Now the Bodhisatta had gone out to fetch fruits and the like , leaving his son in the hut. While he was away, this girl, as she wandered about in the forest, came to the hut, in the morning; [221] and tempting the son of the ascetic with desire of love, destroyed his virtue, and got him under her power. She said to him, "Why dwell here in the forest? Come, let us go to a village and make a home for ourselves. There it is easy to enjoy all the pleasures and passions of sense." He consented, and said, "My father is now out in the woods looking for wild fruits. When we have seen him, we will both go away together." Then the girl thought, "This young innocent knows nothing; but his father must have become an ascetic in his old age. When he comes in, he will want to know what I do here, and beat me, and drag me out by the feet, and throw me into the forest. I will get clear away before he comes." So she said to the lad, "I will go first, and you may follow" ; then pointing out the landmarks, she departed. After she had gone, the lad became sorrowful, and did none of his duties as he was used; but wrapt himself up head and all, and lay down within the hut, fretting.

When the Great Being came in with his wild fruits, he observed the girl's footmark. "That is a woman's footprint," thought he; "my son's virtue must have been lost." Then he entered the hut, and laid down the wild fruit, and put the question to his son by repeating the first stanza:

"No wood is chopt, and you have brought no water from the pool,
No fire is kindled: why do you lie mooning like a fool?"

Hearing his father's voice, the lad rose, and greeted him; and with all respect made known that he could not endure a forest life, repeating a couple of stanzas:

"I cannot live in forests: this, O Kassapa, I swear;
Hard is the woodland life, and back to men I would repair.

"Teach me, O brahmin, when I leave, that wheresoe'er I go,
The customs of the countryside I may most fully know."

[222] "Very good, my son," said the Great Being, "I will tell you the customs of the country." And he repeated this couple of stanzas:

"If 'tis your mind to leave behind the woodland fruits and roots
And dwell in cities, hear me teach the way which that life suits:

"Keep clear of every precipice, from poison keep afar,
Sit never in the mud, and walk with care where serpents are."

The ascetic's son, not understanding this pithy counsel, asked:

"What has your precipice to do with the religious way,
Your mud, your poison, and your snake? Come tell me this, I pray."

The other explained--