He moves to take hold of her bare arm but she shrugs him away and with her eyes’ stern glance, she repels him once more. ‘I would rather die than offer you what I have abandoned for the sake of the Tataghata. I despise your depravity, to follow a vulnerable woman in the mahavana, to rob her of her honour. For me, my body is as paltry as a leaf that has fallen from a Bodhi tree.’
‘Your body is a masterpiece of creation, Sundari, and you place it at risk in the dangers of the mahavana. The tiger stalks by the side of the tree, the python constricts your beauteous body in the stranglehold of his coils and the scorpion and the cobra hoard their venom to kill you. Have you been created so exquisitely merely for that? Or, is it your destiny, Sundari, to offer your love to me? Come, Sundari!’
‘My body is but a prey for death. Not for your lust! All the ties that bound me with worldly existence have been severed. My body is a bubble of water, so frail, so insignificant. Now leave me alone!’
‘Your eyes are the very heavens, Sundari!’ He moves to take her. Nothing will stop him. She shrinks back, knowing she will be lost. Then, suddenly, she plucks out an eye and hands it over to him.
‘Look! A foul meat-ball! Take it! Do you desire the other one, too?’
The sinner shrinks back, stricken with horror. Is that the power of her faith? Her beauty is smeared with blood! He sinks down to his knees.
‘What have you done, Sundari! Forgive me!’
‘Then go! You see, my beauty is worthless, just a bubble.’
So saying, she leaves the forest without looking back at the rake and proceeds to the Buddha. ‘Lord, I plucked out my eye and gave it to the man who was seduced by it to sinfulness!’
‘Thou art holy, Sundari. Your spiritual eye now shines all the more beautiful, even more than your physical eye did before.’
The monk Sagata stays silent for a while. Then he concludes: ‘The mighty word of the Buddha is like the sun for the chilled ones, as clothes for the naked, as the boat for the pilgrim who wishes to reach the far shore across the river, as the torch in the dark, as the stars in the nights for the sarthavahas in the desert. The Buddha be praised!’
The imperial family retires to their tents.
‘Well, Diti, have Sagata’s words consoled you?’ Kanchanamala questions her first-servant who helps to undress her.
‘It was beautiful, high Rani, but it made me feel wistful.’
‘Wistful, you say, Diti?’
‘Yes, high Rani, if I had but plucked out my eye as well!’
‘Then I would not have had you as my servant, Diti. You were not yet a Buddhist who sees the world as maya. Tirha would have acknowledged your marriage to Tulya and you would have been a woman of honour. Is not the wilful mutilation of what is given to us more sinful?’
‘And Sundari then, high Rani?’
‘She was a nun from the Sangha. For her the body was like a water-bubble, her beauty, maya.’
‘For me, the dishonoured one, life too no longer had value.’
‘Not because of your faith but because of the scorn of Tirha. Tulya would have forgotten you had not his inner being changed. That is the influence of the sacred Maharajah. He has lifted up Tulya from his state of being a man of nature. His selfishness brought him no happiness. Tulya has felt the great compassion of the Emperor who, by the power of his wisdom, compels all who meet him to a greater understanding, to self-renunciation and to the conquest of selfishness.’
‘Tulya was lucky that he met the holy Maharajah.’
‘Do you not wish to make him happy? He had eyes only for you when we returned a moment ago.’
‘No. Yasa … I promised to be faithful to him, even after his death.’
‘Yasa has died, maybe born again, and is not waiting for you.’
Diti reflects. ‘I want to become a nun so I may not be reborn again.’
‘Is that not selfishness, now that you are expecting a little child? Is not our very first duty the care of our children? The Sangha helps out of compassion, Tulya out of his love for the both of you.’
When Diti goes back to her own tent, Tulya is standing before her. Diti shrinks back. He whispers to her: ‘Do not be startled, Diti, and do not be frightened. I only desire your happiness.’
‘My happiness … is not with you, Tulya,’ she says, hesitatingly.
‘Come along with me to the sal tree over there.’
Diti looks at him. She still hesitates even as she is struck by his perseverance. Her hate has dissipated ever since she turned towards the Buddha. Slowly, she walks at Tulya’s side and they both sit down beneath the shady sal tree. Before them the open pasture and hushed nature glimmer in the soft light of the moon.
‘Thank you for your trust. Your child, is my child, too. May I take care of it as well?’
‘And I once again risk being a widow! You fail to understand the suffering I have gone through.’
‘We will have sons who will support you.’
‘The Jetavana will protect me.’
‘You will not be a part of the Sangha for many years yet. Till then we shall take care of our child together!’
‘… Become a member of the Sangha, too! I have seen you with the monks.’
‘I, who am a hunter, who has killed animals, lived off their meat and have laid siege to you?’
‘If you will walk the path of the Buddha, you will become unblemished and pure.’
‘Will not I be unblemished and pure if I love you and our child, forsaking myself for your happiness? If I no longer kill animals and become an upasaka of the Buddha? Do we have to fear rebirth when our karma has been good? Inside the mahavana it is easy to lose one’s life. That danger is now less threatening but life has taken on a new meaning for me. The monk endeavours towards his own transformation what is his personal choice. Is it less virtuous to safeguard the lives of the ones whom you love? That is what the holy Maharajah does. For you, life was a misfortune, and you saw the vihara as a refuge from insurmountable suffering. But I wish to support you, and your children will love you; no fellow-villager will scorn you anymore. Why do you then seek to see life as a bubble of water?’
‘And when you die, and when my children die, what then?’
‘Ubbiri, Kishagotami, Nanda … They then became members of the Sangha.’
For some time Tulya has been aware of a soft rustling. His sharp hunter’s ears have divined the cause of the softly ominous crackling, the placing of a paw on a dry twig, the rustling movement of leaves which every hunter recognises. Then his eyes catch a glimpse of a patch of yellow skin, mottled with dark patches; he hears harsh breath rasping. Silently he gets up, stalks towards the still hesitant animal, which must be tormented by a great hunger as to come so close to the camp. Diti, too, has become aware of it and of the danger posed by the animal. Giving a startled cry she dashes off towards the tents. The leopard, now vexed, quit the cover of the underbrush and pursues its prey. But before it can make the final leap, Tulya flies straight ahead and jumps on it. Man and animal grapple with each other on the ground. The hunter, quick as lightning, has it in his grip and a raw scream is heard in the silence of the night, followed by laboured grunting and hissing. With a swift twisting of its lithe back, its claws unsheathed, the leopard attempts to throw off its assailant, but Tulya’s hands do not let go. Coldly calculative, he waits for the right moment, and then the Kashi knife flashes as it is thrust in the blue moonlit night. One last spasm of death, a weakening rattle, and the victim lies spread out on the ground. Tulya clambers off, wipes his knife on the hairy hide, his eyes searching for Diti. She has run away in wild fear, looking backwards every now and then, anxious about Tulya. Suddenly, a person of noble mien is standing before her. An exquisite silken turban glittering with gemstones; a light yellow tunic with a dark-purple belt and his leather footwear let her know who is barring her way. A gleaming chakra glitters in his right hand.
‘You are frightened, Diti?’
‘Lord … a … panther. Tulya …’ Sh
e points towards a moonlit spot and then falls to her knees.
‘Stand up, Diti. Tulya has killed an animal of prey. Come on, let us thank him for saving a human from an untimely death.’
Tulya, too, recognises the Maharajah, who is coming towards him with Diti. He kneels down.
‘Stand up, Tulya. Diti and I wish to thank you for having saved her from the teeth and the claws of this carnivore. Ask for a boon, Tulya.’
‘Lord, I wish Diti to be my wife, her child as my child. I require nothing else.’
‘Diti wishes to be a nun and may be distressed that you have killed a hungry leopard since the Buddha wishes that no life be taken.’
‘Is the leopard then permitted to take life, Sire? He who destroys life to slake his own lust has forfeited his right to life.’
Ashoka sympathises with the reasoning of this man of nature. He smiles. Was not his own defence similar for his fierce deeds?
‘But you have your manas, Tulya, to restrain every urge to kill, to deny the will of nature and negate that law.’
‘I cannot do that, holy Maharajah, when a bloodthirsty and deadly leopard wants Diti as its prey. Then the compassion of the Buddha would lead to folly! It would mean that every cobra, lion or leopard would be allowed to take the life of whomsoever it wants, while we, bestowed by the gods with manas, would have to look on, even as we are destroyed by their ravening.’
‘I am impressed very much by your deed and if I am allowed to decide about Diti, I would entrust her to you but Diti has to decide for herself: my subjects have to choose their own path of life, in freedom.’
‘Lord, I do trust Tulya, our child, and myself. But I do not want to be a widow once more in Tirha or elsewhere.’
‘Even then, Diti, my viharas will always remain open for you.’
Hesitantly, Diti draws closer to Tulya. Tulya embraces her.
‘Holy Maharajah, we thank you for this boon.’ They then kneel down.
‘I hope my help will have been for your happiness. In a week’s time, I shall wait for you in Pataliputra, Tulya.’ The Maharajah then proceeds. Two joyous souls look on after him. When he has gone, Tulya says, ‘The Maharajah is a sage, Diti, because wherever he goes or extends his hands, he spreads blessings over India.’
For a while, Ashoka wanders about and then sits down on a bench in silence. The demeanour of these young people has touched him, the purity of their primal instincts which they follow as magical powers and their simple heartfelt convictions. He himself has struggled from his earliest youth to attain an insight of his own. Bindusara and Sayana impelled him to delve deep within his own manas to discover for himself his ambitions and his convictions. He had often to take decisions with swift astuteness. Yet, at the same time, there were ideas which tossed about in his mind for days, for months or years before they matured. ‘Harmony between the endeavours of the Sangha, and the natural inclination to protect his great empire! Harmony of the great compassion, with all that has been nobly gained.’ So thinks Asandhi. But he lives day in day out, amidst the vast eddies of realities! That harmony is enfeebling his exertions … To guide all peoples towards Nirvana is verily impossible. He feels that is ‘yielding to weakness.’ Nirvana is not his goal. His ambition is to change the inner views of all people, to transform them, so that war, the animosity between varnas, races and realms, will be abolished. Only progress towards benevolence and tolerance can save humanity from its degrading lust for murder of fellow-men. Dharma is the ever-present endeavour. The harmony that Asandhi has in mind is a constantly fluctuating one, always going too far, now here, then there. That disharmony he cannot accept without losing the power of his faith in humanity. One can strive towards one single point at the horizon but not towards all the points of the great wheel at the same time.
Ashoka probes the spirit of Tulya sharply. He knows what human soul lurks within this sturdy figure: ‘Can the leopard be permitted to take life?’ The implication of the Buddha’s doctrine to Tulya is that every cobra, lion or leopard may kill whoever it wants. That is a hard reality. Does Tulya then bring about harmony when he kills the leopard and saves the human? Does it mean that harmony is the balance between the compassion of the Buddha and the lack of compassion of the will of nature? Is it possible to preach compassion and at the same time preach killing? According to the Jataka, the Buddha offered his body to the hungry mother-tigress. Did not the mother-tigress kill the Boddisatva to feed her offspring? And Tulya, kill the leopard to save Diti? Harmony is brought by the human spirit, who, filled with compassion, understands the crudeness and fights it. Nature is bound by its own laws, which man does not know nor has mastered. Let the heavenly bodies come to a standstill in their celestial vault, and all life and time is broken off. Let each object lose its mass, form and essence, and the world is but a void; remove the ‘whys and wherefores’ and the world is left bereft of reason … chaos! The compassion-only of the Buddha creates a world of chaos while the reality-only of the world makes Buddha’s compassion void of reason. Is that the harmony between the spirit and the world? The world of human beings!
The entrance cloth over the front of the tent of Tishya Rakshita is thrust aside and the Rani steps out. Her maid has wrapped a bright red shawl around her. Excitedly, she strides towards Ashoka.
‘Lord … the roaring of wild animals woke me up!’
‘You can go back again to your undisturbed sleep, my Tishya. Tulya has killed a panther that was searching for some food.’
‘Oh! What a pity that I did not see this.’ Ashoka notices the sparkle in her eyes.
‘Does this clear night in one of Buddha’s most loved groves not induce you towards peace towards man and … animal?’
‘An animal of prey and peace! An animal of prey is a contest, lord. The human is no fawn that lets itself be killed even as it cries. And I like a Tulya so much better than a sannyasin who voluntarily sacrifices himself to the hungry tiger. My father rejoiced at the call of the battle and that he could kill the enemy.’
‘Did Tishya Rakshita also rejoice when the battle killed him?’
‘I wanted to avenge him,’ she allows herself to be carried away.
‘On whom?’
‘On the rabble that killed him!’
‘And who will take it upon himself to avenge you? And who will avenge the one who vanquishes you? Where does this chain of your vengeance end? And in the very end, who will rejoice? You too will have been vanquished! Or, are you seeking that pinnacle of revenge, the ultimate power to avenge where no new retribution will smite you? At the cost of another’s happiness? Do you not understand, my Tishya, that you then wish for the world an excess of suffering and only an atom of happiness … and that only for yourself? There would be more vengefulness within you than in a blood-thirsty tiger, which kills only for his survival. Buddha’s compassion is meant for each and every human and animal: to have the utmost of happiness and the least of suffering as is possible. Is that not a superior outlook for the world, for humans themselves? Even though you may be the only one who suffers?’
‘Why should I to be the only one? That would indeed be a great injustice!’
‘Do you think it is more justified that all suffer because of your vengefulness?’
Tishya flushed. Perhaps, because of the awakening of a deeper insight? The Rani realises that she is a world away from the one whom she wishes to win over, the way Asandhimitra won him over. Compassion is for the Buddhist monk and the Emperor but not for the Kshatriya for whom battle, revenge, and victory means life itself. A warrior places his foot on the carcass of the tiger, the enemy! Why should he be touched by the pain of the one who is left behind! But that is not the way of her Lord, the mighty, holy Maharajah of India! This is why she does not reveal herself to him. She would be wiser!
‘No, Sire, the sacred Maharajah softens the sufferings of millions. That is why he is sacred!’
Ashoka keeps quiet and accompanies her back to her tent.
‘Sleep well, Tishya Rakshit
a. May the gods soothe all the panthers so that the Rani may fall asleep.’
She smiles up at him but deep within rages resentment against this man who disapproves of all that, from her wasted youth, is still alive inside her. She cannot bear that sweetness. She only endures it because she wants the power of the Agramahisi. She detests the compassion of the Buddha that strikes down on all that offers her joy, the power to do all that gives her satisfaction and that brings joy because of success. She envies Kanchanamala who will one day be the Agramahisi when the old Maharajah passes away. But will the Buddha’s mighty word one day rule the world? The peoples of the mahavana who feel like her? But she will feign compassion or else the Maharajah will turn away from her.
The following day, she is seated along with Kanchanamala on the royal elephant, and Kunala rides along with his father. Ashoka gauges how life in the mahavana has influenced the Yuvaraja and sharpened his judgement. He sends his messengers to Pataliputra to prepare the government and the people for a joyous reception of the Yuvaraja and the young Yuvarani.
‘And do you feel happy as the Rani of the young Yuvaraja?’
‘Would I otherwise have left the hermitage?’
‘One does not leave the mahavana but by compulsion.’
‘Then it is the compulsion of my love, mother Tishya.’
Tishya looks at her and for one brief moment, a fierce jealousy blazes in her eyes, which startles Kancha.
‘The Rani of the Maharajah is merely an extension of little value, Kanchanamala, a part of his retinue. Like a gemstone in his turban.’
An unpleasant jolt shakes Kancha. Why does Mother Tisya want to shake her confidence in Kunala?
‘I will be his Agramahisi and will assist him in his difficult task, if my feeble power is capable of doing so.’
‘And there will be no Asandhimitra attached to the new Maharajah!’
Kancha feels the bitterness in these words and must think how young Tishya Rakshita is yet, and how old the Maharajah. Is she, Kancha, a mere ornament, an adornment in the anthapura? No, she will be the Agramahisi because Kunala needs her when he wavers. She wants to love him, support him, and like the holy Maharajah’s Agramahisi, bear his burdens along with him. Is it the jealousy of mother Tishya? Suddenly, she has to think of Katcha who in his jealousy and hate caused the elephant-attack. Would Kunala one day establish another woman over her? The true eyes of Kunala! Tishya sees how a smile breaks through the serious features of Kancha’s face, like the sun through an opening in dark clouds. And that arouses her envy even more.
Ashoka the Great Page 86