The Two Deer

At a Glance

• Central figures: The Banyan Deer and the Branch Deer, two golden deer-kings each leading a herd of five hundred; the king of Benares, who hunted daily.
• Setting: The royal deer park at Benares (Varanasi), in one of the Bodhisattva’s former lives as told in the Pali Jataka collection.
• The turn: When a pregnant doe from the Branch Deer’s herd is chosen to go to the block, and the Branch Deer refuses to exempt her, the Banyan Deer offers himself in her place.
• The outcome: The king of Benares, shamed by the deer’s willingness to die, grants safety first to the Banyan Deer, then to both herds, then to all deer in his kingdom, and finally to all living creatures in his realm.
• The legacy: The Banyan Deer was identified as the Bodhisattva in a former birth; the park at Benares became a sanctuary, and the story entered the Jataka canon as a teaching on the reach of compassion.

The king of Benares hunted every day. He rode out with soldiers and beaters and dogs, and while he rode, the farmers could not farm because they were beating the brush for him, and the soldiers could not drill because they were carrying his kill home. The people of Benares grew tired of it. They held a meeting and decided: if the king must have his deer, let the deer come to him. So they drove two great herds - a thousand deer in all - into a walled park near the palace, and sealed the gates.

Two deer-kings stood among them. The Banyan Deer led one herd of five hundred. The Branch Deer led the other. Both were golden-coated, large as young horses, with antlers that caught the light. The king of Benares, seeing them from his terrace, was so struck by their beauty that he granted both deer-kings personal immunity. No one was to kill either of them. The rest were fair game.

The Arrangement

Each day the king’s cook entered the park with a bow. The deer scattered. They ran into trees, broke legs against stones, trampled each other. More died from the panic than from the arrow.

The Banyan Deer saw this and went to the Branch Deer.

They are destroying themselves. Let us make a rule. Each day, one deer will go to the block willingly. My herd and yours will take turns - one day from mine, one day from yours. That way only one dies, and the rest are spared the running.

The Branch Deer agreed. From that day, the deer drew lots. The one whose lot fell went to the chopping block near the gate, laid its neck across the wood, and waited. The cook came, did his work quickly, and carried the meat to the king’s kitchen.

It was an ugly arrangement. But fewer deer died.

The Doe

One day the lot fell to a pregnant doe from the Branch Deer’s herd. She went to the Branch Deer and said:

I do not refuse to go. But I carry a fawn. If I go today, two die instead of one. Let me wait until the fawn is born. After that, I will take my turn.

The Branch Deer looked at her. He said: The lot fell to you. I cannot move your turn to another. Go.

The doe left him and crossed the park to where the Banyan Deer stood under his tree. She told him the same thing. She did not beg. She stated the fact: one turn, two deaths.

The Banyan Deer listened. He said nothing for a long time. Then he walked past her, out of the shade, across the open ground, to the chopping block by the gate. He laid his own neck across the wood.

The Block

The cook came at his usual hour and found the golden deer - the one the king had specifically exempted - lying at the block with his neck stretched and his eyes open. The cook put down his knife. He did not touch the Banyan Deer. He went to the king.

The king came to the park on foot, without soldiers. He stood over the Banyan Deer.

I gave you your life. You are safe. Why are you here?

The Banyan Deer raised his head.

A doe came to me. The lot fell to her, but she carries a fawn. If she goes, two die for one turn. The Branch Deer would not help her. I could not send another in her place - that would only move the dying. So I came myself.

The king was quiet. He looked at the deer lying across the block, the golden fur bright against the stained wood. The deer had not struggled. The deer had chosen.

Rise, the king said. I grant you your life, and I grant the doe hers.

The Banyan Deer did not move. He said:

Two are safe, then. What about the rest of my herd?

The king paused. Your herd is safe too.

And the Branch Deer’s herd?

They are safe.

And the wild deer outside this park, who have no wall to live in and no king to speak to?

Safe. All the deer in my kingdom.

And the four-footed creatures who are not deer? The hares, the boar, the cattle?

Safe.

And the birds?

Safe.

And the fish in the rivers?

The king of Benares looked at the Banyan Deer for a long time. He was a man who had hunted every single day of his reign. His cook stood behind him holding a knife that was no longer needed.

All of them, the king said. Every living thing in my kingdom. I grant them safety. Now rise.

The Park After

The Banyan Deer rose. The cook opened the gate. Neither herd ran. The deer walked out slowly, into the fields around Benares, and the farmers - the same farmers who had once driven them in - watched them pass and did not move to stop them.

The king issued his decree. No creature in his realm would be killed. The proclamation was carved and set up at the crossroads. The park stood open, its walls still there but its gate unlatched, and deer wandered in and out of it as they pleased, grazing on the king’s lawns and the king’s flower beds.

The doe gave birth in the open parkland. The fawn was small and brown, not golden. It grew up among both herds, which no longer kept their separate counts or drew their lots. There was no need. The block by the gate rotted into the ground and was not replaced.

The king of Benares never hunted again. He ate rice and fruit and the vegetables his farmers were finally free to grow. His soldiers returned to their drills. The people of Benares, who had started the whole thing by driving the deer into the park, found that the world had changed on them - not by force, but by one animal walking to a block and lying down.

The Banyan Deer lived out his natural life in the park. When the Buddha told this story to his monks at Jetavana, he said: The Branch Deer was Devadatta. The king of Benares was Ananda. And the Banyan Deer - that was myself.