‘Priest Devaka and his pupil,’ the whisper rippled through the crowd, becoming louder and louder, ending in cries of: ‘Kill the murderers! Now!’
Vjadi’s body was removed immediately and burned, Vadha taken back to the camp.
Ashoka ordered the festivities to continue with the fireworks, dances, and play. Refreshments were served. But now a black shadow hung over those present because of the criminal plot and the tragic way in which Vjadi’s frail life had ended. Yet, it was as if a heavy burden had been lifted when it was learned that a stranger and not a Taxilan was to blame for this foul plan.
15
CATASTROPHE AWAITS
shoka … Sleep eluded him. Vjadi … Once again, a frail and hapless victim of Devaka’s hate. Her entreating smile still vivid before Ashoka’s eyes, it made him feel utterly powerless. Could the East and the West ever be unified?
‘As long as there are people who seek the gods with greedy hearts, there will be priests with greedy hearts ready to receive them.’ The more he delved into and searched within Brahmanism, the more clear it became to him that the shortcomings were to be found in the cravings of men, among them the desire for wealth and power. And what about himself? And Prince Sumana, who wanted to accumulate wealth to gratify every sensual desire, a king who wanted wealth for his personal desires? And then there is a priesthood which makes people eager to offer sacrifices and proffer fees and hospitality to the priests! Do the Shudras and Vaishyas exist in this world only to fill the fat bellies of the priests and Rajas or to hand them over their most beautiful women to slake their lusts? When the Brahmin is born, is he not naked and helpless, as the Shudra is? When the Brahmin dies, is his impure body not despised, as the Shudra’s is? Then why is the short period of time between those two eternities so different? Is it impossible to convince the Indians of the flagrant injustice which, over centuries of tradition, everyone has been made to believe as natural and just! Neither Bindusara nor Sumana would attempt to alleviate the burdens and eliminate the fears of the common people. The Shakyamuni renounced his throne, donned the yellow robe of the mendicant monk, and became the Buddha. Now, the radiance of his spirit has faded away in numerous dying rays, like an unseen beautiful flower in the recesses of the jungle. Why did he abandon the power that he could have used to battle disease, famine, natural disasters, fear of life. Why not protect his subjects against those who lived off them instead of preaching the path of liberation from all misery, the happiness of all living creatures, compassion, sincerity, purity in word and deed, selflessness … Is it not true that all this preaching has come to no avail against the tremendous power of the Brahmin sacrificial priests which pervades all life like salt does the waters of the oceans, making it undrinkable, or a suffocating smoke that fills the lovely forests? Faith and the right-way-of-life! Happiness for all beings! What an audacious thought, my Mati! That is what India lacks!
Devaka and Shakuni, along with Sokota, had fled the city. Revata hastened to follow them. Devaka’s journey was that of a fanatic. Pious men overcome by the wild-fantastical legends and myths of a sensuous and easily excitable people made their way up the road that led to the never-ending high Himalayas, barren of life, to get closer to the abodes of the gods, to look in pure unabated worship upon a world that was in the greatest of contrast to the plains of the sacred Ganga. And Devaka? Up to Bukephala they followed the road used by Alexander the Macedonian. They then crossed rivers and mountain passes which led to the valley of Kashmir. Devaka set a hard pace, prompted by hatred and injured pride, relentless in the pursuit of his goal. Every pause was like an impediment to his lofty task: bringing down the wrath of the gods on a damned people on this side of the Sarasvati. This would be their first ordeal. He but barely took time to eat and strode restlessly on while the others still tarried.
‘Save your strength for what is still ahead,’ said Sokota and he waved his arm in the direction of the north where the mountain ranges rose higher and higher on the other side of Kashmir. The journey became difficult after Srinagar. They climbed first along vineyards then through forests of cedar and cypress. Sokota knew the route along the dangerous mountain paths that lay above deep caves, by foaming rivers and finally over bridges formed by ice, and hazardous roads.
Inside him, Devaka burned the unquenchable fire of implacable hate. He was the first to take the risk of any dangerous step, the first to cross in grim determination a difficult river, uttering prayers as he called upon the gods whom he hoped to please by his deeds. As Revata watched, he asked himself in amazement what could be driving the priest. He did not want to save people, but destroy them; not bring them happiness, but bring them ruin, suffering and fear! Why? During steep climbs he gasped for breath more than the younger ones; yet undaunted he hastened on. The others cheered when they descended into a valley where wild nature offered a temporary respite. Devaka merely plunged onwards. They came upon a tribe of Darus who mined the mountains for precious metals and panned rivers for gold and precious gems, besides cultivating vineyards making wine and weaving scarves out of goat hair. The Darus lived deep in the remote valleys of the mountains of the gods. Sokota led them along the difficult trade route which connected with the northern lands. After a tough, arduous journey they reached Iskardo on the Indus and now lay before them the Shygar Valley. Another few days of travel brought them to the mysterious lake that had been rising for many years. It lay behind a gigantic glacier that held back an enormous amount of melted snow and water. There it lay, of ominous proportions, against the high mountain walls, scarcely moving, rising ever so slowly as if aware of its power to destroy. For a long time Devaka walked around, went up and down, lips pursed, not uttering a word. But his mind worked feverishly: how to cause the glacier wall to break down and make a channel for the torrents that would gush through the Shygar and Indus to the accursed plains of the Punjab …
Revata saw him standing atop the ice wall at night, his figure silhouetted against the clear light of the stars, an insignificant dot against the majestic landscape of ice and snow. The priest obviously believed that the well-being of the people and the land lay in his hands to either grant or withhold. Every other belief was sacrilegious. Not for a single moment was his soul elevated to greatness by the view of the mighty mountain range or the magnificence of nature. He and the priests held sway over everything, mightier than the gods themselves. The dam, the devastating flood, the accursed tribes … it was all that filled his mind.
It was late when Devaka returned.
‘How can we break up the dam, Sokota?’
‘We, Lord? We are merely humans!’
‘Silence! I, Brahmin, will it to break up and its waters to punish the sinners.’
Sokota and Revata looked at each other.
‘And the thousands of people and animals who are innocent … and the Maharajah … when the harvest is destroyed!’
‘Can he who has called down misfortune upon himself, complain?’
Sokota did not reply. He had wanted to warn the people of the Punjab of the coming menace.
‘How deep can the mine workers dig into the earth?’
‘Lord, the earth goddess will …’
‘Keep quiet. How deep?’
‘Discover for yourself, Lord.’
The next morning, Devaka rose early and went to the glacier dam.
‘A tiger, Revata, who attacks to kill,’ whispered Sokota.
‘Let us return to Taxila, Sokota, and warn the Prince.’
‘You are right. Let the priest spoil his karma. Do not say anything to him.’
Devaka decided to get mine workers from a nearby valley. Sokota led the small group back.
The chief of the tribe of Darus was not inclined to let his men do the work but Devaka threatened him with the wrath of the gods, death and destruction. The wicked Prince from Pataliputra would come and conquer the valleys; he knew no mercy, he would kill the tribes if the flood did not deluge the Punjab. The chief succumbed to Devaka’s threats an
d the following morning, a group of miners joined Devaka, but where the road turned off to Kashmir, both Revata and Sokota disappeared as fast as their mules could carry them, making haste to Ashoka. But all this did not worry Devaka. He knew the way now. The tribal chief had given him many sacks of food and wine for the workers although it slowed down the journey.
Sokota and Revata descended into the Hydaspes1 Valley as quickly as the mules could take them and came upon Ashoka and his army in Kashmir. The Prince had marched victoriously through the upper Punjab: Udjana, Abhisara, Asvaka. The inhabitants had welcomed him joyously, coming from far and near bearing valuable gifts of gold gems and scarves made of the finest goat hair. Elsewhere, Sangala and his soldiers had brought under their control the remotest part of valley for their righteous Prince. Kashmir was the last bastion. The many exploits of Ashoka, told and retold many times, had turned him into a demi-god in the eyes of the people. Ashoka lingered here longer, enthralled by the incomparable beauty of this mountainous land. For a long time he looked at the unreachable snow tops to one of which Manu had tied his ship after the floods … Was there the land of the gods, Shiva’s home? Shiva, who was Agni and Rudra … At creation his third eye had burned away all that lived atop the Himalayas. Shiva, the god of power and life, Lord of the animals, the bearer of the steer banner. Sitting upon his throne in the high regions, pure and white, with Parvati, his mountain-born wife. Why here? Where life freezes, where no animal can live, where the flame out of the eye fades in the chill. Is this all deceit, a beautiful deceit? Shiva’s home?
Revata’s message prompted him to immediately return to Taxila.
Vimalamitra had joined the expedition. On Vimalamitra’s advice, Ashoka sent ten heavily armed soldiers on mountain ponies, commanded by Sagaka with Sokota as guide to the Shygar Valley to capture the priest and his pupil.
Taxila was in a state of panic when Ashoka returned with his army. A sudden flooding of the Indus would cause tremendous damage and cost many lives! Messengers ran swiftly along the Indus plains, preceded by drumbeats and the sound of war-horns. The Prince’s message was announced everywhere: ‘Ashoka, the Maharajah’s commander, informs the people along the holy Indus that the Dasyus will soon send a great flood to inundate the land. Store your harvests! Protect your lives and that of your herds.’ The Prince set up a network of runners to carry messages to and fro. Everyone had heard of the exploits of this Prince and thus no one ignored his warning; was it not, after all, like a warning from Shiva himself? With nervous haste—it was a punishment of the Dashyues—they set about saving what they could.
The delegation of Antioch I Soter, which was to bring an answer to Virata’s request for assistance in the battle against Pataliputra, arrived in Taxila and met the minister for foreign affairs. Alarmed, he sent for Vimalamitra. The senior-most minister considered the matter first and then informed Ashoka, who then decided to receive the secret mission meant for Virata. The westerners, having first bathed, were well taken care of. They were feasted and then allowed by the Prince to come into the reception hall. Their servants bore gifts for the mutinous Taxilan.
‘Honoured Virata, we have been sent by Antioch Soter, the mighty King of Syria, Armenia, Medea, Babylonia, Mesopotamia, and many other kingdoms. You request for help of the great King in wresting the land that lies west of the Sarasvati and the desert from Bindusara’s empire. The great King would like to know how large a detachment of troops you expect from the Syrians. Furthermore, our mighty Lord would like to know what relations you hope to establish with the Syrian King. These gifts, we offer from our King: beautiful carpets from Persia, gems from Khorissan and from the mountains of Taft and Farsistan.’
The man whom they had taken to be Virata answered: ‘Honoured envoys of the Great Antioch Soter, the rebellion was suppressed by me. The Indian Emperor will never allow a part of his empire to be torn out. His army is well-trained and consists of nine thousand elephants, thousands of battle carts, thirty thousand horsemen and six hundred thousand foot-soldiers. Their commander is Prince Ashoka, the Wild Prince of Pataliputra, who is said to be invincible.’
The envoys were seriously alarmed. ‘Lord, your information is very different from that of your representatives at the Syrian court. They said that Bindusara was old and weak and his son Sumana, the Crown Prince, a poor commander of the army. May we ask what has prompted the noble Virata to dare a revolt against such a powerful king? The Emperor was said to be old and weak.’
‘In India, the ascension to the throne is decided by the Emperor himself and is as yet still unresolved. They say here that the mighty King of Syria has trouble taking back Pergamum and that Egypt is a dangerous neighbour to Syria; that Bactria and Arochosia as well as Gedrosia barely obey the King. Can the King then think of extending his empire into the Madhyadesa, where the Indian king is known as Amitraghata, ‘the conqueror of enemies’, and the wild Prince Ashoka is commander of an army much more powerful than that of the Syrians?’
The envoys rose as one:
‘The Virata who sent a delegation to our king is someone else, other than he who has received us today.’
‘The Virata who had sought your king’s help has been devoured by the vultures. You have been welcomed by Prince Ashoka of Pataliputra, who has recouped the Punjab back into the empire of Bindusara Amitraghata.’
The envoys fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the ground.
‘Sire, we seek your pardon and ask that we be allowed to return to Baghdad.’
‘You are my guests today. You can rest in Taxila as long as you choose and then you may return to your land. Wait only for a flood that is expected in the Indus region to pass. I want you to have everything you need.’
The envoys were lodged in Gopa’s house. On Ashoka’s orders they enjoyed magnificent care.
After his return to the Shygar Valley, Devaka immediately set the mineworkers to work to dig a tunnel under the glacier to the lake. Under his watchful eyes, the work proceeded quickly. After many days of toil, water was seen seeping into the cave. Devaka had to use the direst of threats—curses and fears of hell—to get the labourers to continue working. Many refused, aware that a crack in the dam would cost them their lives.
‘If the Wild Prince comes to your valley, not only your lives but those of your wives and children too will be at stake.’ Yet, they still refused to move. Suddenly, remembering the sacks of wine, Devaka had them opened, and the contents were distributed among the workers. It worked better than all the curses. The wine erased the fears of the workers who no longer defied the priest. They continued to dig the tunnel, cutting away with furious blows at the slabs of ice, which other workers then dragged away. As soon as the last fatal blow was struck and danger loomed imminently, the workers, with wild shouts, rushed towards the exit. Devaka heard their cries of fear and it filled him with great joy. He limped quickly over to the dry bank of the Shygar. The sound of the splitting wall of ice reached his ears. A mighty jet of water burst out with tremendous force even as the dam of ice began breaking up, and with a thunderous roar, swept away in its path many of the workers, still struggling to get to safety. As the cracks in the dam grew, water surged out with even greater force, dragging out great chunks of ice. The flood from the Shygar swelled. Devaka walked to the side of the lake and thought: Would the water level come down? He could not yet see. But the glacier appeared to come to life and Devaka felt it convulse under his feet. The mountains all around echoed the shuddering rumble that seemed to swell. In a matter of hours the tremendous burst of water, becoming wilder and wilder, had swept everything along its path. The dam began breaking up in several places. The rumble became a deafening roar as if the very Hymavant itself would be submerged. The rest of the workers had retreated along with the priest. They looked on in fright at the boiling, seething flood that raced into the bed of the Shygar and kept growing even more. The workers trembled with fright. The noise itself seemed unearthly. The Darus covered their ears, attempting to shut out t
he noise of the earth-shaking tremors that echoed through the mountains. With a roaring sound that drowned out all other noises the final section of the dam of ice collapsed. The waters then gushed out into the open with gruesome force, carrying stones and other debris in their path. Even as the waters surged over the cracks and fell like a mighty waterfall, it loosened massive boulders, sending them crashing and racing towards the Indus.
‘Catastrophe ahead!’ shouted Devaka over the noise into Shakuni’s ear. But Shakuni did not even hear above the noise of the roaring waters and the crashing of boulders.
When Sagaka’s small body of men, uncomfortably crowded in the narrow Shygar valley, faced the first onslaught of the raging flood and heard the ever-increasing thunder in the distance, they knew they had come too late. He ordered his men to climb as high as possible. A neighbouring valley offered an escape route and the sounds of the torrents growing every moment spurred them on with greater speed. One of the men was caught by the onrushing flood of water even as the others climbed to safety. For a long time the waters raged through the Shygar. Then, slowly the water abated and after a long impatient wait, they found that the river could once again be approached. The valley had been swept clean. Sagaka’s men set up camp on the riverside and waited for the return of Devaka.
After some days they spotted the Brahmins riding on their mules. Behind them, in the far distance, trudged the workers. Sagaka rode up to the Brahmins.
‘We are taking you prisoner to Taxila, Devaka.’
‘You are a little late,’ remarked Devaka with a sarcastic tone.
‘But too soon for you.’
‘Let me release my workers first.’
‘We have nothing to do with your workers.’
It was only when they reached the land of Kashmir that Devaka heard the full story of Ashoka’s victorious march. The whole of Punjab had submitted to him. Even as Devaka was held prisoner, he managed to pass a message to Shakuni who was to be taken to Pataliputra: a list of the allegations against Ashoka.
Ashoka the Great Page 22