Pre-Buddhist India: A Political, Administrative, Economic, Social and Geographical Survey of Ancient India Based Mainly on the Jataka Stories c4.t2.41

c4.t2.41

It would appear from the above passage that the prince left his home with a very modest equipment and lived at his teacher’s house as an humble student. The system thus inevitably fostered healthy feelings of comradeship, with no recognition whatsoever of earthly distinctions. In fact, we may be forced to feel that “youths of all sorts and conditions of life, of different classes and castes, had all their divisions and distinctions merged in the democracy of learning.”¹ And yet, instances are not rare where we receive a strong impression, that with what of feelings of common pursuits and of the stringency of the moral code binding all into one compact whole, that instinctive class-consciousness, specially in the aristocratic blood,² was not possible to be effaced completely. The first and the basic distinction that the “world-renowned teacher” unfortunately makes, viz., that of the paying and non-paying students receiving different treatment, must necessarily create a feeling of distinction and division.³ What must have the Prince, of course always coming with 1000 pieces as the teacher’s fee (ācāryabhāga) and hence living there as an eldest son, felt against other poor students undergoing ‘daily a course of exacting and low kind of menial service for the school’ should be easily imaginable. Reading of human psychology, particularly of the growing youth, would be erring if it tried to see harmonious relationships under such circumstances. Try hard as he would to make himself amenable to the stricter system of moral and intellectual discipline, the prince could not, possibly, forego his aristocratic consciousness. Of course it was the right and duty of the teacher to punish all defiance of rules and regulations, come from whatever corner it might. But unfortunately the proud Khattiya youth would at once consider this as an insult to, and an infringement upon, his high position. And the malicious spirit of revenge must have been lurking in his inner heart only to burst open when the opportunity presented itself, for instance, when he became the ruler of his kingdom. Such an instance is presented by the Tilamuṭṭhi Jātaka.¹ In the beginning the prince behaves well. One day he goes for a bath along with his teacher. He sees an old woman sitting and watching some white seeds that she had prepared. The youth picks up a handful and eats away without paying anything. The same thing happens on the next and the third day, when the poor old woman cries out, “Master, I have been parching some seeds, and your pupil took a handful and ate them! This he has done to-day, he did it yesterday and he did it the day before! Surely he will eat me out of house and home!” The teacher consoles her and causing two lads to take the young fellow by his two hands, smites him thrice upon the back with a bamboo stick, bidding him take care not to do it again. The youth keeps silent at the moment though the “bloodshot glare” in his eyes is not concealed, and after finishing his courses, reverently invites the teacher to come to his kingdom when he becomes the ruler. The honest teacher, then, goes there and witnesses the revengeful mien of his pupil—now a king. The story, of course, then ends with a convincing speech of the teacher dwelling on the usefulness of discipline which ultimately quiets the king. Instances of this kind can be found in other places also. The prince of the Dhoṇasākha Jātaka² is forced to hear the advice of his teacher ‘to suppress his cruel, harsh and violent nature, as, says the teacher, power that is attained by a man of violence is shortlived, and when it is gone from him, he is like a ship that is wrecked at sea.’³