Ashoka the Great

by Keuning, Wytze

  Asita, the Udgatar, began the recitation of the sonorous samans from the sacrificial place, which in its loudness drowned out the faint, far-off sounds of the strings. In awe, the gathering murmured its approval of the holy chants of the Hotar and was glad the intrusive and sacrilegious sounds of the ravanastha were suppressed by the powerful renderings of the priest. The Adhvaryu, who had lit the three fires and greeted the flames, now poured into the sacred ladles the soma that had been squeezed thrice with great care by Rohini. Thus, in the glow of the fire, still softly intoning, he reverentially offered it to the gods, who had now descended and were seated on the kusha-grass. The Brahmins awaited their gifts and the Vaishyas listened in silent worship of the gods to the sonorous—and to them unintelligible—Vedic chants. When the offering was over, Jivaka and Rohini presented the Brahmins with the soma. They greedily drank the fiery juice.

  Sasarman’s voice was now again heard in the distance. He recited a verse from the Rig Veda:

  We all have various likings, various is what we wish:

  A broken wheel for the wagon maker, for the healer a broken leg,

  For the priest, the one who squeezes the soma,

  May the soma flow towards Indra!

  Narada knew the verse, but hearing it from the lips of a layman angered him. He hid his anger, though, and continued with the ceremony. The Adhvaryu gathered the animals and tied them to the pole. The soma gave him strength for the heavy work he had yet to do. Rohini looked with distressed eyes at the white cow, her favourite, chosen by Narada for the sacrifice. The goats bleated, frightened of the human beings and the ominous air. The Hotar once again invoked the gods to take their places before the fire. The adhvaryu grabbed the nooses and, untying the animals, put the loop one by one around their necks, performing yayus with each of his actions. Crying, gasping and struggling, each beast had its last breath squeezed out. Nothing from the offering was to be spilled or wasted, not even a drop of blood. The priest knew his work. Jivaka muttered prayers, and Rohini grieved deeply for her beloved animals, but forcefully suppressed her feelings. For had not the priest said the sacrifice was necessary? The Udgatar’s mantras reverberated, creating among the guests a great desire for the offerings. The Brahmins received the tongue, neck and withers, trunk and legs, loin for the men and the belly for the women. They all feasted, except for Rohini, who reluctantly took one small piece of meat. The Brahmins drank the soma with their meal, soma which no Vaishya was allowed to taste. The merriment grew apace as Chandra proceeded on his path with a full laughing face.

  Ha, the violator of the offering! Again, his voice raged through the night:

  Just as the priests are sitting at night

  With the sweet soma

  Around the brimful vessel and deliberate,

  So do you frogs, now celebrate the day… … …

  Yes, priests they are, who, full of the sweet soma,

  Loudly chant the prayer of this great day. … …

  ‘Come, Vaishyas, who will catch the violator of this sacrifice who mocks the holy Brahmins, bind him and take him to the king tomorrow?’

  A few Vaishyas sprang up and charged towards the dwelling of the heretic, cursed by Narada, and bound him. The next day they would deliver him to the Maharajah’s durbar in Pataliputra, where the court was held. The ceremony proceeded; the soma vanishing like dew in the hot summer sun, the meat disappearing like hail in Surya’s rays.

  Rohini’s heart shrank upon hearing Sasarman’s audacious singing. She was hardly able to complete the circumambulation around the altars. This sacrifice could not bring her a son. After all, which god would grant a boon amidst these desecrated prayers? Narada saw her alarmed face. He approached Jivaka.

  ‘No sinner can disrupt the ceremony of my priests, Jivaka. The power of their prayer is greater than that of the gods.’

  ‘Your words are holy, Narada.’

  The Brahmins and other Aryans ate on greedily, the fat dripping from their hands and chins. With huge, noisy gulps, the members of the highest varna feasted on the soma which clouded their brains. Their loose tongues praised the sacrifice.

  ‘The Vaishyas should offer more. It will only be to their advantage. The gods will forget them if they are not more generous with their animals and soma.’

  ‘Narada is not easily pleased. He should lower the fee for the offering, then the offering will be greater,’ Pindola suggested, the soma loosening his tongue.

  ‘The more expensive, the more desirable,’ whispered Jamana. ‘Too little and they will not appreciate it.’

  ‘In any case, my Pindola, it is not good for you. You stagger, though you barely tasted a drop of soma,’ breathed another in his ear.

  ‘Rohini might well be able to conceive a son of mine, at least if Jivaka is the guilty one the gods are punishing,’ concluded Pindola.

  This remark led to lewd sniggers amongst the men who heard it, but Pindola, convinced by his claim, stared thoughtfully into the distance.

  ‘The Kamasutras, the sacred teachings on love, would find you blameless,’ assessed Muda, who was as fond of scandals as he was of soma. ‘It would be better to teach her the means of the Kamasutras, which would increase Jivaka’s potency,’ noted another in a serious tone.

  ‘I will provide her with those tomorrow. I am free to pay her a visit, for the sutras say … as long as it is done for other reasons.’

  ‘Drink your soma and keep quiet!’ hissed Tjitaka. ‘Should Jivaka’s sacrifice be destined to fail, will you degrade the Brahmin varna even more than is happening already nowadays? Is it not annoying enough that a Vaishya, yonder, dares to mock the priests while we dedicate an offering to the gods? You make yourself guilty with your foul talk!’

  ‘It is the Soma that makes me say more than usual, more even than I wish,’ Pindola stammered weakly.

  Once again, stifled laughter.

  ‘Then we can hardly blame a Vaishya who does not restrain himself if the Brahmins ridicule themselves,’, whispered Jala angrily.

  Munda then cracked a joke: ‘Who visited Drona recently to provide the same services?’

  ‘I will not discuss this at gatherings where other varnas are present.’

  Ashoka had drawn near the Brahmins, unnoticed, and with his keen hearing had followed the entire conversation. Finally, he asked:

  ‘Would the honourable Brahmins like to answer a question for me? I believe that you are all wise and know the laws, for Manu says: ‘As many mouthfuls that a man, who does not know the law, swallows during an offering ceremony to the gods or to the forefathers, as many must the presenter of the meal swallow of red-hot spokes, spears, or iron balls after his death.’ And you do not wish to inflict that misery on Jivaka, do you?’

  ‘Who are you? Do you know the Rishis, young Vaishya? For Manu also says: ‘Just as a farmer does not harvest when he plants his seed in infertile soil, so will the presenter of the offering meal not reap rewards if he gives it to a man who is ignorant of the Rishis.

  ‘I know the Vedas, honourable Brahmins.’

  ‘Well now, then ask!’

  ‘What makes the sacrifice a success?’

  ‘The animals!’ shrieked Pindola.

  ‘And the soma,’ scoffed Jamana, who thought the Vaishya bold.

  ‘And what of the role of the priests?’ asked Ashoka. Kullika listened nervously. He feared his pupil would say things that were risky.

  ‘That depends not on the sacrifice, but on the correct performance.’

  ‘And the guests?’

  ‘They cooperate with their attention. You would do well to listen and participate in that way, otherwise Jivaka may be sorry he invited you. Take your place once again! That is better than to keep leaving your seat,’ added Muna, speaking down to him. He had noticed the young man more than once leaving his place. But Ashoka was not in the least unnerved by the arrogant answers of the Brahmins.

  ‘And the invited members of the highest varna?’

  ‘The Brahmins are the sacrif
icial table for the leavings of the offering gifts, impudent young fellow.’

  ‘No more?’

  ‘No more.’

  ‘Must they not, in gratitude for the hospitality they enjoy, try to help create the best possible atmosphere for the offering?’

  ‘Gratitude applies solely to the one who is offering.’

  ‘Why then is it that the Aryans keep offering less nowadays, honourable Brahmins?’

  ‘It is the heretics that more and more are leading the unwitting Aryans astray: the followers of the Shakyamuni13, the Jains, the Ajivikas, the loose-lipped sannyasins and vanaprasthas14 from the forest recluses, who attempt to convey the secret doctrine to those for whom it is not intended.’

  ‘These heretics do not know the Brahmins,’ remarked Ashoka rather ambiguously.

  ‘That is a ray of light striking the mind of a Vaishya,’ snapped the other.

  ‘Then nothing can disturb the good outcome of the offering, if the payment is made, the animals are correctly offered, the remainders enjoyed by the Aryans, according to their varna?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Even less can a verse from the Rig Veda disturb.’

  ‘No, for that the revealed scriptures are too sacred.’

  ‘That means Sasarman is not guilty. He could not possibly disturb the sacrifice; the verses he recited were from the scriptures.’

  ‘But untimely, and in any case, inappropriate at Jivaka’s offering.’

  ‘Can a Veda text ever be inappropriate?’

  ‘From the mouth of a heretic! As inappropriate as it is for a Vaishya to ask probing questions to the Brahmins!’

  ‘Thus you consider it sinful of the holy Haridrumata to take on Nachiketu as brahmacharin, although he had confessed that his mother did not know whose son he was because she had served in different households!’

  ‘Disturb the offering no longer with such impious questions, young Vaishya!’

  ‘I thank the holy Brahmins for their friendly willingness to answer me,’ replied Ashoka. He then turned away. The Brahmins looked on indignantly.

  ‘Who is that headstrong Vaishya?’ one of them asked of Kullika.

  ‘Who art Thou? Who am I? Who were you in a previous life? Who is he? Can it be Shiva?’ the Guru asked all of a sudden, as he could not but keep thinking of what had happened on the Barren Mountain.

  ‘Shiva has been invoked by the Hotar to the ceremony and he has been offered a seat on the holy kusha-grass. Shiva knows all that has taken place here. Did not Krishna appear as Arjuna’s charioteer? Why could not the young one be Shiva in the cloth of a Vaishya! Could he have risen from the kusha-grass and entered into the young Vaishya? Did you see the look in his eyes? Shiva, god of fertility, but also god of life and death!’

  Kullika’s words brought much excitement to the susceptible and superstitious men who kept up a fierce murmuring among themselves. The Vaishya’s conduct was most unusual to them. Which Aryan of a lower varna than theirs would dare to behave so confidently towards the Brahmins, and more so, while attending such an important ceremony? And his eyes! The stranger was right! They had never seen such eyes. Brilliant black, yes, yes! From those eyes emanated a god’s will … a world-will. Shiva! Excitedly the group dispersed. Some Brahmins staggered on their legs, replete from the offering left overs. A deathly fear overpowered those who had spoken with Ashoka. All of them intoned incantations and propitiatory verses and praised Shiva highly that he wished to be present at this great offering. Kullika watched them grimly and waited for Ashoka.

  The Prince had gone to Sasarman. The full moon illuminated the place where he lay. Two strong Vaishyas guarded him and muttered fearfully the appropriate prayers to keep the goblins and demons at bay, which undoubtedly must be floating around in this sinful dwelling. Ashoka approached silently, and then suddenly appeared in the full light; the Vaishyas trembled. When they recognised the strange Vaishya who was present at the offering ceremony, they felt their lives had been spared. Ashoka looked at them silently. ‘Back!’ he roared. Aghast, the Vaishyas withdrew to the entrance of Sasarman’s home.

  ‘Stay there!’ They remained there, motionless.

  ‘Sasarman, you were reckless,’ he said softly.

  ‘Yes, Vaishya.’

  ‘I want to save your life. I need you. You know the Brahmin courts are merciless concerning the disruption of sacrifices.’

  ‘Lord, loosen my ties.’

  Ashoka threw his cloth aside and quickly cut through the ropes.

  ‘Who are you, Lord?’

  ‘One day you will know. Do not defy the Brahmins as of now, and wait for my return within a few days.’

  The Prince threw the cloth over his shoulders once again and approached the two guards.

  ‘Go home and leave Sasarman alone.’

  ‘Narada will be sure to get to us, Lord.’

  ‘Tell him Shiva does not want Sasarman to be punished.’

  Looking around with fear in their eyes, the Vaishyas left. Each rustling of trees, each movement of the beam of moonlight, each cry of an animal for its mate in the night or each sound of them in a hunt for prey, roused an eerie fear in them. Ashoka walked back to Jivaka’s homestead, deep in thought, where Kullika was eagerly waiting for him.

  ‘May I show my guests their sleeping place?’ asked Jivaka as he stepped near.

  ‘May your sacrifice bear rich fruit, Jivaka,’ said Kullika.

  ‘Thank you, Lord. Hopefully it wasn’t disturbed by Sasarman.’

  ‘I know a wise Brahmin, Jivaka. Many a childless Aryan turned to him because of his great wisdom and knowledge. He spared them from a life without sons.’

  ‘Where does he live, Lord?’

  ‘Cross the Ganga where Padmavati lies, then walk through the areca palm woods and you will soon come across the hermitage of the holy Sayana. He will give you sound advice, for he is skilled in all the Vedas.’

  ‘On which day, at which hour, Lord?’

  ‘Before the new moon, when Savitr15, passes through Ushas’ purple gate.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord.’

  The young Prince stretched out on his simple cot and slept. The Guru, himself enthralled in the fabulous tales, could not sleep. Which life was the Wild Prince destined for? Who was he prior to this birth? Would a god assume the life of a human being for enriching his karma? Ashoka: willpower, strength, yet unrestrained. Was he, Kullika, the guru of this Prince, or was Ashoka himself the guru, ‘the Great Guru’16, and he, poor Brahmin, merely a pupil?

  Early the next morning Rohini stoked the holy fire and performed the Agni-hotra, the morning libations. With great care, she prepared the meal of which the gods were served first, brought to them by Agni, the beloved fire god. During the preparation she did not miss any of the mantras which Jivaka had learned from the Brahmins. Jivaka had enjoyed a good education and knew by heart all the Srauta rites to bless the house. Nothing should be left out in Jivaka’s house: scouring of vessel, making of clay pots, milking—how it had hurt her this morning, missing her favourite cows but she had banished her sorrow with prayers and mantras—maintaining the holy fire and all of the forty rites that a Vaishya is supposed to fulfil, each day, each month, each year. What sin could she have committed in a previous life? Narada was a learned priest: he should know! She sighed deeply; quietly she muttered a penitent prayer.

  Just then Kullika comes in, and says, ‘Our young hostess sighs so deeply.’

  ‘Honoured art thou, our guest. Yes, I sigh, Lord. Not because I am discontented, not because all the rites that Jivaka wishes to be faithfully performed are too heavy for me. It is because Narada says that if our great sacrifice does not work, it is because of a great sin in a previous life. Can all those costly offerings, joyfully brought then be of no avail?’

  ‘Gautama says that he who is purified by the forty rites, but lacks the eight good qualities, will not be united with Brahman and reach heaven.’

  ‘What good qualities, Lord?’

  ‘Compassion,
liberality, purity, friendliness, doing good deeds and being free from hate, greed and desire. And Vasistha says: Just as the beauty of a woman does not give a blind man pleasure, so do the four Vedas, the six vedangas and the offerings, bring no blessing to those who fall short in the good qualities.’

  ‘Narada says that only the offerings, if brought properly, have power; all the rest is the talk of heretics. A Vaishya would do better to shut his ears to such sinful thoughts. Are you also a Brahmin, Lord?’

  ‘Surely, Rohini, but Sayana is the wisest Brahmin I know. Let Jivaka seek his counsel.’

  Ashoka, refreshed by deep sleep, greeted Rohini now as well.

  ‘Shall we return to Pataliputra, my Guru?’

  ‘As you wish, Lord.’

  3

  THE EMPEROR’S DECISION

  n the busy King’s Road that led to the Maharajah’s palace, Tishia, Ashoka’s younger brother, hastened, hoping to meet his brother and Guru along the way.

  ‘Ashoka, messengers from Taxila1 report of a revolt in the far-west region of Father’s kingdom.’

  ‘May the gods have mercy on the wretches, Tishia.’

  ‘Surely, they will not, Ashoka, for these people live on the other side of the Sarasvati. Our Guru tells us they are accursed. Within a few days the army will be sent to punish them.’

  ‘I am not surprised that something is brewing there. The Yavanas2 are always instigating rebellion and many half-wild tribes live there. Father will dispatch them to Yama, I fear. What say you, my Kullika?’

  ‘To be born in those unholy regions is not good fortune.’

  At the palace, Ashoka quickly made his way to the Anthapura, the ladies’ quarters of the royal harem.

  ‘You are back early, my son,’ Subhadrangi, his mother, queried. She was a Brahmin lady with refined features and keen, bright, lively eyes that strongly contrasted with her calm and composed bearing, inspiring trust in those around her.

  ‘Yes, my Mother. Have you already heard of the Taxilan uprising?’

  Gopali, Sumana’s mother, joined the conversation.