‘Memorise them, Shakuni. If they dare kill me, then go to the Maharajah, after first consulting Richika. You can bear witness to the Maharajah yourself. Take Gopa with you. Remember, Ashoka must be made to leave the Punjab.’
‘Yes, Lord.’
Once in Taxila, they were instantly brought before Ashoka.
‘So, it is Devaka again. You ought to have heeded my advice when we were at the Doab.’ Devaka stood erect before the Prince, proudly silent.
‘You do not answer me! We know who is to blame for the flood. Before your journey to Shygar, you praised my brother Sumana. You know, Devaka, it can be dangerous if certain people praise us, and fortunate when they condemn us. What is it that you want of me?’
‘That you step down for the rightful Crown Prince.’
‘Then you do not know the Arthashastra of the Brahmin Chanakya. The Maharajah decides who is to be the commander of his army, even who will be the Crown Prince. Do you think my father will allow that right to be taken away from him, even by the Brahmin Devaka?’
The priest remained silent.
‘I can have you killed for causing peril to the country.’
‘I am a Brahmin.’
‘Is he a Brahmin who is guided by so contemptible an emotion as vengeance? Moreover, I can turn you over to the people of the Indus Valley who laugh at you calling yourself a Brahmin. I do not want to advise you again to return to Pataliputra: here you merely affirm my status and give the people an example of what can be expected from Sumana. Tell the Taxilans who you are, Devaka, and you are lost. Go away!’
Devaka stood stunned for a moment. Then, he left the room, keeping his head high.
‘Are you letting him go unpunished, O, Prince?’
‘No one works harder for me and against Sumana.’
‘The choice of the Brahmin-court was an ill-fated one, my Prince, because they find you opposing them.’
Gopa welcomed Shakuni, who looked thin from hunger and deprivation. The young Brahmin was obviously enraptured by Gopa’s amiability, accepting it as a compliment. He became talkative towards the desirable woman about his activities with Devaka. Soon, Gopa knew all that was to be learnt of Devaka’s revengeful journey. When Gopa described the effects of the devastating flood on the people of the Punjab, of Ashoka’s victorious march through the Punjab, and of him being regarded as the very incarnation of god Shiva, Shakuni stared stonily ahead.
‘Devaka will probably leave Taxila and return to Pataliputra.’
‘And you?’
‘Go with him, of course!’ he said, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
‘Stay here! You can do nothing there for Devaka.’
Shakuni’s vanity was tickled by Gopa’s words. Had his love potion worked in his absence after all?
‘Of course, I can. Devaka will …’ he said, as his voice trailed away. Was this charming woman to be trusted?
‘Now, what will Devaka do?’
‘I cannot say.’
‘Not to an ally?’ Gopa smiled warmly into his eyes. She knew her strength and was playing it.
‘If I may be your guest tonight, Gopa, and you swear to secrecy …’
‘No. If Prince Kala or one of Prince Ashoka’s men sees you here then neither of us will be safe.’
‘Promise me!’
‘Well, on one condition: If someone from the palace comes you will disappear immediately.’
‘Good.’ And the young man told her of Devaka’s plans: No Indian king would ever feel safe from those who covet his throne, including his own sons. The Maharajah will be told that Ashoka is marshalling a strong army in the Punjab with the intention of conquering the whole of India, just as his grandfather Chandragupta had done.
Meanwhile, Revata, who had stealthily followed Shakuni, overheard the entire conversation. At the same time, Gopa signalled furtively to Revata that Shakuni was to be taken prisoner before nightfall.
Revata barged in, making a display of accusing Gopa of harbouring a pupil of the criminal Devaka. Shakuni was taken away. Moments later, Ashoka was told in all detail Devaka’s plans of exacting vengeance. Yet, he was not disconcerted. He expected his wise Father to know better than to accept the priest’s word against his.
Tirelessly he worked, doing all that could be done to strengthen his hold in the West. He did not hesitate to take on employees recommended by the ministers, but hold them responsible for their protégés. Ashoka’s popularity grew. His interest in all that was new was insatiable and everyone enjoyed telling him what they thought would be of interest to him in Taxila. Medical science fascinated him. Were terrible illnesses such as that of Vjadi’s, curable or preventable? With what and how? The hundreds of surgical instruments and their uses greatly interested him as did the various poisons and their antidotes and metals used to cure diseases. Other than Ashoka, it was Revata who was even more eager to learn about the practice of medicine. He had travelled through many countries of India, had seen the ghastly effects of epidemics, the cures attempted, and his natural interest had given him a practical knowledge that was further fuelled by the scholars of Taxila. With the consent of the Prince, he spent his free time in the study of medical science. Ashoka heard from the scholars new theories about the rotation of the planets, lunar eclipses and the place of the sun in the solar system which displaced many of his old notions: What remained of the soma-tale that the moon, the great soma jug, was filled by the sacrifices of the priests for the first fourteen days, and in the two following weeks drunk by the gods? Was it surprising that a Sayana, who had studied at Taxila, had acquired a much wider view of everything that concerned Aryavartha than the simple sacrificial priests? Anxiously they held on to a rigid dogmatic view of the Vedas. The various philosophical schools might well differ from them, the forest hermits look down upon them but the priests zealously guarded their right to the Vedas to the exclusion of a vast majority of the people. That was why the Buddha was considered an accursed heretic. What he taught did not greatly differ from the Vedanta, Saankhya or Nyaya, but he shared with the Shudra that which was only meant as an arcane secret for the twice-born. Even those who were outside the pale, like the Chandalas, were welcome! The Brahmin schools were sanctums for new ideas on which the priests debated and reflected within their own circle. They never took any notice of those beyond access to their knowledge. It did not matter to them if the concepts of Saankhya were followed. To the priests, a heretic was not one who discarded all scriptural revelations but one who taught the secret doctrine and the philosophies of the scholars to the Shudras, the Chandalas and the simple Vaishyas. Ashoka seemed to live in another world here. He learned about the indisputable link between cause and effect which he had already sensed long ago. But it was made clear and credible now: Who dared yet ask for animal sacrifices as offerings to honour the gods!
Ashoka was overwhelmed by all the great thoughts. Did it not put into perspective the value of the Vedas and repudiates the power of its sacrificial priests and their offensive sacrifices, the popular beliefs, and re-arrange the prevailing ideas of justice as well?
‘As long as the king controls the priests he controls his people, so control them,’ the Maharajah had said. But the priests could only be controlled as long as one honoured their sacrifices and their elementary views on religion. Where lies the solution?’
16
BRAHMA’S BENEVOLENT SMILE
t Gopali’s urging, Sumana paid occasional visits to the army camp. But those things which inspired the Wild Prince—feats of strength, military skills, and physical exercises—bored him. He was repelled by the crudeness of the warriors. With haughtiness he would ride—always on an elephant—through the large camps of his father’s army. That made the right impression, according to his mother. He despised the thousands of men in the pay of his father who did nothing but drink, gamble, and fight each other for its mere pleasure. He only demanded that they pay him respect for the sole reason that he would one day ascend the throne. Later, he woul
d use them to show off before the envoys from foreign countries, before beautiful women and friends. Usually, he made a hasty, uninterested departure. Never did he praise a horseman, an archer, or a chakra thrower. It was only to please Gopali that he paid his visits to the army camp. He abhorred them! Were not those warriors being paid for doing nothing? The Brahmin priests and ministers had enough power to forestall the Emperor from taking any unwise steps. Ashoka was a mad man, perhaps even dangerous, but when he, Sumana, becomes Maharajah, he would render that wild, self-willed son of the Mauryas harmless. An army must be used to fight battles or at least to display the great might of the Maharajah.
In the afternoon, Bindusara called on Gopali and chanced upon Sumana. Their greetings were aloof.
‘What sadness has overcome my beautiful Gopali and her pleasure-loving son, so that you are bereft of words?’
‘O, mighty Emperor, you have struck the Crown Prince a heavy blow. How then could we not be sad?’
‘What would you have liked me to do, Gopali? Can I make a blind man my overseer even if he is precious to me? Should I send a deaf man to listen to the waves of the Ganga or seek advice from a sacrificial priest on matters of the State? Sumana, there is nothing in you of a warrior. Could I then choose you as the army commander?’
‘I hear that a delegation from Taxila is in the capital to request the appointment of a viceroy. Who will be viceroy of Taxila, Sire?’
‘The one I choose, my Gopali.’
‘Who will you choose, Sire?’
‘The one I think most suitable.’
‘Subhadrangi’s wild son then?’
‘I am not certain. I shall consider seriously and not take a hasty decision.’
‘My Lord and Emperor, choose my son as the viceroy!’ Gopali fell to her knees before him, kissing his cloak. ‘My son, too, could have subdued the West without any effort! Re-establishing peace where there existed no strife is no great task. How do you know that Sumana would not be as capable as Ashoka? After all, you never offered him the opportunity even though he is your eldest son. At his birth you said, that in this small boy might lie hidden the ruler of a great world as the lotus bud conceals a beautiful flower. Why do you take away from him the pond and the sun? Speak one word, Sire, one word from you is enough, because you are the sacred Maharajah! Do I then mean nothing to you anymore? See, I bow down before you. Give me a sign, and acknowledge that my son, your oldest, is born from your love. May Varuna bless you, and Indra protect you, and send out his rain over your lands.’
‘Stand up, Gopali!’
‘One word, Sire!’
‘I shall not say it. Wait until my decision is made.’
Sumana, in silence, listened and let his mother have her way. He knew that a plea from him to Bindusara would accomplish nothing. If he were to take up with the rough soldiers, if he aired his opinions with the gurus, gave up night-time revelries or even Prakriti, then perhaps his father would listen to him. But what was the Raja’s wealth for! Why should he receive all those whining people, listen and talk to them, appoint officers, pardon criminals? Why pardon them! When he, Sumana, becomes the Maharajah, he would have a magnificent palace built! His harems would house the most beautiful women of the kingdom, because he would be the mightiest king. His festivals would have Pataliputra resounding with music, dance and play! Father was getting old; treasures were flowing into Pataliputra and he did not even use them. A mighty army of drunks, wastrels, and gamblers were enjoying themselves in the camps at the Maharajah’s expense. Why did he not use these idle troops for more elegant games, brilliant performances on special feast days? The beautiful women from the harem, the envoys of foreign monarchs, important messengers who came from all parts of the vast empire—they should all experience joy and be in awe of the Maharajah when they come to the capital, the parks and the palaces!
‘What is my beautiful Prince dreaming of? Of power and glory just like his mother does?’
‘Yes, my father, I love glamour, brilliance and beauty.’
‘And the governing of the land?’
‘For that the empire has its highly paid ministers, its well-cared-for Brahmins, and its avaricious officers.’
‘And why does a land then have a king, my son?’
‘The land has no king. The king has a land!’
‘At least as long as they let him live, and as long as no uprising destroys it or a powerful monarch grabs it, like a tiger does its prey.’
‘Do you not have an army of soldiers who otherwise aimlessly roam around all day?’
‘And what action will you take when disasters strike our land: a flood, famine, drought, epidemics, forest fires, earthquakes?’
‘That is punishment inflicted by the gods. The mighty priests are supposed to prevent such disasters with their sacrifices and to reconcile the gods with the people.’
‘Really … It has just now become clear to me how simple and beautiful the life of a Maharajah is, my Sumana. It is time you shared your sanguine visions with your subjects!’
‘Then give him the chance, Sire!’ pleaded Gopali.
‘Start with a diligent study of the Arthashastra, my Sumana, perhaps you will then be able to make some sense yet of the duties of the king.’
‘The duty of the king is to be mighty so that everyone can fulfil their duty towards him. So teaches Richika and that is correct …’
‘So, so … yes, yes! Your predecessors serve as examples … Chandragupta … Bindusara … you … You!’…
Bindusara was kept well-informed about Ashoka’s campaign. Every spy from Taxila who tread the palace floors late at night and appeared before the Maharajah brought encouraging reports. For the most part they matched fairly accurately the reports of Ashoka’s own speedy couriers. Only they emphasised on different points. Ashoka reported the death of Virata by his chakra; the spy reported that the Prince had felled the great rebel of Taxila with one look of his eye. Ashoka had reported that the Taxilans had submitted themselves again to the Maharajah’s rule with joy; the spies reported that the subjects, in mortal fear, had not dared to resist. The army commander sent word that the people of the north had been prepared because of the faith the Takkas had in him, and had welcomed him in a festive spirit with rich gifts. They had once again acknowledged the Maharajah as their Lord and had sworn, with their face turned to Pataliputra, their allegiance to Bindusara. The spies recounted an elated story about the Takkas who had gone ahead of the Prince and opened up valley after valley—even the closed-off valley of Kashmir—like magic and in this way compelled the peoples of Darada to submit themselves to the Maharajah. Bindusara was delighted that without much bloodshed Ashoka had succeeded in restoring peace in the difficult West. His faith in his ‘wild’ son had been strengthened and his earlier suspicions slowly abated.
Devaka then came back to Pataliputra with Shakuni.
The first place to which Devaka went was the Brahmin-court in order to speak with the head priest. Richika ordered him to go as soon as possible before the Maharajah and in all righteous indignation warn him of the dangers that lay in the West. He, Richika, would prepare the ministers.
Bindusara ordered Devaka to appear that very evening before the ministers’ council. Seated on his ivory throne, the Emperor ordered that Devaka be led in. The priest entered and bowed deeply before the king.
‘Stand up, Devaka. You say that you bring disturbing news from the far West. Let me and my ministers hear what you have observed in the land of the disaffected.’
‘Almighty and gracious Majesty, who rules the world in wisdom and whom the gods bless with fortune and prosperity in his land, it is love for the great Maharajah and love for his beautiful kingdom that compel me to warn you of what is happening in Panchanada. The gods have given unmistakable signs of their dissatisfaction about the accursed people on the other side of the Sarasvati. In the middle of the dry season, they have let loose a tidal wave from the heights of the Himalayas over the Indus Valley, larger than any the sacr
ed Manasarovar lake could hold. It has flooded whole regions, destroyed harvests, and driven out many people. They do not want the holy Maharajah, who keeps watch over the Vedas and her priests, to be deprived of a considerable part of his kingdom. And yet, more people, more sinful than the Chandalas in Madhyadesa, are gathering behind the army commander. Bactria and Arachosa—even the almost unreachable Kashmir—are welcoming the Prince with joy. A mission from the Syrian king spent many hours deliberating with the army commander. Not one blow was struck, not one punished for the murder of the Brahmins, nor was even one of Your Majesty’s officers avenged. I warned the Taxilans of their sinful deeds; they laughed. The army commander has even disrupted funeral ceremonies and snatched the widow of a dead tribal chief away to Taxila, where she now lives in a sinful palace. And the people of the West applaud the Prince at everything he does.’
‘And Kullika, his guru and purohita, does he not warn the Prince?’
‘Kullika approves without ever opposing whatever the Prince decides. Unreliable employees from the cursed peoples are appointed as palace representatives instead of Aryan men from Madhyadesa.’
‘And were the government officers from Madhyadesa reliable, my Devaka?’
Devaka wavered.
‘I had no way of knowing, gracious Majesty. Prince Ashoka has, when he wants it, a powerful army at his disposal. Moreover, a large segment of the army in Pataliputra reveres him. In spite of you, because of his independence, a formidable power is growing in your empire which is in the hands of only one man in whom you have placed all your faith. He has accumulated great treasures with which he can maintain an army. I believe that the holy Maharajah would not wish this. The peace of the empire will be dependent not on the wisdom of the Maharajah or his advisors but on the attitude of a young Prince who thinks himself capable of conducting his affairs without experienced and sensible Brahmin ministers, on a Prince in whom the highest varna of your empire has never had faith. I wish to warn you that a power, even greater than the holy Ganga in monsoon, now stands before you. The Prince has various dangerous people in his entourage. He took into his service a certain Prince Kala of Mayula, a lowly Kshatriya, who does not hesitate to punish Brahmins with hellish torture and turn them over, helpless, to the wild animals of the woods. This Prince Kala is the best friend of the army commander. This Kala will later go with him to Pataliputra, and I fear that even the sacred Maharajah will not be safe from him. You see, highly revered Majesty, that not a single link is lacking in the chain that could be forged around Magadha’s neck of fortune.’
Ashoka the Great Page 23