Saṅkha Jātaka

The Teacher told this story at Jetavana about the giving of all the requisites. A devout layman of Sāvatthi had presented fine shoes to the entire community of monks: a pair for the Buddha worth a thousand pieces of money, pairs worth five hundred for the two Chief Disciples, and pairs worth a hundred for each of the five hundred brethren. Asked why such an ordinary gift should matter so greatly, the Buddha answered that in days of old, the gift of a single pair of shoes to a Paccekabuddha had once brought a drowning man safely across an ocean where no refuge seemed possible. He told this story, preserved today as Jātaka No. 442 in the Dasakanipāta of the Khuddaka Nikāya, to prove it.

In ancient days, during the reign of King Brahmadatta in the city of Benares, the Bodhisatta took rebirth in a revered Brahmin family and was given the name Saṅkha. When he came of age, he inherited an immense ancestral fortune. Observing the misery, hunger, and destitution of the common populace, the noble Saṅkha established six great alms-halls: four at the cardinal city gates, one in the bustling central bazaar, and one before the entrance of his own mansion. Daily, he distributed vast quantities of delicious food, garments, and medicines, dispensing hundreds of pieces of gold to ascetics, mendicants, and travelers.

After many years of magnificent munificence, Saṅkha perceived that his vaults were gradually becoming depleted. He pondered: 'If my wealth is exhausted, the fires of my alms-halls will grow cold, and the hungry who rely upon my charity will go weeping into the night. It is not noble to curtail generosity. I have heard that across the violent eastern ocean lies the golden realm of Suvaṇṇabhūmi, where precious ores, pearls, and gold-dust may be gathered in abundance. I shall charter a great merchant vessel, cross the waves, gather wealth, and return to sustain my charity until the end of my days.'

Having loaded a sturdy ship with trading merchandise, Saṅkha set out on foot toward the seaport of Gambhīra. The noon sun beat down upon the arid plains with incandescent fury; the sands along the highway burned like glowing embers. As the Bodhisatta walked, shielded by his white silk parasol and wearing fine leather sandals, he observed a solitary Paccekabuddha walking toward him in the opposite direction. The holy silent sage was barefoot; his delicate soles were blistered and bleeding from the scorching sand, yet his countenance remained serene and radiant.

Deeply moved to his very marrow, Saṅkha thought: 'Here walks an enlightened field of supreme spiritual merit! It is through negligence and lack of past almsgiving that beings wander barefoot across the burning deserts of saṃsāra. How can I ride in comfort while this holy saint burns his feet upon the path?' Stepping swiftly from his path, Saṅkha bowed low before the Paccekabuddha, led him gently to the shade of a wayside tree, washed his dust-covered and blistered feet with cool, perfumed water from his canteen, dried them with a fine linen cloth, and reverently placed his own supple leather sandals upon the sage's feet. He then placed his prized white silk parasol in the Paccekabuddha's hands, saying: 'Venerable lord, accept these humble offerings, not merely to shelter your body from the heat, but so that my soul may find cool shelter across the burning ocean of existence.' The Paccekabuddha accepted the gifts with a compassionate glance and, to inspire Saṅkha's faith, rose into the air and flew like a swan to his mountain hermitage in the Himalayas.

Filled with transcendent joy, Saṅkha proceeded to the port, boarded his merchant vessel together with a faithful personal attendant who had accompanied him from Benares, and set sail with several hundred sailors and passengers. For seven days, the ship sped across the azure sea. But on the seventh night, a ferocious squall struck the vessel; violent gales tore the canvas sails to ribbons, the timbers groaned under mountainous swells, and water poured uncontrollably into the hold. Terror engulfed the ship: passengers screamed, cried out to their tribal deities, wept for their children, and threw themselves into the churning brine, where schools of ravenous sharks tore them to pieces.

While chaos reigned, Saṅkha remained utterly calm and resolute. He reasoned: 'Wailing and lamentation cannot stay the hand of destiny. Only viriya (heroic energy) and presence of mind can prevail.' He ate a hearty meal of refined sugar, butter, and dried grain to sustain his physical stamina, shared the same provisions with his attendant, and anointed both their limbs with aromatic oil to protect their skin against the biting brine, before the two of them climbed swiftly to the topmost yardarm of the central mast. When the doomed ship heaved in its death throes and sank beneath the abyss, Saṅkha and his attendant cast themselves outward in a mighty leap, clearing the vortex and landing safely beyond the perimeter of the circling sharks.

For seven days and seven nights, the brave Bodhisatta swam on with his attendant close beside him across the vast, trackless wilderness of the ocean. Though his limbs grew heavy as lead, his throat parched with thirst, and his skin was bleached white by the salt waves, he never slackened his stroke, nor did he despair. On the seventh day, which was the holy Uposatha, Saṅkha rinsed his mouth with ocean water, purified his mind, and reaffirmed his moral vows, swimming with unbroken rhythm toward the unseen horizon.

Now, the guardian sea-goddess Maṇimekhalā had been appointed by the Four Great Heavenly Kings to protect virtuous sailors and moral men who suffer shipwreck across the oceans. For seven days, distracted by heavenly banquets in the realm of the gods, she had neglected her ocean vigil. Suddenly noticing the valiant swimmer battling the waves, his attendant still struggling faithfully at his side, she looked with celestial vision and recognized the Bodhisatta: 'Here is the great philanthropist Saṅkha, who gave his shoes to the Paccekabuddha and swims with heroic viriya! If he were to perish in the deep, I would be guilty of an unpardonable dereliction of divine duty!'

Instantly descending from the clouds, Maṇimekhalā stood in the air before him, bearing a golden plate heaped with divine food. Saṅkha, still swimming, would not be tempted. 'Take your food away,' he said, 'for I am keeping the fast.' It was the Uposatha day, and he held to his vow even in the open sea.

His attendant could not see the goddess and heard only voices. Thinking his master delirious from hunger and terror, he tried to comfort him. Saṅkha answered that he was not raving but speaking with a being he could see. The attendant asked whether she was human or divine, and she declared herself a goddess. She told Saṅkha that his gift of shoes and a parasol to the Paccekabuddha on the burning road had become his own 'cow of plenty', the source of this rescue. Then she called up a ship made of the seven precious things: eight hundred cubits long, six hundred wide and twenty fathoms deep, with three masts of sapphire, cordage of gold, sails of silver, and oars and rudders of gold. She filled it with the seven kinds of treasure.

Saṅkha would not board the vessel without his attendant, and at his request the goddess lifted them both gently from the water, bathed them in divine ambrosia, clothed them in celestial silks, and set the magical ship in motion. Guided by divine power, the vessel glided swiftly across the sea and entered the mouth of the Ganges River, anchoring directly before the water-gate of Saṅkha's mansion in Benares. Unloading the boundless treasures into his vaults, the goddess blessed him: 'Dispense these inexhaustible riches to all who suffer, noble Saṅkha, and let the light of your generosity shine until your soul attains the peace of Nibbāna.' Through the remainder of his long life, the Bodhisatta distributed charity without ceasing, inspiring his entire kingdom in the practice of the Dhamma.

At the story's end, the Buddha identified the birth for the assembly at Jetavana. The attendant who accompanied Saṅkha on his voyage was the Elder Ānanda, and the laywoman Uppalavaṇṇā of that gathering was the sea-goddess Maṇimekhalā. The generous Brahmin Saṅkha, who gave his shoes to a Paccekabuddha and was saved from the deep, was the Buddha himself.