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The daughter of Sumana having observed the scene from a window called out: "Good! Annabhra, good! Very good!"3
Sumana hearing these words inquired what she meant, and on being informed about Annabhra's devotion and the words of comfort he had received from the samana, went to his slave and offered him money to divide the bliss of his offering.4
"My lord," said Annabhra, "let me first ask the venerable man." And approaching the samana, he said: "My master has asked me to share with him the bliss of the offering I made thee of my allowance of rice. Is it right that I should divide it with him?"5
The samana replied in a parable. He said: "In a village of one hundred houses a single light was burning. Then[Pg 190] a neighbor came with his lamp and lit it; and in this same way the light was communicated from house to house and the brightness in the village was increased. Thus the light of religion may be diffused without stinting him who communicates it. Let the bliss of thy offering also be diffused. Divide it."6
Annabhra returned to his master's house and said to him: "I present thee, my lord, with a share of the bliss of my offering. Deign to accept it."7
Sumana accepted it and offered his slave a sum of money, but Annabhra replied: "Not so, my lord; if I accept thy money it would appear as if I sold thee my share. Bliss cannot be sold; I beg thou wilt accept it as a gift."8
The master replied: "Brother Annabhra, from this day forth thou shalt be free. Live with me as my friend and accept this present as a token of my respect."9
There was a rich Brahman, well advanced in years, who, unmindful of the impermanence of earthly things and anticipating a long life, had built himself a large house.1
The Buddha wondered why a man so near to death had built a mansion with so many apartments, and he sent nanda to the rich Brahman to preach to him the four noble truths and the eightfold path of salvation.2
The Brahman showed nanda his house and explained to him the purpose of its numerous chambers, but to the instruction of the Buddha's teachings he gave no heed.3
nanda said: "It is the habit of fools to say, 'I have children and wealth.' He who says so is not even master[Pg 191] of himself; how can he claim possession of children, riches, and servants? Many are the anxieties of the worldly, but they know nothing of the changes of the future."4
Scarcely had nanda left, when the old man was stricken with apoplexy and fell dead. The Buddha said, for the instruction of those who were ready to learn: "A fool, though he live in the company of the wise, understands nothing of the true doctrine, as a spoon tastes not the flavor of the soup. He thinks of himself only, and unmindful of the advice of good counsellors is unable to deliver himself."5
There was a disciple of the Blessed One, full of energy and zeal for the truth, who, living under a vow to complete a meditation in solitude, flagged in a moment of weakness. He said to himself: "The Teacher said there are several kinds of men; I must belong to the lowest class and fear that in this birth there will be neither path nor fruit for me. What is the use of a forest life if I cannot by my constant endeavor attain the insight of meditation to which I have devoted myself?" And he left the solitude and returned to the Jetavana.1
When the brethren saw him they said to him: "Thou hast done wrong, O brother, after taking a vow, to give up the attempt of carrying it out;" and they took him to the Master.2
When the Blessed One saw them he said: "I see, O mendicants, that you have brought this brother here against his will. What has he done?"3
"Lord, this brother, having taken the vows of so sanctifying a faith, has abandoned the endeavor to accomplish[Pg 192] the aim of a member of the order, and has come back to us."4
Then the Teacher said to him: "Is it true that thou hast given up trying?"5
"It is true, O Blessed One!" was the reply.6
The Master said: "This present life of thine is a time of grace. If thou fail now to reach the happy state thou wilt have to suffer remorse in future existences. How is it, brother, that thou hast proved so irresolute? Why, in former states of existence thou wert full of determination. By thy energy alone the men and bullocks of five hundred wagons obtained water in the sandy desert, and were saved. How is it that thou now givest up?"7
By these few words that brother was re-established in his resolution. But the others besought the Blessed One, saying: "Lord! Tell us how this was."8
"Listen, then, O mendicants!" said the Blessed One; and having thus excited their attention, he made manifest a thing concealed by change of birth.9
Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Ksi, the Bodhisatta was born in a merchant's family; and when he grew up, he went about trafficking with five hundred carts.10
One day he arrived at a sandy desert many leagues across. The sand in that desert was so fine that when taken in the closed fist it could not be kept in the hand. After the sun had risen it became as hot as a mass of burning embers, so that no man could walk on it. Those, therefore, who had to travel over it took wood, and water, and oil, and rice in their carts, and traveled during the night. And at daybreak they formed an encampment and spread an awning over it, and, taking their meals early, they passed the day lying in the shade. At sunset they supped, and when the ground had become cool they yoked their oxen and went on. The traveling was like a voyage over[Pg 193] the sea: a desert-pilot had to be chosen, and he brought the caravan safe to the other side by his knowledge of the stars.11
Thus the merchant of our story traversed the desert. And when he had passed over fifty-nine leagues he thought, "Now, in one more night we shall get out of the sand," and after supper he directed the wagons to be yoked, and so set out. The pilot had cushions arranged on the foremost cart and lay down, looking at the stars and directing the men where to drive. But worn out by want of rest during the long march, he fell asleep, and did not perceive that the oxen had turned round and taken the same road by which they had come.12
The oxen went on the whole night through. Towards dawn the pilot woke up, and, observing the stars, called out: "Stop the wagons, stop the wagons!" The day broke just as they stopped and were drawing up the carts in a line. Then the men cried out: "Why this is the very encampment we left yesterday! We have but little wood left and our water is all gone! We are lost!" And unyoking the oxen and spreading the canopy over their heads, they lay down in despondency, each one under his wagon. But the Bodhisatta said to himself, "If I lose heart, all these will perish," and walked about while the morning was yet cool. On seeing a tuft of kusa-grass, he thought: "This could have grown only by soaking up some water which must be beneath it."13
