananjaya was thinking of the animals meanwhile; the elephants and the horses.
“We must not forget the animals.”
“Of course not, father, the stables behind the mansions are almost empty. We will need more stable hands and grooms though.”
“Yes, that will be seen to; everybody – from the king to the slave – is a guest, and should not be in attendance even on their own animals; they must be made free to enjoy themselves.
The arrangements were concluded to everybody’s satisfaction. It was no great task for Visaka, who had been hosting aristocracy and similar numbers or more in her past lives as princess or queen in each lifetime, and also thousands of Mahā Saṅgha headed by a Buddha also eon after eon. How was this? Let us take a peep into Visaka’s life a hundred thousand eons before this Mahā Badra Kalpa in which our Lord Buddha Gothama is the fourth.
* * *
It had been Visaka’s practice through innumerable life times, to give alms without discrimination. With unshakeable faith in the Triple Gems, she had offered alms-food to Buddhas and their disciples, the Mahā Saṅgha, with utmost respect and veneration life after life even before the time of Buddha Piyumatura, when she initially aspired to be a chief patroness to a future Buddha.
It was not only food that she had offered in this way, but all four requisites, and to all and sundry; when she offered them to the Saṅgha, she offered the best. She gave food, she gave clothing, and she gave medicine and shelters indiscriminately. She shared with her peers, unstintingly, the expensive gifts she had got from friends and relations. She was most charitable to the poor and needy including the mendicants that came to her door.
Munificence had become second nature to her, and it had in turn, according to the law of nature brought to her the fortunes that such offerings beget – (āyu, vanno, sukaṅ, balaṅ,) longevity, beauty, wealth, and strength (of physique and character.) And, she was blessed with good friends too.
During Buddha Piyumatura’s time she had a very special friend. This friend was special as she was the chief patroness of Buddha Piyumatura.
Visaka participated in all the religious activities her friend performed at home, and the monastery; she watched with pious wonder how her friend attended to the needs of the Buddha and the Mahā Saṅgha, up to the minutest detail, and it stirred her into wishing that she too could, one day, be like this friend of hers, and be so very close to a Buddha.
The value of good friends is beyond expression!
Having often wondered how her friend could have risen to that position Visaka approached Buddha Piyumatura one day and addressing Him most respectfully asked,
“Please Lord, what position does my friend hold in your Sāsana?
“She is the chief patroness.”
“By what merit does one become a chief patroness, Lord?”
“by cultivating wholesome speech and deeds through a hundred thousand aeons.”
“Can I also be one such as she one day O’ Lord?”
“Why not? I am not the only Buddha; nor is your friend the only chief patroness.”
“If I start now, will I be able to attain it, Lord?”
“Yes, the present time is always right.”
Happy beyond words, she spoke again. “O! Lord, would you then, be so compassionate as to come to my house with your hundred thousand disciples and accept the alms I most humbly wish to offer.”
Buddha Piyumatura assented.
On the following day, and day after day, for seven consecutive days, a great flood of alms-food and requisites poured forth at Visaka’s house. On the seventh day, when the giving of alms had ended, Visaka spoke her aspiration. “May by the merit of the alms food I have offered, O Lord,” she said, “I too win the position of chief patroness some future time, to a Buddha like you, and, in eight ways be a mother unto the Saṅgha.”
Buddha Piyumatura, first looked into the future, and then made the following revelation. “At the end of a hundred thousand aeons from now,” the Omniscient One said, “a Buddha will appear in this world. His name will be Gothama, His chief disciples will be Sariputta and Moggallana. You will be, his chief female donor, and be like a mother unto the Saṅgha, as your friend is now to me; and your name will be Visaka.”
Already very rich in faith, virtue, generosity and wisdom, Visaka began to enrich them further, and also the decorum befitting this lofty position – the decorum which had stayed her from running to escape a fateful rain on a fateful day, on a fateful occasion. She strove with diligence through one hundred thousand aeons and more, and in her state of being thus busy, the aeons ticked by. She is said to have had, though a female, the strength of five elephants! It is little wonder though, considering the length of time, in aeons, she had been munificent with food alone. And all that time the benefits that food gives had followed her as a natural manifestation (by products) of her good karma.
* * *
Eventually, she came into being once more as the daughter of Dananjaya, the victor of wealth!
The sixteen year old Visaka, a paragon of all skills in addition to her other virtues, had made preparations to have the visitors from Savatthi, from king to clerk, and groom to attendant, received, accommodated and made comfortable.
The Wedding
The visitors arrived, and were received with pomp and ceremony, and treated to a rich feast in their banqueting hall. Beautiful maids flitted to and fro, with trays laden with refreshments, while the host and hostess put the guests at ease with pleasant talk. They were next conducted to the houses, mansions, and castles allotted to them according to Visaka’s planning, and made quite comfortable. From then on, it was as if each house in Sāketha was having a wedding feast, and all of Savatthi were their guests! The feasting went on day after day, week after week and Migara was getting anxious. “Why don’t you hasten the wedding, that we may leave soon,” he said to Dananjaya, “our lingering here must be a trouble to you.”
“None at all, sir, it is my pleasure; besides, this is the rainy season, and travelling is most inconvenient. Do be my guest until I give the word.” Dananjaya had another reason for prolonging the celebrations; five hundred highly skilled goldsmiths had also arrived to start work on a ‘mahaliya’ ornament, (the ornament of great ladies,) for Visaka.
Dananjaya had chosen wisely when he wished for a bag (only) of gold coins; a bag that would never exhaust however much he gave. A wish made with a good heart always comes true, and his heart, when he made that wish had been, ‘as good as gold! – his wish was not to have to hoard, but to give and share. And it was granted. Again, it is no wonder that he could give Visaka caravans full of gold.
Dananjaya had given the goldsmiths, twenty five thousand pieces of gold, forty measures of jewels – with silver for filigree; twenty four measures of pearls, twelve measures of beads and four measures of precious stones for the work – the cost of labour alone, had been a hundred thousand pieces of gold. However heavy this ornament might have been for an average young person, it was no weight at all for Visaka who had in her, inert physical strength that had grown through a hundred thousand aeons (earth cycles) and more!_
There had been in India only two other ladies who had merited and had such strength to own and bear such an ornament.—with one other to have had the strength, but not the wealth to own one. She was Suppiya, Visaka’s principal maid.
It must be remembered that Visaka was not the only person who at that time, had been endowed with such wealth and good looks. Upatissa, Kolitha, (Sariputtha and Moggallna) Yasodara, Khema, Uppalavanna and Prajapathi Gothami are just a few among a vast number of most noble men and women who had been endowed with most uncommon good looks and great wealth too; which wealth they spewed out as of no consequence to them -- to count among the great disciples of our Lord Budda. But Visaka needed her fortune to fulfill the duties she had aspired for and striven through many an aeon – to be the chief female donor of the Buddha Sāsana.
Besides, gold had not been so dear then.
Even up to the recent past, gold had represented money, even in Lanka. Gold coins were in circulation even in the nineteen forties. We have heard that there are still countries that have gold mines, and mines of other precious metals, and stones. They appear when people are good and worthy, and sink into the earth gradually and disappear when goodness wanes; all of which will resurface in heralding the coming of Maithree Buddha into the world.
To get back to Visaka, once more, and her wedding preparations, the craftsmen were busy working on the ‘mahaliya’ ornament. And elsewhere in the house, Dananjaya was busy pouring out gold coins into bags, and his wife was tying them up. Scores of men were carrying them to the caravans (five hundred in all) lined up in the street. No armed soldiers with swords at the ready stood guard anywhere. Of all the people in Sāketha, and around, there wasn’t a single person poor in purse or at heart to covet any of it.
Eventually, other caravans lined up, always in five hundreds, for the exquisite furniture, rich upholstery, ornaments made of gold, ornaments made of silver; and also cooking utensils and farm equipment; and similarly, silks and cloth of woven gold to be loaded. And then there were the edibles – dairy products of five kinds, grain and cereals, all arranged to fill five hundred caravan loads of each kind, all of them to be Visaka’s dowry which in cash alone was five hundred caravans of gold coins.
There were twenty thousand caravans in all arriving and leaving single file with elaborate demarcations at the tail of each set of five hundred. They arrived and left continuously to army precision - a beautiful performance! A treat to the eye!
What could Visaka do with all that? Give and share, of course, and support the Saṅgha as the chief female donor. “Visaka can make Savatthi rich.” Is what occurred to her generous hearted father when he gathered that the Migara fortune was most negligible compared to his own.
When Visaka’s ‘mahaliya’ ornament, a unique piece of expert craftsmanship, extending from head to foot, with blue sapphires studded in gold to resemble peacock feathers, and with loops of filigree to allow flexibility, was at last ready, four months had sped by, and with it, the rainy season, as if to brighten up the approaching wedding.
Her dowry in cattle had had to be measured in an area marked three leagues long and seventy yards wide. The cattle that could not get into this demarcation, sixty thousand cows and sixty thousand bulls in all, had leapt over the seemingly endless fence of the cattle-yard - and careered on to join Visaka’s dowry of cattle. What man, made of flesh and blood could stop such a stampede? But they stopped of their own accord when they had reached their self chosen destination –Visaka’s dowry of cattle!
* * *
During the time of Buddha Kassapa, Visaka had been the youngest daughter of King Kiki, and her name, most appropriately, had been Saṅghadāsi. Among the numerous gifts of alms and food Princess Saṅghadāsi, had offered to the Saṅgha, had been alms of pasgorasa – the five kinds of dairy products - to result in getting masses of cattle life after life!
Visaka had always sought good company like that of monks, arahants, and Buddhas whenever possible; and thereby, accumulated the seven Āryan wealths, (saddhā, sīla, hiri, otthappa, chāga, sutha, paṅṅa.) faith, virtue, shame to do wrong, fear to do wrong , generosity, learning, and wisdom. These wealths, no king can confiscate; no thief can steal; nor any force of nature destroy. And, all the while, their byproducts, in the form of treasures or inheritances followed in their wake whether she wished it or not.
When Dananjaya endowed Visaka with so much, he was only being the agent of her good karma! He was, in fact, giving her that which she had herself amassed through all those aeons.
“You give her so much in kind because you have enough and more to give,” said her mother, watching all that went into hundreds and hundreds of caravans. “Aren’t you giving her any serving people? Is she to do everything herself?”
“When it comes to that, my dear, I’ll let those who wish to go with her, do so, and the others remain. Thirty two villages south of here, have that choice. Only those who love our daughter should go. No one must feel compelled to go because I say it.”
On the eve of the wedding Visaka’s father, having taken her aside, gave her some good advice, ten in all, beautifully symbolic and intriguing to many, but not above Visaka’s wisdom to understand. (the advice is popularly known by lovers of Buddhist Literature today.) But, Migara, the courtier, who happened to overhear them, misunderstood every syllable of it, much to his embarrassment at a later time.
When the wedding party were about to leave, Dananjaya gave his daughter fifty four croes of gold for her personal use alone, and in the midst of a great company of distinguished visitors, including the king himself, he appointed eight learned gentlemen to go with Visaka and remain there. “Though great in wisdom, she’s still tender in years,” the fond father said, “if she were thought to be at fault in any way, your duty is to investigate, and act accordingly.”
A long train of carriages, horses, elephants and caravans formed Visaka’s escort with King Kosala leading with his ministers, and the king’s soldiers following on horse or elephant.
Next in line were the Savatthians headed by Migara, the courtier, and followed by Visaka’s retinue – the villagers of thirty two villages, men, women, and children alike who had wished to go with Visaka; and they followed the procession. Unfortunately, the sight of such great crowds following them disturbed Migara.
“Who are all these people?”
“Visaka’s retinue.”
“We have no need for such crowds, we cannot feed such numbers. Send them back.”
Amidst great protestations most of them were ordered back, Migara choosing to take only such numbers as he thought would be useful.
Thousands of people had lined the street which Visaka was passing through. They had heard so much of her beauty that they wanted to feast their eyes on her. And a feast it was, with the splendour of her ‘mahaliya’ ornament accentuating her nymph like loveliness. She drove in an open carriage, to see and to be seen, smiling with all as if she had known them all her life!
The cattle, looking quite complacent for a reason best known to them alone, rode in crates with some more of her retinue of cow-herds.
So followed the tail-end of Visaka’s train of escorts. And like a golden flame dazzling in a moonless night, she entered her new home – of darkness – to shed light within.
Jotiya
Very many eons ago, during a time when there was no Sammasambuddha in the world, there were two brothers in Benares who owned, jointly, a plantation of sugar-cane. One day the younger brother having visited the plantation had cut two great sticks of juicy sugar cane, and tied the bottoms up securely, ( during those days – when people were vertuos – most things were different from now. For instance, there was no need to excert onself to get juce from sugar cane. It just poured out from the opened end when cut and tipped. There was no need strain it either it got strained as it poured out through the fibres inside – as water from desert cactus.) So, holding the cane down-side up, he was homeward bound, when he met a Pacceka Buddha who had just risen from Nirodha Samapatthi, and, out of compassion for the young planter, and wishing to do him a good turn had come down seeking alms. The planter was extremely happy at this uncommon good fortune that had come his way, and quickly prepared a suitable seat for the Omniscient One, his shawl folded to form a cushion. When the Buddha had seated Himself, the devotee poured the juice of one stick into the His alms-bowl. The Buddha partook of the juice then and there. Elated by the sight, the young man wished to offer Him the juice of the other stick also. But that was his brother’s, and as such, he had no right over it. What could he do?
“Anyway, I’ll offer his share too, and leave it to him to accept the money for it, or rejoice in the merit,” he thought, and poured the juice of the second stick also into the Buddha’s bowl. But the Buddha did not partake of it as before. Reckoning that He may be wanting to take it away to offer to other Omniscient ones, the young man took his leave, saying “Lord, may by the merit of this offering of mine, much comfort and wealth come to me, that I may enjoy the pleasures of the world, and the heavens, and ultimately, attain the bliss of Nibbana that You Yourself have realized.”
With, “So be it” as His blessing, the Pacceka Buddha set off rising into the air, and skimming through the clouds, like a fleck of cotton, resolving that this pious donor should see Him returning all the way to his dwelling on the rock mount GandhaMahān, and also see how the juice in his bowl would feed five hundred other Pacceka Buddhas.
The young man saw it all with ineffable joy, and feeling light as a feather himself, returned home.
“Where have you been?” asked the elder brother.
“To the plantation.”
“Having been there, couldn’t you have brought just one stick home?”
He recounted to the brother, the morning’s occurrences, and the elder listened in ecstasy to the younger one’s narration, as if he was seeing it all himself. Given the choice of being paid for his share of the sugar-cane, or sharing in the merit he opted to share the merit and wished for Nibbana, “I will have nothing to do with lay pleasures,” he had declared. But there was no Sammasambuddha then to show him The Way.
So, by this merit, both of them were born in heaven where they enjoyed pleasures divine for many eons.
When Buddha Vipassi appeared in the world, the two brothers returned, into riches beyond measure. They were named Sena, and the other, Aparajitha. During that time, there were no radios, or television or any such means of reaching the masses; it was drummers who announced important news to the public. It was they who, each day, announced, “The Buddha has come into the world, come ye all, and hear the Dhamma.” The elder brother, Sena, went, heard the Dhamma, renounced all his wealth, entered the order, cleansed himself of all defilements, and became an arahant.
But the younger one, Aparajitha, was too attached to worldly pleasures. “I like this world too much to let go like you.” He said reverentially to his Venerable brother, Sena. “Tell me please, what deeds of merit I could do as a lay person.”
“You may build a perfume chamber for the Buddha”
And so he did, sparing not the gold, the silver, or the gems that filled his treasury and that which had once belonged to his elder brother; He had the pillars, the roof, the floor, and doors and windows all plated with gold or silver and studded with jewels. It was a magnificent work of architecture! He covered its terraces with fine gem, about two feet deep. “Only gems are fit to receive Buddha’s feet,” he said.
Sentries were placed at the four gates to ensure that no gems would be stolen stood but there was no restriction for anyone, who would want to take a handful only away. A handful was allowed to entice the faithless to come for the sake of the gems, that they may also see the Buddha while there, hear the Dhamma and perhaps realize Nibbana.
What a noble intention!
The faithful came to hear the Buddha, and the faithless too; the gems in the terraces diminished. Aparajitha replenished them three times over; and he did it ever so happily and joyfully!
A cousin of Aparajitha, named Avaroja, had begged to be allowed to contribute to this most meritorious work, but Aparajitha, the planter of so many aeons ago, would not hear of it; “ Being cousins is one thing, but sharing a merit like this is another” he said. Cousin Avaroja, was not to be put off that way. He had enough wealth to build ten perfume chambers if he wished to. But it had not occurred to him, He had not an arahant for a brother to advise him on such matters. What could he do? He was thinking hard.
Avaroja was the same wealthy nobleman who had offered his last meal to a Paccekha Buddha while he himself was dying of hunger. (see chapter on Dananjaya.) The benificient results of this karma of his had followed him life after life, and in the time of Buddha Vipassi, it had caused him to be born into the lap of wealth itself He had more wealth than he knew what to do with, and faith to match!
“Well I can build a ‘kunjarasala’ (an assembly hall), he thought to himself at long last; and so he did! He built for Buddha Vipassi, an assembly hall opposite Aparajitha’s perfume chamber - one as magnificent as the perfume chamber itself. Around it he built lotus ponds so that the soft breezes that blew past them would carry the sweet scent of the lotuses to fan Buddha Vipassi in the perfume chamber his cousin Aparajitha had built. This Avaroja was going to be the Great Mada or Mendaka, – Visaka’s grand-father. (in Buddha Gothama’s time.)
At the end of their life-span, the arahant, the venerable brother Sena, entered parinibbana; the younger one, Aparajitha, was born in one of the heavens. There he remained until the time of our Buddha Gothama, to return to earth and into overwhelming wealth. He was named, significantly, Jotiya.
When the time came for Jotiya to have his own home and builders were about to get the land ready, Sakka felt uncomfortable; He came down in the guise of a builder, and after a little chat with the other builders, he sent them away, and like a child that makes a little nest with some polished shell or wood, with cotton and silk for lining, for some deserving little bird, Sakka created a palace for Jothiya – as magnificent as his own abode in the Thavatimsa, saying to himself, “No palace made by hand of man is fit abode for Jotiya who built that magnificent perfume chamber for Buddha Vipassi.” Treasures of all kinds sprang from the ground for Jotiya, including four giant trees of sugar cane at the four corners of the palace – a sign of what he had piously offered to a Pacceka Buddha more than ninety aeons previously. Sakka then created a great wall round the palace. He created a second wall round the first one, and a third and a fourth, until seven great walls stood ringing his palace, one after the other. He then stationed seven Yaksha chiefs and their armies (a kind of demon-like gods) to guard the palace. Satisfied with his handy-work, Sakka then gleefully returned to his own abode in Thavathimsa.
Here, Sakka was for Jothiya as a loving child would have been for a tame bird.
That a magnificent palace had sprung from the earth for Jotiya, soon came to be known far and wide, and King Bimbisara, with due royal honours, accorded him the station of a courtier. Multitudes from all directions came to see this gift of Sakka; and King Bimbisara simple soul that he was, waited until the crowds had diminished, to visit the palace himself – Along with him went his son, Prince Ajasattu, just a toddler hanging on to his father’s finger.
Ajasattu, was not delighted like the king at what he saw; “Shame on my father to come here like a common tourist when he is the king, and can own it if he wished to. Our palace is a mere hovel compared to this palace of Jothiya, but my father doesn’t seem to mind it at all! When I become king’ I’ll take this away from him and live here myself.”
Eventually, Ajasattu ascended the throne. His noble father was dead. “Now is my time,” thought he, and marching forth with his great army surrounded Jothiya’s palace. But the army of Yakshas at the outer gate, drove them away.
Defeated and depressed, Ajasattu went to see the Buddha and there was Jothiya already sitting at His feet, listening to the Dhamma.
“You sit here in saintly fashion after setting your army, to fight me,” Ajasattu accused his courtier.
“Why do you say so your majesty, did you try to take my palace?”
“Yes”
“No one can take away any of my property against my wish; not even a king; not even a thousand kings.” Said Jothiya, not with pride but with unshakeable faith in the invulnerability of the property that had come to him by his past good karma.
“So you are the king, are you”?
“I do not claim royalty, your majesty. Besides, I’m not of royal blood. But no one can take away what is wholesomely mine, unless I wish to give it.”
“Others may not, but I can; and I will.” retorted Ajasattu with great faith in his might.
“It can be tested now your majesty, see I have twenty rings on my ten fingers. I do not wish to give any of them to you. But if you can take one or even all of them away with your super physical might, I will not resist,” said Jothiya extending his hand towards the king.
King Ajasattu tried with all his might to extract them; (he was supposed to have had uncommon physical strength,) but try as he would, he could not get a single ring off a single finger of his courtier.”
“Now, you may have all of them, as it is my wish to give,” said Jotiya, “Please your majesty, place your shawl on the ground for a while.” The king complied; Jothiya let his fingers droop over the shawl. And down fell all twenty rings smoothly and effortlessly on to the shawl!
“How did it happen? When Jothiya, as Aparajitha in Buddha Vippassi’s time, had built for the Buddha, a perfume chamber, he had placed a diamond of considerable size at the foot of Buddha’s seat. When the rays of Buddha mingled with the rays of the diamond, the effect had been spectacular. It had dazzled like the gem on Sakka’s crown! “Please, let no one take this one away, please let no one take this one away,” had been Jothiya’s constant wish then. But it had been stolen - by a heretic brahmin while pretending to worship the Buddha.
This saddened Jothiya.
Seeing his despondency, Buddha Vipassi said, “if a loss can make you so sad, Aparajitha, you should insure your property.” And so he did; in this manner.
Placing both hands on his forehead, in salutation, Jotiya addressed the Buddha, “O, Omniscient One, may from now on, no king, no thief, nor any force of nature be able to despoil anything that is rightfully mine.”
“Let it be so.” Blessed the Buddha, and that is how it had been all along.
* * *
The safety of his property had been insured for all saṁsāra, as was demonstrated to the king himself in no uncertain terms. But, Jotiya, instead of being pleased over his victory, was unhappy. That his property, rightfully got, could have excited another’s envy disgusted him.
“I don’t care for this palace anymore,” he said, “or anything in it. “I will become a monk; I will become homeless.”
A courtier’ needed the king’s permission to leave court.
“Please, your majesty, allow me to enter the order.”
“Good for me,” thought Ajasattu. The palace is mine now anyway. Ownerless property belongs to the king.
The permission sought was readily granted, and Jothiya entered the order.
He cleansed himself of the little defilement that had lain lingering within, and soon became an arahant, a pure one!
Simultaneously, the palace vanished; and with it, all its treasures! Just as a little child would pick up an isolated creature and place it among others of its kind, Sakka removed Jotiya’s wife from there, and returned her to her original home on the planet of the Uthurukara People.
( Adapted from Saddharmaratnavaliya.)
