Baka Jātaka

The Buddha told Jātaka No. 38, as the Jātaka Atthakatha records it, at Jetavana. The story concerns a monk who was extremely skilled at working with robes, in cutting, joining, arranging and stitching. Because of this skill, people called him the Robe-tailor.

He had a trick. He would take old scraps of cloth and make them into a soft, handsome robe. After dyeing it, he would add a starch wash and rub it with a shell until it looked smart and new. Then he would put it aside.

Other monks, who did not know how to make robes, would bring him fresh cloth and ask him to make one. He would say that a robe takes a long time, but he had one just finished. If they would leave their cloth with him, they could take his robe instead. Seeing only the fine colour, they thought it strong, and they handed over their new cloth.

When the robe was later washed in hot water, its true state showed. The worn patches appeared here and there, and the owners regretted the bargain. In this way the Robe-tailor became known at Jetavana for cheating everyone who came to him.

In a hamlet lived another robe-maker who cheated people in the same way. His friends among the monks told him that at Jetavana there was a robe-maker who cheated everyone just as he did. The villager thought that he would trick this city man.

He made a very fine robe out of rags and dyed it a beautiful orange. He put it on and went to Jetavana. The moment the Robe-tailor saw it, he wanted it.

The Robe-tailor asked whether the visitor had made the robe, and he said yes. The Robe-tailor asked for it, promising another in return. The villager said that village monks find it hard to get the requisites. If he gave the robe away, what would he wear himself?

The Robe-tailor offered brand-new cloth from his own lodging. The visitor said he had shown his own handiwork, but if the other insisted, he would take the offer. He swapped the rag robe for the new cloth and went on his way.

The Robe-tailor wore the robe, and a while later he was washing it in warm water. He saw that it was made of rags, and he was ashamed. The news that the Jetavana tailor had been cheated by a robe-maker from the country spread through the whole brotherhood.

One day the monks sat in the Hall of Truth, the monastery's meeting hall, talking about it. The Buddha came in and asked what they were discussing, and they told him. He said that this was not the first time the Jetavana robe-maker had cheated people, and not the first time he had been cheated in turn. Then he told a story of the past.

The Bodhisatta was once born as the tree-sprite of a tree standing near a lotus pond in a forest. In that region, every summer the water in a certain small pond fell very low. Many fish lived in it.

A crane saw them and thought, "I must find a way to cajole and eat these fish." He sat down at the edge of the water, deep in thought. The fish noticed him and asked what he was thinking about.

The crane replied that he was thinking about them. The water was low, food was scarce and the heat was intense. He wondered what they would do. They asked what they could do, and he offered to carry them one by one in his beak to a fine large pool covered with the five kinds of lotus.

The fish said that no crane since the world began had ever cared for fish. They suspected that he wanted to eat them one by one. The crane replied that he would not eat them while they trusted him. If they doubted that such a pond existed, they could send one of their number with him to see it.

The fish chose a great big fish, blind in one eye, whom they thought a match for the crane in water or on land. The crane carried him to the lake, showed him the whole pool and brought him back. The fish then talked of its charms. Eager to go, they asked the crane to carry them across.

The crane took the big one-eyed fish first. He pretended to head for the pool but landed in a Varaṇa tree, a flowering tree common on riverbanks, on its bank. He threw the fish into a fork of the tree, killed it, and let the bones drop at the foot of the tree. He returned and said he had thrown that one in, and asked for the next. In this way he ate them all, one by one.

At last no fish remained, but there was still a crab in the pond. The crane wanted to eat him too. He told the crab that he had moved all the fish to a fine large pool and offered to take him as well.

The crab asked how he would be carried. The crane said he would hold him in his beak. The crab replied that the crane might drop him. He thought to himself that the crane had not actually put the fish in the pool. If the crane would really put him in, that would be fine. If not, he would nip off the crane's head.

The crab said that the crane could not hold him tightly enough, while crabs have a very tight grip. If he could take hold of the crane's neck with his claws, he would go along. Suspecting nothing, the crane agreed. The crab gripped his neck like a smith's pincers and said that they could start.

The crane showed him the pool first and then flew toward the tree. The crab said that the pool lay the other way. The crane replied that he was no uncle and the crab no nephew, and told the crab to look at the heap of bones at the foot of the tree. The crab said it was through their own folly that the fish had been eaten, but that he would not give the crane the chance. He would kill the crane instead.

The crab tightened his claws on the crane's throat. The crane, with his mouth open and tears running, trembled for his life. He swore he would not eat him and begged to be spared.

The crab told him to go down to the pool and put him in. The crane did so and set the crab down on the mud at the water's edge. Before going into the water, the crab nipped off the crane's head as neatly as one cuts a lotus stalk with a knife.

The tree-sprite who lived in the tree saw this wonderful sight. He made the whole forest ring with applause and spoke a stanza. It says that guile profits not the very guileful, and invites the listener to mark what the guileful crane got from the crab.

The Buddha told the monks that this was not the first time the Jetavana robe-maker had been cheated by the country robe-maker. In the past he had been cheated in the same way. Then he identified the birth. The Jetavana robe-maker was the crane of those days, the robe-maker from the country was the crab, and the Buddha himself was the tree-sprite.

Jātaka No. 38 is a story with a dry sense of humour. The crane's plan works as long as everyone trusts him, and it breaks at once on someone who will not take his word. The crab does not argue or lecture. He simply arranges that the crane cannot harm him and then waits to see what the crane intends.

The Buddha used the tale to tell monks that cheating invites cheating. A person who builds a trade on deceit may one day meet a better deceiver. The tale does not teach cunning for its own sake. It shows that the guileful fail in the end and that careful trust, tested before it is given, is a form of wisdom.