‘And what did you do?’
‘My deportment was such as was expected of a king.’
‘How did you deport yourself?’
‘I came out to present myself before the people, riding the royal elephant. I had the decrees of my ministers sealed. I inhabited in my palace and received the envoys. I organised feasts for the important people of the country and took care that everyone regards with respect your Viceroy.
‘And that is how you kept peace?’
‘My army takes care of that, High Father.’
‘And the people? Do they praise your wise reign?’
‘What my ministers do, the king does. They proclaim repeatedly that I am a good king.’
‘So, you degrade yourself, Maurya, into a spineless toy, an inanimate instrument of your ministers.’
‘The King is the King and will only debase himself when he performs inferior labour, High Father.’
‘Do you call, ruling yourself, investigating yourself, leading the army yourself and reviving the prosperity of the people yourself, inferior?’
‘For a king, not for his officers.’
‘You know the history of our house poorly, Sumana! Taxila has a university. Do you know many scholars?’
‘Vidu has taught me what I need to know to become the Maharajah. I do not wish to pay more attention to the sciences. That is the duty of the Brahmins; such is also the opinion of my ministers.’
‘And of the chiefs of the troops?’
‘My brothers are eminently qualified in the art of warfare. A king should uphold his regal dignity. The throne is a shrine, not a field of war.’
‘And you ensure that the people are led justly, humanely? Are they obedient?’
‘My ministers do not tolerate disobedience from an accursed people, easily led to rebel.’
‘Cursed by whom?’
‘By the Vedas and the venerable Brahmins.’
‘Also, by the Emperor? When you departed for the west I ordered you to rule with justice, wisdom, and leniency.’
‘Leniency they see as a weakness, which leads to rebellion. The power with which my ministers rule is wisdom. That is their justice, too. And I am their King.’
Bindusara understood the parroting of the responses. He knew that behind it lie hidden the enormous power against which he felt he could barely cope, though he knew how to keep it in check. Sumana was their puppet, not because of lack of manas but because of lack of willpower. The only one who could stand up against it … he did not entrust his interests. Bindusara sighed; it irritated him, that submissiveness of his offspring and of the oldest son.
‘Do you visit Gopa’s place frequently? Do you gamble much? Do you drink more than is good?’
Startled, Sumana rose but shrank before Bindusara’s gaze. Rohini and her friends stood motionless as the statues and cameos on the columns in the audience hall. Rohini, however, grew so agog that she stirred slightly, sending the arrows in her quiver wobbling. For a fraction of a second Bindusara looked at her. Sumana was desperately searching for an answer to the questions. His eyes travelled vacuously over the big hall, then met Rohini’s. She went pale and her legs almost failed to support her. He recognised her, stared at her briefly, and in doing so it was as if his mind cleared suddenly.
‘Is it forbidden to the Viceroy to enjoy the pleasures of life, noble Maharajah?’
‘As long as you do not harm your dignity! A king is expected to work hard and enjoy with moderation. Do you enjoy with moderation, Raja of Taxila?’
‘I do not know, my Father …’
‘And do you work hard, as the Arthashastra demands?’
‘I do not know what you call hard work.’
‘So, for those two questions your ministers have not supplied you with the answers! In a week from now you will marry Aradi, daughter of the minister, Arada. She knows what she wants and what I demand from you and expect of you. For the coming week you will reside in the hermitage of the wise Sayana across the Ganga.’
‘My Father, how can you, within just a week, arrange the festivities for the wedding of the Crown Prince?’
‘I, the Maharajah, will decide who is going to be Crown Prince. And the festivities, I will determine.’
Again, Sumana’s eyes wandered off towards Rohini.
Towards nightfall, Sumana appeared at Satyavat’s house and asked to be let in. Satyavat responded that the Viceroy was permitted to enter but that thereafter he would go straight to the Maharajah. Rohini was sitting with both her little sons, not far from the entrance.
‘Does your wife serve as a palace guard, Satyavat?’ he asked laughingly. ‘Does my father permit as palace guards those who are so closely connected to his servants? We will ask him, Satyavat.’
‘You must have mistaken her for Mutri, high Raja. She resembles Rohini much.’ Sumana then left, humming. He lacked the energy to probe further into this impersonation.
Early the next morning, Satyavat, after consultation with Nata, left in the guise of a priest for Sayana’s hermitage and asked for hospitality. He was a silent priest, who preferred to listen rather than talk, and therefore became a silent witness to the discussions between Sayana and the Raja.
‘And how does my friend, Sumana, like the calm of my hermitage?’
‘Not so much, venerable Sayana. My father sent me here because he is not pleased with my governing. What is it that one desires of me besides my being a good king?’
‘What is your governing like?’
‘Do ask my ministers’ council when they return to Pataliputra, venerable Sayana. They direct all the activities related to governing the damned country.’
‘Maybe, you would rather talk to the great scholars of the University of Taxila. Whom do you know? I know some, too.’
‘I do not know any of them, wise Sayana.’
‘So, probably you attempt to get to know the people of the West?’
‘I do not wish to get to know these accursed peoples, wise Sayana.’
‘Well then, perhaps merchants or travellers from far-away foreign countries?’
‘My council prefers to keep the foreign merchants outside the country. They concern themselves with the trade of foreign trash. We do not tolerate sacrilegious objects.’
‘And are you content with the soldiers who have joined you from the capital?’
‘My brothers take care of them, wise Sayana.’
‘And what is it that you did, Viceroy of Taxila?’’ Sayana asked despairingly.
‘Well, I learned how to be a king.’
‘And is it difficult to be a king?’
‘Not for the one who is the oldest son of the Maharajah.’
‘Why then do the peoples have a king, my friend Sumana?’
Prince Sumana stared at Sayana in surprise.
‘The peoples do not have a king, wise Sayana. The king has people!’
‘But in the Arthashastra is written: ‘In the happiness of his subject lies the king’s happiness. Not what the king pleases is beneficial to him, beneficial to him is that what pleases his subjects.’
‘That is why my government takes care of the happiness of the subjects, holy Sayana.’
The wise Sayana kept silent.
‘And you think you are capable of being the Maharajah of the entire country, O, Raja?’
‘Certainly. Why not, wise Sayana? My empire will only grow and so will my income and my riches. I will appoint many Mahamatras to assist in governing it. My palace, I shall make into a heavenly place. Pataliputra will be the most beautiful city in the world. In the capital my soldiers will glitter in perfect gear. My elephants will be adorned with shining gold and glittering silver. Their caparisons will be the most richly adorned in the world so that every foreigner will know that I am the mightiest king that ever ruled.’
‘Ruled over what?’
‘Aryavarta!’
‘Who will govern Aryavarta?’
‘I, wise Sayana.’
‘Do you know the A
rthashastra, the book of statecraft for the Raja?’
‘Vidu once taught me.’
‘Then you know that the Rajas who succumbed to lust, wrath, greed, pride, arrogance and overconfidence, and who could not curb their passions, perished, together with their kin and kingdom. Third prakarana.’
‘My ministers will take care that they comply with the Arthashastra, wise Sayana.’
‘According to the sixteenth prakarana, the king has to exert his powers: When the king exerts himself his subjects will follow him in diligence. Should he be negligent, then they will become negligent, too, and so destroy his work.’
‘But the ministers will take care of that. They are paid well for it. The Maharajah has to be a sacred being for his people, one whom they venerate; the gracious Maharajah whom they fear, the divine beauty on whom they can feast with their eyes; the inaccessible Highness, seated high above them on the ivory throne.’
‘Who has told you so?’
‘My ministers, holy Sayana.’
‘So, … a golden puppet on an emerald throne.’ Prince Sumana gazed at the teacher with widened eyes. ‘But imagine such a Raja, one who succumbs to Kama, gambles away his riches, befogs his eyes with drinks … all of it sensual enjoyments! So that his golden aura fades and his emerald palace sinks into the impure bog of indolence and vanity. What then, high Raja?’
‘My ministers, wise Sayana.’
‘Which ministers?’
‘The Brahmin ministers!’
‘Brahmins like Devaka or Shakuni who malign an imperial Prince? Or Richika and Sunasepha, who wished to hand him over to murderers … twice even!’
Sumana fell back in his seat, went pale and wept.
‘Then you tell me how, wise Sayana!’
‘But it is you who wants to be the Maharajah, not I. You have to rule in wisdom and goodness, not your ministers; they are only your council. You cannot turn the edifice of this world upside down, my Sumana. You demand beauty, riches, pomp. But these three outward appearances do not make you a king. He, is a king, who makes good laws and guards them from his ivory throne, that is the sacredness of the Maharajah. Pray to Indra and Brahma for energy and the zest to work or ask them to relieve you of the emperorship.’
‘That I do not wish, holy Sayana, and neither does the Brahmin-court!’
For both Sayana and Sumana, they were difficult days that week, endlessly tedious and trying.
The following week, the marriage was celebrated in all simplicity, and soon afterwards the young king and his queen left for the west.
Ashoka could no longer bear to be so far from Pataliputra, and to wait idly for information from his friends. He distrusted his father, the ministers, and the Brahmin-court. That was why he left for the last horse-post, before Pataliputra, not far from Bodh Gaya. From here, he would be able to discuss affairs with Sela, Satyavat, and Nata. If need be, he could act quickly. The Viceroy had been extremely careful with his choice of masters at the horse-posts. For the last one, he had taken Salya, the former stableman of Devi. Ashoka noticed immediately that Salya’s helper was a nosy, obtrusive fellow. His interest, especially in Ashoka’s informants, alerted the Viceroy to caution, and from that moment on he kept an eye on him. When a messenger of Sela came to inform that Sela, Satyavat and Rohini, would come to see him the next evening, Ashoka spied the stableman, eavesdropping close by. He grasped him by his neck, looked silently at him and then snapped: ‘My secrets are dangerous, fellow, I warn you.’
The next day he asked: ‘How did you get that stableman, Salya?’
‘He was my guest when the former stableman suddenly disappeared without a trace and he offered to be a helper, because I was in trouble. He is a Vaishya from Pataliputra on a pilgrimage, Sire.’
‘Send him away, Salya!’
That night, when Ashoka together with Salya sat in the bright light of the full moon on the verandah of the house that lay hidden in the jungle at some distance from the road, three riders, two men and a woman, appeared from the direction of Gaya. Ashoka asked Salya to withdraw, and to take care that the surroundings would be safe for a meeting.
‘The stableman?’
‘I had him immediately sent away, Sire.’
‘Well, Rohini, you here? How do you fare and how do you like life in the capital?’
‘My sons are both healthy and we have few worries, Sire, as long as we don’t create them ourselves.’
‘Two sons! What riches, my Rohini! How many sacrifices had you to offer for that after the one I witnessed?’
Rohini laughed. ‘None, Sire, except for some offerings of flowers, out of gratitude, to the glorious Buddha.’
‘Take care that Narada does not hear how cheaply you got your sons! What brings you here?’
‘Sire, only Rohini can report about Sumana’s meeting with the Maharajah. She witnessed it herself.’ Satyavat whispered.
Rohini kept silent for a moment; they listened. From some shrubs close to the house was heard the rustling of leaves – perhaps, a snake or a mongoose, looking for prey? Ashoka kept an eye on the place, never dropping his alertness.
‘You, Rohini? Tell me.’
Rohini gave an accurate report of Sumana’s visit to the Maharajah.
‘And Satyavat?’
‘Sire, I stayed in the hermitage of Sayana when Sumana was there. Rarely have I heard such peculiar conversation.’
Satyavat told the Prince in detail about what had happened in the hermitage.
‘Well, Satyavat, and where is Sumana now?’
‘On his way over to the west, Sire.’
‘And you, my friend Sela … speak softly!’ Ashoka looked away from Sela towards the same place in the bushes. He could hear somebody carefully moving a foot. For one split moment a rough head showed up over the leaves … to listen better to what Sela had to say? Before anyone noticed, a sharp chakra flew through the air … a nasty rattling sound then a heavy fall. Ashoka signalled. A kokila trilled its song through the jungle; glow-worms whirred in the dark foliage. Night butterflies tumbled silently in the light of the silvery moon, and bats sailed, chasing through the night, while the jackals howled ominously in the far distance.
‘Sire! Danger! Will I …?’
‘Stay quietly at your place, my Sela. I warned him not to break into my secrets. He did not believe it was dangerous. Does my Father still tolerate you in the army?’
‘My formal guard of honour is disbanded. Whether they still spy on me, I do not know. He there …?’
‘No, he was Bhavila, from the Brahmin-court.’
6
SACRIFICES
he three messengers stayed overnight in the house and left early in the morning before the veil lifted from Ushas’ golden gate. Ashoka returned to Vidisha, his mind at rest.
During his absence, Devi had become a mother for the third time, bearing a son, a weak child. After she was fully recovered, she and Ashoka made a trip to Sanchi to visit the place where their days of happiness had begun. The place on the hill was overgrown with shrubs. It was difficult to find the spot again.
‘Here it is!’ Ashoka called out. ‘How can we remember from now on the place where I once regained my driving force which, as a ceaselessly burning offering fire, sustains with renewing sacred food, my confidence to do what I feel is needed and right. Your love, Kullika’s friendship, Satyavat’s gratefulness, and Revata’s dedication: they are the four most beautiful gifts on the altar of Aryavarta, the sacrifice of the four varnas, my Devi. I want to build an offering shrine here, from which for all eternity the essence, the sara of these gifts will rise to strengthen the gods. They need it, my Devi. A dome as the firmament under which you brought your offering, my beloved Rani. At its horizon a procession path on which the pilgrims ascend like Surya, the right hand stretching towards the dome offering the gifts. A vedika1 will fence off the sacred offering place from the outside world so that offerings may succeed in peace. Four Toranas2 will soar, lofty as the truth of the Atman, being so placed t
o give on all sides entry to all the varnas, thereby uniting India, offering liberation from hatred and selfishness, like Shiva creates life from death. Your love, my Devi, was the first and the most exalted sacrifice at this holy place.’
‘United with yours, My Lord and My King. A stupa for the Chandra worship3 to Shiva and the Buddha …’
‘To the atman which is ever unfolding from the Atman, between the two infinities of time. Not a stupa crafted from the sacred deodar wood that will crumble—after three generations have passed into Yama ’ s eternity—but one fashioned from stone which can withstand the ravages of time like the beautiful gifts of India.’
‘Wonderful, my Raja. But the priests will not tolerate timber from the sacred deodar being replaced by stone.’
‘They have to. Just like I shall rebuild their stone hearts into living flesh when you and I reside on the ivory throne of Pataliputra.’
Devi sighed and put her arms around the Raja who, deeply absorbed as he was in his tremendous tasks, had not given thought to her inner struggle.
‘I cannot join you in that hell, my beloved King. Not because of our children and not because of myself. My love is great, maybe, greater than that of all the women who will live in the anthapura of the Emperor. But I will die under the scorching sun of Pataliputra and the hate of your enemies. Do not forget the quiet trees of Ujjain, my sorrow-free beloved one, and the sweetness of the flowers that surrounded us, celebrating our wedding in Sanchi, the hills of the Vindhyas, the stupa of Sanchi, the moon of Malwa, perfecting our happiness with her soft glow. It is among them I want us to live, my king. In Pataliputra I would die without you. Let this be your refuge for restless thoughts when you fight your unavoidable fight. Do you need contemplation, strength, love … then dwell in your mind on our lovely country of Avanti and we, your children, Kullika and myself will support you.’
‘Kullika, my Purohita …’
‘Kullika loves your children more than you. And they need a good guide. You, no longer. You have Sela, Sagka, Khallataka and Sayana. Permit Kullika to stay here and be of support to me.’
Ashoka was deeply moved. Was the throne of Aryavarta worth this sacrifice? Sacrifice … was he not himself, voluntarily, the sacrifice … even willing!
Ashoka the Great Page 43