‘Go away!’ Like a whipped dog, the widow slinks away.
‘Will you honour us by entering this simple house, Katcha? Would you like a drink of fresh water or a piece of fruit?’
‘Please, Kodini.’ Katcha enters where the sacred fire is burning.
‘Bring drinking water, Diti!’ she yells to her son’s widow. ‘Get a cup. There are new ones in the soma-shed.’
When it takes too long for her to return Kodini gets angry. ‘It is difficult being saddled with your son’s widow, Katcha!’ Katcha, too, feels insulted by Diti’s delay as he wishes to take out his own ill-feelings on a despicable creature that is incapable of resisting.
‘Such a sinner should have been cremated with her departed husband!’
When Diti returns and starts to hand Katcha the cup, Kodini screeches: ‘Give it here! A Brahmin has no need for the likes of your company! Go away!’
Katcha leaves. He sees Diti at work on the grounds. She greets him respectfully but he turns away in disdain.
He proceeds to beg before the other houses. The heat becomes even more oppressive, and he decides to take a rest and sit under the shadow of a banyan to take some food. Just then Prince Kunala returns from an excursion on his elephant, followed by two armed guards on horseback. Katcha notices how Diti kneels down at the edge of Matali’s property and the Yuvaraja greets her amiably. He calls for a halt to his party and motions Diti over. Trembling, she draws near the Yuvaraja.
‘Is this the nearest road to the holy Santanu, Vaishyi?’
Shyly Diti stammers: ‘Lord, I am the widow … I will call mother Kodini!’
‘Not necessary. Why should your answer not be enough for me?’
‘Lord, straight towards the amra-woods. Then ride towards the sun.’
Compassion for the frightened woman overcomes him. He wants to say something friendly, but just then, Kodini approaches.
‘Go away, you wretch! Do you dare to speak to the high Prince! I will punish her, Lord. She is my son’s widow.’
Kunala is deeply indignant. ‘Does she deserve to be punished for that?’
‘Because of previous lives, she caused the death of Yasa, Matali’s son.’
‘Could you also be guilty because of previous lives?’
Kodini is taken aback by the Prince’s remark and looks at him, offended.
‘Lord … everyone believes that she …’
‘And I believe that you are at fault. Who is right? Is she not a human just as you and I? Is she worse than you in this life?’ To the widow the Prince says, ‘Come, Diti! I thank you for your friendly help. See here, a bangle! Your late husband’s mother appears to unfairly keep you from wearing ornaments. Wear it as a reminder of your helpfulness to the Yuvaraja.’
Trembling, Diti bows her head into the dust of the road and raises herself up again, blushing, while accepting the bangle and sliding it quickly onto her arm.
Kunala resumes his journey. Kodini stares after him speechlessly, her sharp tongue stilled by awe. But her heart is filled with hatred for him, he who treats a wretched creature like Diti with friendliness and dares to admonish a virtuous woman like herself, who has brought sons into the world.
Katcha, still sitting by the side of the road as Kunala rides by, does not move. The Prince’s gaze slides over the brahmacharin. This vexes him. What does Manu’s law say? Man is purer above the waist than below and the purest is the mouth. From the mouth of Brahma, a Brahmin is born. And because a Brahmin possesses the Vedas, he is by rights Lord of all creation. Which creature can surpass him through whose mouth the gods continually eat the offering meats and the forefathers the offerings for the dead? Of all created things, the living ones are the highest; of the living those bestowed with the gift of reason; of those, man; and of man, the Brahmins; and of the Brahmins, those who know the Vedas. Even the birth of a Brahmin is the eternal incarnation of the holy Law because he is born to fulfil the holy Law and become one with Brahman. All that exists in the world belongs to the Brahmins. The Brahmin eats merely his own food even though it is begged for; wears merely his own cloak even though it is asked for. Other mortals exist at the behest of the Brahmins. Thus he, Katcha, can simply take Kanchanamala! Later, when he becomes a grihaprastha! Is it not whispered among the Brahmins that the Maharajah is a Shudra?
Chandra is almost full and when the sun drops behind the tall trees of the mahavana, she tries to climb above it on the other side. Her light infuses a soft blue hue to the white of the bungalow and all traces of the summer heat, the dryness, the dusty drabness, the shrivelled flowers, dissolves in the darkness of the hushed night. The forest all around appears like a giant fairytale garden silhouetted against the gray heavens in which a few stars are beginning to twinkle here and there. It is as though a cooling calm has descended on the overheated tempers which had flared up in the heat of the day against the ever-oppressive rites. Mother Amba has placed in the centre of a small table a large bowl made of plaksha-wood. It holds fruit and rice cakes, baked in ghee, sweetened with honey and sugar. Amba passes the bowl to the Yuvaraja.
‘The gods will envy us, Mother Amba.’
‘In Santanu’s house, the gods are the first to receive their portion of what is prepared on Agni’s hallowed fire, O, Yuvaraja.’
‘Those who provide for the gods will be provided for,’ laughs Kancha.
‘And those who do not honour the gods will be ruined by them,’ Katcha adds gloomily to her words.
‘Here I miss the link, my Katcha.’
‘You, my Guru, need not understand the link.’
Santanu knows that Katcha’s words are meant for the Prince.
‘You have been taken into my family as a student, Katcha, and I wish to know what your words mean.’
Katcha turns awkwardly to his Guru. ‘It is better that you ask the Prince himself about his actions.’
‘The Prince? Are you the keeper of his karma?’
‘In the house of Brahmins the laws of the Brahmins apply,’ Katcha mumbles but Santanu hears him.
‘Explain what you mean, Katcha!’ he says sternly.
‘Lord, just as you are, so I am raised above other varnas.’
‘Your words border on insult: You are merely a brahmacharin, and the Yuvaraja belongs to the varna of the Kings, which is separate and above all other varnas. Speak!’
Kunala listens, smiling. He has already felt for some time that Katcha is not kindly disposed to him. Katcha’s unfriendly attitude, his refusal to greet him earlier that day, did not go unnoticed by the Prince. He is aware of the inclination of some Brahmins toward the Mauryas. Katcha’s attitude appears to him as being unreasonable, at the very least.
‘Prince Kunala treated the contemptible widow of Matali’s son like an honourable woman and gave a bracelet to her; she who may not wear ornaments.’
Santanu is briefly alarmed but the clear look in Kunala’s pure eyes reassures him.
‘Has Diti been unfaithful to her dead husband, is she not chaste, does she not have control over her thoughts, words, deeds? Answer, Katcha!’
‘I do not know, my Guru. But she is a widow; she has by her wrongdoings in previous births caused the death of Matali’s son and thus should perform grave atonement by severe fasting, low menial work, and taking off any ornaments. She should have perished along with her husband.’
‘Which guru has taught Katcha that? The Law of Manu says: ‘A pious wife, who wishes to keep on living after her husband’s death, must not do anything that would displease him.’ Did Matali’s son ever demand such severe penance of her? Manu says: ‘A virtuous wife, who remains chaste after her husband’s death, reaches heaven even though she has no sons.’ And further: ‘She who controls her thoughts, words and deeds and never betrays her honour, will live after her death in heaven with her husband and will be called a virtuous woman. And more: ‘Adornments that were worn by the woman while her husband was alive may never be taken away from her or divided by his heirs, under banishment from their varna
.’ Again: ‘Manu punishes the one who lives a licentious life after the death of her husband.’ Does Katcha wish to be wiser than Manu? Or, does Katcha want to follow in the footsteps of a family who, by virtue of their lack of education, mistreats a vulnerable woman? Or, does Katcha, who himself is still a brahmacharin, mean that he is ready to assume priestly status by preaching about penance? Or, does Katcha have another intention for this charge? Katcha does not know if Diti has done anything to dishonour her husband’s memory; he merely knows that she is a contemptible widow. Walk in Brahman, Katcha; that is of importance for your duties of begging, rituals and studies, for your austerity, your battle against slander, and above all: for the control of your senses. One’s own faults alone are of importance, so learn yet to be a Brahmin.’
‘Yes, Father.’ Katcha bows his head but his heart is still filled with resentment.
‘Come, my child.’
‘Yes, Father.’ Both stand up. And all see how Santanu walks with his tall, adult pupil across the grounds, bathed in Chandra’s silvery light. The trees stand like worshippers before the radiant light-god; the stillness of the night becomes deeper with the sounds of the mahavana. All silently follow the guru and his pupil with their eyes, the reprimand to Katcha having made its impression. They see how both sit on a rough bench at the path to the Bhagavati.
‘What do you have to say to me, Katcha?’
Katcha lets his gaze range over the darkness of the woods on which the moon splashes strange shapes of light, like demons who listen to what he will say, and they oppress him because within him lacks the peace of a pure conscience. He pulls himself up.
‘Lord, Kama whispered into my heart an irresistible love for Kanchanamala. Give her to me as my wife after my samavartama2.’
Santanu looks at him, alarmed.
‘You dare to ask me, when you are nearing the end of your studies, to condone such a great sin! You should not touch a woman nor even look at her!’
‘I would not dare to, my father, before I am grihaprastha. But I am so tormented by my love that I forget my duties. If I were to be certain that you intend her to be my wife, I could fulfil them.’ Katcha sinks to the feet of his guru holding them as a sign of his highest reverence.
‘You do not understand anything of your noble calling! Have I not told you again an again that your task, difficult though it may be, is to dedicate yourself to fulfil the duties that all brahmacharins take upon them. And then, I, as your guru, should now abet you in forsaking the most important obligation of all, namely, control of your senses! You should not expect that of me, Katcha. It would make you the greatest sinner and lead me to perdition. I taught you, if you wish to attain Brahman and penetrate through the maya of the world then practise tapas, asceticism. It is Brahman that elevates itself above each individual and tapas is the way of renunciation of the individual and the realisation of the Brahman in the twice-born. You do wish to realise the supreme divinity in the human being, do you not? To penetrate the truth by absorbing the Brahman through the Vedas, and to follow the precepts of the brahmacharin? That means, too: abstaining from all contacts, neither looking nor touching a woman. The brahmacharin is devoted to Brahman, the Atman; he is in a sense himself the Brahman which is enclosed within him, in his divine self, his soul. That is what you have to elevate in yourself because you are a brahmacharin.
‘The brahmacharin carries the Brahman, shining,
In him all gods are entwined’.3’
And now you ask me, Katcha, to permit you to abandon your highest duty, that which makes you a brahmacharin!’
‘Why then, is there this overpowering love in me, my father?’
‘If the brahmacharin did not have the senses and longings of emotions in his being, why should he still have to be a brahmacharin, my son? Then he would already be superhuman, godly, the Brahman. Do you think your life should be without struggle without overcoming that which makes you human, without tapas? Kanchanamala does not exist for you to quiet your longings, but to test you, to overcome your human self. So, do penance for your shortcomings by renouncing her. Now come along, my son.’
‘Yes, holy Father.’ Once again they join the others. Santanu does not reveal to them how much Katcha’s wretched love hurts him. How will he give him the strength against the pull of nature from within? Katcha’s unfriendly attitude towards his noble guest displeases him. Can he not bring them together at least in mutual appreciation?
7
KAMA AS THE FIRST SEED OF THE SPIRIT
he rainy season has started. Dark banks of clouds loom over the plains of the Ganga and are slowly forming a canopy over the pastures. Now there are storms, then no winds, followed by bolts of lightning, and the booming crashes of thunder followed one another in rapid succession. Floods of waters pour down towards the thirsty woods. All entrances to the house are sealed with muslin screens to stop flying ants, beetles, and mosquitoes. The inmates of the house, enveloped in darkness for days on end, have all the time in their hands to contemplate and reflect. The water gushes forth. It thunders on the roof, splashes on the ground, ruffles through the crowns of palms and banyans, fizzing and foaming through the streams that flood towards the Bhagavati. Only Katcha braves the elements as rain drips off his bronzed limbs, cooling off his inner fire. During the dry season, he managed to stock wood for the sacred fire but for his meals he sets off to the village, to Kodini, who has fathomed his hatred for the Prince. Santanu believes that Katcha has gained insight, consequently regretting his sin and now is spending his time fervently fulfilling his duties, practising tapas.
In the evening Santanu’s family sits together in the room where the sacred fire is burning. The ponderous darkness outside and the muslin screens make the air heavy and oppressive.
Kunala and Santanu settle on seats, Amba and Kanchanamala move to the rear on a bench, the brahmacharins cross-legged on the floor, all in a circle around the guru. Santanu, with his right hand, is stroking the top of his head as though seeking a topic that would interest all and perhaps improve the relationship between his student and the Yuvaraja.
‘Katcha, would you recite the ‘Hymn of Creation’1 for the Prince?’
Katcha is jostled out of his vengeful thoughts but cannot find the inner peace needed to recite such sacred poetry.
‘Forgive me, Father, I would be sinning by reciting the sacred hymn now.’ Santanu looks at him for a long time. Does he refuse because Kunala is present? As the oldest student he was always keen to show off his knowledge of the Vedas. Or, is it because he is afraid that he will not be able to recite the hymn flawlessly, which would be regarded as sin?
‘Vyasa?’ Vyasa is the next in age. He stands up and assumes a posture of reverence, apt for such a solemn duty. ‘First, give us my elucidation, Vyasa.’
‘The Song of Creation is the loftiest hymn from the Rig Veda, high Yuvaraja, and of a wondrously beautiful composition. There are seven stanzas of four quartets each. In the first four, the first two lines express what was not there, and subsequently, in the next, what nevertheless is there. And more and more, the holy rishi inquires deeply into the unfathomable: the encased primal creature, as breathing, as living, then as a germinating seed in a shell, and finally, emancipating itself as the kama. Then, as though recoiling, he comes down to the sixth stanza, where he wavers away the significance of the gods with one single line, and draws near in hesitancy in the last line.
And Vyasa recites the verses, slowly, correctly, in a pure tone:
‘Aum…
Once upon a time there was neither existence nor non-existence;
There was neither the realm of space, nor the heavens above…
What was it that enveloped all of this? In whose womb was
it concealed?
Where were the waters of the ocean, the depths of the abyss?
No death existed, nor immortality.
There was neither night nor the glow of day…
And the One breathed windless, through its self,
For none other beyond him lay hidden within the All.
Darkness reigned; in the beginning the world was
A lightless wave, lost in the black of night…
The ‘One’, life enclosed in a broad shell
Out of heated force, through self-chastisement, became born2.
Then came forth from him, in the beginning of time, Kama3,
Which, as the first seed of the spirit came into being…
The roots of ‘being’ out of non-existence were, so said
Wise men, keenly attuned in the heart’s ground4.
Across the breadth of space, a dividing line was spread5:
Was it6 below or somewhere above? Where?
Seminal powers were there and mighty forces unfolding
Below was potential, above energy.
And yet, those who know, wish to proclaim,
When once creation had become, from whence it came forth!
The gods did not become until after the creation of the world.
Thus, who can know from what they sprung!
He, from whom in the beginning creation was brought forth,
He, who as Overlord looks over it from the highest heavenly light,
May be the One, that created it, or not created it,
That One knows… Or, does he not know either?
Vyasa takes his seat again beside Katcha. All are silent. It is the first time that Kunala has heard the hymn, and being innately poetic himself, he is struck by the lofty flight of ideas and the beauty of composition. Still, much was obscure to him.
‘Kama, as the first seed of the spirit … holy Santanu?’
Santanu smiles, sensing Ashoka in this query.
‘You have just pointed out the most difficult and most debated stanza, high Yuvaraja. Here, Kama does not mean love in the usual sense, but trishna, a thirst, longing, an urge, the will towards life. The probable meaning is that Kama, being the non-sentient will, is the origin of manas, the mind-spirit.’
Ashoka the Great Page 77