29. The Story of Mahabodhi

Mahabodhi, a scholar of great learning, was in that life a reincarnation of the Bodhisattva, and he served as trusted advisor to the king, who held him in the highest esteem and rarely made a decision without seeking his counsel first. This closeness bred envy among the other ministers of the court, who watched Mahabodhi's influence grow with mounting resentment.

Seizing a moment when the king was alone and reflective in the palace garden, several of the jealous ministers approached him with carefully chosen words. “Your Highness,” they said, “you have followed Mahabodhi's advice faithfully and taken up the disciplined way of life he recommends. But truly – what can a mere Brahmin scholar understand of the burdens of politics and kingship?”

Their poison found fertile ground. The king, easily swayed by their carefully planted doubt, began to distance himself from Mahabodhi, setting aside his counsel and no longer seeking him out as he once had.

Mahabodhi, being an enlightened being, understood exactly what had happened and why, without needing to be told. One day, as he approached the palace, the king's own dog began barking sharply at him – and Mahabodhi turned calmly to the king and observed, “This dog, Your Highness, is merely imitating the very disrespect you and your court have lately shown toward me.”

The remark struck the king harder than any accusation could have. Recognising at once how easily he had been turned against a loyal and honest advisor by nothing more than jealous whispers, he felt a deep pang of shame, and went to Mahabodhi at once to ask his forgiveness and restore him to his rightful place at court.

Moral: Jealousy can turn even wise counsel into a target for suspicion – but sincerity, once recognised, restores trust that flattery and slander tried to destroy.

30. The Begging Monks

A group of wandering hermits, who lived by seeking alms from the villagers around them, gradually let a dangerous idea take root among themselves. “Why should we labour at all,” they reasoned, “when we can simply ask the villagers for whatever we need? In this way we might live in far greater comfort than through our own effort.” Before long, their humble requests for alms had hardened into outright demands, and the villagers, once glad to give freely, grew resentful of hermits who no longer seemed content with what was offered and began avoiding them altogether.

Some months later, their revered guru, Kashyapa, arrived to visit his disciples, only to find that the villagers avoided him too, assuming – wrongly – that he must share the same greed that had turned his followers into a burden rather than a blessing. Kashyapa, genuinely shaken by the coldness of his welcome, sought to understand what had gone wrong, and once he learned the truth of his disciples' behaviour, he went at once to the Buddha for guidance.

The Buddha listened carefully to Kashyapa's account and then summoned the greedy hermits directly. “Beggars,” he told them plainly, “cannot be choosers, and they certainly cannot be demanders. You were sent out to seek alms humbly, in service of your spiritual practice – not to hoard wealth for your own comfort under the guise of devotion.”

The rebuke struck the hermits deeply, and, recognising how far their behaviour had strayed from the humility their path demanded, they bowed before the Buddha and begged forgiveness – resolving from that day forward to ask for alms as they had once been taught, with gratitude rather than entitlement.

Moral: Those who seek alms must remain humble in their asking – greed dressed as devotion eventually turns away the very generosity it depends on.

31. The Story of Ruru

Long ago, deep within a dense and beautiful jungle, the Bodhisattva was born as a golden deer named Ruru, unlike any other creature in the forest. His body shone like polished sunlight, and his large, gentle eyes sparkled as brightly as stars in a clear night sky. Every animal in that forest – tiger, lion, snake, monkey, elephant, and bird alike – loved Ruru dearly, for he was as kind-hearted and gentle as he was beautiful.

One day, while wandering through the trees, Ruru heard a desperate, heart-wrenching cry carried on the wind. Following the sound to the riverbank, he saw a man thrashing helplessly in the current, moments from drowning. Without a second thought for his own safety, Ruru dove straight into the water, seized the man firmly with his front legs, and, fighting the current with all his strength, dragged him inch by inch toward the safety of the shore.

Gasping and shivering, the rescued man climbed onto dry land and pressed his hands together in gratitude. “Thank you, gentle creature,” he said, tears mixing with the river water on his face. “I am indebted to you forever!”

“Do not make such promises so easily, friend,” Ruru replied, with a note of quiet wisdom in his voice. “It is difficult to trust in what men promise, once the danger that made them grateful has passed.” With that, he turned and disappeared back into the trees.

The rescued man returned safely to his village, and, unable to contain his amazement, told everyone he met about the beautiful golden deer who had saved his life. The story travelled quickly, until at last it reached the ears of the king himself – who, rather than being moved by the tale of kindness, resolved instead to hunt down such a rare and precious creature and keep it as a trophy in his palace.

The man who had been saved was summoned before the throne. “Lead me to this golden deer,” the king commanded, “and you shall be richly rewarded for your service.” Overcome by greed – the very weakness Ruru had gently warned him about – the man agreed at once, and led the king and a company of soldiers deep into the forest.

To their astonishment, when they arrived at the clearing, Ruru stood waiting for them, as though he had known they were coming all along. “Welcome to my humble home, Your Majesty,” he said warmly, and both the king and the man he had once saved stared at him in stunned disbelief. “How could he possibly know we were coming?” the king demanded of his guide – and, driven by greed rather than gratitude, immediately raised his bow and took aim at the golden deer standing so calmly before them.

In that instant, Ruru transformed before their very eyes, shedding his deer form and rising as a radiant, halo-crowned being whose eyes shone brighter than any star. “Who… who are you?” the king stammered, his bow lowering of its own accord.

“I am one who knows the truth of every heart and every action,” the being declared. Turning to the man he had rescued from the river, he said gently, “Do you remember what I told you that day – that I do not easily trust the promises men make? You have proven, sadly, exactly the sort of deceit I feared.”

“I do remember,” the man stammered, tears of shame welling up. “Please, forgive me, O Lord – greed clouded my good sense and I forgot everything you had done for me.” The king, equally humbled, begged forgiveness of his own. In the next moment, the radiant being became once more the golden deer Ruru, and blessing both men for their honesty in that final moment, slowly walked back into the trees, leaving them with a hard-won understanding that greed, left unchecked, leads a person far astray from gratitude and truth.

Moral: Greed can turn even a rescued man into a betrayer – but true nobility answers betrayal with forgiveness rather than revenge.

32. Remembering the Promise

In one of his lives, the Bodhisattva was born as Junha, son of King Brahmadatta of Benaras, and was sent as a young man to study in the distant city of Takshila. One day, hurrying down a crowded road, he collided accidentally with a poor Brahmin, knocking him clean off his feet and scattering the alms he had spent the morning collecting. Worse still, the Brahmin's begging bowl shattered into pieces on the stones.

Genuinely stricken by what he had done, Junha helped the man to his feet at once. “Sir, I am truly sorry for the loss I have caused you,” he said. “I have nothing to offer you in compensation right now, but I give you my word – one day I shall be king, and when that day comes, I promise to repay you far beyond what I have taken today. Remind me of this moment when I am crowned, and I will make it right.”

Years passed, and in time, exactly as he had once promised, Junha did indeed ascend to the throne of Benaras. One ordinary day, as the new king made his rounds through the city in his royal chariot, an old Brahmin stepped forward from the crowd, raised his hand, and called out, “Long live the King!” – and asked, humbly, for the help that had once been promised to him.

For a moment, Junha did not recognise the man standing before him. But as the Brahmin recounted the incident on the road in Takshila all those years earlier, the memory returned to Junha in an instant, and he was overcome with gratitude that his old promise had finally been called due. True to his word, he showered the old man with gifts far exceeding what had ever been lost that day.

Moral: A promise made in a moment of guilt is worth nothing unless it is honoured in full once the power to keep it finally arrives.

33. The Value of Kindness

A golden deer named Rohanta was, in that life, none other than the Bodhisattva, living peacefully near a quiet lake with his brother, Chittamiga, and his sister, Sutana. One night, Queen Khema of Benaras dreamt vividly of a magnificent golden deer speaking words of wisdom to her, and upon waking, begged her husband, the king, to have the very creature brought before her.

The king dispatched hunters across the length of his kingdom to search for such a deer, and one of them, who happened to know exactly where Rohanta lived, laid a carefully concealed trap by the riverside where the deer herd customarily came to drink each evening. Rohanta, unsuspecting, stepped directly into the snare.

Even as the trap closed around him, Rohanta's first thought was for the safety of his herd. He cried out sharply to warn the others, urging them to flee before the hunter could catch them as well – and every deer in the herd bolted for the trees, save for two: his brother Chittamiga and his sister Sutana, who refused every plea to leave him behind, no matter the danger to themselves.

The hunter, watching this small, devoted family risk everything rather than abandon one another, felt something shift inside him – a tenderness he had not expected to feel toward the animal he had come to capture. Moved beyond his original purpose, he released Rohanta from the trap entirely.

Grateful and unwilling to let the lesson pass unspoken, Rohanta stayed a while longer to teach the hunter the deeper value of love and kindness – a teaching that took firm root. In time, the hunter set aside his old trade altogether and chose to live out his days as an ascetic, transformed by the loyalty he had witnessed beside that quiet river.

Moral: The love shown by family who refuse to abandon each other, even in the face of danger, can move even a hardened hunter to change his ways.

34. God's Punishment

In one of his lives, the Bodhisattva was born as Nandiya, a devoted young monkey who lived with his elderly, blind mother in the branches of a great banyan tree at the edge of a forest village. Nandiya cared for her tirelessly, foraging for food and guiding her every movement, never once complaining of the burden.

One day, a hunter entered that same forest – a cruel man whose own teacher had warned him repeatedly of the dire consequences that awaited him should he not change his violent ways. The hunter had ignored every warning. Wandering deeper into the trees, he spotted Nandiya's helpless, blind old mother, unable to move quickly enough to escape, and raised his weapon to kill her.

Seeing what was about to happen, Nandiya threw himself into the hunter's path without a moment's hesitation. “Please,” he begged, “do not kill my mother – she cannot even flee to save herself. Take my life instead of hers, I beg you.”

The hunter only laughed cruelly at the plea. “Foolish creature,” he sneered, “you are young and could easily have run. Why throw your own life away for hers? Now you shall both die together.” And with that, he killed them both without mercy.

But the hunter's cruelty did not go unanswered for long. On his way back home from the forest that very day, he learned that a sudden bolt of lightning had struck his own house, killing every member of his family inside – a swift and terrible punishment for the sin he had committed against two creatures who had done nothing but love and protect one another.

Moral: Cruelty toward the defenceless, even when warned against beforehand, invites a reckoning that spares nothing the wrongdoer holds dear.

35. The Ugly King

In one of his lives, the Bodhisattva came to earth as a king known throughout his realm not for his looks – which were, by any account, quite unfortunate – but for his piety, fairness, and devotion to his people. His subjects, who loved him dearly despite his appearance, wished earnestly to see him married, and though he hesitated at first, uncertain any woman would accept a husband so plain to look upon, he finally agreed.

The wife chosen for him turned out to be strikingly beautiful, admired throughout the kingdom for her grace and charm. Fearful that she might reject him outright if she ever saw his face clearly, the king took great care always to keep himself hidden from her in dim light, allowing their marriage to proceed without her ever truly seeing him.

But such a secret could not last forever. One night, while the king lay asleep, his wife entered his chamber carrying a lit candle, and for the first time, saw her husband's face plainly in its glow. Startled and dismayed by what she saw, she resolved quietly to leave him. The king, waking to find her intention, was heartbroken, for he had come to love her deeply despite the distance he had kept between them.

Seeing his distress, Sakka, king of the gods, descended and appeared before the queen, offering her a different way of seeing the matter entirely. “Your husband held within his power the ability to harm you, even to destroy your father's kingdom, the moment you decided to leave him – yet he chose none of that,” Sakka told her. “Instead, his only concern remains your happiness and your wellbeing. Look, I ask you, at the beauty of his character, rather than merely the face he wears.”

The queen listened, and something in Sakka's words reached her more deeply than her first startled glance ever had. Recognising the depth of a devotion she had nearly walked away from, she returned to her husband's side – and the king, reunited with the wife he loved, found in her return a happiness no fear of rejection had ever managed to take from him.

Moral: True beauty lies in the goodness of one's character, not the appearance of one's face – and a love built on that deeper beauty can withstand even a painful mistake.