The Monkeys Who Watered the Garden

The gardener of the royal park in Varanasi stood at the gate with a bundle on his back and a worried look on his face.

This is a story from the Jataka tales, the old stories about the Buddha's earlier lives.

In those days, the king of Varanasi had a beautiful pleasure garden full of young trees. There were mango saplings, jamun saplings, little neem trees and young figs, all planted in neat rows. A gardener looked after them every day. He watered them morning and evening from the big well in the middle of the garden.

In the trees of that garden lived a troop of monkeys. They were cheerful and quick, and they spent their days swinging through the branches, eating fruit and chattering.

Now there was going to be a great festival in the city. Drums were already beating in the streets. Everyone was going. The gardener wanted to go too, very much. But who would water the young trees while he was away?

He had an idea. He went to the king of the monkeys.

"Friend," he said, "you and your troop live in this garden and eat its fruit. Will you do me a favour? I want to go to the festival for seven days. Will you water the young trees for me while I am gone?"

The monkey king puffed out his chest. "Of course!" he said. "Leave it to us."

The gardener showed them where the leather water bags were kept, and how to fill them at the well. Then he picked up his bundle and went off happily to the festival.

The next morning, the monkey king called all his monkeys together.

"Listen, everyone," he said importantly. "We must water the trees. But water is precious. We must not waste it. So before you water each tree, pull it up and look at its roots. If the roots are long, the tree needs a lot of water. If the roots are short, it needs only a little. Then put it back."

"What a clever idea!" said the monkeys.

So off they went. Each monkey went to a young tree, took hold of it, and pulled. Out came the little tree, roots and all. The monkey looked carefully at the roots. Long. Short. Then he poured water into the hole, and stuck the tree back in.

They went all along the rows like that. Pull. Look. Pour. Push back in.

Just then, a wise young man was walking past the garden wall. The Jataka says he was the Bodhisatta, the one who would one day become the Buddha. He saw the monkeys pulling up the trees, and he stopped.

"Friends," he called out gently. "What are you doing?"

"We are watering the trees!" said the monkeys proudly. "But first we pull them up to measure their roots, so that we do not waste any water."

The young man shook his head and smiled sadly.

"You mean well," he said. "But a young tree needs to be left in the ground. It needs to be still, so its roots can grow and drink. If you keep pulling it up to look, it cannot grow at all. You want to help it so much that you are hurting it."

The monkeys looked at each other. Then they looked at the young trees. Some of the leaves were already beginning to droop.

"Oh," said the monkey king in a small voice.

"Put them back gently," said the young man. "Press the earth down around them. Water them well. And then leave them alone. Trust the roots. They know what to do, even when you cannot see them."

So the monkeys carefully put every sapling back in its place. They pressed the soil down softly with their little hands. They poured cool water from the well around each one. And then they did the hardest thing of all. They waited, and did not pull.

When the gardener came home after seven days, he hurried into the garden, afraid of what he might find. But the young trees were standing in their rows. A few looked a little tired. Most had new green leaves at their tips.

The monkeys told him the whole story. The gardener laughed and laughed, and then he thanked them for listening to the wise young man.

That evening, the monkey king sat on a branch above a little mango sapling and looked down at it. He wanted, very much, to pull it up and see how the roots were doing.

He did not. He just watched the new leaf at its tip moving in the breeze.

You are growing quietly where no one can see, little one, and we are learning to trust that you know what to do.