‘I have to, my dear Devi!’
Devi understood.
They returned to the hermitage of Sudeva. He was charged with the building of the eternal Stupa of Sanchi. After they returned to Vidisha from the journey that had stirred their emotions so greatly, a second envoy from the Dakshina was awaiting Ashoka with a request for seed-grain. The Raja sent a messenger to Vasumitra to again load a hundred ox-carts with grain from the granaries of the king which were filled to the brim.
‘Sire, our land is parched. For two years the rain god has held back his heavenly milk. We are not able to pay you for such a wealth of grain.’
‘The grains belong to the Emperor and the Emperor belongs to the people of India. So, take it.’
‘Sire, we will sacrifice twelve of our loveliest girls to the rain-god. And we will also sacrifice twelve to the god of India.’
Asoka was shaken. He did not know that so close to the border of his kingdom, human sacrifice was so common. He wanted to know more. To sacrifice twenty-four girls?
‘How far is your capital from Vidisha?’
‘A journey of fourteen days, Sire.’
‘Then, we want to be there in seven.’ The envoy looked at the Viceroy in disbelief. Did he want to come with them to their far-away country?
When the small party was ready for departure and Ashoka was bidding farewell to Devi, she whispered: ‘From which god is my husband an incarnation?’
‘From Shiva, my Parvati.4’
‘Maybe, I am Sita5 with her children in the jungle.’
‘The people of Ayodhya6 demand their king, my Devi.’
After a journey of seven days Ashoka, with his entourage, entered the country of Tuluva7, situated on the opposite bank of the River Godavari. For the people of Dakshina the trek which was accomplished at the highest possible speed was like a tormenting dream while for Ashoka it was but an exercise. King Bustara received them with great honour. Fires were lit, there was dancing and feasting to honour the exotic saviour of the people. Now it was time to sacrifice the girls to the rain-god. Since King Ashoka was present at the ceremony, the rain-god would surely be disposed more favourably. But the people, in their great excitement, saw in the benefactor-king the rain-god himself. The striking, gloriously dressed King approached the fire and requested the priest to take from each of the girls a single lock of hair and to offer that as a sacrifice to the fire. The rain-god refused anything more. Then he had the girls who were marked for the sacrifice, dressed in white muslin, had them adorned with glittering gems, and made them travel in a procession around Tuluva. A bard heralded the procession and announced on Ashoka’s command:
‘Never again is it permitted to sacrifice a human being. The gods will favour those who save the lives of human creatures.’
Ashoka visited the surroundings of Tuluva. The parched, fissured farmlands, the scorched meadows, the thick clouds of dust above the roads and plains, the hollow-eyed natives, emaciated and weak … they filled the Raja with great compassion. The little benefit he had brought them sunk into nothingness when compared to the immense good fortune they needed. The only thing that could aid their recovery was rain. That was what the dormant life of the Deccan was waiting for. Grishma soon would be over. Maybe, then! But his inextinguishable energy sought more effective means than the sacrifices of the Tuluvas … When he returned to his country the waters of the Godavari rose because of rains in the Western Ghats. And the people of Dakshina soon identified their rain-god with the life-giving Shiva from the North. But Ashoka sent skilled masters in the use of water irrigation systems to the seared country on the other side of the Godavari to make irrigation canals, and to prevent further disasters.
Revata, for several years now, had scrupulously investigated how Ashoka’s rules of governance were received by the people of Avanti. One evening he had himself announced to the Viceroy.
‘Well, Revata, what is the news that you bring to me?’
‘Sire, I search and find nothing. I want to serve my Lord and here in Malwa all wish to do the same. What then is the importance of my work here?’
‘What about my safety, my Revata?’
‘All of the people watch over your safety, O, Raja. Everyone feels happy under your care which offers security and justice to all. Nobody finds it necessary to break the rules of the King. What then is there for a spy to do?’
‘What is it my noble friend Revata wants?’
‘Sire, I wish to go some place where I can be of use to you. To Taxila, to Pataliputra, to Iran, but with such dedicated people as are here in Avanti there is no work for Revata. Tell me, Sire, where I can make good use of my wasted life.’
Ashoka smiled. ‘You are right, Revata. Work is like the sacred banyan tree: It becomes more magnificent and more revered the more its air-roots are driven into fertile soil. But in Pataliputra, everyone knows you too well, my good friend.’
‘Sire, there is only one who really knows me. I have learned to hide myself in any varna, in any age of a man, amongst any people, because I have learned so many of the languages of India. I can make myself a native of any place. I know enough of all branches of science not to betray myself in a discussion. I have absorbed much of all that the sky whispers to us at night. I have learned how to defend myself against man and beast; I know more of the art of healing than anyone, for I was a guest in a thousand homes where I could apply what I learned in Taxila. Until now I investigated for you what could be either dangerous or useful to you. In Malwa there is no more work for me. And what happens farther away could harm you.’
‘Then go to Pataliputra. Protect my father against the wiles of the Brahmin-court and its followers. And your great manas will watch over all that is of importance to me. Yet, do allow yourself a visit to my youngest son tomorrow and tell me what you think of his health.’
‘Sire, I am a Shudra.’
Ashoka walked up to him and embraced him. ‘A Shudra, my Revata? You are a human being and that is the highest form in which the Atman, when it creates life, can unfold itself. Vasudeva, Vasumitra, Chandragupta, Vimalamitra – all are Shudras if they refuse to be subdued by the rod of the priesthood. He who knows the sacrificial priests in their hearts should be happy to be a Shudra.’
‘Sire, tomorrow I will pay my respects to the Rani and if she allows me to see her, the youngest Prince.
The next morning, a rich caravan from Taxila arrived in Ujjain. One of the most renowned Vaidyas8 from the city had joined the group. In Taxila they had heard that the youngest son of the Raja was very weak, and so they had decided to send one of their most famous scholars to the capital of their beloved army chief.
Revata then sent a message that he thought it was not necessary for him to come any more so he would depart this morning for Pataliputra. Ashoka received the Vaidya warmly. He vaguely recognised him from his days in Taxila. The famous scholar spoke at length about events in the west with the Viceroy, and finally asked that the young Prince be shown to him. He carefully examined him and his conclusion was: weak but without specific ailments. His advice: just mother’s milk as long as possible. The same way that a mother elephant keeps a weak calf longer with her and nurses it naturally, so too a mother has to take care of her weak baby for a longer time and give it the best of all that Brihaspati gave to a woman.
The Raja himself led the physician back to the audience hall.
‘Well, Sire, in the afternoon I will leave for Pataliputra to guard the Maharajah and to look after your interests.’
In complete surprise, Ashoka looked at Revata in his disguise.
‘Now I do not doubt anymore, my dear friend Revata, and I wish you a successful journey. Use my horse-posts and make use of my intercession and my ring, here, see. Do know that it is a great sacrifice for me to give you up?’
Ashoka offered him the most precious ring he possessed. With a deep bow to his beloved Raja, Revata kissed the ring. The parting affected both.
7
AN ADEPT IN RUDRA’S DI
VINE KNOWLEDGE
evata travelled the long Ashoka Road on horseback; from Bodh Gaya, he continued his journey on foot. He was clothed like a respectable pilgrim, like a Brahmin priest on his way to the capital of the great empire, after a long journey. His robe was threadbare but from his weather-beaten face, his steady pace, relaxed but clear look, upright bearing, one could surmise the wise pilgrim.
As he was approaching Pataliputra, he met two Brahmins. After a respectful greeting the elder of the two asked: ‘From whence are you coming, revered pilgrim, and to where does your path lead you?’
‘From heaven … towards hell.’
‘You talk in riddles, Sir.’
‘Less than you think. Right now I come from the holy mountain of the Vindhyas, the Amarakantaka1; before that I had walked through the valley along the sacred Narmada. I visited the holy city of Ujjain and have spent a long time in the sacred city of Taxila, where I acquired Rudra’s2 divine knowledge. There I had arrived from the hallowed places where the Kauravas and Pandavas of the holy Mahabharata fought their divine battle. My path has led me there from the blessed lakes of Kailasa. Before that, I came from Kashmir. And my guru in Kosala had received me from the holy city of Kashi, where my father had brought me from his sanctified hermitage deep in the jungle. Are not all of these holy places like heaven in Bharatavarta3? And now I am going to Pataliputra.’
‘And you call that hell, revered pilgrim?’
‘Did not King Ajatashatru, who committed patricide, choose that place as the capital of Magadha instead of Rajagriha? And was he not killed by his son Udayibhada? And he by his son Annirudbhada? And he by his son Munda? Such deeds only take place in hell. I studied in Taxila the healing arts that cure the sick and it is said that the god of the healing arts, Rudra, is jealous of my skills. It may be true since I hate death more than he … and he who causes death!’
Revata continued with his tale. ‘Once, a tiger came on my way and I knew what he wanted from me: that I should cure his mate; she was ill, maybe, from want of food. I walked up to him and I cried to him with a terrible yell: ‘I do not help murderers!’ I looked into his wild eyes. The coward ran away from my indignant look. Later on, in the jungle north of Ayodhya, I came across a herd of elephants. The leader of the dear animals was looking around in despair with his small eyes, because he, with his great power and jungle wisdom, was not able to make his desperate herd that was milling helplessly around trust him. Nervously and without success the poor helpless king flapped with his ears, tail and trunk at the insects, mosquitoes and flying ants lodged in the folds of his thick hide. Even the monkeys mocked him, the mighty one. He had hurt his foot by stepping on a thick thorn and could not go on. For half a day was I occupied in curing the poor animal, taking out with utmost care the thorn from the badly infected wound, covering it with curative forest-herbs and cooling lotus leaves from a nearby pond, and then wrapping it around with my own loin cloth. For four days I took care of him. Then he was able to go on. The whole herd led me back through the jungle for days, resting where I rested, going where I went, until I reached the road to Ayodhya. Then I believe they thought I was safe. If they had known I was now on my way to Pataliputra, I am sure they would have come to protect me. Elephants are grateful and faithful; a tribe of Rajputans that was already reduced by half I rescued from the plague. Everywhere on my path I release wretched people who would otherwise be tormented to death by demons. A holy voice inside told me: ‘Go to the hell, to Pataliputra.’ My inner voice never deceives me. She it was who guided me from one holy place in India to another.’
‘Are you then not afraid of losing your own life?’
‘I have saved thousands. Would I then be afraid for the one of Ratnaka?’
‘Well, pious Ratnaka, then join Munda and Sudjata, and enjoy the hospitality of the Brahmin-court. Everyone will be happy to accord a reception to a man of the highest varna who has visited all the holy places of India and who is so adept in the divine knowledge of Rudra. Maybe, you will learn by experience that the city of the sacred Maharajah is one of the heavenly abodes as well.’
Ratnaka was received with respect by Chandaka after Munda and Sudjata had told him who the pilgrim was. In the council held that night, the priests announced that they were fortunate to take care of the holy Ratnaka as their guest. Perhaps, he wanted to be welcomed into the large group of pious men, who were cared for by the Maharajah for the sake of his welfare and that of the country. Chandaka proposed, and the court agreed, that it would be wise to have such an able great teacher, Acharya of the healing arts available in case the Maharajah was beset by illness again. The magician of the Emperor was not liked by the priests. The physicians of the University of Taxila were far more skilled, and not only in healing arts, for they could give potions to ailing people which made them numb and could wield power over their patients. But the physician should be convinced about Sumana’s lawful right to the ivory throne and must hate whoever opposed this right. The other members of the Council nodded. Moreover, the Maharajah would trust a physician coming from afar more than one who was a part of the court. Mishaps that could take place during the treatment would be the responsibility of the scholar from Taxila; that, too, was better. Again the Council nodded. ‘Ratnaka is supposed to be a clever physician and we will spread his fame and elevate his name as high as Chandra himself.’ The Council again nodded in agreement.
Ratnaka did cure the ills at the Brahmin-court and it was not long before the people of Pataliputra began to speak about his curative miracles. Before long, he was called the Holy Miracle of Taxila.
He had now lived for some months at the court and had keenly observed his surroundings. He was abreast of the ambitions of the priests which he perceived almost better than they themselves, since they were more or less unaware of their own thoughts, whereas he analysed them sharply. Then he was called in to see the Brahmin Varisara who complained of pain in his head and a sudden stiffening of his muscles. Every sound was agonising to him, each touch like torture. Ratnaka asked to be left alone with the hapless patient.
‘Ratnaka, were you not in Nepal?’
‘Yes, certainly, Varisara.’
‘Do you speak the language of that country?’
‘Surely.’
‘Speak softly. There are only very few priests here who do understand it. Close the door as people are listening. So, do you know, Ratnaka, people here need you in the event that the Maharajah falls ill?’
‘No, Varisara. But if he was ailing, I would cure him.’
‘You know that a Maharajah will never break his word. If he but once says that Prince Sumana will become his successor, then his decision becomes irrevocable.’
‘What the Maharajah does is well done, Varisara.’
‘But …’ Varisara, to Revata’s surprise, suddenly rose from his couch. ‘But if the Brahmins were to medicate him—and the Maharajah does not anymore know what he does—then they can force him to utter things which he himself would rather not have said.’
The priest got up and restlessly paced his cell. Cautiously, he bent towards Ratnaka.
‘I am not ill, Ratnaka. I have faked my illness because I wanted to talk to you in private. Not one of them trusts me and it would look very suspicious if we meet. I am sure one of them is listening there at the door. I have warned them often, you see, that Sumana should not be the Crown Prince as that would be disastrous for India.’
‘And if the Maharajah wishes so?’
‘The Brahmin-court wishes it. All the priests who are here— allegedly for his welfare—eat the bread of the Maharajah, live in his houses, receive boon after boon and have only one wish: that the insignificant Sumana becomes the Crown Prince. When he becomes Maharajah their way of life is secured and we will be the masters in the kingdom. But I assure you, Ratnaka, you, who have roamed around the whole of India, it would be truly disastrous for the kingdom if they were to be the masters. Taxila would be struck down, and Ujjain and Taxila’s trade with foreig
ners forbidden, the sacrificial ceremonies increased and taxes raised. Revolt and war would threaten our holy country. Is that what you wish, Ratnaka?’
‘Not I, Varisara. But whom do you want to be Crown Prince? Sumana is the elder son of the Maharajah, is he not?’
‘Listen, speak softly, the cedar walls of the court are hard but they allow voices to be carried through easily. Speak softly, very softly! All those far-off peoples and the wise Sayana and Khallataka … they want the Viceroy of Ujjain.’
‘And do you think that his succession can take place without revolt or war?’
‘Maybe not, but he is a great man. He shall bring happiness and prosperity to India and bring the priests down to their knees. That is why they hate him. They want the power in India, that is their meat and drink. And you will be used to manipulate the Maharajah. I warn you, Ratnaka, I warn you!’
‘Why are you not warning the Maharajah himself? What can I, a simple physician, do?’
‘He will not believe me and the priests will have me killed. They already say that they think I am mad because I oppose their plans.’
‘But who can assure me that you are not a deceiver who wants to test me to see if I will be a loyal instrument for the court?’ Revata risked saying, while he tried to read the impact of his words on Varisara’s face.
‘I will give you proof!’ whispered Varisara frantically. ‘I will take care that tomorrow you will be called in by Satyavat, the overseer of the parks! He is a great friend of … listen … Ashoka.’
‘But who told you that I am not a loyal friend of the Brahmins?’
‘Sayana and Khallataka are Brahmins, too! But I listened in to many of your discussions with Chandaka. Who gloats at the remains of the prey the lion leaves behind cries differently. If I need you I shall become rigid again!’
Then Varisara walked out of the place, calling out: ‘Blessed be Indra, Blessed be Rudra, Blessed be Surya! Ratnaka has cured me just like that. I can walk again and my pain has left me. Blessed, blessed, blessed!’
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