‘The Taxilans are good merchants,’ noted Santa, laughing. ‘Those twelve boys there carry the very finest chowries6, the fairest of yak-tails that the Himalayas have to offer. Fan the Prince … that will refresh him after such a long journey!’
‘And extinguish his easily inflamed temper.’
A strong body of soldiers watches over the procession and the tension grows. Even the despised natives who have taken their place far behind the other onlookers feel the threat and remain silent.
‘Ashoka does not come to destroy Taxila, Virata. His army is too small.’
Virata wakes up from his angry thoughts. He has no wish to submit to the Mauryas. He cannot bear this cowardly servitude and the begging for one’s life because it destroys his hopes for the restoration of his kingdom.
‘You give him with his insignificant army the opportunity to strike us down in a most dishonourable way, Sir,’ burst out Virata bitterly.
‘Taxila can merely prosper with a powerful king. A weak king in Pataliputra is as bad for us as a king on the moon.’
‘You preach like a frog that is the king of the moat, to the stork. We do not want a Maurya, neither a weak nor a strong one. He will find me against him.’
‘Is Taxila or your kingdom the ante of your game of dice, my Virata?’
‘My life!’ rasps Virata.
‘Then you play rashly.’
Ashoka’s forces primed for war … He, fierce of mien, on the largest royal elephant Dakada. Revata carrying the imperial parasol, the sacred emblem of the Maharajah; the slightest offence to this symbol will set Bindusara’s powerful army in motion. Covering the animal’s armour of iron is the Emperor’s richest royal-garment: clear blue silk upon which the heraldic emblem of the Mauryas, the peacock, is embroidered in threads of gold. The Prince in a shining white cloak, wearing a turban of Chinese silk with glittering jewels, and just like Shiva the razor-sharp brilliant chakra in his hand. Carts drawn by high-spirited horses with shining coats. Elephants of war armoured and threatening. Warriors heavily armed. Ominous. The commander waits calmly for the procession to descend from the rock of Taxila along the Emperor’s Road. The ministers fall to their knees, fold their hands, and bow their heads deeply to the son of the great Maurya. Vimalamitra greets him with a small bow. Virata stands straight.
‘Noble and High Prince, the temporary government of Taxila has assigned me, Vimalamitra, as senior-most minister, to offer you our surrender. For a long time the officers sent here from Pataliputra to collect the legitimate taxes for the Holy Maharajah performed their duty but in the past years have not restrained themselves from seeking ever more, not for the Maharajah but for their own treasury. If any of us resisted we were punished mercilessly. The citizens of Taxila send their caravans far out into the land of the Greeks. Our trade makes our city rich and we gladly pay the tributary levies for these trades. But we refused to pay twice as much to the Emperor’s officers. Many of Bindusara’s most faithful subjects have been tortured, killed or imprisoned to force them to fill the treasuries of the collectors of which nothing has reached the Maharajah. The people of Taxila have always tolerated injustice poorly, O, mighty Prince. It is thus that they rose up, killed the cruel rulers and the people themselves reformed the government of the city and restored order and peace. Now, we offer you gladly, mighty army commander of the great Maharajah, our city and renew our oath of obedience to the rightful laws of the great Indian empire. Humbly we come to honour you and plead for a government such as the wise Maharajah, without doubt, has intended.’
‘Why a criminal uprising, citizens of Taxila, and not, as is your right, making a case against the disloyal officers of the righteous Maharajah?’
‘Whomsoever spoke of such was punished without mercy, O, Prince. Moreover, the officers assured us that the Maharajah would never protect the despised Punjab against his servants from Madhyadesa. He who came back unsuccessfully from Pataliputra, would be subjected to the most horrific revenge by the rulers of the West …’
‘You have shown little faith in my great Father!’
‘The fear of the ruthless rulers was greater than the faith in the great Maharajah, far away in the East, O, Prince, just as the people of Taxila are more driven by their fear of nagas and dasyus, than by respect for Brahma.’
‘And was there no fear of a fitting punishment by the Maharajah, Vimalamitra?’ Ashoka noticed how the other Taxilan had trouble containing his temper.
‘How large is your army, commander?’ he suddenly interrupted the negotiations.
Ashoka looked sternly into the eyes of the audacious Kshatriya, Virata!
‘As large as I wish it to be, Virata. You have lit the spark of revolt in Pataliputra! How much of support have you asked from the Syrians and the Bactrians, Virata? I will determine the strength of my army based on that.’ Virata, struck dumb, remained silent. ‘You wanted to destroy me and my army, Virata! Did you think that you then would have conquered the Maharajah, you fool? What was your aim when you instigated the uprising against the holy Maharajah, and praised the nagas and dasyus in the Punjab as mightier than the gods of Madhyadesa?’
In his confusion and rage Virata forgot all discretion.
‘With what intention did you, Prince Ashoka, become the unlawful commander of the army instead of the Crown Prince and dare to demand accountability from me?’
‘The same reason why you feared neither the old Bindusara nor Prince Sumana, you, rebel against my Father!’
A chakra hissed like a bolt of lightning from the royal elephant down upon the proud son of a Raja and separated his head from his torso.
‘Take his body away and throw it to the vultures!’
A shiver runs through the kneeling rows. The news that Ashoka’s mighty eye has killed Virata spreads along the road to Taxila like the fleeting flame from a jungle fire in the season of Jyeshtha. Shock and alarm pulsed through the crowds. Sanata and Kantala went pale.
‘You see, the Prince spares no one. Do you think yourself to be safe now?’ asked the priest.
‘The choice is more striking to me than the deed, Lord,’ noted Sanata.
Ashoka does not want panic.
‘What do you have to say to me now, devout Vimalamitra? Has this Taxilan government imprisoned and punished the insurgents?’
‘Lord, some have fled, some were killed; the fate of others is unknown.’
‘And what does Taxila expect of me?’
‘We bring you offerings from the whole population, O, High Prince; we offer you our obedience and loyalty and want to bring you into our city as army commander. We hope then that peace and prosperity will return and justice will prevail, without which Taxila cannot live.’
Vimalamitra nods to the bearers who lay all the glittering, glistening, colourful valuables at the feet of Ashoka’s elephant. The young Prince looks with admiring eyes at all of the treasures that this rich merchant city has gathered for him in a matter of a few hours.
‘Are the treasures, which the rulers took for themselves, among these?’
‘No, O, Prince, this is the personal offering of the Taxilan people to their new Lord so that he may be pleased, just as the gods look upon those who offer, with friendly eyes.’
‘Even when they who sacrifice have deeply offended and insulted the gods?’
‘The offering, the hope of the offering, the joy of the offering, Lord, is proof that one has searched within his own heart and then the gods will forego their vengeance. We beg you, army commander of the great Maharajah, to treat us likewise.’
‘Well, honourable Vimalamitra, I do not desire revenge. If I had wanted to punish the Taxilans and the Khasas, I would have brought an army capable of cleansing your city and the land of the Takkas of all rebelliousness. You wish to be loyal subjects to my father Bindusara. I wish to believe you, and through you, the city of Taxila. Prove to me your earnest desire. I will set one condition: That all the goods, money and valuables that have been taken from the murdered employees
are brought to the palace tomorrow.’
Vimalamitra bowed deeply before the Maurya Prince. A great joy filled him and he thought to himself: Was this a savage? Taxila had dreaded an unreasonable punishment for an unreasonable deed. Ashoka demands justice. Can he do anything other than answer with justice? The citizens may speak for themselves!
‘I thank you, noble Prince; I invite you to follow us to the most beautiful city in the Punjab. Will you allow me to announce to the citizens that they have been accepted in mercy?’
Ashoka merely nods and Vimalamitra gives his orders.
A number of the city’s servants go ahead and one steadily cries out in a loud voice: ‘The noble Prince Ashoka accepts the city with mercy … The noble Prince Ashoka accepts the city with mercy …’
An overpowering emotion swept through the crowds. The tension, heightened by Virata’s death, is suddenly eased away from them. A great joy overcomes them. The procession starts: The ministers, Bindusara’s great Imperial elephant with Ashoka on it, looking fierce, a shining new chakra in his hand, under the beautiful canopy. A shower of flowers of white, blue, pink and red descends before the Prince. The fine fragrance of the flowers wafts up to greet him together with the warm feelings. The steadfastness of the young commander radiates through his bearing and through the equally steady march of his small but fearsome army.
No one notices the interest with which Ashoka takes in the strange blend of races and clothing in their colourful diversity, while riding so confidently and steadfastly between the rows of Taxilans: Merchants from distant lands, scholars, dark figures of natives, girls in white and red robes strewing flowers and themselves adorned by flowers. With respectful reserve each one calls out well-wishes to the new ruler, who looks around silently, swaying with the steps of the proud elephant Dakada. Melodic flutes and rhythmic drums play their slow reverent melodies. Throughout the city, along the road the crowd protrudes from all openings and roof-tops, anxious to get a glimpse of this Prince who had been awaited with such fear. And as he approaches, the touching cries of ‘Hail Ashoka!’ greet him warmly.
12
THE HOUSE OF SUSMILA
irata’s people had left the palace so they could welcome the new Lord. Ashoka immediately put his own sentry in place.
‘I am here whenever you need advice, honoured Vimalamitra. Prince Kala will arrange for the administration of the city on my orders. Ministers appointed by Virata will carry on for the time being; I know they are kindly disposed to me. Furthermore, I wish to be informed which foreigners are residing here and of those who enter and leave the city. Today, all the weapons of your soldiers will be collected and brought to my palace. By law they belong to the Maharajah. As of now the army of Taxila is discharged. Tomorrow, I will receive from you a precise account of the taxes that are levied here. Apart from that, everything should go on as usual.’
‘It will be difficult to do all this in so short a time, O, Prince.’
‘How many ministers do you have?’
‘Seven, Sire.’
‘Each will be given charge of one department … Sela and Sagka, are the soldiers being taken care of?’
‘They are, Sire. The grounds offer abundant space.’
‘And the officers?’
‘The city council has dispatched many officers who are arranging billets for our troops.’
‘Be watchful of betrayal. Weapons at the ready so that no single event occurs unforeseen! Be vigilant over food. For the time being none of my soldiers in the city!’
‘Lord, Revata has gone out disguised as a yogi; I saw he was darkening his face.’
‘Send him here when he returns.’
The next day, porters and beasts of burden appeared with the valuables and treasures that had been stolen from Bindusara’s employees. At that moment Ashoka understood the source of anger and indignation among the Taxilans and why they had rebelled.
‘Honoured Vimalamitra, let it be made known that everyone who has been aggrieved by the disloyal officers will determine what his losses have been. We shall return what was unlawfully taken.’
The ministers rose silently as one, their hands folded, bowing deeply to the Prince who dared to acknowledge the cause for the uprising.
‘Many foreign merchants who have long since left the city cannot reclaim the surplus taxes that they paid, O, righteous Prince.’
‘Take this into account then, wise Vimalamitra: I would like to receive a list of the scholars who live in this city.’
Vimalamitra bowed deeply.
‘Your interest in the lives of the Taxilans moves us deeply, O, Prince.’
‘Did you expect anything different, Sir?’
‘We thought that Madhyadesa had the deepest contempt for Panchanadidesha1. Justice did not exist for the land west of the Sarasvati.’
‘The Maharajah’s officers are not my Father himself.’
‘We had only them to deal with, O, Prince. The people of Taxila consider themselves to be a rich and independent people who know the world better than those in Pataliputra. A great many of those who live here do so without honouring the varnas, without knowledge of the Vedas nor the accompanying sacrifices. What they do know is that the East has drawn a border between them and the West: the desert and the Sarasvati. That is why many keep trying to approach the Syrians and wish to free themselves of the East which merely uses us like a mango that is squeezed for its rich juice. The old clans of kings had hopes of reclaiming their power. They revolted against the avaricious officers.’
‘I thank you for your frank words, honoured Vimalamitra. My Father hardly knew that the cause lay there. It is certain that he did not want these circumstances.’
‘I fear that Panchanadi will never be at peace as long as Pataliputra views it as a land of the godless and the damned.’
‘What do you think will bring peace to the Punjab?’
‘If the Maharajah will permit us to be governed by a viceroy who understands and appreciates life in the West. One who through wise measures will let the people know that their lives are precious, their way of life is respected, their land and property recognised as it is in Madhyadesa. He who wants to rule the West must realise that it is not like a shut-off family circle surrounded by high walls of varna or a rigid moral code, which can be easily subjected to the arbitrary will of the Maharajah’s officers. Our people are acquainted with the customs and mores of the Egyptians, the Iranians, the Babylonians, the Greeks. After all, the gods of Madhyadesa are not the gods of the world. The diverse views from far-off lands cross paths constantly here with those of the Aryans. For us, the world outside India is different but not worse because of it. To isolate oneself from the rest of the world leads to narrow-mindedness.’
‘You may be right, Sir. But Kautilya was a Taxilan; Chandragupta came from the western Himalayas.’
‘No ruler, however mighty, can prevent narrow-mindedness and frustration if he lets his people be downtrodden by a priestly class which expects the people to revere them as the only ones with knowledge and wisdom. Wisdom is not the spiritual possession of any one varna, it is the possession of all mankind. The wise are not those who have learned the Vedas, the Brahmanas and the Upanishads, but those who penetrate into the true meaning of life.’
Ashoka looked at Vimalamitra with surprise.
‘You are a Brahmin!’
‘I am human, O, Prince.’
Ashoka pondered the minister’s words for a long time and thought to himself: Who could ever govern over India with such wisdom? Who would be that unifying force that could bind such diverse ideas? Who could nurture the shoots of a centuries-old bodhi tree and help them grow together towards one huge crown? Who, the striving of all people towards one god? A thousand of peoples obeyed the one Maharajah of Pataliputra. How could that one Maharajah understand thousands of peoples and lead them? Was it the tributary tax system that was of importance or was it the power of the Maharajah? Which gods ruled: those of Madhyadesa or those of the Punjab?
Or, those of the Greeks or Egyptians?
Prince Kala and the ministers received the Taxilans who had been defrauded by the Maharajah’s officers, determined their losses, and awarded them compensation. The people were impressed and overcome by admiration. They had pictured war, siege, looting, killing expeditions of conquering war-lords, the most advanced systems of torture for the instigators of the uprising. Yet, the Prince had not punished them; rather, he had let justice be done, overruling the arrogant employees of the most powerful Maharajah!
When Ashoka and Kullika rode through the streets, seated high on the back of Dakada, protected by the Emperor’s parasol, no expressions of cheer rose from the groups of people. All of them, however, displayed a deep feeling of respect towards him after having their peaceful trust restored.
Ashoka took in the sights of the city with obvious awe: houses of stone, architecture of another world. He stopped before one house built completely from natural stone, whose columns of stone and capitals with leaf motifs supported the roof, architraves with relief depicting scenes he did not even understand. The owner of the house, who had noticed him early on, went outside through the gallery, folded his hands over his head, and bowed deeply before the Prince.
‘Will it please the righteous Prince to look at Susmila’s house?’
‘Susmila, I looked at your house because it was not built from the wood in my Father’s forests, but from stone … who can make building materials from hard stone? How do the pillars support such heavy weight and not cave in?’
‘Stone immortalises architecture, O, Prince; neither gnawing ants nor fiery flames can destroy it. It would be a great honour for me if the commander of the Maharajah’s army should wish to see my house.’
‘I would be pleased to, honourable Susmila.’
Susmila showed him around his house with pride. First, the inner court, with a fountain with sculptures from strange countries and in niches figurines created from white stone from the land of the mighty Macedonian. There were strange god-figures from Egypt, silent and contemplative figures hiding in the niches; vases of delicately coloured porcelain, appearing to be casually placed where they would enchant the eye. Here and there were flowers whose brilliant colours enhanced their demure beauty; expensive carpets from Iran and Arachosa, placed on the floors or hung over some low dividing walls; artistic metal objects from Kashi … They were a feast to his eyes.
Ashoka the Great Page 17