‘And what is your first impression?’
‘That in almost all provinces over there, the Shiva cult is developing strongly, where the Lord of life and death shows up under the names: Shiva, Kaleshvar8 or Mahadeva9.’
‘In what countries?’ Kullika asked.
‘In the Punjab, Kashmira, Kabul, in Ujjain, the Deccan10, Dakshina11 and Gondyana12.’
Startled, Kullika looked up at the Maharajah. Remarkable! Those were the countries where Ashoka had been working, and was revered as army commander, viceroy, and where his helping hands had stretched out towards the distressed peoples.
Ashoka understood immediately Kullika’s fear. ‘The almighty Shiva, Lord of life, supports the powerless Buddha, my Kullika.’
‘… If the power-hungry priests do not change the Lord of all life into the Lord of death, who wears a garland of skulls. They create themselves a hell that grows more gruesome, the more their lust for power grows.’
‘Or, does the hell burn inside the evil man himself and should the fuel be removed first to smother the torturing fire, my Kullika?’
‘The clear, simple teaching of the Buddha,’ Agnibrahma thought, ‘works without a hell, and actually without a heaven, even without god; Brahma has become a pale figure with the Buddhist, in eternal rest, far, far elevated above the earthly world. I found this parable in which the Buddha clearly expresses for what he has come. Once the monk Malunkyaputta goes to the Tathagata and asks whether the soul is different from the body or not, whether or not the world is eternal and infinite, and whether there is life after death. He urges the Buddha to answer these questions, with affirmation, denial or ‘I do not know.’ Thereafter, he would be ready to stay with the Buddha as his follower. Otherwise, he would turn again to a worldly life. But the Buddha answered with a parable:
‘A man is hit by a poisoned arrow; his friends call for a doctor. Should he say now: I do not let the arrow be removed from the wound before I know exactly who is the man by whom I am hit, what is his name, his lineage, his varna; how does he look, is he small, is he big, is he dark, is he fair, where does he come from, and before I know exactly what kind of bow it was with which he shot, of which wood the arrow was made that wounded me … the man would have died before he could be cured’…
It would be the same, when someone would make his entering the Sangha dependent upon these questions: He would die before the Tathagata could answer these questions13.
What is more important is the removal of the arrow, the curing of the wound. For his salvation, man is dependent on himself. Within himself he has the power to proceed on the road to Nirvana. It is a beautiful teaching that creates no fear of hell, nor does it beg favours from the gods, or buy them off with precious sacrificial-blood or priests’ fees, but it does recognise the human will and the human power as the most precious gift with which to fight for purification of his soul, until it is standing in the impeccable white gown.’
‘That is a beautiful doctrine, Agnibrahma, but the Brahmin-court and the Kalingas …’
20
LONGINGS
he morning sun had hardly breathed in the morning-dew when the imperial procession led by Kullika approached Devi’s palace. The Rani turned pale, and together with Mahindra and Sanghamitra walked silently up towards the beloved purohita.
‘High Rani, you know what I have come for.’ She nodded.
‘It is the destiny of the oldest son, O, Rani.’
‘And Siddharta, my Kullika?’
‘In one kalpa only one Buddha, O, Rani.’
‘Pataliputra!’
‘The Maharajah performs a grand task. It is exalted to share in it.’
‘Ashoka wished to do so. Mahindra is like his father, filled with compassion for all that lives, but his Father’s strong vigour is lacking in him. He suits our happy Malwa better.’
‘Happy since Ashoka became Viceroy here, High Rani.’
‘You are right, Malwa was too small for his mind and I, too small for his great heart. Does he love Asandhimitra?’
‘The Maharajah does not take important decisions until he has first discussed them with her. That we know, you and I too, High Rani, he needs someone who says ‘yes’ to his own wide-ranging thoughts. Maybe, that way Mahindra …’
Devi bowed her head in silence.
‘I want to go to Pataliputra, Mother. If father appoints me Yuvaraja1, I have to be able to rule the country.’
‘And lead the army and have sacrificing ceremonies performed and offer wines and other strong drinks at feasts! Maybe, drink them?’
‘As if one cannot be the Maharajah without this!’
‘And the Tathagata, my son?’
‘Mother, imagine, a Maharajah who is a follower of the Buddha!’
‘Oh, that every human being has to fight anew the battle between the outside paths and the noble middle one! You, too, my child!’
‘The outside-paths are the easiest, dear mother, but to traverse the hard middle road! Again and again, one has to take responsibility for one’s actions. It is easier to wade through the banks of a river, for there one finds the support of the reed, of every branch, of every plant, of every embankment. But in the middle, where the waves surge with the current, there one needs strength, like Father has. Father wants to know whether I have enough strength. I think.’
‘I, too, would like to go to Pataliputra, Mother!’ Sanghamitra joined in. ‘I have not seen Father in six years. Sometimes, I have such a strong need for him that I ask every commander who comes from Pataliputra, or the sarthavahas of the great caravan, or envoys, how my father is. Vasudeva says, Father is wise as a god. And the sarthavahas say that the people of the great empire praise him for his righteous reign, his knowledge about all that is happening in the wide world, his vigour, his benevolence towards all who suffer. Two years ago, he supplied the whole of Hariana for six months with grains, medicines and physicians, thereby saving hundreds of thousands of people and animals in their need … until the new harvest came, so the sarthavaha Lati from Mathura told me. Nearly the whole of the Deccan has chosen him as their Maharajah. His granaries are always full and his treasures grow because of the prosperity of the country. But he does not hoard them in the treasuries, like Dhana Nanda2. Rather, he uses them for the support of the people who are ravaged by floods, or drought, or earthquakes, or illnesses. Lati travels on all the great trunk roads. It is Father, who orders the caretaking of the trade roads and the places of rest, and he has wells dug for man and animal. In the cities of the west the people build Shiva-temples, because they believe that Father is the embodiment of Shiva. And we stay in Vidisha or Ujjain. Father hardly knows us anymore! I long for Father. Do you not, Mother?’
‘I! I have my concerns about my children. In Pataliputra, I cannot live. I have to live close by the stupa of Sanchi in Malwa. Our palace, his first happiness. You can go to Father, my child. I will stay here with my weak darling. It is your right to be at your Father’s. There will always be room for you here if you wish to return from the city of hell. I shall await that happy moment. And Kullika? He promised me that he would return soon!’
‘He who is spell-bound by the Maharajah, can follow only one path. And that is his, High Rani, because the success of his measures affects the welfare of so many.’
‘Ashoka … sashoka.’
‘My work, a small part of the huge work he is undertaking, nears its end after which I shall return to Vidisha.’
When Ashoka received the message that his children had passed the last horse-post on the Ashoka Road he rode out to meet them with a procession of elephants, horses and chariots. He yearned to see them again. He met the party on the way to Bodh Gaya. The Maharajah was deeply touched to see his children again, fully grown, in youthful health and strength.
‘I had not expected my Sanghamitra … because of Rani Devi.’
‘I was longing so much for you, my Father.’
‘Longing!’ The word coursed through his entire being. Ashoka looked
at her. Devi, resilient, radiant, the way she stood timidly before him eighteen years ago in Subhadra’s palace with two peaches. Sanghamitra … Longing for him! In the last six years he had not had much time to long for what he had left behind in Vidisha, as his endeavours had fully occupied his life in dificult times, when insecurity drove him in the night from one sleeping place to the other. But their longing for him he had not known all those years either. Was that why it touched him so deeply? Moved, he took the slender girl in his arms and lifted her up onto the elephant, seating her beside him.
The whole of Pataliputra had come out to welcome the Maharajah family with flowers poured out along the road. Cries, hailing the Maharajah, the Yuvaraja and the Princess, rang out along the Emperor’s Road. The anthapura was excited. They feared the new inhabitants who would occupy an important place in the palace! Who was Mahindra? Was he a rough warrior from the interior of the country who had to be feared? And the Princess? Would she derive from her Father’s might an influence that could be dangerous, or at least unpleasant, for the anthapura?
Mahindra turned out to be a slender, fine, fairytale Prince, who met his future home and its inmates with serious looks: he had nothing of the martial ways of his father. And Sanghamitra, with her shyness during the welcome in full honours in the capital, and at the overwhelming impression of the imperial palace and the richly dressed women and high oficers … she brought a smile to all faces, especially when she walked, somewhat hesitantly up to Subhadrangi.
‘You are my grandmother? I am so happy!’ And she knelt down and kissed Subhadrangi’s gown. The old Rani lifted her up, took her in her arms and caressed her, charmed by her loveliness.
‘So, Devi must have been when my son met her.’
She appraised Mahindra more coolly. Would he be a support or a rival for the Maharajah? Then she embraced him tenderly. Mahindra bowed deeply and she blessed him.
The following day Radhagupta took Mahindra on a visit to the soldiers’ camps. In the art of warfare he was certainly lacking. Ashoka had come to the park to see whether he would be on time, was able to ride a horse, whether he had any close liking for his future work. Mahindra soon appeared, young and buoyant.
‘Does my son ride a horse or does he prefer an elephant?’
‘A horse, my Father.’ Ashoka noticed with joy how well the young man sat on the horse and controlled the animal. Just as they were about to ride off, Sanghamitra came out. She watched her brother ride off and approached her father, taking his arm.
‘People are awake early in Vidisha, I see.’
‘Yes, my Father. This is how I remember you, when you rode off in Ujjain. It hurt me, because often you stayed away for days. Mahindra will never be a good horseman.’
‘He is on horseback like the best of my warriors.’
‘But when he has been riding two yojanas and the horse gets too warm and sweats, he pities the poor animal, jumps off, and is not to be urged again to mount before the animal has had a rest. That is what Mother found so endearing in him.’
‘Horses have to work hard, just like men.’
‘Mahindra used to say that tired people can complain; whereas animals, we have to care for.’
‘Did the journey not fatigue my daughter too much? And what is she looking for so early?’
‘For you, my Father. For six years I knew nothing about you, apart from what I came to know through strangers. Now I myself wish to see what you are doing. Is it dificult to rule such a great empire, my Father?’
‘No, everything proceeds by itself as long as one does not stay in bed when Ushas opens the gates for the new day.’
‘Am I allowed to see and hear what you are doing daily? Up to now you have been to me an unfamiliar Maharajah. Later on, when I have to return to Vidisha, I want to know what you are doing when I think of you. You are not a stranger to me, Father, are you?’
‘Certainly not, my child. I could not even think that you kept your thoughts so busy with me. Stay close to me today. Come.’
The Maharajah, touched by her affection, put his arm around her shoulders and together they went to the hall, where the guards were posted.
‘See here, Satyavat, my daughter; she is curious and so needs your protection in our beautiful city.’
‘I did not know that your gracious Majesty possessed such riches in Vidisha.’
Ashoka laughed, and made his way to the great hall, where the priests of the Brahmin-court waited for him with their morning-blessing. After the ceremony, Ashoka introduced his daughter. The Brahmins made a light genuflection; a few spoke a friendly word of welcome. One of the young Brahmins had hardly moved: With admiring eyes he looked at the slender figure, who, on the arm of her father, was striding along the rows, looking around with curiosity. She started, when she saw, how the young priest followed her with glittering eyes. At the end of the rows she once more turned back timidly. His eyes pierced hers. She looked ahead bashfully, clung to her father’s arm, who felt it immediately, and, looking back, understood the cause of her shyness. He greeted and proceeded with Sanghamitra to his working quarters.
‘Who is that young priest, my Father? I have seen him before.’
‘He struck me, too. You will soon meet him. His name is Rauma.’
The Maharajah first received the treasurers, then the lipikaras from the different departments; then, in the great auditorium, the subjects from all parts of his empire, who wished to present their pleas before the Maharajah. Lipikaras wrote down the decisions of the Maharajah. Sanghamitra did not understand much of all the matters that had to be dealt with but she looked in admiration at her father, who seemed to know of every case, for which the people came from far and near. He probed into it and after the interrogation, immediately passed on a decree.
‘How do you know all that, my Father?’
‘For that I have my oficers and spies, and departments, where all of the reports are any moment available to me. What value would my judgement have for a man of Ujjain or Taxila, if I did not keep myself informed of his petition? Before anyone comes with his complaints or requests, my employees give me the information from their department.’
‘How many informants must you have then?’ Ashoka smiled at her.
‘Thousands. They cross the country as students, penitents, ascetics, physicians, beggars, merchants, magicians, fortune-tellers; I can use even impoverished Brahmins or their widows, when they want to serve me loyally. Every town has its information-post. Deceit, oppression, wrong implementation of laws, crimes and worse in my great empire, would not be punished or prevented, if I did not have a staff of intelligent, honest, truthful spies at my service. I want to know what happens in the country. My people have to believe that the Maharajah is informed about everything, and that he judges expertly. That is needed, as long as people’s own will is not strong enough, to forsake the evil, do what is good and control the mind.’
‘Are you a Buddhist, father?’
‘No. We have to proceed now as people are waiting.’
‘I am Sudgata, O, Maharajah, a Vaishya from the land of Kosali, not far from Sravasti. I have killed the Purusha of the holy Maharajah.’
‘I know. I was informed that you had been seeking your death in the Terai, Sudgata. Would not that have been better? You still dare to appear before me?’
‘I know that in Sravasti they would have sentenced me to death because the judges and oficers sided with the Purusha, Bali. I do not feel guilty, though. If you, holy Maharajah, will sentence me thus then I will patiently accept the penalty of death because I know that you are righteous.’
‘Get up, Sudgata, and tell me what happened in Sravasti.’
‘I had a happy family, noble Maharajah. We were blessed with a son and two daughters. The son would succeed me later, if the Purusha of the Maharajah agreed; both the girls were widely known because of their beauty and good care of their duties at home. We wished for two sturdy Vaishyas who would desire them as their wives. One day, however, a messenge
r from the Purusha, Bali, came to ask Uttara, the elder one, to become his wife. I knew that the girls from the higher varnas did not want the purusha as husband because he was suffering from a secret sickness, leprosy or worse, and also that Uttara would be doomed to become ill through him. So, I refused. The Purusha was incensed with me. My land-fees were increased, the permitted amount of water from the irrigation canal decreased. A few days later his Purohita came to induce me, to give Uttara as yet to the Purusha. If I agreed, my land taxes would be lowered again, and the water supply restored. I explained to the priest why I had refused. He jeered at me and said that Bali was as healthy as I was and that I was listening to gossip; I should not thwart the happiness of my child. Yet, I refused again out of fear for my Uttara. Two days later, when she was milking the cows on the land, servants of the purusha assaulted her, brought her to his large house, where a priest immediately married them. When I heard about it, it was too late. Moreover, I could not do anything against the employees. A year later, Uttara died. Some time later, the Purusha asked for my second daughter to become his wife. I refused firmly. In every possible way, they tried to force me again. The priest came to see me again. I warned him not to let Kesina be taken away by servants for then I would kill them. I reproached him for deceiving me, but this time I would not let the same thing happen. In his anger he threatened to curse me. I replied that I would then become a Buddhist. Once more Bali sent three servants to take Kesina. In the jungle of the Terai I have often fought lions and wild elephants, which were trying to harm my cattle and fields, O, Maharajah. I never left Kesina on her own and chased away the three men with my club. Bali himself appeared the next morning. He promised me riches, more land, water, as much as I wanted, a new farmstead, slaves to work on the land, if I would give him Kesina. I said that Kesina, for sake of her health, was not for sale. Infuriated, he left and the next day sent ten servants. After I had killed two of them, I was overpowered by the remaining eight. Then they abducted Kesina. I sent a servant to the purusha, to say that I would agree, on the condition that he would give me proof of the promised favours and that I be allowed to witness the ceremony. I was summoned to come to the government house. The purohita received me politely in the presence of the most important employees and praised me for becoming wise. I requested him to inform the purusha that I wished a sealed proof of my rights and so I asked to see him. Bali was very friendly. I showed my regret that I had been so obstinate. He said many friendly things to me, thanked me for my agreement and wished to keep all his promises. Then he took me to his work-room. There I, with my reaping hoe… brought to an end his sins, shut the room, and fled. My horse was waiting for me, and I galloped off to the Terai … I know the elephant paths in the jungle well, Sire. When I reached the forest-swamps, I chased the horse back. I could not take it with me. On my own, I continued along the path through the dangerous forest with its snakes, lions, wild elephants and crocodiles. It was a continuous struggle for my life. But I had only one goal: to reach the Holy Maharajah and to hear from him my sentence. I arrived from Nepal alive, and then, crossing Kusinagara and Vaishali, came here. I do not know what has happened to my poor daughter, my wife and my son. But they are not guilty in any way, noble Maharajah.’
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