‘Yes, let us go, let us go!’
‘The army chiefs have already been thrown to the tigers. A warrior just told me that all have been made prisoners and transported to the tiger-jungles out in the east. I would not even wager a dead ant for their lives. Prince Mudra has fled to Sumana. Sela, the chief of the cavalry, has been appointed as commander-in-chief of the army of the new Maharajah.’
‘But Prince Sumana is already on his way with a huge army to claim his rights. So, let us keep our spirits up.’
‘Keep quiet, the riders are coming! Keep your mouths shut.’
‘Come on, let us go to the Ganga!’
‘Let us release the priests!’ the stranger whispered excitedly.
‘Take care or we will throw you headlong into the holy Ganga, too. Or, have you been sent here by the priests?’ a tall Ganga-skipper called out.
A strong body of horsemen galloped by, scattering all apart like the first swirls of the south-east monsoon does the dry leaves.
At the Ganga, a huge multitude of people was already gathering. Most of them were looking at the river, moved, while others told all kinds of tales of the previous night. Close to the river where the ferry was moored, an area was marked off with three rows of soldiers on horseback, and everywhere there were groups of heavily armed riders stationed amongst the people. A shiver went through the crowd. In the middle of a new body of horsemen the three priests approached, heads bowed. A clamorous and sinister muttering hissed its way through the crowd: Was it true that the Wild Prince attacked the holy varna of the Brahmins! No Brahmin could ever be killed, so was it taught in Madhyadesa. Did he dare to violate the holy laws of Aryavarta? The excitement grew. When the group neared the Ganga, Sagka climbed on to a small platform.
‘Silence!’ he roared. A frightened silence quickly fell upon the crowd.
‘Chandaka, chief of the Brahmin-court, which is sustained by the sacred Maharajah, answer me! Did you form, illegally, a court, without the sanction of the Maharajah?’ Chandaka looked around. If he could retract his confession now, then maybe, he could get the backing of the crowd. It swarmed with warriors. But he also knew that he would be caught immediately and tortured without mercy. It was of no use. He nodded.
‘Did you give the order to kill Ratnaka, the physician of the Maharajah, because he was a difficult witness?’ Again, the priest nodded.
‘Did you force Ratnaka to give the Maharajah a potion which you knew could kill him?’ For a moment the priest wavered again, looked at the crowd, the multitude of soldiers. Finally he nodded, tired.
‘And you knew about all this and let it happen, Panthaka?’’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘And you knew this, Lambada, and let it happen?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Now, release your priests!’ the Ganga-skipper called mockingly to the stranger who shrank away, dismayed.
‘Therefore, your attempt to murder the Maharajah and your ill-judged murder of the physician Ratnaka will be punished with the highest sentence that can be passed on to a Brahmin: drowning in the Ganga. Your death is brought on by yourself. So wills Maharajah Ashoka,’ Sagka finished.
The indignation of the people over what the Brahmins had done was now greater than the tremors of revolt earlier. Nevertheless, a shiver went through the crowd on the banks of the river, when the ferry with the three criminals set sail and stopped in the middle of the river, where the outrageous sentence was executed quickly and smoothly. Did Ashoka not fear the revenge of the gods! Would not the devas come to release the priests? Was it true that the Wild Prince was Shiva, the Lord of death? Aghast, not only at the crimes of the Brahmins but also at the ruthless will of the new Maharajah that spared no one, all returned to the city in an excited state. Sela’s horsemen were spread throughout the crowd, thereby forestalling any riots that could have started. At the quays on the Ganga where trade was conducted were the storerooms of the rich merchants. These merchants were partly on the side of the Brahmin priests and Sumana. They brought many offerings to the priests to ensure profitable trade and for the protection of their goods. They felt satisfied with this arrangement. Their profits were always ample and certain. Thanks to their wealth and might, they behaved more freely than the other inhabitants of the capital. One of the merchants who was asked to pay his dues, violently refused to do so. He offered to pay only a small part of the levy that was due.
‘You know, Sudgata, the Maharajah never asks more than what is his rightful share.’
‘There is no Maharajah! We only have a Crown Prince!’
‘Then do not oppose the Crown Prince who always abides by the law.’
‘The Crown Prince is far away!’ Sudgata called out furiously.
‘You are taking a big risk, Sudgata! You better pay, or we will take you before the court.’
‘I only recognise the law of the lawful Maharajah!’ shouted the merchant in a fit of temper.
‘Take that impertinent fellow a prisoner,’ the palace officer called out.
Sudgata was brought to the palace at a gallop, and immediately taken before the Maharajah.
‘Sudgata, so you do not recognise me as the Maharajah.’
‘No, Sire.’
‘Why not?’
‘Sire, I had hoped … that Prince Sumana would succeed.’
‘Do you expect that with him you would have more success with your trade?’
‘No, Sire. But the Prince used to borrow a lot of money, from me, too. For his gambling. And Prakriti. He had promised to return everything and more after he ascends the throne. If you become the Maharajah, we stand to lose large amounts of gold, Sire. The Emperor Bindusara had not supplied him with sufficient means, Sire.’
‘And is that the only reason?’
‘Yes, Sire, he had borrowed all my wealth.’
‘You are like a lotus flower, Sudgata. It grows and blooms in the pond in which people plant it and praise it. Do you have proof of your loans?’
‘They are at my house, Sire.’
‘Go with my guards and bring it to me. The Mauryas will pay back to you what they owe you.’ Ashoka, Radhagupta, Khallataka and the judges – neither spoke nor laughed about this affair. When Sudgata returned with the promissory notes, Ashoka paid him the dues. Back in his house, Sudgata poured a libation in honour of Ashoka, who had meted out goodness and justice and praised his fairness. Soon, there appeared many more creditors, all with similar claims, and always with the same result. That soon took away the merchants’ dissatisfaction.
In spite of Ashoka’s strong army, social unrest grew, and the people were instigated. They mocked merchants who paid taxes to what they called ‘illegal’ government; they were indignant about the troops in the city who they said ought to remain in the army camp. The artisans were asked for whom they were working: After all, the Maharajah had died and his successor as yet far off. They threatened the people with great natural disasters because the holy Brahmins were killed. Now here, then there, small street fights erupted, and Sagka and his men dragged the loud-mouths to the court where they were interrogated and tortured. It always turned out that the unrest was being fomented by the Brahmin-court. Ashoka let the Gantha be sounded, which called the priests to the general meeting of the court. The unwilling ones who did not appear, he had brought by a body of horsemen into the large auditorium. When Ashoka entered the hall, along with Nata and heavily armed bodyguards, he looked around the hall. The assembly of priests grew still under his gaze.
‘Priests of the Brahmin-court: listen well to what I am going to say to you now. Minister Nata is my witness. My beloved Father has lodged you for many years on his premises, fed and clothed you, bestowed on you gifts. You enjoyed the fullest freedom to lead sacrifices or study, according to your own wishes. Now I am the Maharajah, because my Father appointed me as his successor; and because I am the one, I shall maintain my position with relentless sternness. I know, and have known for more than ten years, that you prefer my brother Sumana to m
e, and now attempt to undermine my authority and institutions. Beware now: Whomsoever of you, who lives in any of my houses, eats of my food, wears clothes I supply, receives my gifts and enjoys my protection, undertakes again anything that harms my rightful reign, I will sentence without mercy for high treason, to work in the mines or to be drowned in the Ganga. And all the others I shall have driven away by the cavalry, from the court and from the city, perhaps worse! The Ganga is a holy bath! Today, I wish to hear from you, as to who will be your new First Priest! The death obsequies of my beloved Father will take place within a span of two hours, priests of Pataliputra. It is your duty to perform it.’
Without saying another word or looking back, the Maharajah left the meeting hall. Everyone kept quiet out of fear of betrayal in their own circle.
At last, Sivi—thought to be sympathetic to Ashoka—started speaking.
‘I suggest we choose the oldest and wisest among us to be the First Priest of the council. In these difficult times, we need wisdom.’
Atri answered: ‘I am the oldest amongst you and refuse to serve Raja Ashoka. He knows I am on the side of Bindusara’s oldest son; he is the one who ought to succeed. Today, I will depart from this ungodly town for the hermitage, to accumulate the spiritual power which we will require in the future.’ Atri left the hall and some of the priests went along with him. Most of them, however, chose the easy life at the Brahmin-court.
‘Let Sivi become First Priest!’ ‘Yes, Sivi!’ ‘Sivi!’ It rang out from all sides. They realised that this might soothe the Raja.
Ashoka took care that everything was painstakingly organised for the funeral service in accordance with Brahmin rites, as Bindusara had wished. At the Ganga, a funeral pyre was built with fragrant logs; golden jugs filled with ghee, sweet oils, soma, prepared according to the canons, were brought to the place. Incense and sweet-smelling flowers were ready. Altars were constructed according to strict mathematical rules, facing the right direction and with the proper entrance ways.
Inside the palace, the body of the Maharajah was wrapped in a special kind of fabric, to prevent his ashes from mixing with the ash of the fire. It was then enfolded in a snow-white piece of the finest Kashi silk and placed on a bier adorned with precious gems. The bier was placed on the royal funeral cart. Then they walked in procession to the holy river. A few bards, praising the deceased, and others, chanting in sad voices, went ahead. Then the widows of the Emperor, hair undone, weeping sadly and softly, followed. After them came the Princes and Princesses, and the adorned royal elephant; then followed the ministers, highly placed employees of the many departments, and many of the faithful servants. The imperial female guards surrounded the cart with the bier to which Ashoka, as the successor, held on to with a tightly-clenched right hand. The splendid white parasol was held over the deceased as a sign of imperial dignity, while servants fanned with their chamaras of oxtail, to cool the distressed soul of the deceased. Behind the bier, the holy fire was carried by the Brahmin priests. Then followed the carts with gold coins and precious objects, the last gifts from the holy Maharajah to his people, which would keep his memory alive.
When they came to the banks of the Ganga, Ashoka called for the tanunaptram of the priests, after which the sacred ceremonies began. The gods were invoked with appropriate chants from the Vedas to take part in the ceremony, and then a purified animal, cooked rice, a cow and a calf, together with ghee and pure sweet oil, were offered. Thereafter they handed the fire to Ashoka, who amidst the piteous crying of thousands of people, lit the pyre that would separate the soul from the dead body. Then the priests sprinkled water of the holy Ganga to purify the soul. All of the family members descended to the waters of the Ganga, took a handful of water from the holy river and murmured: ‘O, great Maharajah, this is yours.’ Ashoka, too, cupped the water in his palms and said: ‘O, noblest Maharajah, may this eternal water, given to you by me, forever slake your thirst in the realm of the spirit.’ Thereupon he threw the water. This was for the memory of his great Father and to give new strength to his soul. With that, the rite of the fire and the water was completed. The ashes were gathered in a golden cask, and Ashoka then threw them into the holy river. Everything had taken place the way Bindusara himself had ordained.
For a long time the young Emperor gazed out over the waves that ceaselessly flowed onwards. Not one small particle remained of the once powerful Emperor of India … where would be his soul now? Would it be reborn again, or would it rise up to the worlds of the Devas? The Emperor had desired his son to be by his bier, lead the death ceremony. Which son! Ashoka was the cause that the imperial house did not follow its course quietly. But he knew, too, that the priests reached out for the power that belonged to the Mauryas. He had judged it necessary that the spirit of Chandragupta remained to rule. Ashoka, born out of Subhadrangi’s noble blood, and not the priest’s jester, born out of Gopali’s vain body.
‘Take with you, Ganga, with your waters, the last grain of dust of the great King … to the Ocean, where no holy river surges forth, where no holy body exists anymore. Take his soul with you, Agni, to Indra’s heaven, where no offering fire burns. May Shiva, god of death, who annihilated his existence, give, through Shiva of life, the power to me, to rule Aryavarta and lead it to life and truth.’
The young Maharajah stretched out his arms towards the white caps of Mount Kailasha, the abode of Shiva, and for a moment he forgot the masses that had fallen silent behind him and then with him bowed their heads into the dust, for the soul of the holy Maharajah.
Ashoka rose and saw how, far away, on the other side of the wide waters, a priest was stretching out his arms towards him in blessing. The great Guru, the human being, the power, the solace, the holy Sayana.
10
THE PENITENT SALYA
shoka’s messengers were sent to every corner of the great empire to make known the death of Bindusara and the succession of Ashoka. All the Rajas, rajukas, and purushas, were ordered to hasten to Pataliputra to pledge their fealty to the new Maharajah. Ashoka knew that Sumana would soon be on his way to the capital. How large his army was or how many people in Pataliputra and in the rest of the country would ally themselves with him, he could not even hazard a guess. He trusted his ministers and his warriors. The Brahmin-court had become ominously quiet and silent; in the city, too, people went about their daily work. However, everyone intuitively felt that the great battle was yet to come and nobody knew what it would bring.
In the Brahmin-court the priests who were fiercely opposed to Ashoka—in the greatest secrecy, and keeping the council led by Sivi out of it—had chosen a group of elders who would spearhead the support for Sumana. Ashavita and Srigupta sent out delegations to those regions where the priests exerted power, to foment trouble, and to the Rajas who were under the sway of the priests, in order to make them aware of their dissatisfaction and determination to save the country from the situation. Above all, they needed Shakuni, the energetic young priest. He had to be freed from the mines; Sunasepha was missed as well. The situation in the capital was now in enough of an embroilment to take the risk of their returning. A mountain tribe near the Teraï1 was bribed to raid the mining camp and free the prisoners. A few weeks later, Shakuni arrived unnoticed in the capital and disappeared into one of the temples where he became the priest and soothsayer.
Sunasepha had changed a great deal over the years. His straggly beard and wild hair, his simple bark-cloth, his staring look, made him appear venerable and, thus, feared. Everything indicated his great karma and therefore his mysterious powers. As the penitent Salya, he wandered undisturbed through the streets of Pataliputra, roamed through rough places walking with a calm steady gait through groups of workers and soldiers who with feverish energy were fortifying the defences to prime condition. He appeared at the market square where he warned the people of the dark times ahead, spoke to the craftsmen and tradesmen and did not shun even the poorer quarters of the Shudras. On the great Emperor’s Road, no cavalry had him
scurrying to the side for none risked harming the holy penitent or even making an impatient remark. People feared his angry looks, his mumbled swearing, his wide-eyed stare. At night he prayed in the Brahma-temple where Shakuni was the soothsaying priest and passed on any news that was of interest to Shakuni or the Crown Prince. If he suspected that spies of Ashoka were shadowing him, he looked for his night shelter in dark corners, under bushes and trees, till the morning brought new work. Supported by Salya, Shakuni’s omniscience was soon well-known and with that, his influence grew. Worshippers who felt threatened by the turbulent times rushed to the Brahma-temple of the wise Suni, urged on by the unbending penitent who understood so well their needs. And Suni startled the people with his knowledge, predicted their narrow escape from the fate that hung over the city, praised the Vedas and the priests, and strengthened their trust in the lawful Crown Prince. After exhaustive inquiries, Salya had concluded that the western Ganga-gate was the most suitable one, if the people were to come to aid the now approaching Raja. Who were the guards?
One night, he lay down to sleep close to the guardhouse, not far from the gate. When one of the guards came out, he had to stumble over Salya. The penitent flared out: ‘Wretch! Do you trample a holy man, who has scorched himself between the five fires to raise his powers to that of the Maruts! I curse …’
‘Curse me not, sir! Curse me not!’ begged the soldier and fell down to his knees. ‘Sir, I did not see you. And I will need all the support of the gods when I become the second-in-command of the foot-soldiers. Do not destroy my good fortune, Sir!’
‘Whose second-in-command?’
‘Of course, of Maharajah Ashoka, Sir!
‘Of course? And if Prince Sumana returns?’
‘They say that the Maharajah himself is a god, Shiva.’
‘Ashoka has not yet been anointed, and it is said that the priests will anoint Sumana.’
Ashoka the Great Page 48