Ashoka the Great

by Keuning, Wytze

  Had the ray of light been extinguished in him, and the fragrance blown away? Had the cries of jubilation grown silent?

  Guptika brought him a message that three warriors, disguised as Nigrantha-priests5 were on their way to Agnibrahma’s mahamatriya6. The Kalingan did not notice that the mahamatra was filled with despair when he was confronted with this reality. As soon as the Kalingan had left he consulted Girika, who worked for him as his stableman together with Sura, and who was always the invisible witness in important discussions. They decided to immediately send messengers to Ashoka, for safety’s sake, and also since soon the rainy season would start. Sura left the same day with Rauma’s message, travelling along the Kulya-river to reach Phalgu that way. From Bodh Gaya onwards he would be safe. The other courier took the longer but safer road over Tamralipti at the Western Ganga estuary.

  Ashoka had ordered Agnibrahma and Sanghamitra not to leave the town for the time being. They were only allowed to accompany the Maharajah to the army camps. After the very depressing messages from Girika and Rauma, he thought it necessary to prepare his soldiers for what could await them in the likelihood of war with the Kalingans. There was only one stand to take: conquer or die. And conquest was only possible when one killed the enemy. Ashoka made them practise meticulously in chariot-handling, training of elephants, and chakra-throwing. Together with his commanders, he formed strong army-formations and combinations. Sanghi and Agnibrahma detested the war preparations and disliked the trips to the camps; they filled the Princess with great unease.

  Sanghi joined the meeting of the court over Sudjata’s case. She shuddered at the merciless sentences her Father gave to the employees of the slain Bali and especially his purohita who had misused his holy faith and misled Sudjata. He was sentenced to make a pilgrimage on foot to all the holy cities of the empire. If he should return after many years, the Maharajah would investigate if he had purified his soul of its dark stains. He would respect the priest only if he worked for the benefit of the gods and the people, according to the high principles of his faith. Should he neglect to do so then he would face the Maharajah on his path!

  Sudjata was acquitted of the charges and rehabilitated. It is the duty of every human being to protect the dearest he possesses against injustice. Kesina was treated by the Maharajah in a most friendly way. Ashoka felt Bali’s crime personally as an injustice done by him to a subject. He wanted to make up for whatever wrong his officers had done to this sturdy Vaishya. While he was thinking, he saw how Sanghi, touched, went to Kesina and fondly embraced the Vaishyi, a charming girl of lovely appearance and openly-glancing mystic eyes, aware of the freedom and sacredness of her varna. Ashoka allowed her. Then he continued:

  ‘Sudjata, you are of a kind from which we make good purushas. Give me your son!’

  ‘gracious Maharajah, it pains me to have to disappoint your Majesty. My religion and my varna do not allow it. I believe that my only son has to be a farmer just like me. So wished my forefathers who from me and later from him, expect sacrifices even into the third generation. Only he who harbours hostility towards my deepest belief can stop the course of this good path. My family-lineage and my work have to continue from son to son. So, the gods will it.’

  ‘Then return to your family and your near ones, to your farm, Sudjata. No officer of the Maharajah will dare to disturb the loyal fulfilment of your duty again.’

  Sudjata threw himself before the Maharajah. He then bowed deeply before Princess Sanghamitra.

  ‘Beautiful Princess, I will never forget what you did for me. I wish I could show you my gratitude; I will bring daily offerings for you.’

  ‘Well, Sudjata, I need support for my fiancé, Agnibrahma, whose life is in danger. In the Terai you fought wild elephants, lions and crocodiles. Would you mind protecting him as long as he is in danger?’

  ‘My soldiers protect Agnibrahma, my child.’

  ‘But not with the loyalty and love of Sudjata, my Father.’

  ‘If the holy Maharajah permits so.’

  ‘And your farm then, my Sudjata?’

  ‘My son can do the work as well as I, Sire.’

  ‘Well, if you want to return peace of mind to Sanghamitra!’

  Where Agnibrahma went, he was followed by Sudjata, armed with an iron-wood club. He watched him in the mahamatriya. He followed the Prince when he rode out and when the Prince received a visitor, he rose from where he squatted and took up his club. Once, when three pilgrims wanted to speak to the Prince about religious matters, he placed himself beside them, his club raised threateningly. Only when he had convinced himself that they truly had left did he squat down again.

  ‘You are suspicious, Sudjata.’

  ‘In the Terai, we watch every step of the animals of prey, High Prince. And people are even more dangerous. They have their mind.’

  Sura reached, after a hard journey, the road to Bodh Gaya. There he took a new horse and in spite of his tiredness raced with speed towards Pataliputra, which he reached amidst streaming rain. His message was a release for the Maharajah. Rauma had found himself again. Immediately, Ashoka informed Sudjata and Agnibrahma. The Vaishya surmised that the three pilgrims could have been the Kalingans. They lightly smiled, but Ashoka had them investigated immediately at the foreigners department. They had left the city and departed for Kashi. During the long monsoon period, alertness and cautiousness eased, but not with Sudjata, who remained calmly alert as though in the jungle.

  ‘The danger is over, my Sudjata,’ laughed Sanghi. Together with Agnibrahma, she rode on the beautiful road to Bodh Gaya, as they did often while Ashoka visited the army camps. The autumn-sun revitalised nature to its full splendour.

  A brigade of riders was sent ahead to ensure the safety of the road. Only Sudjata rode as ever a few steps ahead of the couple.

  ‘In Varsha, the monsoon time, a cobra loses his energy but not his instinct for killing that bursts out in Sharad again with renewed rage.’

  ‘Kama, the love god, and Shri, the flower-goddess of happiness and beauty, have with the last Maruts been descending again on India, my Sudjata.’

  ‘Animals of prey leave now their hiding corners, High Princess.’

  ‘How many predators do you still expect on this road, Sudjata,’ teased Agnibrahma.

  ‘Three, O, Prince. You do not know the patience of a predator. In the Terai we follow them until we find them.’

  ‘You have followed them for months already, Sudjata,’ laughed Sanghi.

  ‘Until I find them, High Princess. Therefore, I am here.’

  Suddenly, the Vaishya reined in his horse. His trained eye had noticed at the side of the road three pilgrims who came forward when they realised they were seen. Armed with a short sword they all sprang towards Sudjata. Two clubs were flung through the air and struck two of the attackers, making them fall. The third priest neared Agnibrahma, raised his sword, but a fling of the club knocked out the weapon from his hands. Then Sudjata threw a third club at his head so that this enemy collapsed as well. Sudjata dismounted from his horse, examined the fallen men, and noticed that the one who was hit first was still alive. Sudjata tied him tight and threw him on his horse, in front of him. He rode to Agnibrahma and Sanghi, who had watched from a distance.

  ‘My work here is finished, Sir.’

  When the Kalingan had recovered he was brought to court.

  ‘Since when do priests in Kalinga carry swords?’ The prisoner did not reply.

  ‘Who has sent you to Pataliputra? Was it Guptika or Shakuni?’

  No answers came forth.

  ‘Torture!’ the Maharajah called. But neither fire nor glowing iron, neither racks nor nails were able to extract a word from the Kalingan. Because of the torment from the swords that penetrated deeper and deeper into his flesh he died at last, without a muscle moving in his face. Ashoka was deeply struck; a battle with warriors like him had to become bloody! He went to Asandhimitra and told her what had happened. ‘Nothing can save the fools from their delu
sion but their own fall. I do not know whether I have to feed my armies with a hatred that is as great, to withstand so much hate.’

  ‘No, my Raja. One does not cure hatred with hate. You do not want it yourself, my noble Maharajah, and that is why you came to me! You know that I think like you.’

  ‘No army is harder to conquer than one that is driven by religious hatred and ambitions.’

  ‘Except when an army has a rock-solid trust in its commander, and relies, like him, on humane rights, my Maharajah!’

  ‘You are my guiding star, Asandhi, who follows her unswerving course over the most dense and dark jungle of human passions. It helps to find the right direction when all other paths turn out to be false.’

  ‘No, my beloved King. Through the impenetrable chaos of your jungle, shimmers a mysterious light, awoken by the Atman in the lonely wayfarer. It penetrates his soul and ignites in it the will of his Will, the power of his Power, the love of his Love, that which is stronger than desire and stronger than hatred and revenge eternal: divine justice and compassion.’

  When the second messenger of Rauma, who had taken the road over Tamralipta, also appeared in Pataliputra, Ashoka’s trust in the Purusha of Sodra was fully restored.

  The rainy season was over and the monks, true to their mission and the will of the Maharajah, left the Ashokarama to teach Buddha’s doctrine in Magadha. Like the scent of the Kovidari-tree in Indra’s heaven, so the light of the Tathagata spread itself in the hearts of thousands who, confused by the events of the past years, soon perceived an assured direction. The holy Maharajah, Ashoka the Righteous, had himself turned to the simple teachings of the Buddha. Brahmins who were sincerely looking for truth, Kshatriyas who had endured with resentment the domination of the sacrificial priests, Vaishyas who with bitterness realised that they were the victims in costly rites at any family event, Shudras who had felt themselves shut out by the gods and all heavenly grace, Chandalas, the untouchables, who were victims of curses and deep scorn – for all of them it was as if the greyness of the cloudy skies had lifted, and the sun of Sharad pierced his rays in glittering lines through the clouds, filling Jambudvipa with its golden fortune, a joyousness flowing from Ashoka’s righteousness. Tishia was so deeply affected by the new faith, that he soon took both the initiations and became a monk in the convent of Sagata. Agnibrahma and Sanghi became upasaka and upasika; one followed the other. The monks became aware that the hearts of the people increasingly opened up to the new faith of the Maharajah. The begging bowls of the monks were filled in competition on their rounds along city and countryside. The men of the saffron robes appeared in villages and cities, in market-squares and parks, while they narrated the legends of the Realised Enlightened Buddha and the teachings of goodness, benevolence, solace and joy of life, for all, from Brahmin to Chandala. Ashoka could not find enough builders and carpenters for the construction of viharas and sangharamas. Master builders from Iran left for the rich country of Ashoka, to bring to fulfilment his ideas. Brick-making and stonecutters’ workshops asked for more labourers. An unprecedented activity stirred up life in all the cities, but especially in Pataliputra, where the government buildings were rebuilt in stone and a new brick wall arose in the place of palisades.

  The sacrificial priests waited, with vengeful hearts and jealous eyes, for the right occasion to regain their lost territory. Kalinga gave them new hope. They whispered that the construction of the many chaityas7, viharas, and of huge sangharamas, emptied the treasuries of the Maharajah. The army, which according to the new doctrine had become useless after all, and the heretical Buddhism, swallowed up all the revenues of India; the sramanas were insatiable in their desire for rich gifts. The Maharajah lavished on them his riches, which disappeared into the treasuries of the viharas. Pilgrims narrated, secretively, that the grain of the storehouses of the Maharajah in Prayaga and Mathura were sold to Kandravati, medicinal herbs of the large herbal-gardens to Iran, to refill the penurious treasuries of the Maharajah. And so, the drudges paid their heavy taxes and land-fees.

  Ashoka knew that disappointed priests secretively did their utmost, to make his work questionable with Vaishyas, rich Brahmins, merchants and Kshatriyas, who regarded their possessions and self-indulgence higher than the ‘delusion’ of the young Maharajah. He also heard from informants that minister Aruna wanted to have these rumours discussed in the parishad. Since Ashoka never underestimated the danger awaiting him from the side of the sacrificial priests, he invited Sayana and several people from Pataliputra to be present at the meeting.

  Aruna praised the sacred Maharajah in many beautiful words but expressed his fear that the high costs of the big structures, the generous gifts to all kinds of viharas and sangharamas, and the maintenance of the ever-growing number of sramanas, would turn out to be a danger for the House of the Mauryas. He set out, honestly, the rumours as they floated through the capital and the country. Buddhism asks great sacrifices especially from the Maharajah.

  ‘High Parishad, maybe, the doctrine of any one of the hundred sects in my empire, if applied seriously, could bring happiness to my people. However, it seems to be a part of creation that all of us think differently. As the leaves of the banyan all have the same juices of the mother-tree, the same colour, the same striving towards Surya’s light, as the water-drops all have the same freshness and buoyancy of their heavenly source and share alike in the quenching of thirst, so do all the souls of people share the sara, the essence of their religions, that is to say, that which came forth from the world-soul, the Atman. I have been searching for that exhaustively, for years. And I found that this sara gets its clearest expression in one sect of Brahmanism, Buddhism. And Buddhism is also the only sect that will bring the happiness that it contains, to all people, to all that lives in creation, also to the other side of the Sarasvati, to the despised forest-peoples, the Shudras and the Chandalas, who are also unfoldings of the Atman, just like you and me. Since all my subjects are like my children, I have become upasaka of the Buddha. I want people to live in accordance with these teachings, the dharma: the good, the virtuous life, drawn out of the essence of all religions, as taught to all people by the sublime Shakya-son, the Tathagata, the Enlightened Buddha.

  ‘Or, do you think, high Parishad that I, now that I am seated on the ivory throne, will wait for things to come? Do you want me to give up the struggle of years, to fill like Dhana-Nanda8, stupa after stupa with valuables, collected from my peoples? And let my army weaken? Or, let myself be taken by surprise, by the conquest-hungry and treasure-greedy enemy? Or, do I receive the wealth of gold and precious stones, to pile them up in my treasuries to bequeath them to my heirs? Are my grain storehouses filled, to exchange their precious content for gold, silver, jewellery and money? Do I possess my treasures or do my treasures possess me?

  ‘Any possession limits the mind if it is not used for the liberation of the mind. Storehouses full of grain are of no use to the hungry, as little as for the one who had them filled. The stock of the storehouses in Prayaga and Mathura is brought to Kandravati, where the crop failed because of drought. It will feed the severely-stricken subjects until the next harvest. Does the grain grow for my storehouses or to feed man and animal? I send herbs and physicians to Iran because an envoy of Antiochos, Theos, informed me that in his territory raged persistent fevers. Are Iranians not living beings just like us, souls of the World-soul just like us? Do medicinal herbs grow for the storehouses of the Maharajah or for the cure of sick people? Does the Maharajah collect treasures to increase his own riches and splendour, just like a madman, or to perform the duty that is assigned to him because of his exalted position?

  ‘The highest Atman placed me on the throne of Aryavarta. All of you brought, at my consecration, the offering, and acknowledged with that the bonding to the highness of the Atman with which I know myself to be united. I am the regulator, high Parishad. When my peoples would offer me their fees to have me be tied to the possession of it, then I would throw off all and wrap
myself in the yellow robe of the Prince of Kapilavastu9.

  ‘Holy Sayana, I want to serve the doctrine not for the sake of the doctrine but for the will for the goodness that it kindles in the seeking soul.’

  Sayana stood up and approached the throne. ‘Sire, you are Devanampiya, the beloved of the gods, you are Piyadasi, he who looks with friendliness on all beings; you are the sacred Maharajah.’

  Then he fell on his knees and bowed his venerable head to the ground and all followed him.

  ‘My thoughts are kindred with and fruit of Sayana’s, Kullika’s and Asandhimitra’s thoughts, and with those of the many friends in my empire, who are all kindred with and fruit of the All-one. Is not the Dharma, the sacred law, the most beautiful fruit? So work all, diligently, for the Dharma for my peoples, the way I wish to work for it, hour by hour, day by day, year by year.’

  In Kalinga, it was understood that Guptika’s plan had failed. And since Rauma’s help was very much appreciated they thought about a way to please the border-mahamatra. They viewed his love for Ashoka’s daughter as a desire for a higher position. So, Guptika promised him a post as a rajuka. There remained the issue of the wife. Shakuni thought that a girl was needed, more beautiful than Sanghamitra, cunning enough to ensnare the mahamatra, who held in his hands the road to Suhma, and inclined to serve the Kalingas by reporting his actions to the government. And so, Guptika led a Kshatriya-woman, who satisfied fully Shakuni’s conditions but who had once rejected his love, to the other side of the border. Satyavati was a proud woman, convinced of the just rights of the Kalingans but angered that foreigners were governing Kalinga and that she was ordained by her father to marry a Magadhan to spy on him. She had refused when it was explained to her, that she would serve the Raja and Kalinga against the great heretic of Pataliputra. But she obeyed, when her father ordered her to go to Sodra.