‘In the Sangha, they who think high, noble and humane, come together with the lazy ones, merely seeking a free bed and a free meal, and with those who are stupid and simple enough to equate the Buddha’s hallowed significance to that of an ordinary man!’ So, Shantanika remarks a few weeks later in a discussion with his instructor, Sivaka. All over the courtyard, standing or sitting, are monks in debate. ‘The first group remains faithful through to Nirvana, the second group until the fast, and the third until a new sage tells them differently.’
‘The Teachings of Dharma must unite everyone,’ says Sivaka. ‘With compassion!’
Shantanika laughs. ‘You wish to keep dry sand out of the Ganga in a sieve, Sivaka. No, it requires a closed and coercive system!’
Sama, who has listened quietly to the conversation, calls out mockingly: ‘Send the first group on a mission, supply the second with a good meal and a soft bed, and tell the third pleasant and sweet things about the Buddha! Then all will stay!’
His words, spoken loudly, attract many bhikshus, who prefer to engage themselves in seasoned debates rather than in pious contemplation on the Teachings.
‘No!’ Shantanika says. ‘That you get by regarding Buddha as a god, the God of justice and might, who knows to demand what he taught!’
‘Heresy!’ mock the others.
‘Heresy? Does the Buddha teach the Four Noble Truths or does he not teach them? And are they not all included in the creed: ‘The Buddha has the causes told of all things springing from a cause, and also how things cease to be, the Buddha has explained’… Thus, Buddha answered the question: what is dukkha, suffering8, and how can one free oneself from it.’
‘Yes, yes!’
‘Has Buddha not correctly expressed to us the fourth Noble Truth: the eight-fold path, in the sutra: ‘Avoid all evil, set your heart on good, keep the mind pure!’ is not that the Teaching of Buddha?’
‘Yes, Yes!’
‘But has Buddha denied that there is a cause? Not in the least!’ Shantanika’s voice suddenly becomes emphatic. But of all those who so loudly called out ‘yes, yes!’ no one answers now. They understand that this is where heresy begins.
‘The Buddha did not want people to conjecture about life after death, of life or death, or the causes of life. He wished man to be released from his suffering.’
Visabha, saddened by the bickering, calls out: ‘Do then what the Buddha did. What you say is heresy!’
‘But the Buddha knows the answer! He is the all-wisdom, Brahma, the God! Otherwise he would not know these things, would he?’
‘May I say, young bhikshu, that you are speaking on matters that the Tathagata did not wish to answer. The monastery is not here to investigate imponderable scholarly questions, but to spread the Teachings of Dharma amongst all, without distinction. The holy Maharajah had the Ashokarama built so that the message of the Buddha would spread as a blessing throughout his empire. We, bhikshus, contemplate Buddha’s Life and Teachings, as he gave them to us, and we pass them on to all people. Is what you are wishing not: the elevation of Buddha to Brahma? That is heresy! The Buddha does not want veneration, but reflection on the Teachings. The Buddha was a human being who discovered the path. No harsh penance, no prying into the mysticism of life! Buddha wants to free you of rebirth, and for you to tread the sacred, eight-fold path towards Nirvana. The Buddha wants this not just for your own salvation, but for the welfare of the world and the well-being of all creatures!’
‘But does that make it sinful to ask: who is the Buddha, and what is Nirvana? Is it forbidden to think about the unseen? Has the Buddha himself not said: ‘Verily there is, thou monks, an unborn, unoriginated, uncreated and unformed. If such were not there, escape from the born, the originated, the created, the formed would not be possible.’ That is the word of the Divine!’
‘You are a heretic, Shantanika. The Sangha no longer understands its duty!’ Visabha bursts out. ‘Brahminical doctrines steal in. Impure minds spew their poison here. You violate the words of the Buddha!’
A fervent tumult is the sequel to Visabha’s words. Everyone is talking excitedly at the same time so that no one can hear the other. A few young monks get so angry that they lose control and could not keep their hands to themselves.
4
ANTIDOTE
our doleful countenance does not suit the yellow robe, Girika,’ remarks Ashoka as the bhikshu enters. Kunala is always present when Ashoka receives the special messengers at evening time.
‘There is a reason for this sombre face, noble Maharajah. Some time ago a few Brahmins again entered the Sangha: Utanka, who is committed to the Buddha with all his heart; Sama, a mockingbird, a former sacrificial priest who could barely do without your care and lodging; and Shantanika, a scholarly Buddhist who from the first day on of his initiation proclaimed heretical views and finds a willing ear.’
‘Who is Shantanika?’
‘All three are Brahmins but the desire for power for his own varna is strongest in Shantanika, noble Maharajah. There are many in the Sangha who eagerly listen to his words.’
‘We shall put an end to this heresy, Girika. It appears that Mahindra is too weak for his task.’
‘The Prince has the loving compassion of the Buddha, lord.’
‘But he lacks the compelling mental fortitude of the son of the Shakyas. The true bhikshu worships him, the bhikshu who forsakes his duties and who needs a stern hand ignores him. Are the bhikshus fulfilling their religious duties?’
‘The true ones are, Lord.’
‘Has the pratimoksha1 been adopted again?’
‘No, Lord. Many in the Sangha fail to attend; differences of opinions with the superior and negligence in submitting to the parisuddhi2 by the ill, make the pratimoksha impossible.’
‘Moggali Tissa3 wanted earlier strict rules to be implemented which I then rejected because I believed in the courtesy of the bhikshus. I now will request Moggali Tissa, who stepped aside for Mahindra seven years ago, to return. It is better that my son steps down than that the Sangha is lost.’
‘It is possible that the tirthyas4 are wilfully sowing confusion in the Sangha.’
‘Find out, Girika.’
‘Then, must Mahindra step down for Moggali Tissa?’ asks Kunala.
‘Certainly. We require a more powerful leader in the Sangha.’
‘And Mahindra, my Father?’
Ashoka merely shrugs his shoulders.
‘His great humaneness makes him too indulgent where stern intervention is required. He is unsuitable as leader of the Sangha.’
‘Just as I might be as Yuvaraja?’
‘You have fulfilled your duties excellently until now.’
‘Out of love for my father.’
‘May that love make you a blessing for India.’
‘That I want, too, my Father. But is your path the path that I must follow? Will your course also be mine?’
‘You still lack the self-reliance that is required of a Maharajah.’
‘My brother Jalauka …’
‘Jalauka is a follower of Shiva, and Shiva is the god of the tanha5 through whom life and death transpire according to the laws of nature; who destroys and gives life by his will; but the Buddha taught us how we may free ourselves from the circle of life and death, from the maya, that our senses make us believe in.’
‘Is everything that our senses conjure up to us, maya? And a sin?’
‘Not sin. But we need insight into what presents itself to the senses in the world as lust, as tanha. That is why I am sending you to the hermitage of the Brahmin, Santanu. One day you will be Maharajah, sacred Maharajah. So, you should know what the sages teach, and give it careful thought.’
‘Brahmins have only the salvation of their own soul in mind.’
‘Not Brahmins like Sayana and Santanu. They are wise and great.’
‘When is someone great, my Father?’
‘The greatest man is he who takes upon himself the hardest suffering to release ot
hers of their woes.’
Ashoka takes action with great zeal and purpose. He sends a delegation to Moggaliputttatissa to ask him to return to Pataliputra as swiftly as possible and take on again the leadership of the Sangha. On the morning of the fifteenth of the half-month, when the moon is full, Ashoka sounds the gantha6. Its deep metallic voice peals through the whole Ashokarama and the park of the monastery. It is clear that this is for the pratimoksha, but many bhikshus do not take any notice of the prompting call. The monks are alarmed when Ashoka appears in the vihara. The Emperor moves to the seat of the leader and takes his place. He enquires if all the bhikshus are present or if they have sent their parisuddhi.
‘No, holy Maharajah, many take no notice of the gantha.’
‘I want everyone to be here, the fit and the ill, before the gantha sounds again. Those who do not come will leave the Ashokarama before sunset!’
There is a hasty scramble, a nervous bustle in the ashram. Diligent bhikshus search every cell, corridor, closet, the bathing areas, parks, garden sheds, pavilions and relaxation halls, in order to relay Ashoka’s message to the debating, chattering, ambling, and lazing monks. Sama, who after having finished a sumptuous meal is stretched out under the trees whose blossoms are used for the offerings, walks sulkily to the large vihara. The infirm are brought in on their pallets. The lethargic ones, who had not left their cells yet after the night, are now approaching the hall, alarmed. When all have sat down, the gantha sounds. Once again Ashoka appears.
‘Bhikshus, some of you are under the impression that I wish to spend a large portion of my empire’s wealth to provide you a comfortable and work-free life, for others to provide an opportunity to spin out their worthless disputes. Know now and for always, that I have taken my refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha, because I am convinced that this will lead to the welfare and well-being of my people and for many other peoples. But in the Sangha many are thinking of everything except the millions, who need the light which you were to bring to them and who now struggle in the dark. You have neglected your very first duty: the Pratimoksha; you have neglected your second duty: the practising of the Teachings which the holy Buddha proclaimed; you have neglected your third duty: to strengthen the Sangha inside, so that the Teachings of the Tathagata may be spread throughout my empire for the salvation of my subjects. I wish to know now if you are Buddhists and are aware of what the Buddha demands of a good bhikshu. You will have to answer my questions. And he who does not understand the three great duties, will leave the Sangha, takes off the yellow robe and put on the white cloth, which is ready for him, and which he will wear until he understands his duties and knows them thoroughly. He who has given me a sufficient account of his knowledge and his convictions will stay here, and prepare himself every hour, for the great task that he has taken upon himself, namely, spreading the sacred Teachings of Dharma throughout my empire. From now on, the Ashokarama will work towards this end, day after day, month after month. I will tolerate heresy no longer; I will tolerate no longer the neglect of duties by the lazy ones and the foolish who would rather proclaim their heretical opinions than release their souls and that of my subjects from miserable incarnations … You will now conduct pratimoksha.’
The Emperor leaves the building. Enforced diligence compels the monks to perform their duty.
5
DROWNING IN THE BEAUTIFUL EYES OF THE PRINCE
n the first quarter of the moon the small caravan under the leadership of the Kshatriya Kappa proceeds on its way to the Bhagavati. The ponderous, swaying, ambling of the elephant contrast with the clattering clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves on the forest road, and the fast stamping of the oxen, pulling their carts. The panting of the animals whooshes and the medley of sounds wearies the Yuvaraja, who, as his wont, gazes stiffly into the far distance. His thoughts go to his father, ever engaged in work, who expects of him one day to follow in his footsteps. Father had to struggle for the power, but he, Kunala, merely has to take over for the well-being of India! To arrange it according to his own discernment, says Father. He has to choose himself his path. Does Santanu know what is right? What is wrong? Which thoughts must one restrain? Santanu, who does not revere the Buddha? Kunala shuts his eyes as though sleep has overcome him. The rhythmic swaying of Vida’s broad back on the signals of the mahout makes him drowsy.
Late in the afternoon they reached one of the rest-houses that Ashoka had built along the main roads of his empire. The tents are put up hurriedly, the animals refreshed in the nearby river, and meals prepared.
When the pilgrims who are staying in the rest-house overnight, awaken the next morning, the Maurya has already departed without even having disturbed their sleep.
After a few days’ journey, Kunala’s troop arrives at the white bungalow of Santanu. The late afternoon sun permeates through the dry foliage and an oppressive heat pervades the still, heavy air, suspended under the trees. The extended house of the Brahmin is encircled on all sides by a wide verandah, so that doors and windows are beyond the reach of the sharp sunlight. The slim white pillars, topped by a simple crown, are holding aloft the overhanging roof; at their base, low, adjoining partitions separate the rooms from the surrounding grounds. The bare sand prevents snakes from approaching the house unseen. Below the leafy, sloping roof is the airy space where members of the family stayed. Squirrels jump from the roof into the open rooms. Birds fly in and out. Tall trees and smaller palms are all around the spacious surroundings. A few banyans have choked out all plant life under their dense green and brown foliage, making way for the air-roots that dangle from their branches, to reach down to the earth. Outside lies the mahavana, which extends to the Teraï1, and yonder, the chain of the Himalayas with their gleaming white peaks stretching up to the blue heavens. A few pathways lead to the rippling Bhagavati, others penetrate into the depths of the jungle.
The arrival of Kunala’s troops brings life and movement to the quiet sanctuary. Santanu, with his white cloth of the Brahmins wrapped over the bare upper body and left shoulder, respectfully approaches the Prince and leads him to the verandah. The brahmacharins arrange for a bath. Santanu’s wife Amba and his daughter, Kanchanamala, prepare the meals. Under Kappa’s direction the tents for the accompanying troops are put up outside the premises of the house. There, they will sleep and stay on guard for the safety of the high Yuvaraja. All are trusted warriors of Ashoka.
In the evening, when twilight carries the inky-black vapour rising from the depths of the mahavana to the tops of the areca palms, and the waxing moon plays its light in the dark stillness, Santanu’s family sits on the verandah, with Kunala and Kappa on either side of their host. Amba offers each a cup of sweetened milk. As she hands the Yuvaraja the cup, she says:
‘Life in our house is simple, noble Prince. I hope I may serve you with this gift from one of our cows.’
‘Your gift is a gift of the gods and even more precious by the loving hand that proffers it, mother Amba.’
Kanchanamala’s eyes are captivated by the strange Prince, who, as though from a fairyland, has suddenly entered their rustic seclusion, and who is now and then observing her with his large, mysterious eyes. What brings him, who lives in that fabulous Palace in Pataliputra, to the simple Brahmin’s house in the mahavana? How will this tall slender young man in his fine garment, looking even finer in the soft light of the moon, with his gorgeous silk turban embedded with precious gems wound carefully on his head, whose pensive wide open eyes are staring as though they penetrate into far limits, be satisfied with life in the forest? The brahmacharins wear scant clothing. Their attitude is one of natural courtesy but the Yuvaraja’s every movement, every word, his voice, his figure, his dress, is of such a refinement and sophistication—unknown to life in the mahavana—that she falls silent.
‘Let us taste what you have baked, Kanchanamala.’
Kanchanamala disappears shyly and quickly into the house and returns with a skilfully crafted plate of rosewood, filled with a do
zen lightly baked brown cakes. She proffers it first to the fairy-tale Prince.
‘They are like the fresh evening air of the mahavana, Kanchanamala, sweet and soft to the mouth.’
‘You flatter me, noble Yuvaraja. Our rice fields provided the flour, the cows butter and milk, the bees the honey. And Agni’s fire gave the lightness and the colour.’
Santanu joins the conversation: ‘That is how it is with everything, dear Kancha: the earth provides the means but the human mind shapes it according to its skill.’
‘Blessed is he, who is given the right skills. My Father says: it’s not only the work itself that counts but the love and will to perform it.’
Santanu nods: ‘I knew your father when he lived with us, with the holy Sayana. With us he was a brahmacharin, with the wise hermit, a philosopher, and a Kshatriya when Hasta besieged him. We called him Piyadasi, but felt that he was different from us and we disapproved. Later, when he became commander, Viceroy, Maharajah, we understood him.’
Kanchanamala notices how a smile suddenly brightens up the rather sombre but beautiful face. He looks at her with his shining eyes.
‘We certainly do not disapprove of the admirable hidden skills of Kanchanamala, this first taste is encouraging,’ laughs the Prince.
Santanu suddenly and poignantly remembers, how the young Piyadasi never uttered words, in which no deeper meaning could be conjured.
‘A judgement of the senses, noble Prince,’ Kancha replies, lightly mocking the Prince’s courtesy.
‘The senses are the doorways to knowledge.’
‘Maya!’ she laughs.
Ashoka the Great Page 75