Ashoka the Great

by Keuning, Wytze

  ‘Sir, tell me, how can I cleanse the blood … my guilt … off my hands, my legs, my face … off my cloth?’

  A soft blue light emerged over the fields, the forests and the Ganga, lighter and lighter … I did not know from where. It was as if it arose from all plants and human beings, animals and things, giving no shadow, because the light was from inside, out of everything and it filled the world with a great bliss, because everything knew its connectedness with all life … eternally … eternally … eternally. And I felt it like a fresh breeze flowing over my head … my body, my hands, my clothes. I looked up and the blood had disappeared, wiped away by the invisible hand. And now it is as if the immense burden, I had carried, will not crush me any longer, as if I can wrest myself free from it … in Buddha’s eternal light-without-a-shadow. Why did not the Buddha appear himself in my dream, Asandhi?’

  ‘Because he was a human being and a human being only. The boddhi, the divine wisdom, was not revealed from above but is one’s own virtue and purity, the connectedness to the all, fulfilled by oneself, within oneself: the ultimate of what a human being can ever attain and what we eternally will garland with our fantasy. The soft light, that gives no shadow, because it is from within … the Dharma of my great King. Buddha did not appear, because it is not the human being that is of importance, but the eternal cleansing light: the light of the light of the radiating Sun.’

  28

  THE LIGHT WITHOUT SHADOW

  ith tranquillity, energy soon came back to Ashoka. But the compelling recollection of the Kalinga War impelled him forward. He held a world power! How to wield this in such a way that as long as he and his sons, his grandsons, and descendants, governed, such disaster would never recur in his empire. The peoples, the leaders, the priests of his countries had to understand, that war was the greatest calamity that a human being can ever invite upon himself. It is the curse of creation: the destruction of humaneness, the fostering of hatred and revenge, the rash judgement over life and death. Ever more audaciously, his thoughts tugged: to organise his empire, guide it towards peace, to a dignified existence for all.

  Was not war a result of greed in the sinful human being, of placing one’s self above others for the sake of riches, desire and veneration that it brings along? Were all people not of equal worth? Was not the only difference that of lust for power? Then that lust for power had to be expunged.

  Or, was war the very consequence of savageness, the absence of compassion for other human beings? Was it not the final outburst of predatory vestiges within the human being, the tiger who once he has tasted them, devours more humans? Then, that tiger-nature had to be silenced.

  Or, was it out of ignorance and the misunderstanding of all the signs which accumulate and lead to the final disaster? Then, that ignorance had to be overcome.

  Or, was it the lust to fight, the lust to torment the other human being and animal, the lust to smother innocent victims? Then, that lust had to be smothered.

  Or, was it fear, the fear of life, to arm oneself against the bloodlust of others, the need for assurance, to get the feeling of security? Then, the cause of that fear had to be taken away and security must be brought to the empire.

  If all that could be achieved with power! The inner attitude was false! How to proscribe that lust for power, that savagery, ignorance, bloodlust, fear of life, that could fuel a war, from the mind of the people! To bring the inner attitude of the Buddha: peace, compassion, joy for life and will to live, acknowledgement of the worth of a human being! Was that possible with power? How? He realised that it was not enough for him to be an upasaka of the Buddha. His own Buddhism had not prevented him from entering into the war with the Kalingas. He had not counteracted their thrust towards war with the compassion, the love, the right attitude of the doctrine of the Tathagata. In his delusion, and trusting upon his powers, he had brought armies to battle, arranged battlefields, and brought death, the annihilation of hundred thousands living beings, and misery to those who escaped death. He had brought in his enormous power against theirs, to destroy what he should not destroy: life … and not destroyed what he should have: the hatred, the revenge. He had fallen short in his sacred endeavour, had accepted what he wished to condemn, the most bestial of all afflictions, the madness, the total madness of war. He had only been a worshipper, not a follower of the Buddha. Now, he wanted to learn the doctrine: the spirit, the deeper inner knowing of the teachings, to imbue his powers with the will, the recognition of the value of each human life and the all-embracing compassion of the elevated Holy One of Kapilavastu— inseparable as salt is from the sea—so that he never would fall back upon the humanly degrading means of murder, the lawful murder, that does not satisfy, but feeds the lust for new murders, kindling it to a blazing fire.

  Ashoka turned to Sagata and became a Bhikshu, who strives to seek the doctrine, not the initiations. Upagupta, son of the perfumer Gupta in Kashi, became his teacher. Day after day, the Maharajah went to the Ashokarama, discussed with Upagupta the life and the work of the great Holy Man from Kapilavastu. The deeper the Maharajah penetrated into the spirit of the Buddha, the more outlined the Dharma, that he deemed necessary for his peoples, rose up before him, like a temple founded in the minds of living beings, built over with protecting roofs, towering over his empire, shedding the light of the Buddha, the light that casts no shadow, because it is within all beings themselves; the light that is not implored, not descended, not received by willingness to sacrifice, but that is from the Atman and comes, basking, to awareness in the human being, to spread blessings around … the happiness of the Khemavana.

  And from the palace of Pataliputra the light spread out, over all India.

  War was forsaken, followed by the abolition of the hunt and the slaughtering of animals for the kitchens of the palace. Everywhere he encouraged the establishment of infirmaries for men and for animals. For travellers and pilgrims, he improved the roads and had planted shady banyans and fruit trees, had wells dug for drinking water and built rest-houses along the great traffic routes. The Dharmamahamatriya outshone all other government buildings. It was there that the ideas of the Maharajah were realised, edicts were written that will spread all over India; mahamatras were educated here, examined if they could carry out the intentions of the great Emperor with wisdom, compassion and kindness, towards man and animal. It was here that the construction was decided upon, of viharas, sangharamas, and thousands of stupas. All peoples of India had to realise that Dharma would bring happiness to all.

  Nevertheless, messages came in continuously from all over his vast empire about governors who did not understand the significance of the example he set, peoples who persisted in their inhumanity, priests who preached for their own gains and not for the happiness of his subjects.

  In the fifth kalpa, the Maharajah adjourned with the Agramahis to the lotus-pond. There he often discussed with her what most moved his inner being. The boat glided slowly along amongst the palms, blossoming shrubs and flowers that garlanded the banks. To the rhythm of the helmsman Vatsa, the dark rowers put their oars sedately into the water, in deep respect for the sacred Maharajah, who was seen by all slaves of the country as their holy master. They were filled with pride that they could row the great Maharajah and the beautiful Maharani through the waterways. Vatu, a black slave, once had dived under the lotus-pond so long to seek a precious piece of jewelry that Asandhimitra had thoughtlessly dropped into the water, that he came up half-choked, and even fainted, as he handed it over to Asandhimitra. The Maharani had given him his freedom but, weeping, he had begged her to be allowed to stay.

  ‘Thousands of edicts leave the Dharma-department and reach my rajukas. Many messages come in from informants that show that my will is not being conveyed to my peoples, Asandhi.’

  ‘Can you not reach the peoples themselves, my Maharajah?’

  ‘The peoples themselves such as the Achemaenids in Irania … edicts of stone at temples …’

  ‘At least there, where
many people will pass by or gather.’

  ‘And then everlasting, in stone, and clear, not in the language of the learned Brahmins but in the language of the peoples. On the big roads, at crossings, in holy pilgrim-places … We will engrave them on memorial pillars, in rocks. Have pillars sculpted and erect them. Dharma - pillars crowned with the symbols of the Tathagata.’

  Ashoka rose from his seat.

  ‘Please, sit quietly for a while. Manu1 did not create the world in one hour! He is still creating her!’

  ‘You are right, Asandhi. Would it be possible to make pillars of stone, tall and heavy, crowned by a lion … or a wheel … perhaps an elephant?’

  ‘A new and great thought, my king.’

  Again, Ashoka stood up.

  ‘Let it first sink in, my beloved Raja. I see that your eyes radiate the light even before the fire within has kindled well.’

  He laughed. ‘The flame could corrode within as well.’

  ‘But the glow remains, my Lord.’

  Just then Satyavat approached the bank and announced: ‘The rajuka from Kalsi, Sire.’ The rajuka was invited on to the boat.

  ‘Rajuka from Kalsi, you persecute severely the forest tribes of the Himalayas. You know that I want peace with all people at my borders.’

  ‘They are Dasyus, Sire, their skin is as black as that of the Aryans is white. Their minds are darkened, as that of the Aryans lightened by the knowledge of the Vedas.’

  ‘Which, Rajuka, is forbidden for the Shudra by the Brahmin varna! Of what value then is your ennoblement if you prevent others from it deliberately? Can you blame the Vaishya that he does not harvest, if you take away his harvest-knives? The Ashoka-tree, that it does not spread its lovely blossoms, if you keep all rain away from it? Your mind is dark because you hide in a deep cavern so that the light of the world cannot reach it, foolish rajuka. I offer you the opportunity in the Sangharama to brighten up your dark, loveless principles, with the light of the great Holy One.’

  ‘Sire, there lives a heretic sect! I cannot mingle with them without making myself impure.’

  ‘Then you cannot be a Rajuka for Aryans and Mlecchas without making yourself impure. So, I dismiss you as the rajuka from Kalsi.’

  Just as the rajuka stepped ashore, Rauma approached the vessel.

  ‘My Rauma! Blessed are you, for your work in Sodra. You will become rajuka of Kalsi.’

  ‘I thank you, gracious Maharajah. But I have bad news from the Kalingas. Pestilence of cholera and small-pox scourge the unfortunate country. The diseases will become a danger to Magadha, Sire. There are not enough men, so that famine waits. The war has depraved the customs and traditions of the Kalingans, Sire. The people mock the priests and the older ones, they laugh at orders and prohibitions. Crime is increasing appallingly. The country is impoverished.’

  Ashoka reflected a long time. ‘Rauma, for Kalinga I was the Lord of death. Now I want to be the Lord of life. Next week will be the anniversary of my consecration. I want all death sentences to be revised, reprieve granted, when mercy is possible. And I want all captive Kalingans who were transported to Pataliputra to be released, when mercy is possible.’

  ‘When is mercy possible, Sire?’

  ‘When I can expect that they will take up their work regularly again, Rauma. Also, when they recognise my Dharma or have taken refuge in Buddha’s doctrine, or have expressed their sadness about the war that took place, or, for those who long for their kin, then forgiveness is possible. We want to raise up the Kalingas. Vatsa, row us ashore.’

  ‘My Lord has enjoyed his rest, Rauma,’ laughed the Rani.

  ‘When I am with you, my Asandhi, peace descends into my heart and I feel revitalised with new energy. I myself will take care that a huge amount of medicinal herbs are brought to Kalinga for those dreadful diseases and that immediately a large number of physicians and attendants will leave. I will then send officers, free from hard-heartedness, free from cruelty. Here, I have, for security’s sake to intervene myself.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord!’

  29

  ALONE, THE GREAT JOURNEY

  n Chaitra1, when Vasanta’s young energy2 drove nature again to abundance and the amra woods blazed in a red glow, when god Kama shot his flower-arrows made of honeybee-barbs into rapidly beating hearts, and laughing girls, with karnikara3 flowers behind their ears and ashoka blossoms in their black tresses, adorned themselves with garlands of white jasmine, Sayana burned his wooden spoons, threw the stoneware into the water of the pond, put on his red-brown cloth made from tree-bark, and strode towards the Ganga. There, he took off his sacred thread that connected him with the Aryan community, cut off the top-knot of hair that connected him with his family and threw both together into the sacred river. He then went to the palace of Piyadasi, who sojourned with Asandhimitra.

  ‘My Piyadasi, I have bid farewell to life and seek from now on to complete my last days as a sannyasin.’

  ‘We are very much moved by your decision, holy Sayana. It grieves us deeply to know that you are no longer in your hermitage. We had hoped that you, who never hesitated to place your wisdom at the service of truth and of all living beings, would be touched one day by the Light of the Buddha, that brightens a world of untruth and loveless-ness, that awakens the pure humane consciousness that is founded on the eternal truth, existing deep within each human being; what will diminish the suffering of all, by kindness and compassion, and destroy the frightening web of priestly lies which tried to suffocate them, that searches for release, by releasing others.’

  ‘I want to be wholly a Brahmin, my Piyadasi. Let the Shudra serve, the Vaishya feed, the Kshatriya fight and organise, the Chandala roam around varna-less, each seeking their own release. I see the world as a workplace, where everyone’s work is indicated by his birth, where everyone can either allow himself to be guided or strictly choose his own way; where sometimes one wanders off in great confusion to seemingly beautiful fields, and then, regains awareness and turns towards the silent road of the eternal, the ‘Ultimate Refuge’. Is it of importance whether one needs a hundred or a thousand incarnations, or whether one, as an animal or as a member of a higher or lower varna, strives for his release? Of the people who ascend to the temple, one is inside the sanctum sanctorum, the other one at the gate, the next one yet on the road towards it, many a person still far from it. It is of importance that one keeps a clear eye on the jewel at the top, or if one loses sight of it, out of an inner compulsion, in spite of one’s self, looks for it again. A tiger which feeds the panther cub that has lost its mother, a street dog which saves the young ones from his enemy—the mongoose—from a burning house, the Vaishya who takes care of the dying pilgrim, the Brahmin who teaches the Vedas, the Maharajah who supports his subjects with a far-reaching eye on their arduous path and creates for everyone the freedom to choose for themselves their path, all this according to the place assigned to them in a new birth … in everyone, in depth or at the surface, surges the desire for the ‘Ultimate Shelter’. It is not of importance to me, who knows this, which sect I choose, with death dawns a new beginning. All is included in the fullness of the eternally evolving life in Brahman, in the Atman. I believe I have reached the destination; to become a Buddhist would mean for me a descent to another birth. I wish to enter my last phase of life. Life has to evolve gradually, step-by-step, striving upward through all the ashramas4 by which the human being becomes more and more purified from all earthly endeavours and so becomes worthy of his Ultimate Shelter, that floats over the earthly maya as the ‘true existence’ … Brahmannirvanam … Atman … eternally … eternally … From now on I turn away from the bodily being, for me exists no longer ‘I’, nor ‘Thou’, no world. I am without hatred and without joy. My senses have found rest. Alone, the great journey … You cry, high Rani …’

  Asandhimitra gestured lightly with her delicate hand so that her bangles tinkled softly and melodiously, like a pure voice in the silence of the dawn.

  ‘It is not from sad
ness, holy Sayana. It is not from happiness. It is the vibration of my soul with this happening that grows irresistibly, and flowers … that follows its pathways to the supreme, in the hermitage and in the Emperor’s court, in the Vaishya’s farmstead and the Shudra’s hut, equally, the same way. Because it springs from the same source and is ever rising again, good and beautiful, even when beaten down. That is why it is good that the holy Sayana goes his way and you your way, my Maharajah; you, who recognise the four noble truths of the Buddha: of sorrow, its cause, its cessation and the path that leads to its cessation. Come, great Maharajah, let us be united with the Holy One.’

  She and Ashoka walked around the holy man three times5, their right hand stretched towards him. Then, silently, Sayana blessed the Maharajah and the Maharani.

  Ashoka accompanied his friend until they were outside the city’s gates. There, they bade farewell and each went his way without looking back, without tears, the way the Kantha-sruthi-Upanishad6 prescribes for father and son.

  Ashoka ordered Girika to send three messengers after Sayana, who were to keep an eye on him until his death. Thereafter, his body had to be burned according to Brahmanical rites, the ashes to be saved and brought in a kamandala7 to Pataliputra. Thereupon, the mahamatriya of construction was entrusted with the building of a small stupa that would contain the ashes of the Holy One, at the place of Sayana’s forest-hermitage.

  ‘Pfft! Prince Agnibrahma. How were Chandragupta and Bindusara able to live without a Dharma-mahamatriya! This is the brain and the heart of the holy Maharajah, where his mind stirs and heart throbs.’