Defeating The King of Death

Once upon a time reigned at Benares a wicked and
unjust king named Maha-pingala, the Great Yellow King,
who did sinfully after his own will and pleasure. With
taxes and fines, and many mutilations and robberies, he
crushed the folk as it were sugar-cane in a mill ; he was
cruel, fierce, ferocious. For other people he had not a
grain of pity; at home he was harsh and implacable
towards his wives, his sons and daughters, to his brahmin
courtiers and the householders of the country. He was
like a speck of dust that falls in the eye, like gravel in the
broth, like a thorn sticking in the heel.

Now 7 the Bodhisatta was a son of king Maha-pingala.
After this king had reigned for a long time, he died.
When he died all the citizens of Benares were overjoyed
and laughed a great laugh ; they burnt his body with a
thousand cartloads of logs, and quenched the place of
burning with thousands of jars of water, and consecrated
the Bodhisatta to be king: they caused a drum of re-
joicing to beat about the streets, for joy that they had got
them a righteous king. They raised flags and banners,
and decked out the city ; at every door was set a pavilion,
and scattering parched corn and flowers, they sat them
down upon the decorated platforms under fine canopies,
and did eat and drink. The Bodhisatta himself sat upon
a fine divan on a great raised dais, in great magnificence,
with a white parasol stretched above him. The courtiers
and householders, the citizens and the doorkeepers stood
around their king.

But one doorkeeper, standing not far from the king,
was sighing and sobbing. " Good Porter," said the Bodhi-
satta, observing him, " all the people are making merry
for joy that my father is dead, but you stand weeping.
Come, was my father good and kind to you ? " And with
the question he uttered the first stanza :

The Yellow King was cruel to all men;

Now he is dead, all freely breathe again.

Was he, the yellow-eyed, so very dear?

Or, Porter, why do you stand weeping here ?

The man heard, and answered : " I am not weeping for
sorrow that Pingala is dead. My head would be glad
enough. For King Pingala, every time he came down
from the palace, or went up into it, would give me eight
blows over the head with his fist, like the blows of a black-
smith's hammer. So when he goes down to the other
world, he will deal eight blows on the head of Yama, the
gatekeeper of hell, as though he were striking me. Then
the people will cry He is too cruel for us ! and will send
him up again. And I fear he will come and deal fisticuffs
on my head again, and that is why I weep/' To explain
the matter he uttered the second stanza :

The Yellow King was anything but dear:

It is his coming back again I fear.

What if he beat the king of Death, and then

The king of Death should send him back again ?

Then said the Bodhisatta : " That king has been burnt
with a thousand cartloads of wood ; the place of his
burning has been soaked with water from thousands of
pitchers, and the ground has been dug up all round; beings
that have gone to the other world, otherwise than by
re-birth, do not return to the same bodily shape as they
had before ; do not be afraid ! " and to comfort him, he
repeated the following stanza :

Thousands of loads of wood have burnt him quite,
Thousands of pitchers quenched what still did burn;
The earth is dug about to left and right-
Fear not the king will never more return.

After that, the porter took comfort. And the Bodhi-
satta ruled in righteousness ; and after giving gifts and
doing other good acts, he passed away to fare according
to his deserts.