Ashoka the Great

by Keuning, Wytze

  ‘Are you … Shiva, Sire?’

  ‘I am an upasaka, a worshipper of the Buddha.’

  Muta bowed his head.

  The next morning the Maharajah appeared with his retinue at Muta’s and requested him to climb on and ride on the elephant, by his side. In silence, they took the penitent through the busy streets of Pataliputra, where weavers, potters, blacksmiths, painters, barbers, goldsmiths, jewellers, carpenters and cloth-dyers quietly worked; then on to the Ganga, where commerce pulsed in the big merchant-city, then to the farmlands, where the Vaishyas tilled the lands and harvested contently, then to the large royal herbal nurseries, and finally to the huge encampment of the army. Everywhere the people came running up to see the Maharajah and show him their greatest respect.

  ‘Is this prosperity to be found everywhere in your country, O, Maharajah?’

  ‘It is the kind of power which I am striving for, Muta: quiet goodness, silent joy, trust, work and truth that will kill the desire for power, one’s own ego.’

  They rode along the Emperor’s road, along which thousands of warriors lined up at the first strike of the gong, to demonstrate their respect for the Maharajah. Muta’s awe grew as they rode on through the elephant-camps with its endless rows and pickets of very well-cared for animals, through a vast plain of war-chariots, horse-camps, which never seemed to end, then to the training grounds, where Ashoka staged an elaborately arranged mock battle, in which all the different units took part. Muta’s face darkened; the inspiration and enthusiasm under the eyes of the Maharajah, the untiring efforts, the giving-no-quarter, intoxicating elation of the battle, the deafening sounds of the acts of war, the quick attacks, the chariots with their span of four horses racing along, the earth-shaking stomping of the squads with massive elephants, all filled him with awe and fear for his native country.

  When Sela, with his army, at last forced Sagka to give way, Ashoka raised his hand and suddenly all battle stopped. Ashoka whistled his elephant-signal and some twenty huge war-elephants made their way from between the others. On another signal from the Maharajah they knelt on their forefeet before the high company, close to Ashoka and the penitent.

  ‘Children, back to your place,’ and the elephants ambled calmly back to the rows. ‘That is my personal bodyguard, holy Muta.’

  After Girika and Sura had returned to the capital and had informed the Maharajah about their experiences in Kalinga, Ashoka received the penitent again in the palace.

  ‘Holy Muta, I will now give you the freedom to return to Kalinga. How do you prefer to travel, on horseback, on elephant, on ox-cart? My servants will accompany you to your pippala-tree, if you like.’

  ‘Give me the ox-cart, Sire, so that I can quietly reflect about what I have seen and heard in your empire.’

  ‘It is a Kalingan truth, holy Muta that you divided your person in Tosali into two Mutas, one of which remained in Kalinga, fulfilling your everyday tasks, while the other was here as you will come to know.’ The Maharajah had Maskarin come, again disguised completely as Muta. The penitent was startled when he saw his mirror-image, and was even more surprised when he discovered that the other had his voice, his demeanour and movements, too.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Muta, and you?’

  ‘Muta. From where do you come?’

  ‘From Tosali, and you?’

  ‘From Tosali. What do you do over there?’

  ‘Telling the future and giving advice to the Raja, Shakuni and Sarata. And you?’

  ‘How long were you there?’

  ‘As long as you were absent from your holy place.’

  ‘And did the people believe you?’

  ‘No. What in Kalinga is a lie is truth in Magadha and truth is what we call a lie.’

  ‘And did the people let you tell their future?’

  Maskarin related what he had gone through with Shakuni, Sarata and the Raja.

  ‘Then I left for Pataliputra in search of my second I. It is now your turn to seat yourself again under the pippala-tree.’ Muta reflected.

  ‘Ashoka raised his hand and Maskarin disappeared so fast that Muta hardly noticed. The penitent contemplated the strange appearance. He shook his head and finally accepted it as a miracle.

  ‘Tell your King what you think about a war between Kalinga and me, holy Muta. You may be aware that I will no longer allow Kalinga to be a threat to my empire in the east.’

  ‘Holy and gracious Maharajah, I now know the great perception you have of your task. But do not think that I will have any influence. In Kalinga they call themselves the protectors of the Vedic gods. The country and its people are forced towards a war that sets aside all laws, even the laws of the gods themselves. And that means that my words will fade away like the death-cry of a sannyasin in the jungle. May the gods protect our poor people, who detest war.’

  ‘A citizenry, that endures its rulers, bears their actions and accepts its consequences, is itself responsible, holy Muta.’

  Muta let himself be taken by ox-cart to the border of his country. The rest of the way, he travelled on foot, and once again took his place under the softly quivering pippala-tree. From all sides people happily came towards him, brought him milk, ghee, rice and fruits. But Muta did not speak a word anymore, he pondered. When Ushas opened Surya’s gate for the new day, his decision was made. He bathed himself with pure water, brought to him from the river in brass jars. Towards the time that the Raja consulted with his ministers, he appeared at the palace in Tosali, passed by the guards in silence, and reached the auditorium, undisturbed. Startled, people looked up, and their frightened glances followed the penitent who came up very near the throne.

  ‘Honoured Raja, I wish to tell the truth to you and give you advice.’

  ‘Holy Muta, I did not ask for your counsel. Nor do I wish for it.’

  ‘Am I your slave, who has to answer only when you ask me? I do not come here because you asked me, but because the highest Will orders me to do so. By long torment and difficult yoga, I came to divine what is happening all around me. I divided myself into two Mutas, one of which performed his yoga under the pippala-tree.’

  ‘Did that one apparition stay all the time under the pippala-tree, holy Muta?’ Shakuni asked, barely concealing his mockery.

  ‘No, stranger in Kalinga, who misuses the hospitality of our land for selfish revenge and hatred, you and Prince Sarata sentenced me to death by leading me to the crocodile-pond to become food for the monster living there. My other part went to Pataliputra to learn about the dangers Kalinga could expect from the Maharajah of Aryavarta. Aryavarta has become as rich as Kalinga is poor and the people are as happy and content with the noble Maharajah as ours have fear of you, high Raja. The people are prosperous, as ours indigent, the army huge, mighty and as invincible as ours puny; one reveres the Emperor there as one here fears our King. The country is limitless in size and vigour, even as ours is small and insignificant. Will you risk war with a country that is inexhaustible in its resources and war-prepared troops? If you risk the war, high Raja, you and your country will be destroyed. I feel closely related to the atman of the gracious Maharajah, more than to that of the fugitive Magadhans in our country!’

  ‘With the throne-thief, you mean!’ Shakuni called out in temper.

  ‘A water bubble gurgling up from a dung pit thinks that his lustre is more precious than that of the brilliance of the temple gopura2, which guides itself only towards Shiva on Mount Kailasha.’

  ‘And what predicts Magadha-Muta, who turned out to be a betrayer of his country, for me, a Prince of the Mauryas?’

  ‘What my other self already told you at the crocodile-pool: you will be one of the first to fall, because you are ruled by the two greatest sins of humanity: hatred and revenge. Remember, high Raja, that I have been able, more than once to give you advice, and that this will be the last counsel I will give to you: If you risk the war, you and your country will be destroyed! From now on, I wish so to live that my soul may enter
Brahma-nirvanam.’

  Muta turned around and left the hall under a seething silence. A wild story went through Kalinga-country about the miracle of the split-in-two Muta, even feared by the crocodiles to whom the evil demons had taken him, who flew through the air to Magadha, where Ashoka revered him, as did everyone who abhorred war with Kalinga. The Maharajah had offered him great treasures if he had wanted to stay in Magadha to spread his blessings. But the holy Muta wished to return to his pippala. Now the two Mutas were united again and the pious Kalingans brought him their offerings. That was all that could bring them happiness because the holy Muta spoke no more.

  25

  DARK PORTENTS

  n the mind of the Raja arose a scheme to win over Rauma. Guptika, a young commander, was chosen as the envoy, as he was impassioned with fervour for the far-ranging desires of the King. The hard-hearted warrior was nicknamed the ‘mongoose’, since even the poison of his bitterest enemy could not harm him. He shunned neither treachery nor lies, murder nor slander, if it served the purpose of making Kalinga more powerful. His greatest desire was to destroy the Maharajah of Aryavarta. Disguised as a student, he came to Rauma, pretending he wanted to visit the parishads of Aryavarta.

  ‘I have heard that you have visited many holy places, high Mahamatra. Perhaps, you can give me advice for my long journey.’

  Rauma looked up at the unflinching, unfeeling face of the warrior.

  ‘I thought that Kalinga needed its young men for the army.’

  ‘Kalinga needs the knowledge of Brahmanism, which Aryavarta abuses.’

  ‘The Maharajah will keep no one away who wishes to practise earnestly his religion in his empire.’

  ‘A Buddhist preaches his doctrine to the Arya and to the Mletcha. You know as well as I do that sacrificial priests are not tolerated in Pataliputra.’

  ‘Not in the palace.’

  ‘And that a wave of yellow robes has entered the Brahmin-court. Many of the priests who have been thrown out have found a safe haven in Kalinga; only there the gods are safe as yet from the mockery of the followers of the Shakyamuni. Are you a Buddhist?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It is to your disadvantage.’

  ‘Disadvantage, do you say, Guptika?’

  ‘Yes. They told me …’ Guptika noticed the guard. ‘Is that guard to remain present in our meeting?’

  Rauma sent away the guard.

  ‘Refugees say that you wished for Ashoka’s daughter for marriage. To have her for yourself or to rise up?’

  ‘The Maharajah appointed me as a Mahamatra even without a marriage alliance.’

  ‘So, you wished to have the beautiful Princess for yourself!’

  ‘Princess Sanghamitra will marry my friend, Prince Agnibrahma.’

  ‘And you missed the one opportunity to get her!’

  ‘That opportunity does not exist.’

  ‘You can help the army of the Kalingas to overcome the heretic Maharajah and get her as a war-booty.’

  ‘You are speaking very boldly to a high officer of the Maharajah, young man.’

  ‘A Maharajah who sends you to dangerous, faraway borders to bear the brunt of battle. That means a troublesome suitor is out of the way! They know in Pataliputra how to keep you far away from the palace.’

  Guptika noticed that his words made an impression and continued.

  ‘The victory of our army can only be to your advantage. He, who supports us, has a share in our power. What reasons do you have for supporting a sovereign who wants to destroy you? Remember his stance towards the Crown Prince or towards the Brahmins who have led the Mauryas to their greatest power with their dedicated offerings. You served him in many ways, and in return, he sends you to the far-off borders of his enemies! Join us in our fight to save Aryavarta from its downfall, which is inescapable, brought on by the insignificant, impotent and over-fragile doctrine of that foolish king’s son from Kapilavastu1. Instead of steeling himself for battle, he took cover in the cowardly slogan: ‘Thou shalt not kill’, which dooms the highest varna to dependency upon every brute or disgraceful one, on every marauding animal, even on ants and mosquitoes. What will stop the Mleccha in the future from destroying everything that is Aryan and then to feast on our graves? Can you not perceive the god-dishonouring madness of such a government? Whoever joins us, is the support of the gods, is a Kshatriya or Brahmin because he understands the higher goal of Brahmin duty and Brahmin dignity: to quell all that dares to resist our supremacy and he does not see war as a sin but as a higher expression of a higher spirit!’

  ‘Sarata and Shakuni do not recoil from employing murder, betrayal, calumny and whatever means, however vile.’

  ‘So, they must! What else can they do against the Mighty Mauryan Emperor! One who serves a higher goal has to embrace the means or else become an ascetic.’

  ‘So, you allow any means as being permissible.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What means do you, a small country, have against the Maharajah of a world empire? And why do you displace yourself from your country for years?’

  ‘You ask more trust from me than I can give you. If you would but sympathise with the fight of Kalinga, I would return immediately, tomorrow even, to Tosali.’

  ‘We will talk tomorrow.’

  Rauma was surprised: Why had he been listening to the Kalingan? Was it his desire for Sanghi or his desire for adventure, or was it his awakening suspicion towards Ashoka? Why had he in the past chosen the side of Prince Kala! Had it not been his admiration for the work of the young Viceroy and the Maharajah? And about Sanghi … Did he want to take a woman who did not want him? And had not the Maharajah given him the same chance to win the favour of the beautiful Princess as the Prince? Did not people say that Ashoka once refused a Princess of Mathura because she loved Prince Kala? Throne-thief? Brahmins killed, Virata, Sarvilaka … Did he not reclaim the people from their clutches? Ashoka the Righteous; Sanghi, radiating youth and beauty. What has he done wrong in earlier incarnations that she so filled his life, yet was never within his reach! But by betrayal of the holy Maharajah! … Or, of himself? Did he want to have Sanghi only to possess her, or to have her in mutual love? His love had pained him more than he could bear. He had fled. But he never would be unworthy of her! No creeping in the mud of Kalinga. Never!

  How could he serve the Maharajah best? Turn down Guptika proudly and watch the border-district even more strictly? Or, feign to be of help? Penetrate the secrets of the Kalingans? Maybe, suggest plans to them after consulting his master! Exterminate whoever wanted to destroy the great work of Piyadasi, the holy Maharajah? Work as a spy? Was Revata a spy? Or, a servant of humanity, as Ashoka used to call him? ‘To unmask criminals is the bound duty of any officer.’ … Tomorrow!

  ‘Do you guarantee me possession of Princess Sanghamitra and will I be a rajuka2 of the next Maharajah?’

  ‘Without a doubt.’

  ‘You have to assure me!’

  ‘The Raja will give you that assurance, as well as Sarata and the head of the Brahmin-court will bless you.’

  ‘When are you thinking of starting the campaign? You know, Sanghamitra is engaged to Prince Agnibrahma. I could be too late.’

  ‘Maybe, after the coming monsoon. Anyway, there are other ways to prevent the marriage.’

  Rauma nodded. ‘From your side?’

  ‘No obstacles for whoever serves the higher goal!’

  ‘Well, I choose—in all secrecy—your side. My name shall never be mentioned and only through you will I keep contact with your Raja. I will see that an easy entrance is opened in my district. What is your first goal?’

  ‘Most likely, Suhma, Anga, Banga. Once we are there, we will be supported by Manipura, with whom we have a close friendship.’

  ‘Ashoka’s army is strong!’

  ‘His Buddhism weakens his prowess. The strength of our army lies in our resoluteness for war. We want to restore the gods in Aryavarta!’

  Rauma nodded. ‘We will make th
e passage to Suhma as wide as we can. And what about the southern part of your domain? Gondavana and Dakshina recognise now the supreme rule of the Maharajah.’

  ‘That supremacy is exactly what we want to wipe out in one decisive, yet risky, battle.’

  ‘Which one?’ Rauma asked, seemingly calm.

  ‘You will hear about it later.’

  Rauma sent a complete message for the Maharajah. With one detail, though, he struggled: Agnibrahma. Had he not himself to take care of his own safety? Was he responsible for the deeds of Guptika? He served Ashoka, after all, not Agnibrahma.

  The Maharajah was content about Rauma. Only, there was missing in his information the one detail that was part of the story of Ashoka’s spies: Agnibrahma. Ashoka thought of Rani Samgati’s words: ‘No ruler develops his powers to its fullest strength, who regards women as being the highest in a weak moment.’ Why did Rauma withhold information? The Maharajah took his precautions for the safety of the Prince. He sent Girika, Sura, and along with them Sapalin, a most competent commander of the horsemen, with some other officers to the border-district.

  Rauma felt dissatisfied. His desire for Sanghi was overwhelming! But to betray Agnibrahma! He had grown attached to the Prince in the capital. He was true, earnest, benevolent, like the Buddha. What was it that struck him about the Maharajah? Was it not his righteousness, his compassion, and his truth that touched him? He was not bound to the letter nor chained to tradition. He was pure and spotless, shining over all his peoples, enlightening all, him, Rauma, too? Light, radiating from the great King, and shining to all creatures. And suddenly, the meaning of a Buddhist parable that Kullika once had related became clear to him, as the light of a torch kindled in the night. He, nor Agnibrahma, had understood it then.

  ‘In Indra’s paradise sprouts the Kovidari-tree3 and the devas4 watch its growth with sacred interest. When they see the first tender, yellowish leaves, they delight themselves in the thought of greenery that soon will fully develop. And when the tree is displaying all her beautiful foliage, they see how soft flower-buds appear and grow and develop themselves. In happy suspense they wait for the first half-open blossoms. And finally, when the tree comes into full flower, the devas celebrate, during four divine months, a feast of joy. And the flowering tree spreads an aura of light, radiating far and wide, and its fragrance is filling the vast ends of the skies and the devas’ cries of jubilation resound as far as the endless dwelling of Brahma.’