The Banyan Deer

This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Jataka Tales with Jim Podolske. It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

The following talk was given by Jim Podolske at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on July 11, 2023. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

The Banyan Deer

Good evening, everyone. How is the sound level for everyone? Okay, can you hear okay? Abraham... okay, it's a little louder.

Last week, Diana asked me if I would give a talk tonight to fill in for her as she teaches her retreat. I've really been enjoying what Diana has been teaching. She's been reading suttas^[1]—stories about teachings that the Buddha gave to people who came and asked him questions about what he was teaching, people who were sincerely curious about what the Buddha had to offer. All of those teachings were given after the Buddha had fully awakened. It wasn't until after he had finally broken through all of the fetters^[2]—greed, delusion, and hatred—that he could then start sharing his knowledge with other people.

It is said that when he awakened, he could also remember his past lives—lives that he had lived prior to the life where he woke up. You may or may not believe that, but anyway, there's this whole set of stories called the Jataka Tales^[3], which are tales that took place in the lives before the Buddha woke up. They're often used in Buddhist cultures as ways of teaching about particular habits of heart and mind, particularly qualities of heart and mind that one can cultivate, and that facilitate the opening of the heart to let out the things that need to be let out and to let in the things that need to be let in.

So tonight I wanted to read one of these Jataka Tales. This is one that I heard about a little over twenty years ago. I was on a retreat with Leigh Brasington^[4], and this was a retreat on concentration practice, on the absorptions. One of the things that facilitates that practice is doing the Brahma-vihara^[5] practice—these practices of loving-kindness, sympathetic joy, compassion, and equanimity.

This particular story that I'm going to read is one about compassion. The thing that I liked about these stories is they're kind of foundational. You don't really have to understand all of the Eightfold Path, the Four Noble Truths, and the twelve steps of dependent origination. These are just stories about simple qualities of heart and mind that you can cultivate.

So, I'd like you all to get comfortable. Sit in a posture where you have some sense of relaxation and comfort, but also some sense of alertness. I don't recommend that you use listening to this story as a way of falling asleep; I'd like you to be awake for it. [Laughter]

The Story of the Banyan Deer

This particular version was written by a man named Rafe Martin^[6] about thirty years ago, and it says that it's for grades 9, 10, 11, and 12. Looking around the room, I think you all are qualified to hear this teaching. And I don't know about people online, but I'm assuming that many of you are. So we'll start the story.

Once, the Buddha was born as a Banyan Deer. When he was grown, he became leader of the herd. He guided his herd wisely and led them to the heart of a secluded forest where, sheltered by the giant trees, they lived free from danger.

Then, a new king came into power over the land, and above all things, this king loved hunting. As soon as the sun rose, he would mount his horse and lead his men on a furious chase through fields and meadows, forests and glens. Shooting his arrows madly, he would not leave off until the sun had set. Then the wagons rolled back to the palace behind him, filled now with deer or rabbit, pheasant, monkey, leopard, bear, tiger, and lion. And the king was happy.

His people, however, were not pleased. Fields had been ruined by the royal hunt. Farmers and merchants had been forced to leave off their work in order to beat the jungles and drive the hidden beasts towards the waiting king and his men. Affairs of state, too, were left unattended.

The people, determined to bring all this to an end, devised a simple plan. They built a stockade deep in the forest. "We'll trap a herd or two of deer in this stockade," they said. "Then the king can hunt all he wants. Let him hunt to his heart's content. He won't ruin our fields or force us to leave our shops. Then let him be happy."

The stockade was built, and two herds of deer were driven within its walls. The gates were closed, and the delicate animals, charging and wheeling in frantic circles, sought some way out. But there was none. Exhausted at last, they stood trembling, awaiting their fate.

The men left happily to tell the king of their success.

One of the herds that had been captured was the herd of the Banyan Deer. The Banyan Deer walked among his herd. Sunlight played on his many-branched antlers. His black eyes shone, and his muzzle was wet. "The blue sky is overhead, green grass grows at our feet," he told the others. "Do not give up. Where there is life, there is hope. I will find a way." And so he strove to ease their fears.

Soon, the king arrived to view the newly captured herds. He was pleased. He strung his bow^[7] in preparation for the hunt. Noticing two deer kings below, he said, "The leaders of both herds are magnificent animals. No one is to shoot them. They shall be spared."

Then, standing on the wall, looking down over the stockade, he sent his arrows flying into the milling herds. The deer became frantic. Racing wildly, they injured one another with horns and hooves as they sought to escape the deadly rain of arrows.

And so it went. Every few days, the king and his courtiers would return to the stockade, and every few days, more of the gentle deer were killed. Many others were wounded by the flying arrows. Still others were injured in the effort to escape.

The king of the Banyan Deer met with the leader of the other herd. "Brother," he said, shaking his antlered head sadly, "we are trapped. I've tried every way, but all are barred against us. The pain our subjects suffer is unbearable. As you know, when the arrows fly, many get badly hurt just trying to stay alive. Let us hold a lottery. Each day, all the deer—one day from your herd, one day from mine—must pick a straw. Then the one single deer on whom the lottery falls will go stand near the wall, just below the king. That one deer must offer itself to be shot. It is a terrible solution, but at least this way we can keep many from needless injury and pain."

And the leader of the other herd agreed.

The next day, when the king and his courtiers arrived, they found one trembling deer standing directly below them. Its legs and body were shaking, but it held its head high. "What is this?" said the king. "Ah, I see. These are noble deer indeed. They have chosen that one deer alone shall die, rather than that they should all suffer from our hunt. These deer kings have wisdom." A heaviness descended on the king's heart. "We will accept their terms," he announced. "From now on, shoot only the one deer that stands below." And unstringing his bow, he descended from the stockade wall and rode back in silence to the palace.

That night, the king tossed and turned, a radiant deer pacing through his dreams.

One day, the lot fell on a pregnant doe. She went to her king, the leader of the other herd, and said, "I will willingly go and fulfill the lottery once my fawn is safely born. But if I go now, both I and my unborn child will die. Please spare me for now. I do not ask for myself, but for the sake of the child that is soon to be born."

But the leader of the other herd said, "The law is the law. I cannot spare you. The lottery has fallen on you, and you must die. There are no exceptions. Justice demands that you go."

In desperation, she ran to the Banyan Deer. She fell on her knees before him and begged for his aid. He listened quietly, observing her with wide and gentle eyes. "Rise, sister," said the Banyan Deer, "and go free. You are right. The terms of the lottery require that only one need die. Therefore, you shall be freed from the lottery until your fawn is born. I will see that it is done." Too overjoyed for words, the grateful doe bowed and then bounded away.

The Banyan Deer rose to his feet. There was no other he could send in her place. He had spared her; therefore, he himself must replace her. How could it be otherwise?

He walked calmly, with great dignity, through his browsing herd. They watched him as he moved among them. His great curving antlers and strong shoulders, his shining eyes and sharp black hooves, all reassured and comforted them. Never had their Banyan Deer King let them down. Never had he abandoned them. If there was a way, he could find it. If there was a chance to save another, he would take it. Not once had he lorded it over them. He was a king indeed, and his whole herd took comfort in his presence.

The courtiers were waiting with bows drawn atop the stockade. When they saw it was the deer king who had come to stand below, they called out, "O King of the Banyan Deer! You know our king has spared you. Why are you here?"

"I have come so that two others need not die. Now shoot. You have your work, and I have mine."

But lowering their bows, they sent a message to the king. "Your Majesty, come with all speed to the stockade!"

Not long after, the king arrived, riding like the wind, with his robes streaming behind him. "What is it?" he called. "Why have you summoned me?"

"Come, Your Majesty has been called. Look."

The Banyan Deer stood below. Then, deer king and human king looked at one another.

"Banyan King," said the king of men, "at last I know you. I have seen you gliding through the forests of my dreams. Why are you here? Have I not freed you from my hunt?"

"Great King," replied the Banyan Deer, "what ruler can be free if the people suffer? Today, a doe with fawn asked for my aid. The lottery had fallen on her, and both she and her unborn fawn were to die. The lottery requires that only one shall die. I shall be that one. I shall take her place. The lottery shall be fulfilled. This is my right and my duty as king."

A stone rolled from the king's heart. "Noble Banyan Deer," he said, "you are right. A king should care for the least of his subjects. It is a lesson I have been long in the learning, but today, through your sacrifice, you have made it clear to me. So I shall give you a gift, a teacher's fee for the lesson you have taught me. You and your whole herd are freed. None of you shall be hunted again. Go and live in peace."

But the Banyan Deer said, "Great King, that is indeed a noble gift. But I cannot leave yet. May I speak further?"

"Speak on, noble deer."

"O King of men, if I depart to safety with my own herd, will that not mean that the remaining herd shall simply suffer all the more? Each day you shall kill only them. They will have no respite. A rain of arrows will fall upon them. While I desire above all things the safety of my people, I cannot buy it at the cost of increasing the suffering of others. Do you understand?"

The human king was stunned. "What?" he exclaimed. "Would you then risk your own and your herd's freedom for others?"

"Yes," said the Banyan Deer, "I would. I will. Think of their anguish, Great King. Imagine their sufferings, and then let them, too, go free."

The king of men paused, and he pondered. At last, he lifted his head and smiled. "Never have I seen such nobility or such resolute concern. How can I refuse you? You shall have your wish. The other herd, too, shall go free. Now, can you go off with your own herd and be at peace?"

But the Banyan Deer answered, "No, Great King. I cannot. I think of all the other wild, four-footed creatures like them. I have lived my life surrounded by dangers and fears. How could I live in peace knowing the terrors they must endure? I beg you, mighty king, have pity on them. There can be no peace unless they, too, are free."

The king of men was again astonished. He had never imagined such a thing. He thought and thought, and slowly the truth of the Banyan Deer's words grew clear to him. It was true, he realized. There is no real peace unless its benefits extend to all.

"You are right, great deer," said the king of men at last. "Never again in all my realm shall any four-footed creatures be slain. They are all freed from my hunt. Rabbit, boar, bear, lion, leopard, tiger, deer—all! Never again shall they fall to my huntsman's arrows. So, my teacher, have you now found peace?"

But the Banyan Deer said, "No, Great King. I have not."

"What, my lord?"

"Of the defenseless ones of the air, the birds, Great King. They live surrounded by a net of danger. Stones and arrows shall greet them now wherever they fly. They shall fall from the skies like rain. Throughout your kingdom, they shall know such suffering as can hardly be imagined. Oh, Great King, I beg you, let them go free. Release them also."

"Great one," said the king of men, "you drive a hard bargain and are determined, it seems, to make farmers of us all. But yes, I shall free the birds. They may now fly freely through my realm. No man shall hunt them again. They may build their nests in peace. Now are you satisfied? Are you at last at peace?"

"Great King," answered the Banyan Deer, "think, if you will, of the silent ones of your realm. Fish, my lord. If I do not speak, if I do not now speak for them, who will? They swim the lakes, rivers, and streams of your land. Hooks, nets, and spears will be ever poised above them. How can I have peace while they abide in such danger? Great King, I beg you, spare them as well."

"Noble being," said the king of men, tears trickling down his cheeks, "compassionate one, never before have I been moved to think in such a way. But yes, I do so agree. The fish, too, are of my kingdom, and they, too, shall be free. They shall swim throughout my land, and no one shall kill them again. Now, all of you assembled courtiers and attendants," announced the king, "hear my words. This is my proclamation. See that it is posted throughout the land. From this day forth, all beings in my realm shall be recognized as my own dear subjects. None shall be trapped, hunted, or killed. This is my lasting decree. See to it that it is fulfilled. Now tell me, noble one," he said, turning to the Banyan Deer once more, "are you at peace?"

Flocks of birds flew overhead and perched, singing from amongst the nearby trees. Deer grazed calmly on the green grass.

"Yes," said the Banyan Deer, "now I am at peace." And he leapt up, kicking like a fawn. He leapt for joy, sheer joy. He had saved them all. Then he thanked the king, gathered his herd, and departed with them back into the depths of the forest.

The king had a stone pillar set on the spot where he had spoken with the Banyan Deer. Carved upon it was the figure of a deer encircled with these words: Homage to the noble Banyan Deer, compassionate teacher of kings. Then he, too, lived on, caring wisely for all things.

Reflections and Q&A

So that's the story of the Banyan Deer. And it is said that in this story, the Banyan Deer was the Buddha in a previous life. When I first heard this story, it ended with the line, "Never stop caring." And when I heard that, I had sort of a mixed reaction. I loved the story, I loved the compassion that it showed, and I thought, "Does this mean I have to be compassionate all the time?" It was a little bit daunting when I heard the story.

So I'm curious to hear how this story landed with you all. What questions you might have, what comments, what reactions. Did you learn from the Banyan Deer? Did you learn from the king? What was that like? And in the spirit of this story, I won't limit it to just the people sitting in this room, but if somebody that's online on YouTube would like to participate as well, you can enter your comments, and I'll ask Bhupal to read them when we get to them. But for now, I encourage you all to step forward. Could you give the microphone to Abraham?

Abraham: "Thanks. I was having trouble with the sound system. I didn't hear all of it, but I think I heard enough. But you also asked a couple of questions right there... what I learned from the deer. I think the story describes the deer as walking very resolutely, with a lot of calm and dignity, knowing what the situation was. And I think that in itself points to the practice: freeing oneself from the pain and anguish. The pain and anguish is there, but knowing what one is going to do resolutely is a kind of freeing from excessive worry.

"But then to your question—or your statement—how does one embody that much compassion? That's a very daunting task. It's a story, and it's pointing towards compassion, but for me, I take it more like the trainings^[8]: not to take life, not to harm anyone, not to steal, not to lie, not to abuse oneself sexually or others, and not to use intoxicants. The word is training—there's no perfection required. It's training. So we fall, we fail, but the training is still to be all-compassionate. I think that's how I see it."

Audience Member: "Thank you. I think the thing that came to mind when I heard the story was probably the thought of leadership. This is probably what you would want your leader to embody. We all come from the same drinking well or whatnot, but I thought it was admirable and rare for the Banyan Deer leader, or king, to put himself at the same level as the rest of his tribe. I think of our political landscape and how there's a lot of tribalism and division, but it was nice to hear and get that sort of symbolism."

Jim Podolske: "Yeah. Now, when I first heard it, I kind of thought, 'Okay, well, the Banyan Deer, he's got a free pass. He's not going to get killed, so that's pretty good.' But then he wants his whole herd, and then he wants the other herd as well. It just keeps going. It isn't sort of like, 'Okay, I've struck a deal, and this is good enough.' He's just always looking for more inclusivity.

"When I read this story, I was told that apparently, in some versions, it goes on a little bit further. After all these animals are no longer going to be killed or harmed, they start destroying the fields. You know, they start going through the farmers' fields and eating everything. And so the village people come back to the human king and say, 'Well, you know, look at this. This is not good.' And so there's a further deal that's made with the animals: they can graze and eat anywhere in the forest and uncultivated land, but they are to leave the cultivated land alone. So it isn't just the animals getting free, but them also respecting the villagers. There's never an end to it; every action has something to it. That continuation of thinking and caring for other people is one of the lessons I get from this story.

"Are there any comments online? No? Okay. Oh, Sally."

Sally: "So I was actually wondering when the deer was going to ask the king to not kill humans, to not go to war with his own kind. [Laughter]"

Jim Podolske: "Well, there's about 550 of these Jataka Tales, so that may be left for another story. Yeah, but I thought that would be the capping request, right?"

Audience Member: "There was another part that I noticed: the way in which the king went from taking great pleasure in hunting, to still letting his subordinates hunt for meat, but that he no longer took any pleasure in it. He didn't go there anymore. And so that kind of waking up to something that we might find personally pleasurable, but actually is doing harm to others—that was falling away."

Audience Member: "And to build on that, there was a falling away of his pleasure, and there was a developing of a reflective mode. That dream comes to him, and the dream is powerful for him. So there's a whole direction towards self-discovery. And I think your point about when he tells humans not to hunt each other—of course, that wasn't set up to begin with in this story, it was only set up for the animals. But I think, in a way, that's kind of hinted at by the deer starting to include more and more types of beings. In other words, it's the Brahma-viharas in the end. It's all beings. May all beings be free from suffering. Yeah, very good."

Audience Member: "The thing that hit me—someone was talking earlier about the political divisions that we live in right now, and the tribalism. That very first step that he made of, 'Well, no, it's not just my clan of deer, but I want that other one over there.' And even the choice of giving himself instead of the other clan's female with the baby. He was thinking beyond his own small group right there. That is a lesson to look beyond. Even though they're still deer, they're not my deer. It was, 'No, I'm going to go there.'"

Audience Member: "Yes, I follow on that very much. The sacrifice of each individual animal each day going to the slaughter spot, and then the king willing to sacrifice himself. The message of being willing to care for your community enough to sacrifice for your community, to me, it was a very strong teaching here. And that care for your community, to care for those around you, is a key piece of wisdom here. Thank you."

Jim Podolske: "Yeah. I think one of the things that I guess I hadn't thought about until I read this over a couple of times recently... for some reason, I was thinking that if the Banyan Deer was the Buddha-to-be, that this would be a lesson about him learning something. But actually, it's more about him demonstrating and teaching some qualities to others. You know, that sense of radiance. That the other deer and the human king could just look at him and see that there was something about him that was admirable.

"Well, maybe that's it for this evening. Thank you all for coming and sharing. And I think that Diana will be back next week. Thank you all." [Applause]