Sasa Jātaka

Sasa Jātaka

In the heart of a lush forest, where emerald leaves danced in the sunlight and crystal streams sang gentle melodies, lived a wise and benevolent hare. This was no ordinary hare, but the Bodhisatta himself, embodying a spirit of boundless compassion and selfless generosity. He lived a simple life, finding joy in the rustling leaves, the chirping birds, and the scent of wild blossoms.

One day, a celestial being, the god Sakka, disguised himself as a hungry Brahmin and descended to earth. He wished to test the beings of the world, to see if any possessed true selfless virtue. He wandered through the forest, his disguise of frailty and need carefully crafted, until he came upon the wise hare.

'Oh, noble creature,' the Brahmin-like figure croaked, his voice weak and trembling, 'I am starving. I have traveled far and wide, and I can find no food. Do you have any sustenance to offer a dying man?'

The hare, his heart immediately filled with pity, looked at the Brahmin with gentle eyes. 'Good sir,' he replied, his voice soft and earnest, 'I have little. I eat only grass and herbs, which I cannot offer you. But I will gladly share with you what I have.' The hare then proceeded to nibble on some tender shoots of grass, collecting them with his paws.

The Brahmin-like figure watched, his hunger growing more pronounced in his feigned despair. 'Alas,' he sighed, 'grass and herbs will not sustain me. Is there nothing else you possess?'

The hare's mind raced. He thought of his own flesh, the only substance he had to offer. He knew that to offer himself would be the ultimate act of generosity, a sacrifice born of pure compassion. 'Sir,' the hare said, his voice filled with a newfound resolve, 'I have no other food. But if you can endure the heat of the fire, I will offer myself as a meal for you.'

The Brahmin-like figure, his disguised heart filled with a mixture of awe and anticipation, nodded. 'I will endure the fire, noble hare. Please, do as you say.'

The hare then hopped towards a small fire that the Brahmin had conjured. He gathered dry twigs and leaves, piling them up. With a deep breath, he leaped into the flames. The heat was intense, but the hare did not flinch, his mind fixed on the act of giving. He endured the searing pain, his only thought the relief he would bring to the suffering Brahmin.

As the hare's body cooked, the disguised god Sakka watched, his divine eyes filled with tears of profound respect and admiration. He had never witnessed such selfless generosity, such unwavering compassion, in all his eons of existence. When the hare's body was fully cooked, Sakka carefully removed it from the fire, his divine hands gentle with reverence.

He then transformed back into his true divine form, the radiant god of the heavens. He took the cooked hare and, using his divine power, painted an image of the hare on the surface of the moon, so that all beings, for all time, would remember the story of the selfless hare and be inspired by his ultimate act of compassion.

Sakka then addressed the moon, his voice echoing through the heavens, 'From this day forth, let this image of the hare be seen on the moon. Let it serve as a perpetual reminder of the virtue of selfless giving, of the boundless compassion that can reside even in the smallest of creatures.'

And so, even today, when the moon is full and bright, one can see the silhouette of a hare, a timeless testament to the Bodhisatta's ultimate act of sacrifice, a beacon of compassion for all sentient beings.