Sasa Jātaka

Sasa Jātaka

In the deep, verdant forests of ancient India, where sunlight dappled through a canopy of ancient trees and the air hummed with the symphony of nature, lived a community of compassionate beings. Among them were rabbits, deer, monkeys, and otters, all coexisting in harmony, their lives guided by a shared sense of kindness and mutual respect. Among these noble creatures was a rabbit, a being of extraordinary virtue and gentle spirit.

This rabbit was not just any rabbit; he was a Bodhisatta, destined to embody the highest ideals of compassion and selflessness. He lived a simple life, finding joy in the rustling leaves, the babbling brooks, and the companionship of his fellow creatures. He was known for his unwavering kindness, always ready to offer a helping paw or a comforting presence to anyone in need.

One day, the sky above the forest darkened, not with clouds, but with an ominous celestial sign. A deva, dwelling in the heavens, descended from his abode, disguised as an old, weary Brahmin. He had come to test the virtue of the forest dwellers, to see if true compassion still existed in the world.

The Brahmin, with a frail voice and a sorrowful countenance, approached the rabbit and his companions. 'Oh, noble creatures,' he crooned, his voice laced with feigned despair, 'I have traveled far and wide, and I am weary and hungry. I have no food to sustain me. Could you possibly spare a morsel for a starving old man?'

The deer, hearing his plea, offered him the tender shoots of grass they had gathered. The monkeys, nimble and quick, brought him sweet fruits from the highest branches. The otter, diving into the river, presented him with glistening fish. Each creature offered what they had, their hearts brimming with generosity.

Finally, the Brahmin turned to the rabbit. 'And you, little rabbit,' he said, his eyes fixed on the gentle creature, 'what can you offer a starving soul like me?'

The rabbit looked at the Brahmin, his heart aching with empathy. He knew that the fruits, grass, and fish were sustenance for the body, but he longed to offer something more, something that would truly nourish the spirit. He looked at his own body and realized that it, too, could be an offering. He looked at the fire pit that the Brahmin had made.

'Brahmin,' the rabbit said, his voice clear and resolute, 'I have no grass, no fruits, no fish to give you. But I have my own body. If you wish, you may take my flesh and eat it. It will sustain you.'

With these words, the rabbit hopped towards the fire pit. He shook his fur, as if to shed his earthly form, and then, with a leap of faith and boundless love, he leaped into the flames. He offered his entire being, his flesh and bones, to the Brahmin.

The Brahmin, witnessing this ultimate act of self-sacrifice, was moved to tears. He revealed himself in his true form as the deva Sakka, king of the gods. He gently lifted the rabbit's remains from the fire and, with deep reverence, inscribed the image of the rabbit on the moon. This is why, to this day, we can see the shape of a rabbit imprinted on the lunar surface.

The deva then spoke, his voice filled with awe, 'Such pure compassion, such utter selflessness, is a rare and precious gem. The world needs to remember this sacrifice, to be inspired by it. Let this image on the moon serve as a constant reminder of the boundless love that a Bodhisatta can embody.'

The other animals, witnessing this profound event, were deeply moved. They understood that true generosity was not about what one possessed, but about what one was willing to give, even one's own life, for the sake of others. They continued to live in the forest, their hearts forever touched by the rabbit's ultimate sacrifice, striving to embody the same spirit of compassion and selflessness in their own lives.