He awoke. But the strange sound went on in the rustling of the silent night, a long stretched-out whining mixed with hoarse barking from afar. He shuddered. Was this a dream, or was it real? Had a ghostly enemy come up to him? He hastily got up and stepped outside the tent.
‘What is this?’
‘Jackals and hyenas, O, Maharajah, lured by the smell of the war that the north-east monsoon is driving to the jungle.’
‘Where?’
‘The animals are drawn from far and near to so much bait, Sire. They are anxiously howling at the edge of the woods and bark and gather courage.’
Ashoka went silently inside, lay down, staring into the distance with wide-open eyes into the future. What task awaited him yet? Again a brother, the sixth, Ashoka the Cruel … Ashoka of the hell! He was surrounded by border-peoples as fierce as the Kalingans. Was he to cover for ever such battlefields with dead men and animals like this? To kill a hundred thousand, like here? At the Cholas, the Pandyas, the Satyaputras, the Keralaputras, the Yavanas, the Kambojas, the Nabhakas, the Bhoyas, the Pitinikas, the Andhras, the Pulindas? Where is the end, Asandhi, where?
Thankfully, the howling died down. Yet, sleep did not return. And when the Asvins shot their first red rays through the morning mist, and Ushas opened up the heavenly gate for Surya, he walked out of his tent and wandered, lost in thought, to the battlefield. The horror was more gruesome than the most gruesome images fancied in the night: everywhere dark brown monsters, nervously dragging along, with insatiable greed, the abundant booty towards the protective woods. Yellow animals, their bushy beard-hairs and tuft-like tails dripping with blood, above the fields black clouds of vultures, eagles, ravens, alighting and strutting with a fierce stretching of muscles. Ashoka looked over the dreadful scene. He wanted to see it so that it should be indelibly imprinted in his mind forever. ‘Henchmen of the Lord of death … Where do I … find back the Tathagata! … Asandhi!’
When the day became hotter, a smoke of pestilence spread around, that choked everyone’s breath.
‘Sela, you set off with a part of the army to Kalinga. Bring everything under my control. I wish no harm to be done to these who will surrender voluntarily. Whoever resists, you will bring to reason, if possible with a soft hand. No looting, no killing. We have killed enough, my Sela. I do not want revenge, hatred, no more! The remaining part of the army, under Sagka, returns with the prisoners, as fast as possible, to Pataliputra.’
Ashoka joined Sela on the road to Tosali. Vaishyas and Shudras continued to work on their fields and did not pay any attention to Ashoka’s army or to the horrors of the battlefield. The inhabitants of the villages and the town at first fled in mortal fear into their houses before the victorious army, but when they saw that no harm was meant to anyone, they soon returned timorously, and watched the armies passing by, many of them sobbing. In all homes there was mourning, and Tosali made a devastating impression.
‘Show me the palace of the Raja!’
‘The Raja fell in battle, Sire.’
‘Where resides the city-governor?’
‘Fell in battle, Sire.’
‘Who is governing this city?’
‘I do not know, Sire; I think, no one. All citizens joined the army.’
At last, a procession of women, grey-beards and children, came to meet them with paltry presents to secure favour from the victors.
‘We have no more than this, Sire! Be merciful to us! All families mourn the death of men and brothers. The Raja had taken away all our treasures for the war.’
Ashoka had ordered Rauma to guard the road to Suhma to prevent the Kalingans from getting there. Rauma waited in great suspense, but no enemy appeared.
‘Do you expect a victory of the Kalingans, my Rauma?’
‘No.’
‘So, you have betrayed them.’
‘You call it betrayal! I would call it betrayal if I had supported them, Satyavati. My master is the holy Maharajah of Aryavarta. He is the one I honour because he is righteous, never looking for his own happiness but that of his people.’
‘I suspected it.’
‘And you informed on me to Guptika?’
‘Informed on you! I hate Guptika more than you do! You are their enemy I was their victim, because you remained distrusting of me.’
‘How could I trust you, sent by Guptika, well-familiar with Shakuni, daughter of an influential Kshatriya in Kalinga, who came here to spy on and betray me!’
‘But they do not know how much I hate them and how much I love you!’
‘Who proved or can prove that to me … Satyavati. Never will I know whether you are true! I was inclined to believe you. But my position and my safety compel me to mistrust them and, sadly enough, you too. Nothing will be able to allay that suspicion. I love you and yet my love would turn to hate if I discovered …’
‘Discovered?’
‘That you wanted to misuse me to serve Kalinga, Sarata and Shakuni!’
’For Shakuni and Sarata I would sacrifice nothing. On the contrary, for Kalinga, all, except you.’
‘I would love to believe you, my beautiful Satyavati.’
‘But distrust is rearing its head like a cobra in the grass, even when a lamb approaches. What proof do you want of my love, my Rauma? My death?’
She took a dagger that was lying nearby.
‘No!’ He ran up to her, grabbed her hand strongly and took the dagger away.
Satyavati smiled at him with an infinitely tender glance. She understood how difficult a struggle he had to fight against his suspicions. What came from the Kalingas was not to be trusted; their very endeavour for war was founded on betrayal and lies and bold denial of all that had once upon a time been sacred. How then could Rauma trust her? If she was like those who had brought her here, he was entitled to distrust her! How would she ever be able to convince him! Even when he trusted her love, he knew with what purpose she had come. However sure he might be of her feelings to him, nothing could take away the doubt about her sincerity, a woman, a barrel-full of flaw, who does everything for the sake of love and if need be, even feigning love. Why should she not be capable of loving Shakuni and feigning love for Rauma, to betray him! Her fate!
In the night, Guptika and Shakuni, together with five armed soldiers approached the gate. Guptika was a regular visitor of the fortress and usually came during the night. So, they were led in and asked to speak to the wife of the high Mahamatra.
Satyavati was startled. She left the room and met the gatekeeper.
‘Guptika wishes to speak to you, high Rajuki.’
‘Today, we have lost the battle against the Maharajah! Our army is destroyed. Rauma has betrayed us, laid a trap for us, for the great heretic; he arranged the battlefield in such a way that we had to lose! His groom was one of the most dreaded spies of Ashoka …’
‘And Satyavati may not be totally innocent. Who ever heard that she, with her sharp manas, had ever let herself be misled by a man?’ Shakuni snapped at her.
‘At least, not by a priest filled with hatred and revenge. I served Kalinga! You too?’
‘Lead us to your spouse and show us proof that you are still loyal to the Kalingas!’
‘It would not help you,’ she whispered. ‘Heavy armed sentries are guarding his room … You are too weak!’
‘We come as friends!’
‘Even friends are distrusted here now! Keep quiet! I will lead you along a secret way to the women’s quarters, and from there you can reach him unnoticed.’ The proof, the proof! ‘Follow me, very quietly. Maybe, the entry gate is guarded. I will open it and then you move ahead quickly when I signal you but keep silent! And walk fast and softly, else they might see you. Right there! Two soldiers are enough.’
‘You are going in front of us!’
‘Yes!’
She led the four men silently to a dark passage, opened a heavy door and whispered: ‘Now, quick!’
She shot forward in the dark. Guptika and Shakuni tried to keep pac
e. The priest uttered a scream of fear. Then everything was quiet.
Rauma heard the screech and rushed out of the room.
‘Satyavati! Satyavati!’
The gatekeeper approached. ‘Sir, Guptika was here with someone they called Shakuni and five soldiers. Three of them are still waiting in the hall. The others followed the Rani through the corridor that leads to the gate of death.’
Rauma clapped his hands. From all sides, guards and servants came up to him.
‘Torches!’ They entered the corridor. The two soldiers stood at the end, trembling. They indicated the door which had been opened wide. Behind that, open space. It was the gate through which those condemned to death were forced to jump into the abyss.
‘Come along!’ cried Rauma. ‘Torches!’ All rushed out of the main gate, down the fortress road to the open field and to the foot of the rock. Guptika and Shakuni were dead, crushed. Satyavati, severely wounded, was still alive; because of her voluminous clothing she had most likely taken the fall lightly. Rauma lifted her up very carefully.
‘Satyavati!’ She smiled, and lost consciousness. With great care he carried her up to the fort. The purohita examined her and shook his head. After a long time, she regained consciousness. Rauma caressed her tenderly.
‘Do you know it now, my beloved man?’
Rauma was startled. ‘Have you …?’
Satyavati’s speech was laboured. ‘They wanted to kill you. Betrayal. Kalinga lost the battle. I had to go on ahead and led them through the gate of death.’
Rauma could barely hear her anymore. Moved, he took her very carefully in his arms and stayed with her all the time, supporting, consoling. For two days she lived, a time of deep pain and inexpressible happiness for both.
‘Reborn as Vaishya and Vaishyi, you and I, my Rauma. No war, no hate, no spying. Only our love in peace and happiness, good to all that lives, like Ashoka and the Buddha.’
Ashoka returned on horseback as fast as possible to Pataliputra, resting little, sleeping even less.
‘The gracious Maharajah is sick. Fortunately, we are nearing the capital.’
‘No, I am not sick, Radhagupta. Are you pleased, proud with our victory, my Radhagupta?’
‘We have attained our goal, Sire.’
‘At what price! Hatred unleashed the war. It was pride, lust for power, greed. But the war unleashed the hatred, plumbed the depths of the most awesome lust, buried deep, deep down in the human heart, almost forgotten. And now brought out into daylight, raging and destructive, my Radhagupta. How do we bury this monster anew, deeper yet, in such a way that it cannot come into daylight anymore! It follows me, snatches away my sleep, saps the will that seeks out salvation from this greatest of sins. Now I know that I have failed, although I conquered. Now I know, Radhagupta, that I, although my troops proved by far to be the strongest, suffered the greatest defeat. This victory is the most profound defeat, the defeat of my will, which was looking for happiness for all.’
‘Sire, it was needed!’
‘Is this needed? It cannot be worth this price! … Not worthy Radhagupta. I have to gather, high minister, so much wisdom that this is never needed again. This hellish mocking of the deeds of people, this black shadow of the blackest lust and hatred, this war … madness.’
The Maharajah forestalled any festivity or triumphant entry. All joy of victory had clouded inside him. Asandhi was a wise woman, Sayana a sage. He, the sacred Maharajah, had believed he had a good understanding of his task. And all his work had led, like others before him, to war. Murder, hatred, revenge. First, he went to see Asandhimitra. She received him with wide, questioning eyes.
‘You have won the war, my Maharajah?’
‘No. I have conquered the war, Asandhi. This war was the last one I will ever undertake. War is the greatest madness with which the mind of a Maharajah can get entangled. A hundred thousand deaths, a hundred and fifty thousand prisoners are being transported to Pataliputra. The land is impoverished, inhabited by widows, orphans and greybeards. For what purpose, that war? For the welfare of the people of Kalinga? For the gods, who, now too, let them wait for them? For the power, Asandhi! The power that does not aim at the well-being of living beings! War is exiled from my country, because it destroys armies, makes the people jackals and hyenas that devour each others flesh and blood. Jackals, hyenas, vultures, eagles, raven, they are the victors, Asandhi! They celebrate the bloody feat of victory! How will I carry the burden of this war, Asandhi?’
‘It was not you who wanted this war, my Maharajah!’
‘I did not prevent it. In my pride and sense of power!’
‘The refugees of Magadha, the followers of Prince Sumana, were the ones who plunged towards the war, and the power hungry King of Kalinga.’
‘But it was the people of Kalinga who fought the war. How do I know, if my peoples do not want a war one day! He, who smothers animals for sacrifices, does not spare the human being. He, who kills animals for sake of pleasure, will not spare the human being! He, who watches with joy and delight the fighting of animals, watches with joy and delight the fighting of people. He, who calls human beings ‘animals in human guise’, does not shrink from killing people. It is the mind, the inner attitude of the people that is false, my Asandhi. I, who desired so much the happiness of my people … needed your delicate-blue scarf, in order not to kill out of savagery. False, false, my Asandhi! False, false … blood-thirsty … hyenas …’
Asandhi knelt before him and kissed the hem of his cloth.
‘Stop it, don’t kiss my cloth, Asandhi. It is dripping with the blood of a hundred thousand Kalingans and of my soldiers and my animals!’
‘I kiss the cloth of my beloved who recognised that this world was a false one, that he needed the delicate-blue scarf of Shiva. War, my Lord, is like a tiger that takes a human being as its spoil, and now feels the lust burning inside, to devour ever more human beings as its prey. But my Maharajah recognises that the attitude is false. Now, the true power will find its way, my beloved. May Brahma bless you, my poor Maharajah!’
‘Night and day the terrors of the war haunt me, which I myself unleashed. In my dreams and in my thoughts they never leave me. The most horrible bloodbaths, the most gruesome scenes, I go through them night after night as my burden of guilt, Asandhi. Warriors scream their hatred out to me, families their disaster. The crying of the jackals, the howling of the hyenas, the cawing of the raven, it sounds as a hellish cry of victory through my nights. My mind is unable to grasp what was, to organise what has to be done. No rest, Asandhi!’
‘Kalinga drove you to a war that your ennobled soul could not bear anymore. That is the dreadful conflict within you that has not yet balanced out. Rest here, on this couch. I will stay awake with you, my beloved Raja.’
‘The Arthashastra forbids …’
‘I will warn Satyavat that you will need his loyal protection.’ Asandhimitra had Satyavat come in, told briefly how the Maharajah suffered and that she wanted to return him his quiet. Satyavat took care of the guarding of his master. Then, the Maharani seated herself beside her spouse, took his hand, caressed it softly, her hands stroked tenderly over his face that was flushed and clammy.
Ashoka fell asleep, to wake up startled a moment later.
‘Blood … corpses … a world full of corpses, Asandhi. The greatest victory is not the one with weapons but with the Dharma …’
The Rani softly stroked his forehead and temples and he fell asleep again. Now too, the sleep only held for a short moment, wildly he got up.
‘Blood all the time. That grinning head! The war drum, Asandhi!’
A moment later, he flew up from the couch, aghast.
‘Calm, my Piyadasi. I am here and outside Satyavat keeps watch.’
‘My elephants and horses … That soft glance of the dying Jampa! … the despair of the poor animals … who gave me their full trust … in the human-hell … No living being shall be killed again or harmed … ahimsa …’
Ag
ain, he fell asleep and after many hours woke up with a smile. Asandhimitra was still sitting at his couch, Satyavat guarded his door …
‘Are you still here, Asandhi? … I dreamt that the Buddha walked through Magadha … It was in the full-blown paddy fields around Kashi … Behind him many people were walking, of many tribes and varnas. I joined them … He spoke: ‘The doctrine that I gave you, the teachings I taught you, is your teacher, after my death.’ I approached the Buddha, could not see him but asked him: ‘Who am I, holy Buddha. I have lost myself.’ He did not answer, but all seemed to wait for it. ‘Sir, tell me that there is blood sticking to me, that I am a murderer.’
Then I heard a voice, tender and melodious as a veena: ‘No one is what he is, my Piyadasi. Everyone is what he is going to be.’
‘What is it I am going to be, Sir?’
‘All being is fleeting. You are going to be what you want to. Do you want to enter Nirvana?’
‘No, it is not yet my time … not now.’
‘You do not want to because you are Maharajah, Piyadasi. A Maharajah kills animals in the hunt, has men and animals killed in war, giving food to the jackals and hyenas, lets criminals be killed by his executioner, has animals killed for his kitchen … no, no. A Maharajah cannot enter Nirvana.’ …
Many looked at me with pitiful glances.
‘But I am Shiva, Lord of Death.’ When the disciples and the followers heard that they all fell on their knees and bowed because they feared me. I saw that I was wearing a necklace of skulls, amongst them that of the Raja of Kalinga, another of Sarata … and Shakuni.
‘Be now Lord of Life!’ the Holy One whispered in my ear. All withdrew. I hurried behind them. I wanted to see the Buddha but I could not reach him for each step that I took in their direction led me further away from them. Then a figure, almost invisible, approached. I knew it was the Buddha. He stroked with his cool hand my feverish forehead and said: ‘All that is earthly disappears and has a disappearing shadow, except the light of the Buddha. That remains even when Chandra is extinguished, when Surya is extinguished, when the stars are extinguished in the eternal night, because it is inside all that is.’
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