The next morning Satyavat asked for Ratnaka, because he was ill.
‘Well,’ Ratnaka whispered, ‘does Satyavat recognise me?’
Satyavat looked at him blankly for quite some time, until Ratnaka removed his disguise.
‘Revata! …’
The Council of the court decided to find out how well Ratnaka’s opiates worked. Once when Varisara secretly listened to discussions in the Council he was caught. They wanted to lead him to Chandaka, but Varisara pretended that he had been at that place because he had suddenly developed rigidity again; he had unbearable pain and could not walk. He was carried into the Council Hall, moaning and groaning; the poor patient could not bear the slightest touch. The Council had been waiting for a situation like this to trap Varisara. Ratnaka was called in. He requested that the patient should be brought to his cell. Chandaka, however, ordered that Varisara should stay in the hall.
‘Well, revered Ratnaka, show us how well you are able to give him the opiates of Taxila that will make him forget his pain.’
Ratnaka showed great concern.
‘Yes, venerable priest Chandaka … But first I have to examine carefully his heartbeat. If his heart is not working properly, Varisara could die.’
‘Then examine him!’ Chandaka answered tersely, annoyed by Ratnaka’s resistance. Ratnaka examined him long and earnestly and then stated that otherwise Varisara was healthy. The physician picked up the drug and gave them to the patient. Soon, the pain stopped. He did not move anymore. A complete relaxation seemed to set in. Then Ratnaka had to leave the room.
‘Listen, Varisara,’ Chandaka called out to him. ‘You do not wish Sumana to become Crown Prince?’
‘No,’ Varisara said, shaking slowly his head.
‘But he is the oldest son!’
‘… Does not … matter …’
The Council pressed on, not giving him a minute of respite. They asked him one question after another. Varisara was unwavering or kept silent. At last, after being harangued for a long time, he was overcome by a mental tiredness which broke his resistance. The interrogation by the priests became more and more oppressive; at last he could no longer resist and said just what they wanted to hear.
‘So, you agree that the succession should take place according to law.’
‘Yes …’
‘Prince Sumana has to be the Crown Prince.’ Varisara remained silent, exhausted. ‘You will never oppose this?’
‘… No …’
‘You heard it, priests: Varisara thinks that Prince Sumana has to be the successor to the Maharajah. Is that right, Varisara?’
‘… Ah … Yes …’ Then the members of the Council left the hall and Ratnaka was allowed in, to take further care of the poor tormented Varisara.
The patient was brought to consciousness again by Ratnaka who watched over him by his couch. He saw how Varisara was struggling with his thoughts. At last, the Brahmin jumped up, grabbing furiously at his hair.
‘Ratnaka, Ratnaka! Let me go … let me … I want to see the Maharajah … immediately … Nothing will keep me away … from unmasking the criminals.’
‘Stay calm, Varisara, you will spoil everything!’
‘I will spoil nothing … do you know that …’
‘Quiet, you stupid …!’ Ratnaka hissed. He could, however, not halt the excited priest. Varisara rushed away. Outside the door he was grabbed by a few people who had been listening and imprisoned in his cell. In the evening, first he, and later Ratnaka were brought before the priests’ Council and sharply interrogated.
‘What was it Varisara wanted to unmask?’
‘What was it that Varisara would spoil?’
The physician and patient did not betray each other. Ratnaka knew how to give the Council acceptable explanations. Besides, they needed him. But now the priests, more than ever, feared Varisara. He was condemned to a pilgrimage to Khasi Manipura in remotest India. He knew what that meant: exposure to the dangers of the jungle, where the tigers reign. The next morning, an ox-cart took him away. For days on end a few priests went along with him, as far as the road was safe. After that they left him to his fate, forced him onto the pilgrims’ path, and wished him a happy return.
8
I, REFUSE
onths followed each other. Satyavat once again resumed his perilous work of spying on the court now that Varisara had left. At times, with utmost prudence and discretion, he broke into the very dwellings of the priests. He always cast himself in the role of their devoted ally, provided them with the most delicious fruits and flowers, tended their gardens with dedicated care. Nothing suspicious was taking place. Everyone waited with never-ending patience like the wild cat awaits its prey. Jyeshtha1 traversed, and slowly the rains brought relief from the sluggishness of the heat. When Sharadh sent the people its autumnal illnesses from the mist of the jungle and the marshy fields, the priests had made up their plans long since in the restful months that the monsoon brings in its wake. Hemanth brought after this interval a new and refreshing energy to all that was alive, and trees and plants stored up their juices. Ratnaka, being the most renowned acharya of the healing arts, was called in a few times to see the Maharajah. Even a passing insignificant ailment sharpened the alertness of the priests. With Ratnaka’s help their offerings and prayers put to flight the somewhat illusionary threat. Chandaka treated the supposed Brahmin with respect and while the rains swept through the plains of the Ganga, he had long talks with the physician about the dangers that were threatening the highest varna, the fears of the entire community of priests about the wild Viceroy, and their hopes in the lawful Crown Prince. Ratnaka took care never to let his disguise slip. He knew he did not enjoy their fullest confidence and also why it was that many of the priests repeatedly accosted and questioned him with mistrust in their hearts. But with complete and ever-conscious submission, he played his role as a man of science. And Chandaka, on his part, employed a long yet unobtrusive strategy to leave the physician in no doubt of what was expected of him. Like the Areka—rising slowly, invisibly, yet surely from the earth and barely noticeably develops shoot after shoot into a stately palm tree—so, too, was Chandaka’s insidious plan developing. Such plan was, step-by-step, to convince Ratnaka of a higher necessity, to lead him to his way of thinking, and thus to the conviction of his holy destination, which was as inevitable as a ‘law of heaven and earth’, to which even the mightiest had to bow.
‘When Rudra deems it necessary to utilise certain herbs for curing serious ailments and Brahma decrees the use of different ones, then whose will should prevail, Ratnaka?’
‘Rudra’s, because he is the god of the medicinal herbs.’
‘But overall creation exists Brahma who looks down from above and rules over all. In his will, the will of all that lives is contained.’
‘But the intrinsic nature of Rudra is to relieve by his own intuition, be faithful to his own divinity, and inevitably watch over his own karma.’
‘Your sharp manas, I praise, Ratnaka. But if sicknesses afflict the earthly creatures it is an infliction by Brahma, and Rudra does not have the divine powers to revoke the penalty imposed by Brahma. It is out of Brahma that Rudra was created. And Rudra’s will is part of Brahma’s eternal will.’
‘But the world of the gods would cease to be if Brahma, the eternal deity, who also determines their intrinsic nature, should bring that nature in variance with itself.’
‘For that, Brahma can in time change their nature … destroy that god of yours, Ratnaka, and create a new god, Ratnaka. The Will of Brahma is all-mighty and spares neither the subject nor the Maharajah, not even the gods.’
‘And the Brahmins?’
‘You are of our varna, Ratnaka. You know the revealed Vedas place the gods in awe of the Brahmins, the prayers and the sacrifices and the prayers and the sacrifices are under the thrall of the Brahmins. Would you wish to change all this, Brahmin?’
‘No.’
‘Well then, Ratnaka, I am the head of the
Brahmin-court. So, the will of the gods, of Brahma, is in my hands.’
Ratnaka listened to this blasphemous harangue with an impassive face. He did not want to be thrown to the tigers, like Varisara, because he wished to serve his master. But at night when he lay down on his simple cot he was keenly aware of the circumstance in which he found himself. To flee would mean handing over the Maharajah to the ‘wise’ physicians of the court. To heal the Maharajah in any way would arouse Chandaka to seek revenge. To give the Maharajah the soporific opiate would be equal to serving Sumana. If their plotting succeeds—that is to force the Maharajah to echo their choice—then he, Ratnaka, would become the feared witness against the priests and his life would be like a fragile flower in the storm. If it failed to succeed then he would still remain to them a dangerous opponent, more threatening than Varisara, to whom even more vicious ploys of the Brahmins would be found fitting. To inform the Maharajah of the situation would equal suicide. Bindusara, as he had learned from Ashoka, would never ever enter into a struggle with the Brahmin-court on behalf of a Shudra. He would rather hand over the Shudra to the wrath of the gods. What was the way out?
The next morning, he gave a sign to Satyavat, and soon there came a message asking whether Ratnaka could come to see Rohini; she had suddenly become severely ill.
Ratnaka informed Satyavat about everything that Ashoka had to know. A few hours later a horseman galloped along the Ashoka-road towards Ujjain. By then, Ashoka had left for the west to the land of the Bhils and the Rajputans, and no one knew when he would return. Kullika considered the information to be very crucial …
At last Vasant, spring, arrived. Aryavarta readied itself for it with thousands of offerings and the priests welcomed it with soma and animal sacrifices. The mantras of the hotars resounded through the silent nights of the full moon and the holy samans of the udgatars entered the hearts of the Vaishyas, which swollen by the wealth of spring were ready to burst open. The news that the Maharajah had taken ill came as a release to the Brahmin-court. Ratnaka, Chandaka and Khallataka were also summoned by the Maharajah to the palace and were admitted into the sleeping chambers of Bindusara. His magician had kindled the fires and was murmuring spells from the Atharva Veda. A few female guards stood near the head of the bed, armed and motionless. The Emperor lay on his couch, his features suffused and twisted in pain.
Ratnaka began his investigations painstakingly. He found the pulse rapid and irregular and diagnosed an illness of the liver and a strong variant action of the heart. He then requested the Maharajah to have the holy fires moved to a different room, recommended cooling of the body, some medication to lower the fever, and further, rest. Khallataka was entrusted by the Maharajah with the affairs of the government.
Chandaka wanted to know what the real condition of the Maharajah was.
‘Sir, I have to visit a seriously ill person. Wait for me in the court.’
He rushed to Satyavat’s house.’
‘Satyavat,’ he whispered, ‘let Sela instantly send a message to Ujjain or you speed there yourself. The Maharajah is seriously ill. And I do not know whether I can keep the priests away from his bedside. There is only one who is capable of doing so!’
Satyavat warned Nata, and Nata left immediately to see Sela who despatched the urgent message to Ujjain.
The head of the Brahmin-court waited impatiently for Ratnaka although not a muscle in his face revealed a sign of the long-awaited gusts which the storm of cravings sent ahead.
‘Well, my learned Ratnaka, what is your opinion?’
‘The Maharajah is ill, though there is no immediate danger, venerable Chandaka.’
‘Is he in pain?’
‘Yes, but bearable.’
‘You know that until now the Maharajah has not yet indicated his successor.’
‘That is the concern of the palace; I am only the physician of the Maharajah.’
‘It may be you have to prescribe a narcotic!’ Chandaka’s dark eyes looked up at Ratnaka inquiringly without a trace of excitement but so compelling, that Ratnaka understood: refusal, hesitation, negating, yielding, all would be as dangerous for the Raja of Ujjain as for himself.
‘What you demand, O, Chandaka, is as yet impossible. The condition of the heart does not permit it. To give opiates when there is such an irregular heart beat is very dangerous.’
‘So, you refuse.’
‘My conscience and my oath of loyalty to the appropriate application of medicines, forbid prescribing this drug to the Maharajah.’
‘But if the gods demand it!’
‘My karma will not bear the murder of a king.’
‘And if the priests absolve you from all sins?’
‘My rebirth will be determined by my deeds.’
‘I have no trust in your assertions, Ratnaka!’ the priest’s scream was intimidating.
‘That is up to you, venerable Chandaka. My position prohibits me to do it.’
‘The same treatment did not harm Varisara! Maybe it is you, who do not wish to do it!’
‘You know I did not oppose it in Varisara’s case. After my examination of the holy Maharajah, I cannot take the risk.’
‘But for how long?’
‘Till the beat of his heart becomes regular again.’
‘Then the pain may have left.’
‘As a physician I should wish so.’
‘And, as a Brahmin?’
‘Also as a Brahmin.’
‘The Vajasaneyi-Samhita says: ‘The Brahmin who knows, in his power the gods are.’ Again he challenged Ratnaka: ‘So, you refuse?’
‘For now, yes. You have to wait for an opportune moment.’
‘The fortune of our varna is in your hands, Ratnaka, and so is that of India.’
‘Also, the life of the sacred Maharajah and that requires my priority.’
Ratnaka was called again to the sickbed of the Maharajah.
‘Relieve my pain, Ratnaka.’
Ratnaka gave the Maharajah a mildly affecting sedative.
The Maharajah’s speech was slow: ‘What … do I have to do … wise Ratnaka?’
‘Have a fortnightly offering ceremony performed by the most competent priests led by Chandaka. Order them to fully engage themselves with only that and demand the tanunaptram, O, Maharajah. Then wait and see how the gods will be disposed towards you through my knowledge of medications.’
The Maharajah had Chandaka called in immediately.
‘Revered Chandaka, a fortnightly sacrifice to all the important gods … Take the most qualified priests as hotars, udgatars and advaryus. You are the principal priest. I demand the utmost dedication of the ritvei2.’
Chandaka bowed low and deep before the ailing Emperor.
‘Now swear the tanunaptram, revered Chandaka.’
For a moment the priest staggered, then without hesitation swore the oath that he, whatever may happen, would look after the interest of the Yajaman3 fairly, while invoking the Agni Tanunapat.
The Maharajah made a sign with his hand that the meeting was over.
‘Who advised the Maharajah to make the sacrifice, Ratnaka?’
‘Sir, he who is severely ill feels himself closer to the gods.’
‘Not you, Ratnaka?’
‘I? Venerable first priest, my only sacrifice should be to serve Rudra. With that I compound my karma. In your works, I do not interfere …’
Chandaka looked straight into his eyes. For Ratnaka it was not dificult to meet his stare.
‘Who do you wish should be the successor of Bindusara?’
‘He, whom the sacred Maharajah chooses.’
The sacrifice was performed meticulously. Many priests participated in it. The people of Pataliputra, upset over the illness of the Maharajah, and the people of the cities and villages who had heard the calamitous news and feared even greater calamities, had built sacrificial altars and let the Brahmins make offerings. It was a happy period for the sacrificial priests.
Ratnaka waited, anxiously wond
ering whether Ashoka would come in time. The fortnightly sacrifice neared its completion but the condition of the Maharajah did not improve. Ratnaka knew that Chandaka would soon request him, even force him, to do certain deeds he did not wish to commit.
‘Will I be cured, Ratnaka?’
‘It may be that the gods will be so pleased with your sacrifice, holy Maharajah, that they safeguard you for India.’
‘Can you save me, Ratnaka?’
‘I hope to do so, highly revered Maharajah. Your life means more to me than my own.’
‘Who will … help me … in my fear …?’
‘Sayana is a wise and holy Brahmin, gracious Maharajah.’
‘Sayana! Yes, Sayana. Let him come.’
Sayana appeared the same day.
‘My good friend Sayana … I cannot find rest. I do not … have not yet … appointed a successor. Who is it the gods wish, my Sayana? How will I be received by Yama … if I have forsaken my duty. Who?’
‘Gracious Lord, you always accomplished your sacred duty to the delight of the gods. Why should Yama not receive you in a friendly way? Your clear conscience and conscientious sense of duty prevented you from making a choice. Were you now to choose Ashoka then Sumana will start a civil war; were you to choose Sumana then Ashoka will do the same. If you choose neither of them, then the same thing will happen. In all three cases, the gods will choose for you. So, why torment yourself, my revered Lord! You always placed highly the three endeavours of the human being, equally: dharma, artha and kama– justice, public welfare, and love. Kautilya claims that the public welfare has priority, for it is in this, that just law as much as love, is rooted. If an excess of importance is accorded to the law, then it harms itself, as well as the other two.’
Bindusara understood and nodded, and kept silent.
‘You had already chased away the six enemies of the Atharva Veda. Many kings who surrendered to them, met with ruin for their kingdom and kin … lechery …’ Bindusara lifted his hand and Sayana kept silent.
Ashoka the Great Page 45