Suruci Jātaka

This account is the Suruci Jātaka, No. 489 of the Khuddaka Nikāya's Jātaka book, preserved in the Jātakaṭṭhakathā, the great Pali commentary on the Buddha's former births.

Among the students at the renowned university of Takkasilā were two princes who became close friends. One was Suruci, heir to the throne of Mithilā in the kingdom of Videha. The other was Brahmadatta, heir to Benares. Before parting for their own kingdoms, they made a pact. If one of them had a son and the other a daughter, their children would marry one another. In time each succeeded his father. King Brahmadatta of Benares had a daughter, the Lady Sumedhā, famed for her wisdom and her flawless conduct. Remembering his old promise, King Suruci sent to ask for her hand.

King Suruci vowed that he would take Sumedhā and no other. What use, he asked, did he have for a multitude of wives? They were married amid great rejoicing. The king kept his vow faithfully and refused all pressure to take a second wife. Yet year after year passed — by the Jātaka's own reckoning, ten thousand years — without a child being born to them. In time the whole kingdom grew anxious for an heir.

To ease her husband's people, Queen Sumedhā herself chose a thousand well-born maidens and gave them to King Suruci as wives. Still no son was born. She repeated the gift again and again. By the story's own telling, sixteen thousand wives entered the palace over forty thousand years. Still the throne of Videha remained without an heir.

At last Sumedhā understood that no human arrangement could summon a worthy heir, and that only unbroken virtue could call one forth. On the holy day she took upon herself the eightfold uposatha vows. She bathed, put on pure white, and sat in meditation upon her own conduct. Then she pronounced a solemn Act of Truth, a sacca-kiriyā: if it was true that since coming to this house she had been faithful to her husband in thought and deed, and had kept her virtue without the smallest stain, then by the power of that truth, let a worthy son be granted to Videha.

The strength of her vow rose all the way to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three. There the marble seat of Sakka, king of the gods, grew warm beneath him. Sensing that a soul of great merit was needed below, Sakka descended disguised as an old ascetic and questioned Sumedhā about her life. She answered at length, speaking of her devotion to her husband, her kindness to her household, and her careful keeping of the fast. Satisfied, Sakka revealed himself and made a promise: a son of royal blood, glorious and wise, the righteous heir of Videha, would soon be hers.

Returning to heaven, Sakka sought a being ready for such a birth. He found a young deva named Nāḷakāra. In a former human life, Nāḷakāra had built a simple leaf hut and given the three robes to seven Pacceka Buddhas (solitary enlightened sages). That small, selfless gift had carried him to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three, and he now stood ready to ripen into an even higher birth. At Sakka's invitation, Nāḷakāra consented to descend into Queen Sumedhā's womb.

In due time Sumedhā bore a son radiant as beaten gold, and they named him Mahā-Panāda. The people of Videha were overjoyed at the heir so long awaited. They brought gifts toward his upbringing, saying this would go toward the prince's keep.

When Prince Mahā-Panāda reached his sixteenth year, Sakka's throne grew hot once more. He summoned the divine architect Vissakamma. He commanded him to raise, for the young prince, a palace half a league in breadth and twenty-five leagues in height, built entirely of precious stone. Vissakamma descended disguised as a mason. He struck the earth once with his staff, and in that very instant a shining seven-storeyed palace of emerald sprang up where he stood.

The palace's dedication, the prince's royal anointing, and his marriage were all celebrated together. The two kingdoms gathered and feasted for seven years. Every manner of entertainer was brought before Prince Mahā-Panāda, yet his face never changed. Two famous jugglers, Bhaṇḍu-kaṇṇa and Paṇḍu-kaṇṇa, attempted feats beyond ordinary skill. One made a mango tree spring up before the court and climbed into its branches. He was seized by the unseen attendants of Vessavaṇa, cut limb from limb, and flung down in pieces, only to rise again, whole, and dance once more. The other led his whole troupe walking through roaring flame and rose dancing in garments of fresh flowers. For all their wonder, neither trick drew so much as a flicker from the prince.

At last Sakka himself sent down a dancer out of heaven, to perform what no mortal performer could attempt. It was called the Half-Body Dance. A single hand, a single foot, a single eye, and a single tooth moved and trembled and danced on their own, as though the dancer's whole body had been cleft in two and only half of it lived. At the sight of this uncanny marvel, Prince Mahā-Panāda allowed himself, at last, the smallest smile. The whole assembly, which had waited seven years for it, broke into laughter so helpless that no one present could stop.

The Buddha told this entire history while dwelling at the mansion of Migāra's mother near Sāvatthi. He had just given the lay disciple Visākhā eight boons. It was not, he said, the first time her goodness had been so rewarded: in that ancient birth, her own unbroken virtue had drawn forth a royal son for the house of Videha. He completed the identification for the assembly. Bhaddaji had been Prince Mahā-Panāda. Visākhā had been Queen Sumedhā. Ānanda had been Vissakamma the architect. And the Buddha himself had been Sakka, king of the gods.

Generations later, that same palace sank beneath the waters of the Ganges. It was forgotten by all but the fish and frogs that came to live within it. Then Elder Bhaddaji, who had once been Prince Mahā-Panāda himself, lifted it back into the light upon a single finger before the Buddha and his monks. It proved the reach of a mind made perfectly still, as the Maha-Panada Jātaka tells.