The Nine-Colored Deer: A Thousand-Year Tale of Gratitude and Betrayal

Cave 257, Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang: A Thousand-Year Mural

On the western wall of Cave 257 in the Mogao Grottoes at Dunhuang, Gansu Province, there is a mural painted during the Northern Wei dynasty. The protagonist of this painting is not the Buddha, nor a bodhisattva, but a deer whose entire body radiates nine colors—the Nine-Colored Deer.

This deer is draped in nine hues, its antlers white as snow, its posture noble and unhurried. It stands on the banks of the Ganges, its gaze calm and steady. Surrounding it unfolds a human drama of gratitude and resentment, good and evil, trust and betrayal.

This mural was created in the fifth century CE, more than fifteen hundred years ago. Yet the story it tells is far older than the mural itself—it comes from the Buddhist texts The Collection of the Six Perfections and The Sutra of the Nine-Colored Deer, and is one of the most widely known and deeply cherished chapters among all the Jataka tales of the Buddha.

The Tale: Salvation on the Banks of the Ganges

Long, long ago, in a dense forest on the banks of the Ganges, there lived a wondrous deer. Its coat shimmered with nine colors in the sunlight—red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, violet, silver, and gold. Each strand of fur seemed steeped in celestial light. Its antlers were white as jade, its hooves touched the earth like clouds gliding over water. This was the Nine-Colored Deer.

The deer had an inseparable companion—a bird called Crow. They lived freely in the forest, drinking from clear springs, grazing on wild grasses, befriending all creatures.

One day, a flash flood suddenly surged down from the upper reaches of the Ganges. The murky waters, laden with mud and broken timber, swept forward with the force of a thunderbolt. From the river came a man's desperate cry for help—he had been swept away by the flood, struggling and tumbling in the torrent, driven underwater again and again by the waves.

The Nine-Colored Deer heard the cry.

It did not hesitate.

It leaped into the raging current.

The floodwater was freezing cold, the undercurrents fierce as serpents. The deer fought with all its strength against the flow, swept back time and again, yet pressing forward each time. At last it reached the drowning man and let him climb onto its back. The deer carried this man, battling the flood for a long, long time, until it finally delivered him safely to the shore.

The drowning man collapsed on the riverbank, gasping for breath. When he came to his senses and saw before him a divine deer radiating nine colors, he was struck dumb.

He fell to his knees and bowed repeatedly. "My savior! You saved my life! I will be your servant, serving you all my days, to repay the debt of my life!"

The Nine-Colored Deer gently shook its head, its voice soft yet firm. "I have no need of your service. I ask only one thing—please do not reveal my whereabouts to anyone. The world covets my pelt and my antlers. If they learn where I dwell, they will surely come to hunt me."

The man swore an oath to heaven. "I will never reveal your location! If I break this oath, may my mouth fester and my body be covered in sores!"

The Nine-Colored Deer nodded and disappeared into the depths of the forest.

The Queen's Dream: The Seed of Greed

Meanwhile, in the palace of that kingdom, the queen had a strange dream.

She dreamed of a deer radiating nine colors of light, standing on a golden meadow, so beautiful it took her breath away. When she awoke, a seed of greed took root in the queen's heart—she wanted that deer's pelt for a cushion, and its antlers for ornaments.

This seed quickly sprouted and grew into an uncontrollable desire.

The queen stopped eating and drinking, spending her days in tears. She said to the king, "I had a dream. I dreamed of a nine-colored deer. I must have its pelt and antlers, or I will never rest in peace."

The king loved the queen dearly. Seeing her emaciated form cut him to the heart. So he issued a decree: proclamations would be posted throughout the kingdom, offering a rich reward for news of the Nine-Colored Deer. Anyone who provided information would receive one thousand taels each of gold and silver; whoever captured the deer would be granted half the kingdom.

The proclamations sent the entire nation into an uproar.

Betrayal: A Soul Consumed by Greed

The man who had been saved from the flood by the Nine-Colored Deer was named Tiaoda.

Tiaoda was scraping by along the river, his clothes in tatters, barely able to feed himself. When he saw the sums of gold and silver written on the reward proclamation, his eyes lit up.

One thousand taels of gold. One thousand taels of silver. And a fief of half the kingdom.

These numbers burned through his mind like wildfire. He recalled the deer's entreaty—"Please do not reveal my whereabouts to anyone." He recalled his own oath—"If I break this oath, may my mouth fester and my body be covered in sores."

But in the face of greed, an oath is as light as a feather.

Tiaoda tore down the proclamation and marched straight to the palace. He told the king, "I know where the Nine-Colored Deer is. I can take you there."

He led the king's great army, marching grandly toward the dense forest on the banks of the Ganges. All along the way, he walked at the very front, his footsteps urgent and resolute—as if he had completely forgotten how the Nine-Colored Deer had pulled him back from the edge of death.

As if he had completely forgotten those gentle, resolute eyes.

Confrontation: The Nine-Colored Deer's Declaration

The deer's companion Crow was the first to sense the danger. It flew high into the sky and saw a great cloud of dust in the distance, an army marching toward the forest.

Crow hurried back to warn the deer. "Run! Someone is coming with soldiers!"

But it was already too late.

The king's army surrounded the forest from all sides, archers with bows drawn, weapons bristling. The Nine-Colored Deer was trapped in the encirclement with nowhere to retreat.

Tiaoda stood beside the king, pointing at the deer. "That's it! That's the deer!"

The Nine-Colored Deer saw Tiaoda.

It recognized this man—the man it had risked its life to save from the flood. The man who had knelt on the ground, weeping with gratitude. The man who had sworn to heaven that he would never reveal its whereabouts.

The Nine-Colored Deer was not angry. It did not flee. It did not resist.

It walked slowly toward the king, its gaze as clear as water. Coming before the king, the Nine-Colored Deer suddenly spoke.

"Great King," its voice was calm, neither humble nor arrogant. "Before you give the order to shoot me, please allow me to say one thing."

The king, astonished, nodded.

The deer asked, "Great King, who told you where I was?"

The king pointed to Tiaoda. "This man."

The Nine-Colored Deer turned to look at Tiaoda. There was no resentment in its gaze—only deep compassion.

"Great King," the deer continued, "this man once fell into the Ganges, his life hanging by a thread. I leaped into the torrent without regard for my own life and rescued him. He knelt before me and swore never to reveal my whereabouts. Now, for the sake of gold and silver, he has broken his oath and betrayed his savior."

The deer's voice echoed through the forest, heard clearly by everyone present.

"Those who show me kindness, I engrave in my heart. Those who wrong me, I do not resent. But those who betray trust—their evil will surely return upon themselves."

The Ending: Karma Repays Itself

The king fell silent after hearing the deer's words.

He looked at the Nine-Colored Deer—noble, dignified, composed even in the face of death. Then he looked at Tiaoda—face flushed red, eyes darting, body trembling.

The king's mind was a clear mirror.

He ordered the army to withdraw and issued a decree: from this day forward, no one was permitted to hunt the Nine-Colored Deer; violators would be severely punished.

And Tiaoda? Just as he himself had sworn—festering sores erupted in his mouth, and his entire body broke out in ulcers. The consequences of greed and betrayal descended upon him like a shadow.

This was no divine punishment. It was the natural law of karma. Plant an evil cause, and an evil result will surely follow. Just as a seed planted in the Ganges will one day bloom and bear fruit.

The Nine-Colored Deer returned to the depths of its forest and resumed its peaceful life. The Ganges kept flowing, the forest kept flourishing, and the story of gratitude and betrayal spread from the riverbanks, crossing countless centuries, until it was finally fixed upon the walls of the Mogao Grottoes at Dunhuang.

The Meaning of the Jataka: The Buddha's Past Life

In the Buddhist scriptures, the Nine-Colored Deer is one of the past-life incarnations of Shakyamuni Buddha. These are known as Jataka tales—stories recounting the Buddha's practice of the bodhisattva path across countless lifetimes before his enlightenment.

In this story:

• The Nine-Colored Deer represents the Buddha's past life—acting with compassion, seeking no reward, harboring no hatred even when betrayed
• Tiaoda is the past life of Devadatta—the Buddha's rebellious disciple, symbolizing greed and betrayal
• The King represents an ordinary person capable of being awakened by truth, demonstrating the power of the Dharma to transform hearts
• The Queen represents the root of ignorance and craving

This story is not merely a fable about good and evil. Its deeper meaning lies in this: true goodness is not contingent upon the other person's response. The deer saved Tiaoda not because Tiaoda deserved saving, but because saving a life is the instinct of goodness. Even after being betrayed, the Nine-Colored Deer never regretted its original act of kindness.

This is the spirit of the bodhisattva path—boundless compassion without condition, universal empathy as though all beings share one body.

The Artistic Beauty of the Dunhuang Mural

Returning to Cave 257 of the Mogao Grottoes, let us examine the artistic expression of this mural closely.

The composition employs a horizontal scroll format. The story begins at both ends and develops toward the center, reaching its climax in the middle of the painting—the confrontation between the Nine-Colored Deer and the king. This compositional technique is exceedingly rare in traditional Chinese painting, revealing the extraordinary narrative skill of the ancient artists.

The image of the deer is rendered with remarkable elegance: a slender body, unhurried posture, its nine colors layered with delicate brushwork and mineral pigments. Even today, a millennium and a half later, though the colors have faded, they still convey a beauty that transcends time.

The most moving detail is the deer's posture as it faces the king—neither humble nor arrogant, head held high, standing tall. This stance has been regarded by later generations as a symbol of personal dignity. A hunted animal displayed a nobler bearing than anyone else present.

Reflections for Today: When We Face Betrayal

The story of the Nine-Colored Deer may have taken place "long, long ago," but the truths it reveals about human nature remain vividly alive today.

In our own lives, have we not encountered such moments—you pour everything into helping someone, only to have them turn and bite you? You offer genuine trust, only to receive betrayal in return?

The Nine-Colored Deer's lesson is not "do not be kind." Rather:

First, kindness should have boundaries, but you need not change your nature because of wicked people. The deer knew of Tiaoda's betrayal, yet it did not become a vicious deer. It chose to face the situation with truth and dignity.

Second, karma is infallible, but it is not yours to enforce. Tiaoda's suffering was not inflicted by the deer—it was the backlash of his own greed. We need not seek revenge. We need only let the truth speak.

Third, the greatest power is not violence, but truth. Facing a vast army, the Nine-Colored Deer did not resist with force. It calmly stated the facts. The facts alone were enough to awaken the king's conscience.

Questions for Deeper Reflection

If you were the Nine-Colored Deer, facing someone you had saved who then sold you out—what would you do?

In real life, have we not, like Tiaoda, forgotten the kindness of others for the sake of our own interests?

The four characters "know gratitude, repay kindness" are easy to say—but before the temptation of gain, why do so many people fail to uphold them?

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The story of the Nine-Colored Deer has been fixed in the Dunhuang murals for a thousand years. And in each of our hearts, does there not also dwell a Nine-Colored Deer—noble, kind, unwilling to abandon the belief in goodness even when wounded?

May we, when facing the darkness of human nature, still be like the Nine-Colored Deer—never losing the radiance of those nine colors within.