‘Where is the coward of Ujjain!’ Sumana’s fury was unspeakable. He took up a sword. It was a sword he could hardly handle, however, and as he flung it vigorously in the direction of the Maharajah, it whizzed by Ashoka and killed Jala, who for Ashoka’s safety fought next to him. Ashoka, infuriated, took up his chakra. Sumana took a new weapon but before he was able to wield it, a glistening razor-sharp disc flew at his throat; he toppled from his elephant to the ground.
‘Bring the corpse to the traitor’s gate. Dig a hole and burn him in his grave, then throw earth on it!’
The Emperor calmed down, and gave orders to have Sumana’s army imprisoned without further bloodshed. Sumana’s ministers’ council decided at all costs to save Aradi who would bear the new successor of the throne. All hope was not lost yet – the twelve of Shakuni! The Rani, along with the council of ministers and under strong protection, was brought by ferry over the Ganga and thence disappeared into the jungle on the other side.
The remaining warriors had to surrender. Horror swept through Pataliputra and Magadha: six imperial Princes killed, thousands of warriors of one nation killed by warriors of the same nation. Mercilessly, Shiva’s eye had laid low Bindusara’s lineage.
Sagka accompanied the Maharajah to his palace with a strong cavalry and a formation of chariots. Inside the Ganga gate many people had gathered to see and cheer the triumphant Maharajah march into the city. Some Buddhist mendicants had calmly placed themselves in the front rows, looking ahead curiously like the others. Suddenly, a troop of foot soldiers who had been marching ahead of the procession attacked them, binding their hands and feet, before taking them to the prison buildings … they were twelve in number.
Sayana, Khallataka, and Asandhimitra awaited the Maharajah. Sura had constantly brought news from the battlefield to the palace. Just as Ashoka entered the audience hall a messenger appeared: ‘A rebellious band, led by Shakuni, wanted to open the gate for Sumana, O, Maharajah. All the leaders have been imprisoned and the fanatical fighters killed. What does the gracious Maharajah wish to do with the prisoners?’
‘Let them be executed immediately.’
Asandhimitra placed her hand on Ashoka’s arm.
‘My Maharajah, do not celebrate your victory with new deaths.’
‘It is not a celebration, neither are we in the flush of victory, Asandhimitra. It is an execution.’
‘Piyadasi, many thought Sumana was entitled to the ivory throne.’
‘It is the Brahmin-court which thought they were entitled to, revered Sayana.’
‘One does not kill Brahmins. They are summoned before the court of Brahma. A judge who ponders for a day more about a serious crime does not decree capital penalty easily.’
‘Seven times Shakuni deserved death.’
‘Then he will be condemned.’
‘Tomorrow morning in the first kalakramein the court will judge him and those who helped him. The guards will be tortured to death if they let him flee.’
‘Sire, let friendliness guide you on your path, now you are the master in this country.’
‘I cannot permit any weakness in myself now, Asandhimitra. I have to assert my powers.’
‘Then do assert them with goodness, Sire.’
‘Goodness strengthens fanaticism, beautiful Asandhimitra. Were you to spare a coward then he begins to think himself to be the protégé of the gods: Sumana! When I do treat the priests with respect they assume it is fear: Shakuni, Sunasepha!’
‘One does not cure hatred with hatred, hatred one cures with love, my lord.’
‘Except for priest’s hatred. That, one cures with power.’
‘Your power now is so great that you may be able to conquer their hatred, my Piyadasi.’
‘Their hatred is too strong for them to believe in my power. Twenty-four murderers, Sayana! I was to be killed, Sumana the only successor, and they the masters of Aryavarta. The first twelve I have had bound on the battlefield, the other twelve at my entry into the city. That is the enigmatic solution of their puzzling expedition. One weak moment and the fight is sparked off once again: the blood that tolerance demands.’
‘Friendliness subdues the wild elephant, my Maharajah.’
‘But not the tiger, for he knows no friendliness, beautiful Asandhimitra.’
‘Who takes up the sword against his own people, will fall on that sword, revered Maharajah.’
‘But he who dared to send killers with poisoned daggers against his Maharajah deserved to be killed by the sword. That is what justice demands. Their secretive incitement will have to be ended, however much I regret that my three best friends have such different opinions.’
15
CUNNING AND REVENGE
hakuni realised that it would be easier for an elephant to get out of the palisaded enclosure of an elephant-trap than for him to escape death. There remained only one way out: the sentries. Someone lost in the jungle of Jambudvipa may well ask a fool to show him the way out of the wilderness. But Shakuni was not the person to not attempt such last possibility. He assumed a yogic posture and sat for hours in a corner of the shed that was enclosed by heavy palisades. The guards understood from his vacant eyes and motionless gaze that the priest was in deep meditation. He, however, did not miss a single word of their conversation. He heard that Jana was very happy with the outcome of the events. It soon became quiet and in the long night, boredom crept in; that was when the guards decided to take rest alternately. When Jana fell asleep after the exertions of the day, the others watched Shakuni awakening from his state of meditation.
‘Varisara …’ he whispered.
‘Here,’ the other said softly so as not to wake up Jana.
‘Your father has died. His soul just visited me and orders you to go to his home in Kosambi.’
‘Very well. But first we have to bring you to the Ganga, Shakuni,’ mocked Varisara, but in his mocking there lurked fears of the mysterious Brahma-priest!
‘Bring me to the Ganga whenever you feel like. But your own fate, Varisara. You have to kill a Brahmin. Thousands of wrecked incarnations before you are back where you are now.’
‘When will my first rebirth take place, soothsayer of the Brahma-temple?’
‘That will be a long time yet. Before that you will go to a faraway country and will be elevated to a place of high respect. Your downfall will be so much the worse. Your first reincarnation, a Shudra -dog, because you killed a priest.’
‘Where will I go, sir?’
Ha! Sir! Shakuni’s heart leapt. The other two guards also approached the priest curiously.
‘To the south, to the great ocean where the Ganga’s holy water flows. You will be in command of many soldiers.’
‘Do I betray the Maharajah?’
‘The Maharajah betrays you. Thousands of wrecked rebirths he causes you. He does not kill the priests; you are the ones who have to do that! So, the revenge of the gods will be for you. Soon, Brihaspati will send one of his devis to request my freedom. Do not give in. Ashoka will torture you, kill you. Rather, drown me in the holy Ganga. Nothing can spare the Maharajah from the deepest of hells.’
‘And if we refuse to kill a priest?’
‘Whosoever serves an unlawful Maharajah, commits an unlawful deed himself. Rather, go to your mother and support her like your father wishes. But you are horse-guards and care only for prestige. Which soldier does not wish to enhance his prestige?’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘I know all.’
‘Then how can you spare us from a priest’s murder?’’ Banu asked.
‘I am not a warrior! What do I have to do with you anyway! Shiva forces you to a priest-murder! I enhance my own karma, not yours. You are a simple guard in the hands of injustice. If you wish to be so until your death, that is your decision, not mine. I am not giving you counsel as I am not receiving the priest-reward anyway!’
‘How much reward do you want? A handful of gold?’
‘Gold! Gold, the f
ool says! To take it with me into the Ganga? Each fee for me as a priest increased the treasures of the holy Brahma-temple! Tomorrow, you will drown me since it pleases a Shudra! A Shudra! And then Kshatriyas dare to ask me for my holy Brahman knowledge?’
Shakuni assumed his posture of a yogi again, feigning, as though he wished to leave the guards to their curiosity. His hands assumed the mudra1 of surrender, his eyes froze.
‘Forecast our future for us, priest.’
But Shakuni did not move.
‘What do you wish from us?’
‘I merely wish freedom to serve Brahma and Brihaspati or to be drowned in the Ganga. And then my soul will force the gods to punish the profaners of the sacred varna. You, too! You cannot bind my soul to a shed of palisades!’ The threatening tone alarmed the guards.
‘If we release you, Sir, we will be tortured to death!’
‘If you kill Brahmins you will be tortured to death a thousand times. Keep silent! Before my death, I wish to pray.’
Again, Shakuni took up the posture of meditation.
‘Sir, how may we atone?’
‘You let me free or you leave me alone.’
‘The most horrible punishment awaits us.’
‘Join me to serve Brahma, Indra, Brahispati and Varuna.’ The horse-guards went a short distance from his cage and whispered. Noiselessly a woman approached.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’
‘Bayadere of the Brahma-temple. Brihaspati asks you to free the holy Brahma-priest.’
‘Shiva will destroy us.’
‘Suni will sacrifice for you. Join us and protect him.’
‘Jana will betray us.’
Sinka approached Shakuni, whispered hastily with him, after which she turned to the horse-guards.
‘Tie up Jana, give his clothes to Shakuni. Try to escape through the gate at the Son. Tell the sentry you have an urgent message from Khallataka to Sela.’
The guards still hesitated. Then, suddenly, they came into action. Outside the town they fled at breakneck speed to the prisoners’ camp. Shakuni knew that a division of Sumana’s army had been sent there to free the army commanders. The camp was in a great uproar, the guards were overpowered; all others made themselves ready for a speedy flight. Shakuni was received with cheers and joy. Then all of them left for the country where Ashoka’s powers did not extend.
Ashoka’s fear of an assassination grew. That night he changed his sleeping place four times.
Early next morning, the court of Brahma was organised to sentence the traitors. Khallataka took his place as the head. Aruna and Kala were the judges. Ashoka forced twelve priests who he knew were his most ferocious opponents, and twelve others—all sympathetic with Sivi and inclined to sympathise with the new Maharajah, and some civilians—to join the court.
‘Bring Shakuni and Sunasepha into the hall,’ Khallataka ordered.
Sunasepha appeared in the midst of his guards, but Jana entered, upset.
‘Sire, he fled together with the three horse-guards, after they tied and gagged me and took away my riding clothes.’
Ashoka jumped up. ‘Where?’
‘I don’t know, Sire. Shakuni snarled at me: ‘Tell your Lord that I will come back one day.’’
Ashoka reflected for a while and finally said to Sagka: ‘Immediately ask for a thousand-strong cavalry from Sela and speed as hastily as possible to the prisoners’ camp. A division of Sumana’s army has been marching along the left bank of the Ganga. I now suspect it was to free the imprisoned officers who had to take over the command of the army. Continue with this priest, my Khallataka!’
Sunasepha trembled; Khallataka went on calmly:
‘And you, Sunasepha, what were the last words of Prince Ashoka in the hermitage of Devaka and Richika?’
‘I do not know, Sire.’
‘Refresh his memory, Batu,’ Khallataka spoke to the servant of the torture rack.
‘Yes, Sir, I do remember. The very first time I returned to Pataliputra my death-warrant would be signed.’
‘So, your death-warrant will now be signed. You will die by drowning in the Ganga.’
‘For that I grant mercy, gentlemen judges,’ Ashoka spoke so sharply that it sounded more like a verdict.
‘What were you up to, in Pataliputra?’
‘Sire, I walked around the city as a holy man … Salya.’
‘Simha, what can you tell us as a witness?’
‘Sunasepha and Shakuni persuaded us to choose Sumana’s faction, to open the Ganga gate for Prince Sumana. Kampaka and I would be promoted in the army for that.’
‘Well, Sunasepha, so you have conspired against the Maharajah. For that even a Brahmin is sentenced with capital punishment. For the second time I sentence you to death by drowning in the Ganga.’
Again, Ashoka rose: ‘Sir Judge, I grant him mercy for this deed, too.’ Sunasepha believed that the Maharajah feared him.
‘Who motivated the twelve inhabitants of Pataliputra to kill the Maharajah at his entry, gave them poisoned daggers and pardoned them their deed in advance, who trained them in that craft ever reminding them of the exalted purpose of their deed, ordered them to disguise themselves in the robes of Bhikshus, so that they under the protection of a monk’s robe, that means, stolen holiness, would perform their deed?’
‘Shakuni, Sir,’ answered the penitent, smugly.
‘Show in the twelve murderers.’ They were still manacled heavily.
‘Take off the robes which do not belong to them.’
‘Sire, the gowns belong to us. They are ours.’
‘The material, but not the dignity they represent in the empire of the Maharajah. Take them off!’ The gowns were taken away and the twelve men were seen to be clad in heavy armour.
‘That looks more honest. Now perform the oath that you will speak the truth. Who persuaded you to kill the reigning Maharajah, under the cover of the holy priestly garb?’
‘Salya, Sire.’
‘They are lying, noble Khallataka.’
Khallataka called in the temple-servant from the Brahma-temple.
‘Perform your oath. Now, who ordered these men to kill the Maharajah?’
‘Salya, Sire. A traitor from the army camp trained them daily.’
‘Do you know with what purpose?’
‘Yes Sire.’
‘Testify honestly without hiding anything.’
‘Sire, they were trained daily in wrestling and in the use of weapons. Continuously, they were told that all the gods wished for the death of Raja Ashoka. If they were to die then the most heavenly place would be awaiting them, and if the gods would spare them, the highest esteem.’
Sunasepha bent his head.
‘Do you have anything to say against this, Sunasepha?’
‘No, Sire.’
‘You realise that for the third time you deserve capital punishment, because you forced other people—by means of your religious position, which may only serve to elevate men to a higher awareness and life—to kill, in the disguise of a bhikshu, the ruling Maharajah of Aryavarta.’
‘According to Vedic canons, Prince Sumana must be the successor.’
‘Is a criminal priest to decide that or is it the holy Maharajah? And for all the rest you admit the facts?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
Then I sentence you to death by drowning in the Ganga.’
All eyes were directed towards the Maharajah. Would he grant mercy now, too? Sunasepha did not expect anything else: Ashoka feared the priests, after all! But Ashoka kept silent.
Salya was then led to the Ganga.
Simha and the other traitors from amongst the horse-guards were sentenced to death by being pierced with arrows. The execution would take place in the army camp in the presence of the warriors. The twenty-four killers were sentenced to death by torture.
*
Ashoka sought out his working chamber but could not focus his thoughts on work. Every day sentences were being passed … because h
e had become Maharajah. Would this ever end? Would the priests sow hatred forever, and he, arouse hate with every measure, with every sentence! Girika and Maskarin’s spies tracked down the culprits who had been following the priests in their anger against the unwanted Maharajah. Like the Shiva of death, he raged through Aryavarta, as if the gods had created people for his revenge. And all that he wished for was peace and quiet, occupation, work, prosperity, happiness for his people. What was it that fate wanted from him? To spare his enemies would increase their resistance. To destroy everything that was obstructing his path would suppress their rebellion but stir up their hatred. He wanted to come to an agreement with his peoples and to realise his earlier ideals! Who sets the limits of both the eternities, before and after life? Could he compel all, with violence, to his views? With more forbearance then? Which way? Asandhimitra, which way! A seeking, powerless powerful one, in the darkness of the endless jungle … Asandhi!
‘Asandhimitra, your face is as cheerless as the moon in Sravana2. Do you know that sadness will wear out your beauty as a storm wears on the frail beauty of a flower in Vesanta? Is it boredom that pales the flowers of your cheeks? Does the Rani miss music, dance or play? I will give it to you.’
Ashoka the Great Page 53