‘I am Ashoka’s fifth wife,’ she says sharply.
‘He is charmed by your beauty,’ laughs the Yuvarani.
That flatters Tishya’s vanity. ‘And your manas,’ Kancha adds.
Now Tishya laughs and it surprises the Yuvarani that Tishya’s face suddenly softens. Father has told Katcha that he is a double-personality, a high Brahmin and at the same time a demon. That demonic may be a part of all people and not everyone has the discipline to control it. Or, is it that one is either a human or a demon, as the Buddhists believe? Do not they ask of the bhikshu, ‘Are you a human?’ That is ‘Are you not a demon?’ Why has the Maharajah taken that beautiful woman into the anthapura? Tishya does not allow her to quietly follow her thoughts.
‘Is your father a hermit, a Brahmin?’
‘Yes, a Brahmin by birth. The holy Maharajah knew him from the days when they were both brahmacharin with Sayana in the amra-forest on this side of the Ganga. Sayana admired the Prince because of his strength of mind and will for the good. He was right, the holy Maharajah became a blessing for India. He is full of compassion but is unyielding in his fight against evil and injustice.’
‘They say that Buddhism has enfeebled him. In his youth he struck down at whatever stood in his way. My father, a proud Kshatriya, and my brother, he wiped them away from their territory.’
‘His daughter is a Rani in his anthapura,’ smiles Kancha. ‘Which mouse will offer resistance to a lion, mother Tishya! My father says that the holy Maharajah never demands what he, according to his sacred power, is not entitled to. When he is surrounded by darkness, he is always looking for the light. He is a Brahmin because he is ruled by truth and justice.’
Tishya looks at her. She has always yielded to Asandhimitra’s wisdom. Will she have to as well for this young Brahmin woman? Her face is unmoved but in her soul rages a scorching fire. She will smother the flames. Perhaps, it will take a long time yet before Kanchanamala becomes Agramahisi.
‘The grace of the Maharajah illumines all of India. His power is as wide as the sky,’ she says earnestly. But Kanchanamala sees through her.
‘Who is living so close to the Maharajah must know him well!’ she says tightly and she notices that Tishya observes her with suspicion.
On the banks of the Ganga, the imperial retinue is immediately taken across the river to the southern banks, where elephants and troops in stately attire await. The Maharajah and the Maharani ride on the royal elephant in the front, followed by Kunala and Kanchanamala. The streets, roofs and balconies are packed with crowds of people who shower flowers along the path of the royal travellers. Like a mightly flood, cheers roll through the city: ‘Hail to the holy Maharajah!’. Joy radiates from people’s faces. Fathers and mothers hold up their children to show them the Maharajah and the Maharani, the Yuvaraja and the young Yuvarani. Ashoka’s countenance is earnest as ever but within him there is joy and happiness. His thoughts go back to the days when he longed to bring prosperity and happiness to his subjects and when he felt himself to be a seeking one, a mighty yet powerless one, in his battle for the imperial throne, doubting its success because of the hatred around him. In those days his power was built upon his fierce horsemen, on his ‘hell’. Those days have long since gone by. Good fortune and prosperity and a just rule have changed his peoples and at last he feels secure in their fold. He knows his beloved son will be, too.
Every once in a while Tishya Rakshita stealthily glances at the old Maharajah. In her jealousy, she believes the cheering hails to be directed only to the Emperor, the Yuvaraja and the young Yuvarani, and not to her. In the last few days she has already shown too much of herself, and she now wants to be more careful. Amiably she asks: ‘Is my Lord pleased that his people welcome his son and the beautiful young Yuvarani so warmly?’
‘Once upon a time, it was my deepest wish, Tishya Rakshita. In the days the people hated me, they were praising their own misfortune. Now they honour me, they praise their own good fortune. That is what pleases me. It honours my son as well. It gives me trust in my peoples and him. A Maurya has always to be a blessing for India.’
‘And are the peoples a blessing for the Mauryas,’ she laughs.
‘Surya is blessing India with rich blossom and harvest; India praises the Sun-goddess, but she will continue to bless us even when we do not praise her. That is what I wish from the Mauryas. The joyful respect of my peoples proves to me I did well.’
‘My father demanded respect and subjugation from his subjects.’
‘Your father refused to give that to the one who was placed above him. That has cost him his life, like it cost his subjects their lives when they refused him. Guilt avenges itself!’
Tishya reflects on those words. She knows too well that her old spouse controls every conversation by his trueness and manas. But not her thoughts!
‘Except when man does not realise his guilt,’ she says.
‘His own conscience!’
‘And he who does not have a conscience or suppresses it?’
‘My judges will awaken his conscience,’ the Maharajah answers sternly and with great emphasis.
Tishya is startled. Does he read her thoughts? Does he suspect that it annoys her to be just an adornment, taken out of pity into the anthapura of her old spouse? Insignificant as Karuvaki, Padmavati? She, the daughter of a proud Kshatrya! Will she one day have to bow down to the Agramahisi of Kunala’s court? She can hardly control her rage! But that, the Maharajah will never come to know!
After everyone has refreshed and recovered from the journey, the royal family gathers in the reception hall to be introduced to the young Rani who, as a radiant bride at Kunala’s hand, is led to Asandhi and the other Ranis, Princes, and Princesses.
‘Come, Karuvaki, welcome the jungle-Princess with a little more enthusiasm,’ says Padmavati. Karuvaki, stretched out on a long seat, gets up slowly. Being herself a daughter of Anga’s mahavana, she did not flourish in Pataliputra and the anthapura. Therefore, Ashoka had his palace in Kausambi made ready for her where she could live with her daughter, Charumati and her little son, Tivara, close to the jungle of the Doab and there she could enjoy the purity of the country life in the unspoiled woods. And as earlier in Anga, she once again became the cheerful, healthy forest-Princess, happy with every visit of the Maharajah. Charumati married young to Devapala, a Kshatriya from Nepal. Together they have brought her there and at the order of Ashoka there rose the city of Devapattana, with monasteries and stupas. It had been an unforgettable journey. For now she sojourns again at the capital because her palace at Kausambi will be rebuilt in stone. There is one she cannot bear, the youngest Rani.
‘Why should I be happy when they enclose a blossoming flower of the mahavana in the anthapura where she cannot reach out to the sun? She belongs to the jungle, there she can develop beauty and strength. Here … she withers away too soon.’
‘And what about Tishya who is even more beautiful than the young Yuvarani?’
‘She is crafty and will hide her less noble intentions.’
‘Your thoughts about your Kshatriya-sister are unfriendly and unreasonable.’
‘One who comes out of the mahavana is open and natural!’
‘Asandhi is pure and beautiful, open and natural as the Sarayu, whose rippling always sang around her. She loves Tishya.’
‘In the jungle of the Doab are lions and jackals. There are bulbuls in the top of the trees whose songs resound like bells through a forest-temple, and there are snakes in the darkness of the forest ground.’
‘Karuvaki. Karuvaki!’
‘Forgive me, Padmavati, that I do not celebrate the festive day of your son in a better mood. Why had she to travel to Vaishali! Why not you, Kunala’s mother? Nostalgia for the paddy fields and mango groves at the Hiranyavati she does not know! She wants to play an important role in the anthapura. Seated besides the Maharajah on the royal elephant she wants to receive the honours to which she is not due. She is not in the least interested in this gr
eat beautiful country, only in honour and might…’
‘Are you jealous, Karuvaki?’
Karuvaki shrugs. ‘I begrudge her, not you!’
That very moment, Tishya Rakshita nears both ladies.
‘Well, Padmavati, are you pleased that we return your son to you together with a daughter-in-law?’
‘Certainly, my Tishya, I thank you for your cooperation.’
‘Tishya has represented the Agramahisi, I guess,’ says Karuvaki coolly.
‘Then get your solace from that. You seem to need it,’ comes the sharp remark from Tishya.
‘And did you give that to Kancha too who had to leave the lovely mahavana to become Rani between the five hundred towers?’
Tishya reddens and turns to Kunala’s mother:
‘The Yuvaraja is happy, Padmavati. The jungle air has made him strong and more beautiful.’ Then she withdraws.
‘If I were the Yuvaraja, such praise would not please me,’ Karuvaki whispers in the ear of her friend.
‘Your gloominess makes you unfair, my Karuvaki.’
‘Maybe …’
Meanwhile, Asandhimitra speaks to the young Yuvarani. ‘And did you find it hard to say farewell to the Bhagavati, my child?’
‘I was very fond of the life in Tirha, Mother Asandhimitra, but I was only made aware of its beauty by Kunala. His thoughts go beyond the beautiful flowers, trees and streams of the mahavana. The perpetual gurgling of the Bhagavati, which will never abandon me, is a reminder to be a bhagavati2 in India. That is what a woman wants, if she can.’ She smiles.
‘She can, my dear Kancha, if she has a husband who like the holy Maharajah is inspired with lofty ambition. I, too, have always wished to be a support to my Lord in joy and in sorrow. Even the greatest of human beings needs that.’
Tishya has heard it. A burning jealousy squeezes her heart. ‘Which of his women will be his support, noble Agramahisi, like you are for the Maharajah?’
‘Tishia Rakshita always worries before it is time, my Kancha. Do not worry! It will depend on Kunala and you yourself and whether your marriage fulfils your expectations.’
Tishya feels that her passionate nature has carried her away again and Asandhi saves her, as usual. Kancha is again unpleasantly struck by Tishya’s words. What is it that this woman wants? Her strange eyes, which at one moment flash like Surya’s rays, then shimmer like soft moonlight? Kancha’s pride forces her to defence.
‘Mother Tishya called me an extension, an adornment in the retinue of the Yuvaraja, a gemstone in his turban. I would be Agramahisi—as Kunala told me—if there would not be added an Asandhimitra to me. Why should I be made aware of that! I am not … an addition. The Yuvaraja has asked my father to make us happy. He knows, like I do, what a Brahmin means with that. Certainly mother Tishya will not determine it. That will be decided by the Yuvaraja and myself.’
Asandhi looks at Tishya reproachfully and sees the fear in her eyes. That rouses her pity.
‘Why should you upset a young bride, Tishya, while you yourself have been showered with such good fortune?’
‘All brides of the mahavana who go to the big city cause me to fear and worry, dear Agramahisi. When happiness radiates from her countenance and her eyes, I want to cry out that the downfall will be even greater. That is how I experienced it myself. I wish good fortune awaits Kanchnamala as I myself got it.’
‘So be it. You look at life as too much of a burden. Our sorrow depends on our karma in our earlier births, they say. But to us is given the strength to bear it. Neither you nor I know what life will offer to Kanchanamala. I wish fervently that she may be happy like me. Kunala will be the next Maharajah and Kancha his Agramahisi,’ she adds consolingly.
‘Thank you, mother Asandhimitra.’ Kancha bows down and kisses the hem of her robe. Then she goes to the others. Tears fill Tishya’s eyes, out of hatred and jealousy. Or, out of remorse, thinks Asandhimitra …
‘Come, my child, reflect always before you use words. People so easily misunderstand them. Rejoice in other people’s happiness instead of worrying them with possible misfortune. The first the people will praise, the latter disapprove. Sharing of joy is much rarer than pity. Kanchanamala seems to me to be a sensible woman, well-suited for the difficult task that awaits her. We should help her and in friendliness show her the way’…
Karuvaki had kept a sharp eye on Kancha and she watched the small commotion around the Agramahisi.
‘Has the youngest Rani saddened Asandhi’s friends?’
Kancha looks up at her, shaken.
‘No, mother Karuvaki. On the contrary; the Rani hurt me, but we from the jungle do not succumb to that.’
Karuvaki nods. ‘No, fortunately not! We know whip-snakes and cobras, jackals and leopards, you want to say. You and I originate from the free jungle, my Kancha!’
‘Phooey, Karuvaki!’
‘Yes, Padmavati, if you do not warn the wife of your son of the obstacles in the anthapura, I have to do it. Come, tell us about that beautiful jungle where you were born, Kancha. You know the sun, the Hymavant, the maha-mahavana! I know the hunt but you are a Brahmin lady and have dreamt at the foot of a mighty banyan or listened to the whispering palms. It is as if the scent of the woods on the other side of the river entered with you over the moat into the palisades of Pataliputra. When I look at you it is as if a spark of my youth glows suddenly inside my veins, Kancha.’
Kancha smiles happily and starts talking; she feels a kinship to this Rani through the sun, the forest, the skies … the Atman.
14
THE UNSEEN FRIEND
n the month of Agrahayana1 a ship from Lanka moors at Tamralipti on the Bhagavati, the western estuary of the Ganga. On board is a delegation of the young king. The old Mutasiva, his uncle, has died and Mogalu Tissya succeeded him. Mutasiva was not receptive to new ideas, but the air was filled with what happened yonder in India. Every ship brought news about the mighty empire of the Maharajah, who understood so well the new age in which Vaishyas and Shudras gained power and wealth and relations between people changed so much that there grew a royal line which did not belong to the two highest varnas. Consequently, a young Prince had seized power. He brought prosperity to the vast empire, aligned with the sect of the Buddha which he allowed to flourish with all his energy and inexhaustible wealth because he wished to make the oppressed multitude aware of their human value and wished to transform people from opposing each other as enemies into people with a kind and sympathetic attitude. Thousands, millions of all ranks, aligned themselves with the great monarch who is a father to all his subjects, even extending his protective power over the animals of his empire. A hitherto unknown enthusiasm also shook the heart of the young man who took over the throne of Lanka. With the many rites of his country, he is crowned. But the radiant example of the mighty Emperor Ashoka is, before his eyes, like a luminous sun. He desires to pay tribute to him as a friend, because of his sublime notions of kingship. He wants to place at his feet the most beautiful products of Lanka. Aristha, his sister’s son, leads the delegation; a Brahmin, a high Counsellor, and a minister of the Treasury, together with a great retinue of distinguished persons from Lanka, carry the gifts.
The Nagaraka2 of Tamralipti sends swift messengers to the Maharajah, and soon, ox-carts carry the delegation through the endless fields of paddy and sugar cane to Medinipura. They then proceed to the north, crossing the Dharmodaya3-river, and through the Gummagatta4-mountains to Gaya. There the imperial elephants are waiting, ready for the guests, and in a splendid procession the journey continues on the great road leading to Pataliputra, where the Maharajah gives the company a festive welcome. He receives the delegation in the great Throne hall. The court presents itself in rich courtly attire. The ministers and the parishad take their place in the hall, gleaming of gold and silver. The delegation enters and is escorted to the throne. Soft music of veenas, flutes, ravanasthas and lightly touched drums, resounds through the slender pillars, decorated with the finest styli
stic work of art of precious metals. Arishta takes the hem of Ashoka’s robe, touches it against his forehead, and rises at the hand of the Maharajah.
‘Mighty Emperor of a World empire, Sacred and gracious Maharajah of India, the newly-crowned King of Lanka greets you. Deeply touched, he has followed the growing of your power and the divine ambitions of Your Gracious and Sacred Majesty, and admires the shining example of a fatherly ruler. The fragrance of your deeds has wafted through the air to countries far away and we listen with delight when the subjects of this great country proclaim your fame in our country, too. If we may believe them then there is no cave in the forests of the Himalayas, where joy is not roused in the hearts because of your decisions and works, no resting place on the banks of the holy Narmada, in the Vindhyas, where they do not invigorate pilgrims hoping for salvation, no caravanserai in the deserts of the west, where they do not lift the spirits up in the silent nights, no hamlet in the lush paddy and sugar cane fields on the banks of the holy Ganga, where storytellers do not enthral with legends about your life, no house or hermitage in the plains in your limitless kingdom, where they do not praise the gods that placed you on the ivory throne of Pataliputra. Where cruelty mocked at man and animal your compassion stretches out its hand, grown in strength, to give the kiss of life to those struck down by fate. Where unfairness, crassness and misuse of power brought destruction, sorrow, and gnashing of teeth, there your pure reason intervenes with heart-warming and strengthening justice. May your power watch over the country for a long time yet and your descendants lead your peoples forever to prosperity and a blessed life. Devanampiya Tissa hails Your Sacred Majesty as a friend because of your beautiful deeds. He hopes you will accept a few artefacts from Lanka that may bring him often into your sacred memories.’
Ashoka the Great Page 87