The camp was set-up at some distance from the river and to offer thanksgiving to the gods for their help, a huge sacrificial ceremony was conducted by the priests. The following morning they would start crossing the river, after a brief early morning-offering ritual. Only a few guard-posts were set-up, at the river and on the boats, for security. When it seemed as if the night transformed the jungle into an impenetrable embankment and the silvery waves of the wide Yamuna dissolved more and more into the half-dark of the Indian night, the two watchers at the ferry saw the flickering glimmer of the sacrificial fires rising above the trees.
‘May the gods accept the offerings, Puru. We need their help! In the last few days the march was going well. Indra has protected the Raja against the ungodly desert demons.’
‘Ashoka is a dangerous opponent. I fear we face a serious battle in Pataliputra.’
‘The priests are confident, Puru.’
‘But I am afraid the gods will arrive befuddled from all these soma sacrifices and snooze away their time.’
‘Do not say such sacrilegious things, Puru. They offend the gods!’
‘If only we could have stayed in Pataliputra.’
‘Keep silent, wretch, if you do not wish to be killed as a traitor!’
‘We will be killed anyway. Is this an army of warriors? It looks more like a temple ceremony: offerings, offerings, offerings. And the wild desert tribes harass us as if we were a merchant caravan. On the orders of Ashoka, of course! In Pataliputra, we will light a fire against Ashoka! Defend, defend! Ashoka would have destroyed or surrounded those Bhils much earlier as he did before with the Takkas.’
‘Yes, yes, stop it, will you.’
‘And then the twelve priests in whose presence we are not allowed; their tents and their chariots are too holy for us. Which army keeps such a foolish watch for the gods! They sit in the front at each offering. They never take part, keep silent, their feet on the holy kusha grass, as if they are kin to Indra and Agni. The Brahmin council always stands between them and us so that we should not touch them. Ashoka used to say: keep your army strong, be alert, keep your weapons at the ready, exercise for the battle – that is the greatest offering! These fools prefer to leave the battle to the gods while they themselves kneel down in front of the holy fires. For what purpose do we need our weapons then, Bali? We limp to Pataliputra, that is to say, if the Bhils and the Rajputans permit us to. Bah!’
That very moment one of the attendants came with some chunks of meat and some wine. Puru and Bali drank and ate.
‘Those are Brahmins! A drink is forbidden! Ashoka would never give liquor to his guards.’
‘It gives courage. Besides, before us and behind us is the jungle, on our left is the river, on our right the road to the army camp. We might as well sleep. The night is long and the gods will protect us anyway.’
‘Except Shiva … who is in Pataliputra.’
‘You mean Ashoka?’
‘I do not know what I mean but Ashoka is a great warrior and our army commanders are priest-cronies.’
‘Keep silent, desecrator!’
‘Keep silent? Yes, we will be silenced soon when we are the sacrifice! We have a king who is ruled by women and priests! Bindusara and Chandragupta were governors of their empire and their armies. Ashoka too, Bali!’
‘Then offer your service to Ashoka. Do you hear the jackals in the jungle? Cowardly traitors are reborn as jackals.’
‘That’s impossible. Jackals are true to their kings, the lions. Ssht, I keep my arrow at the ready, else we will be their prey.’ Once more the calls cackled through the night-covered woods. They came closer.
‘Let us pray to Shiva. Maybe, he will be more favourable to the Raja.’
Both sank down to their knees, stretched out their arms as if towards Mount Meru, bowed in the dust and prayed long and earnestly.
‘Indra … have mercy! Look, Bali … the ships!’ Suddenly, the entire fleet seemed to have begun moving in the silence of the night. It sailed soundlessly to the middle of the river.
‘Merciful gods!’ Bali … the wanted to rush to the guard-house to warn the others but both were taken by surprise. They were gagged and their arms and legs tied. Powerless they watched as all the ships sailed away and vanished soundlessly.
While Sumana’s army wrestled with a thousand setbacks, Ashoka’s cavalry sped along the wide roads of his empire, carrying with them the reports of the spies who were probing everywhere to find out what stand the local provincial rulers took in the struggle between the brothers. Where they feared danger, a strong army force appeared, and blocked all help intended for Sumana. Ashoka was kept well-informed about the strength of Sumana’s army. It was being calculated as to when it would arrive in the capital. The gates and the walls were fortified, the warriors trained daily, though the Maharajah knew that the effectiveness of Sumana’s army was directed more towards the gods than on the armed force. One thing worried the Maharajah: Shakuni and Sunasepha and their influence on the people even on some sections of the army. The mysteriousness which surrounded it disturbed him especially. The sentence of Chandaka and his cronies did even now worry him.
A few cavalry-men of Sagka were imprisoned but Shakuni could not be found. Salya roamed around the streets as a penitent, and nobody was refusing him entry into their houses.
At the King’s Road a fruit vendor loudly offered his goods. When he saw Salya, he walked towards him.
‘Look here, holy Salya, take this fruit from me. No, wait, this one is the best that I have.’
‘The gods will bless you, vendor.’
‘Thank you, Salya, do you want another one?’
‘If I eat all, you do not take the income home.’
‘Sir, what I offer to the holy penitent, I offer to the gods.’
‘They will bless you.’ Salya asked him about his family and his life. The vendor took in keenly the person, the voice, the bearing of the penitent. The next day, Salya met a baker, selling cakes. He offered Salya the very best of the cakes that he had in his basket. With him, too, Salya began a talk.
‘Do not give away too much, baker,’ the penitent spoke after he had eaten the last part of it.
‘Sir, as long as I am able to bake, no holy man will ask for a cake from me in vain.’
‘The gods will bless you. Too many forget these days their sacred duties of generosity, hospitality and submission to the priests of Brahma.’
‘May he who fails to do so suffer for it in the next incarnation!’
Meanwhile, he studied the priest carefully.
Then, on a certain day, there appeared a second Salya in the streets of Pataliputra who looked as much like the other one, as one lotus leaf is like another. In clothing and posture, in the wild hair and beard, in voice and in gesture and even in facial expressions, there was hardly any difference. The second one was, in body and spirit, an exact copy of the first Salya. He moved freely in the bustle of the market, strolled around the quays, entered into the houses if he was asked to, just like the first Salya. All secrets of the first Salya seemed to be his as well, all betrayers of the Maharajah his friends, just like his look-alike. Where the first one walked in, his duplicate dared as well; the only thing he zealously avoided was an encounter with the first one.
It happened one day, when he stayed with a Vaishya’s family, that the head of the family entered and for a while gazed at him terror-struck.
‘Sir, I see you here but … a moment ago I spoke to you on the King’s Road.’
‘Keep silent! Do you not know that I can divide myself by my karma into as many Salyas as I choose! Do not talk about it … priests are not safe in Pataliputra. Do your duty and keep silent! Deal with our business and for the rest keep silent! Is there anything for me to know yet?’
‘Suni predicts that the new Maharajah will be anointed within two months. The people will welcome and protect the new Maharajah and there will be great festivities and celebrations.’
‘Where did you speak
to Suni?’
‘In the Brahma temple, sir.’
‘Yes, yes …’
Salya continued on his walk. That night he chose to sleep at the northern Ganga Gate. When Kampaka, a new guard appeared, he stumbled over the legs of ‘Salya’. The penitent got up, swore and cursed the poor soldier. Kampaka went back to the guardhouse in deep dismay.
‘What is the matter, Kampaka?’
‘Salya cursed me! A terrible calamity awaits me!’
‘That silly penitent? I do not trust him.’
Kampaka burst into tears. One mocked him, another pitied him, but Kampaka was inconsolable. Simha left the guardhouse.
‘Sir, Kampaka! I think he can be won.’
‘Someone who is as awkward as to stumble over me, I curse!’
‘But you did not curse me!’
‘No, you are right but the working of a curse once uttered cannot be undone by a priest.’
‘Reduce it, sir.’
‘What did we do with you?’
‘Sir, you sent me to Suni.’
‘Hmm … Well. Send Kampaka to Suni, too, and join him yourself. Suni will tell him what penance to do for his sins. Let me sleep now. First, send Kampaka to me.’
The next day, Simha and Kampaka went together to the Brahma temple where Suni, after doing some fortune-telling, took Kampaka into his circle of accomplices and let it be known that it depended on his obedience to Simha, whether he could be forgiven by the gods. Kampaka thought that he recognised Suni from Devaka’s hermitage. The work of the spy became easier. A list of untrustworthy horse guards was soon handed over to Sagka, whereupon Ashoka’s doubts left him. However, he remained most careful. Many kings had paid with their lives for not being careful enough. A strong guard accompanied him on all his trips to the town, to the ramparts, even to the army camps. No one besides Satyavat knew where the Maharajah slept. Usually, he changed his sleeping chambers a few times at night, in spite of reassurances from Satyavat.
Sumana’s allies, men, and women of the harem, were under the strictest observation. Nobody was admitted to the Maharajah without being meticulously scrutinised by Sagka and his helpers. Even for a visit to Subhadrangi, Satyavat painstakingly checked first whether there would be any danger for his Master, after all, more kings had become victims by placing too great a trust on the residents of the women quarters. Ashoka always carried along his five sharp chakras; at night, they were within his immediate reach. He felt that constant vigilance was imperative. Would this ever change? Could he one day walk amongst his people, safe, like a holy Brahmin, like Sayana? How could he convince all of them of his good intentions? Could he ever obtain the sympathy of the Brahmin, when he would treat the mleccha as a human being, consider the West as being of equal value as the east or could he keep the trust of the Rajputans, Bhils and Takkas, if he took under his protection the brahminical tenets and tolerated the pedantic priests? Why was it necessary that Brahmin and Buddhist, Jain and Ajivika opposed each other as mortal enemies? Could all ever be encompassed in one common humanity?
12
THE DELICATE BLUE SCARF
ire, Ajamidha, a Brahmin from a hermitage in the Sarayu-valley, desires to speak to you.’
‘Does he have the seal of Satyavat?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Let him enter the audience hall.’
Ashoka dressed himself for the occasion. When he entered the hall, awaiting him was the stranger, a tall and slimly-built priest with long, dark beard, and a veiled woman. Ashoka picked up a chakra.
‘What can I do for the honourable Ajamidha?’
‘I ask nothing, gracious Maharajah. The hermits live quietly and free of care in the empire of the Mauryas, the Vaishyas can do their work and perform their duties, while the craftsmen find buyers for their products, and trade flourishes.’
‘And the Shudras, the Chandalas and the mountain tribes, Ajamidha?’
Ajamidha straightened up.
‘I was not aware that the low-born people enjoyed so much of your interest, Sire. When it goes well with the Aryans, their lives fortunately become less burdensome, too.’
‘Fortunately, you say, honourable Ajamidha!’
‘Very much so, Sire. For us all life comes out of the Atman and thus is sacred. In our hermitage we respect whatever the Atman unfolds.’
‘And the animal of prey that spares no life, holy Ajamidha?’
Again, Ajamidha drew himself up.
‘We try to keep it away from the areas where people live.’
To have it destroy life elsewhere!’
‘He who created the universe,
‘Who looks down upon it from the highest light of heaven,
‘Who made or has not made it,
‘He knows…! Or, does he not know either?1’
‘Why the Creator has given to the lion and the tiger their unalterable preying instincts … I do not know.’
‘So, you will accept them. But what about the human being, Sir! When he displays preying or murderous characteristics, what would you do about it? You cannot easily keep him out of your hermitage nor can I from my empire.’
‘For the human being who is gifted his manas, I wish to set goodness against the wickedness, in the hope he will change for his own good.’
‘And if he does not change? There are people who seem to be incurable. A hyena always gets the left overs, the lion the best meat from its prey.’
‘Then one can only pray to the gods that they will guide the tendencies of these people towards the good.’
‘I would consider myself a bad Maharajah if I depended on prayers to chase away evil from my empire. For the rulers it is the law that counts and punishment and power, which I will use in whatever way I think it should. Who gave me the discernment? Shiva, god of life and of death.’
‘I would not dare to intervene in the affairs of the Maharajah, Sire, nor attempt to interpret the laws that rule your countries. An empire is not a hermitage; yet in both, it is the human spirit that rules. I have heard much about our new Maharajah; I am not unconcerned about who reigns over Aryavarta. I know an unbending will characterises his personality and an enormous power is entrusted in his hands. But the question of how he would handle that power filled me day and night with great concern. It was my conviction that only one person could be allowed to govern Aryavarta; it is said, Sire, that he is quick and just, but hard in his decisions; that his hardness and justness spares no one, neither Brahmin nor Chandala. In my hermitage justice is mellowed by friendliness, punishment determined by understanding, hardness steered by compassion in the right direction. My wife, who has been taken by Yama long ago to better places, we hope, understood only one rule: the all-encompassing love against the cold-heartedness of the world. My only daughter has taken over the domain of our home, with—to my inexpressible joy—her mother’s love. Asandhimitra is beautiful, Sire. Many a high guest on the hunt in the jungle, whom I have had the honour to receive in my hermitage, begged me for her hand. I refused because I thought that her heart, formed by peace, benign love, and empathy, could only find happiness with a man of similar disposition. Then one night, I dreamt that Shiva with his third eye was overlooking all India in rage, because each being was only serving his own interests and did not know peace, love, or compassion. The people chastised brutally, and did not spare the lives of others, who had as much right to live as them. Shiva wished to dispense death and life himself. His eye threw out its fiery rays at the endless jungle of your empire and set afire the dried-out plants, so that the flames reared their tongues high up into the sky. It was feared that India would change into the scorched, bare rocks on the Meru. Then suddenly a lovely figure appeared; it was Parvati. She poured over Shiva’s infuriated head the cool blessed water of the Ganga that comes down from the heavens, and tied a delicate blue scarf of fragrant silk around his forehead and over his radiating eye. Thus, she tempered the eye of the mighty god to a cautious and friendly disposition. For days I pondered about the meanin
g of this vivid dream, gracious Maharajah, and I could find only one explanation: That one should not follow one’s personal happiness, but humanity’s mission in this life between two eternities. So, I offer you my daughter as your Rani.’
Ajamidha now removed the veil which had fully enveloped Asandhimitra and led her to the young Raja. Ashoka was deeply touched by the pure beauty of the youthful Brahmin girl. The lovely lines of her body, browned by the sun and jungle air, were silhouetted like an ethereal figure beneath the gossamer thin, white fabric of her simple muslin clothes. In her black hair shone a big moonstone of pure splendour, and on her bosom a piece of radiating dark red jade in a silvery setting, shaped like a lotus. Asandhimitra had ingenuously raised her large eyes towards him. When Ashoka, inadvertently, became transfixed by the unusualness of her appearance, she lowered her eyes.
Ashoka the Great Page 50