Mangala: Chapter Nine

Author's Note

This story is intended to be both a partner to the novel ‘The Pilgrim Kamanita,’ written by Karl Gjellerup in 1906, and a tale that stands on its own. There is no need to have read the earlier book in order to make sense of this one, however, should you wish to go to the source from which many of the characters and scenes of this tale have sprung, an English version of it is to be found on this same web-site at http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/book/366/.

This book is being published here as a ‘serial novel,’ which is to say that it that it will appear one chapter at a time, on the first day of every month, over the next couple of years. The plan is that, after the entire twenty-six chapters of the story have been released, a pdf file of the complete book will be posted, and available for free download.

Finally, gentle reader, please note that the original author (Karl Gjellerup) switched freely between using Sanskrit (the language of the Northern Buddhist and Hindu scriptures) and Pali (the language of the Southern Buddhist scriptures) during the course of his tale. In our efforts to be true to his original style we have maintained this mixture of usage.

Amaro Bhikkhu
Abhayagiri Monastery
December 2008

* * * * * * * * * * * *

ango isn’t really a very suitable name, is it? Don’t you think?”

“The colour is right, certainly, but I’ve never liked those fruit-and-flower monikers; what about ‘Sama’? That means the same thing, ‘golden,’ but it hasn’t got that fruity tinge to it. What do you think?” Mitta was putting the question mostly to his wife Sundari but also with half an eye on their newly adopted daughter.

“Oh yes!” Sundari exclaimed “just right.” Then, looking to the little girl, she said, “We have two other daughters – all grown up and gone away now – but they are called Ratana, ‘Jewel’, and Vajira, ‘Diamond,” so ‘Golden’ is perfect for you. You’ll be our third precious one.”

The two of them regarded the beautiful and serious face of their new child, waiting to see her response. Amba turned the name over in her mind – she’d never considered being anybody else, or rather being known by any other name than the one she’d always had but, looking into the kindly faces of her new parents, and always being one inclined towards compliance and fulfilling the wishes of others, she could only answer in one way.

“Sama is a lovely name.” She smiled appreciatively, “Thank you very much, Sir.”

“Now don’t you go calling me ‘Sir,’ I’m your dad now.” Mitta grinned and rubbed her head, “I’m only the chamberlain in this grand house, just a glorified butler, I’m not the lord and master – that’s the Minister and the Duchess – you have to be polite to people like that, Lord Ghosaka and Lady Rohini, they’re the quality here.”

“Sama, Sama…” she rolled the new sound around in her mind and practised saying it to herself a few times. There were so many new things to get used to here but she liked it, and she guessed it would become easier to say and to remember after a while.

* * *

And so it was. When she had first arrived she had felt awkward and lonely but, as soon as she was about to get a serious fit of the dumps, Khujjutara’s friendly chatter would bring her out of it. Or it would be one of the other maids or children of the great house that swept her up and got her to help with rocking a baby, weaving some decorations or going out to explore in the expansive gardens around the Minister’s mansion. There was always something to do or to learn – so many festivals and processions, even trips to the Royal Palace – that four years went by and she was almost grown to womanhood, at least that’s what her mother Sundari and the others kept saying to her.

Life in this crowded bustle of people had been so dense – there were household duties, accompanying her parents, or learning the arts of writing and music, garland- making or embroidery – that she had scarcely had a moment to herself. Her old life – the love of her sister Tamba and the sharp and energetic presence of her mother Sita, her mischievous little brother, the fly-away Krishna – was washed aside by the sheer force of the tides of this new world. Within a year or so of coming to Kosambi she had found, to her horror, that she had almost forgotten her other life completely.

Once in a while though, she’d catch an aroma from the kitchen that would remind her, or someone across the room would mention Ujjeni, and a flood of nostalgia would burst the banks of her heart, “I remember…” But it would soon pass and leave no trace, and she would busy herself with the next duty to be done.

* * *

The one link to the past that she stoically maintained was that, whenever they went to the temple to make offerings to the gods, or when they did a puja at their family shrine, she always included many prayers for her sister.

Even though her father kept trying to convince her that the chances of her survival in the forest on her own were extremely slender – especially since even the King’s guards had not been able to find her – Sama clung fiercely to the hope that one day she would appear again.

“She’s very tough, father, and she never gives up once she’s started something, so I‘m sure that she’s managed to survive,” Sama asserted, for the hundredth time.

“But dear, if she was truly as resourceful as you say, then by now – how long is it? – four or five years, surely she would have been able to track you down, no?” He arched both eyebrows, which formed a broad and bushy grey bridge across the top of his round-cheeked face.

She didn’t mean to be defiant, that was completely against her nature, but on this one point it was impossible to let go. She knew it didn’t make sense but she was going to carry on doing it anyway.

Khujjuttara was always around when the family went to the temple and did their pujas, and she too had always noted Sama quietly reciting some extra prayers. She had rightly guessed what these were and, by way of helping out, she conspired to find, on most occasions, an extra garland or two and a few sticks of incense to palm to Sama for these surreptitious devotions and appeals.

Sama had always liked to visit the temples – she liked the sounds of the chanting and all the beauty of the ceremonies and shrines – but she found all the gods a bit confusing. There were images of Durga and Savasvati, Krishna and Vishnu, sometimes the fearsome and bloody-tongued Kali or Vishvakarman the heavenly architect. There were Prajapati, Shiva the stern ascetic and Parvati, his lovely wife, so many in their different chapels and halls. It was hard to remember all the stories and how all of these great beings related to each other.

When she made her offerings and did her prayers she felt it best not to be too specific about whom she was addressing, and just asked with as much sincerity as she could muster, “Whichever of you great and noble beings, powerful gods and devas, are able to help look after my sister Tamba and keep her safe, wherever she may be, please, please, please may you do so.

“And if there’s any way that the two of us can be reunited, I don’t care what it takes or how much trouble it might be, I will happily pay the price. Please, oh holy ones, may my sister and I be together again before we die.”

She also clearly remembered the three kinnaris, whom she had met in the forest, the day her mother died, and the yakkha, Gumbiya who had sworn to try and help her, if at all possible. However, in amongst the shrines and stupas for all the great gods, she never saw any that were solely dedicated to the likes of her friends.

There were some that had fearsome, yakkha-like characters carved around the edges, or holding a plinth up from underneath, but never one that even had Gumbiya’s ruler Kuvera (otherwise known as King Vessavana) at its centre. Similarly, the kinnaris and other types of earth-spirit – naiads and dryads of the trees and streams – were occasionally carved or painted flitting round the head of the deity of floating on either side, but never did she find a place where they had a shrine all of their own. Thus she would make a special prayer to them by name, “…and may the brave kinnaris Pinkie, Garnet and Little Red, and the yakkha Gumbiya be well and happy, and may they too help Tamba and me to be brought together again; if that would be possible, somehow.”

* * *

One of the rituals of the household was that every rainy season the Minister, Lord Ghosaka, organized things so that a large group of ascetic wanderers, who normally lived in the Himalayan Mountains, came and stayed in some parkland that the family owned in Kosambi, a short distance away from the mansion where Sama and all of them lived. It was an occasion of great activity; everyone had been abuzz for several weeks in advance, and regular groups of workers and hired help went over to the park to spruce up the huts they would use and to make repairs.

In the final days before they arrived, Sama and a whole crowd of the family and staff – led by Lady Rohini who directed operations with great care and precision – went over to deck the meeting hall and the gateway with garlands made of thousands of flowers.

They had to dodge the showers that came before the main monsoon, but the likelihood that all their fine work might be doused at a moment’s notice was offset by the joyful carnival-like atmosphere and the sweet anticipation of the arrival of the holy men.

Sama often wondered if this was the park that her kinnari friends had told her was their dwelling place. On these rare days when she and other members of Mitta’s clan and the Ghosaka family were here, her eye darted eagerly into the bushes and up into the trees hoping that she would catch at least a glimpse of her ethereal helpers – but she never saw them. Sometimes she caught a shimmer of something brightly-coloured or billowing at the corner of her vision, or so she thought, but when she looked full on, there was never anything there.

For some reason she didn’t feel abandoned by her companions, rather she had the idea that they had had to go elsewhere, or that there was too much noise around, or the rank odours of ill-behaved people had put them off and made it unbearable to be there. She felt that they were somewhere nearby even now, and that they still cared for her, and that, if they ever could visit or – even better – track down Tamba and reunite them, then they certainly would do so.

* * *

On the great day that all the wanderers and yogis arrived, Sama was out there tucked in the crowd at the gateway to the park. Lady Rohini and Lord Ghosaka stood at the front, with their young son standing close beside his mother. He was a shy and sickly child, and somewhat overawed by the grandeur of the event.

Sama had witnessed this ritual each year since she had arrived and had always been excited and inspired by it. These holy men seemed a far cry from the pompous brahmin who had rushed through her mother’s funeral all those years ago and also some of the temple priests she had seen. The men in this group – for there were other places where women wanderers gathered – had an aura of true calm about them. They did not just talk about sacred things; they actually felt holy to her as well.

To her surprise, when the new arrivals were greeted and offered garlands at the entrance to welcome them in, instead of receiving the gifts and the whole assembly of them processing through the flower-bedecked arch, the leader of the group raised the garland to his brow and then returned it to Lord Ghosaka.

The Minister was startled by this gesture and obviously didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Your Lordship, we must apologize, but we are not going to stay here this year. We will leave this place this very day and take ourselves elsewhere.”

“But… but… you promised! You come every year… we’ve made all the arrangements…” he spluttered, upset but trying to remain respectful.

“Normally we would never renege on a promise – samanas do not do such things – but a very unusual circumstance has occurred…” he scarcely suppressed a smile that came rising, bubbling up within him. His face now shone.

“A Buddha has appeared in the world.”

“A Buddha!? You mean a totally liberated, perfected, enlightened being?” Ghosaka was astonished at the idea. “I thought such ones only existed in legend, in the most ancient of scriptures. I can’t believe that a Jina, a Conqueror of Death, walks this very earth in our lifetime!”

“This Great Being is indeed one who has escaped the nets of Mara, the King of Death himself – yes, this Buddha Gotama is such a one. That is why he is called the Blessed One, the Teacher of Gods and Humans. It is because such a person has arisen in the world, and is alive today, that we beg your permission to be freed from our promise. So we may all go and learn from him.”

Ghosaka hardly needed a moment to digest this news; at once he said, ”Well, of course you may go but how do you know this to be true? And, if it’s true, can others go to see this great wise teacher also?”

“How we know is a strange tale if you wish to hear it; perhaps we should sit in the shade a while and I will tell you.” The whole gaggle of family friends and servants had been following this exchange closely. At this suggestion they all moved inside the gateway and settled on the smooth rocks and paving stones of the courtyard, beneath the dense foliage of the area round the entry. The head of the group of wanderers, Naradatta, sat himself on a flat-topped boulder, in front of a thick-trunked tree, and began to speak. Everyone settled quickly and was soon caught up in the tale.


* * *

“As we made our way here, returning from the high snows of the Himalayas as we do every year, we came by a slightly different route than usual and, by this new road, we paused to halt at an ancient tree, a giant banyan not unlike this one I sit beneath right now.” He brought his hands together at these words and raised them to his forehead, as a gesture of respect.

“The thought occurred to me: ‘this tree is so great in size, so aged, there must been some kind of mighty rukkha-deva who resides here. How good it would be if this were so and if he would provide this large group of us with water to drink. And, lo and behold, a spring of drinking water appeared. Then I thought the same with respect to water to bathe in and then, lastly, for some food for all of us to eat – and the great deva who dwelt in the tree provided food for all of us also by his magical powers.

“Then I thought: ‘This is wonderful; this rukkha-deva gives us whatever we think of. I wish we were able to see him.’ Then he appeared and he was of majestic and radiant lineaments, his raiment sublime and supremely delicate.

“One of the group of us asked him: ‘You are of great power and might, rukkha-deva, how did you develop this? What did you do to get it?’ But he was excessively modest and, because he felt the good karma had come from a very small act he didn’t want to tell us. However, after a good deal of urging, he said, ‘Well listen,’ and this is what he told us.

“The tree-spirit was once a poor man who occasionally worked for the Minister of Finance of the kingdom of Kosala. This minister’s name is Anathapindika and he is a long-time devotee and supporter of the Buddha. It is their custom, in the Buddha’s training, to have a fast day once a week, when the householders follow the standard of the monks and nuns and only eat food in the time between dawn and noon.

“Now this labourer had also been a faithful follower of the Buddha for many years. He had lived a life of great virtue and generosity, always sharing his meagre possessions with his family and friends, furthermore he had trained his mind diligently in meditation. On this occasion he had been working hard all day in the forest and he came back to the main house in the evening as hungry as you would expect him to be. The Minister saw him and asked his cook, ’Did anyone tell this man that today was a fast day?’

“’No sir,’ the cook replied.

“’Well, cook him his supper.’

“So the cook prepared him some food and gave it to him, however, when he sat in the house he thought: ‘Hang on, on other days there’s always a great uproar in the house – people chatting and eating and asking for curry and sauce – but today it’s completely quiet. They’ve prepared food for me alone. What can this mean?’

“He found another of the staff and asked what was up. He was told that everyone else was fasting but that they’d forgotten to tell him in the morning; so he decided he wanted to begin the fast instead of eating.

“Then, because he’d worked all day and was hungry, and as he had exhausted himself, he fell ill during the night. The Minister heard of this, came to him and tried to persuade him to eat some medicinal food but, because he had made the promise to fast until dawn, he refused it. And even though the Minister, with great kindness and determination, tried to persuade him to eat something, the noble labourer refused and, when the sun rose, he died even as a garland withers, and was reborn in great splendor and with much power, in that banyan tree.”

* * *

“When we first questioned the rukkha-deva about what discipline and teaching the Minister of Kosala was a follower of, he told us that he was a lay-disciple, an upasaka, of the Buddha Gotama. When we heard the word ’Buddha,’ we too were startled and amazed: we knew that such great beings sometimes do not appear in the universe in many hundreds of thousands of aeons. So, we knew this was why such a small act might have had such a great consequence; for when the object of devotion and faith is of great purity and potency then acts of faith and generosity toward that bring very great rewards of welfare and happiness for a long time.

“Thus faith arose in us that a Buddha had indeed appeared in the world; and now, with your permission, we will leave this very day and go to abide for the Rains at the monastery of the Jetavana with the Buddha Gotama, outside Savatthi.”

“How could I refuse?!” Lord Ghosaka responded, both impressed and inspired by the tale. “You all go with my blessing; but I must say I would like to go too. Can you wait while we make the necessary preparations for our travel?”

“I hope you understand, sir, but we do not wish to be delayed. The monsoon will be upon us shortly and the roads will become impassable. We will go now,” and he ever-so-gently stressed the ‘will,’ “and you may follow after.” Understanding well the great amount of fuss and flapdoodle that would accompany getting the Minister Ghosaka on the road, Naradatta, the head of the samanas, made his point and, with a brief tilt of his chin and no further ado, the entire congregation of ascetics rose and left the park; not pausing even to receive a drink of water, or their alms food for the day.

* * *

The Rains came and went. By the time the wind had changed and the air was cleared of its muggy clamminess, Ghosaka had made all the preparations necessary and – bearing cartloads of offerings for the Buddha and his community, of robe-cloth, medicines and other useful items – he and his two wealthy friends, Kukkuta and Pavariya, set out on the road for Savatthi.

The wagon train was flanked by a substantial body of hired guards, and a number of the male staff had gone along too, but Sama and all the rest of Mitta’s family stayed behind. The party was gone for a number of months. Even though they only stayed at the Jetavana monastery for two weeks, it was a journey of 200 leagues there and back and the gentlemen did not travel in haste. Besides, it was now the cold season and the most pleasant of times to be out and about in the world.

* * *

The big news that rattled through the mansion rumour-mill, as cold season turned to hot and even before the main group had returned, was that each of the three rich merchant lords had vowed to build a monastery for the Buddha and his monastic community at Kosambi. Apparently the whole group of wanderers who had been the annual residents in Ghosita’s park had become the Buddha’s disciples and all had already reached full enlightenment – or at least that’s how the story went.

Sama listened keenly to the tales relayed to her by her bright-eyed and ever-present helper Khujjuttara, who had the ear of just about everyone in the house, and Sama was ready to believe whatever she heard:–– If one of the masters said it how could it not be true?
Despite the fact that it was she who dutifully passed on most of the fascinating stories, her maid-servant was a lot harder to convince. She was wary and chary of all fads and enthusiasms and tended only to trust hard evidence. “I’m not sure I believe all that tree-deva stuff,” she looked sideways at Sama. “I have to see it with my own eyes before I’ll swallow it myself: ‘The poor labourer dying because of pure-hearted devotion then getting reborn as a super-duper deva on the strength of it’– sounds like a tall story to me.”

Soon Lord Ghosaka was back in residence and, it quickly became apparent, that at least the story about the new monasteries was true. He was going to donate the park where the wanderers had been staying, while the other two wealthy magnates had acquired land outside the city walls and would be building their monasteries there.

As there were already a large number of monastic huts, or kutis, at Ghosita’s park he was able to have the place well-developed within a short span of time. He built a new, somewhat larger kuti for the Buddha, in a particularly beautiful grove, with plenty of shade around it, and he increased the number of wells and bathing areas. He erected a dining hall and repaved some of the main walkways, he refurbished the meeting hall and, lastly, hung up a grand and sonorous bell as he thought that might be useful to gather everyone for such times as the Master was due to offer teachings to the community and to folks who came to listen from around the town.

Spurred by the beautiful work that Ghosaka had done, Kukkuta and Pavariya redoubled their efforts and, although those latter places were not quite so splendid, all three were complete and ready for use by the time the first thunderstorms that presaged the next Rainy Season arrived.

* * *

The ferment of anticipation at the Minister’s mansion was now hitting a peak. Word had it that the Buddha and a large group of monks were on their way and should be reaching Kosambi the very next morning. The usually lofty and dignified Minister was striding here and there, giving orders and then changing them shortly after, with an expression on his long thin face of an intense happiness edged with a slightly frantic anxiety. The Duchess was doing her best to balance out his mood by being particularly calm and systematic about what preparations might be needed, and what not.

Sama was caught up like everyone in the energetic and inspired mood. They were busy making food preparations, flower displays, cleaning oil lamps and a hundred other tasks. A large cluster of the girls of her age lent their hands to loading much of the floral arrangements and votive offerings into some carts and then wheeling them along the streets to the park – now renamed ’Ghositarama.’ Along the way they found that much of the town had also heard the news: that some great spiritual teacher had charmed or impressed the three richest families in Kosambi – apart from the Royal Household of course – to construct not one, but three, residences for him. He must be something special. There was expectancy in the air.

As word spread around the town of this imminent arrival, it was swiftly realized that this self-same teacher had indeed passed time in the area before – at least one who was known by the same name, the Samana Gotama, or Gotama Buddha.

He had resided at the old Krishna temple on the outside of town from time to time, it was even said that King Udena had deeded it to him in perpetuity but that – since this bestowal had raised such howls of protest from the brahmin priests, who claimed ‘inviolable and sacred’ proprietary rights – he had quietly rescinded the offering and let the established priesthood reclaim their ownership.

Many of the townsfolk had fond and inspired memories of visiting the old Krishna Grove, to listen to the Master’s teachings in the evenings, or going to meet him and ask questions in smaller circles of dialogue during the days when he was around. Those who remembered him and his community of nuns and monks from before were thrilled and gladdened by the idea that they would soon be able to enjoy their sacred company once again. Those who had never made it out to the old ruined temple in the Simsapa forest beggared the patience of those who had, peppering them with endless questions about this great Master, his teachings and the way of life he espoused.

When Lord Ghosaka heard about these earlier visits of the Buddha to his own town, he had chuckled and cursed his luck at having missed those precious opportunities, “There I was, being so proud of my appointment as the Ambassador to Uttarakuru for all those years, all puffed up with my new title off in the scenic mountains, meanwhile the rarest of saints and sages had come to camp in my old back yard – and I never knew about it! What a business, eh?”

When the big moment came Sama knelt by the roadside with Khujjuttara behind her and mother and father beside her. The silent line of monks paced steadily towards them down the dusty main street of the town, with a tall, broad-shouldered figure at their head who emanated happiness and peace in every gesture. Sama was filled with heart-pounding excitement and an utter stillness.

He paused momentarily as he reached the group gathered by the great gate. He leaned forward and Sama placed an offering of rice in his alms-bowl. Others around her did the same and, when the last offering had been made, the Buddha stood still and straight and recited a blessing – rejoicing in the good karma they had created by this act of generosity – then he smiled, casting his eye over the whole assembly there.

The Lord Ghosaka rose up and stepped forward, then bowed to the Buddha three times.

“Venerable Sir, may I offer this park to be a monastery for your Order, for the Sangha of the Four Quarters Present and Yet to Come?”

The tall, serene presence of the Buddha filled Ghosaka’s vision. The Master consented to the gift in silence and with a gentle inclination of his head; he then walked inside followed by the long train of ochre-robed monks, all shaven-headed and bare-footed.

* * *

That day was the first of many when Sama was blissfully happy. There were times of the year when the Buddha was present and times when he wandered the paths and forests of Jambudipa, seeking lonely places to meditate in silence and to enjoy the wilderness, away from human constructions and busyness. Other times he returned to Kosambi and resided for long periods.

She loved to help prepare food for the monks and nuns and to rise early to offer it in the morning. On those precious days when she could put food into the Buddha’s own bowl, at that moment there was no doubt in her mind that above all things she loved the good and all she really wanted in life was to be good – it was so clear.

From time to time she was able to go to the Ghositarama, the Pavariyarama or to Kukkutarama, to attend a teaching or be part of some special puja, but usually her father was busy with the affairs of the household and the Minister’s numerous responsibilities. And, since Mitta didn’t share his master’s religious enthusiasm, with the arrival of the Buddha on the scene the Minister had been preoccupied with his spiritual aspirations and had passed more duties into Mitta’s care; there was thus no time at all now for such things as family outings.

He also didn’t want Sundari or the other women of the household going about in his absence so, the long and the short of it was that Sama and her mother often had to stay home.

As ever, Khujjuttara seemed to slip through the net: “See, I’m a slave. I don’t count, so no one sees me – sometimes that’s a very handy thing.” She chortled to Sama, her face alight with her broad and beaming smile. Thus, mostly for her young mistress’s sake, she would go along to the Buddha’s many talks, sidle in at the back, sit in the shadows and then come home having remembered everything the teacher had said.

“You’re amazing!” said Sama, “How do you do it?”

“It’s easy, miss, I’ve got a mind like sticky-sap – you know, the stuff they melt out of trees and make waterproof things with. It’s sticky; people say stuff, it sticks in my memory and I carry it off with me. It’s not a big effort but it also doesn’t mean that I understand everything I remember. That’s something else all together.”


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Notes and References:

Chapter 9:

1. Page 97 — ’Mango’ isn’t really a very suitable name, is it?... ‘Mango,’ as mentioned above, is the English translation of ‘Amba.’ The most famous character in Buddhist myth and scripture with a ‘mango’ name was Ambapālī, the great courtesan of Vesāli.
Once, when she had invited the Buddha and his monks to a meal at her house and he had accepted, she refused 100,000 gold pieces that she was subsequently offered to give up the invitation to the Licchavi princes: “They snapped their fingers saying, ‘We’ve been beaten by the mango-girl, we’ve been outwitted by the mango-girl.’” This story is recounted in The Discourse on The Buddha’s Last Days, D 16.2.16. Later she became a nun and a famous arahant; her verses of enlightenment are recorded at Thig. 13.1.

2. Page 100 — a large group of ascetic wanderers,… came and stayed… This part of the story also comes directly from The Story Cycle of King Udena, in the Dhammapada Commentary to verses 21-3; see ‘Buddhist Legends Vol I,’ pp. 277-80.

3. Page 104 — acts of faith … bring … welfare and happiness for a long time… This principle is described by the Buddha in many places in the scriptures. For example, in The Discourse on the Exposition of Offerings at M 142, and at D 16.5.11: “A stupa should be erected for the Tathāgata. And whoever lays wreaths or puts sweet perfumes and colours there with a devout heart, will reap benefit and happiness for a long time.”

4. Page 106 — He was going to donate the park where the wanderers had been staying… As it turned out, the Ghositārāma was the only monastery ever established within the walls of a city during the Buddha’s lifetime. The foundations of the old monastery compound and the pillar planted there by the Emperor Ashoka can still be seen at the site of ancient Kosambi to this day.

5. Page 107 — the Buddha stood still and straight and recited a blessing… Even in the Buddha’s time this kind of ‘anumodanā’ (literally, ‘rejoicing in the good that has been done’) was given, e.g. at M 91.17.

6. Page 107 — the paths and forests of Jambudipa… ‘Jambudipa’ is an ancient name for India. It literally means ‘The Island of Rose Apples.’

7. Page 109 — the stuff they melt out of trees and make waterproof things with … In Thailand, in former times, the sap of the ‘my yahng’ tree was used in this way to make waterproof vessels from basketwork, and to afix axe-handles, knife-blades etc.