Arishta then hands over to the Maharajah the most precious gift first: a box of pearly white ivory, carved by the greatest artist among the ivory carvers of his country. In it is cradled a string of pearls of such perfect splendour and of such unheard of size that the Emperor rises to look at them, filled with admiration.
‘Messengers from heaven, Arishta!’
‘The pure raindrops from the first clouds of the spring, noble Maharajah, caught by the most pure oysters in their shells and frozen to pristine, eternal beauty, so one believes in Lanka.’
‘I will wear them whenever my duty calls me for the well-being of my peoples. Do tell my noble friend, the King of Lanka, that.’ A female servant places them around the neck of the holy Maharajah and Arishta bows deeply at so much honour. Then he spreads the other gifts at the feet of the Emperor. Pure scarves of the finest of Singhalese weaving art, embroidered with the choicest amethysts and topazes, garnets and sapphires, corundum and hyacinths; carvings of Lanka-ivory, magnificently cut gemstones in settings of white metal. An excited whisper rustles gently through the throne-hall. To each Rani, Arishta offers a skilfully made necklace in which the purest pearls of the island are inlaid.
‘Envoys of my noble friend, Devanampiya Tissa, when you go back to your country, thank him on my behalf for these precious works of art. Furthermore, tell him that if my subjects praise me it is because I have placed my empire under the protection of the Bodhi tree in Bodh Gaya, and I have taken my refuge in the Buddha, his pure Dharma and in the holy Sangha of the Buddha. That India now breathes freer, lives more joyfully and has brought peace to its turbulent heart is a miracle, brought about by the compassion of the son of the Shakyas, the Tathagata, the Accomplished Buddha. That is the message that I would like to bring to Lanka, too.’
For five months the delegation sojourns in the capital of India. During this period Ashoka orders the most skilled ornamental-metal workers of Pataliputra to make reciprocal gifts for the King of Lanka, his unseen friend. Every type of emblem in gold, fit for the eminence of the King, then chamaras of the most exquisite yak-tails from Tibet, a royal parasol of thick Chinese silk, adorned with gemstones from his empire, a golden forehead-belt and a silk scarf embroidered with diamonds, a sword of Kashi-steel with a golden hilt, a silver vessel for the anointment, on which Buddhist legends are embossed, a howda, built and upholstered with great splendour for the royal elephant, and gold vessels with water from the Ganga and the Anavatapa-lake5, all objects used at the coronation of a king.
With the Lankan delegation, Ashoka sends his own envoys, among whom are some eminent monks of the Ashokarama. The Lankan king is so much delighted with the tokens of Ashoka’s friendship that he has himself crowned for a second time using the rites and tokens of dignity of India.
Blessed by Devi, the royal lady of Vidisha, Mahindra, the high missionary, leaves for Lanka imbued with the fervour, willpower and the humanity of his great father. He, the Emperor’s son—the one most moved by the benevolent spirit of the Tathagata, the excellent scholar of the canon, decreed upon at the ‘Council of Thousand’ of the Buddhist Sangha—will bring there the teachings and purposes of the Buddha, which later will make a triumphant march to the waiting countries of the Far East.
Many women in Lanka—amongst them Anula, the wife of the younger brother of the King Mahanaga—express the wish that they, too, would like to dedicate themselves to a spiritual life. King Tissya requests Mahindra to accept her into the Sangha but Mahindra explains that he is not permitted to do so. He advises the King to ask of his father in Pataliputra that Sanghamitra, his sister, famous for her knowledge of Buddhist teachings, be sent for. At the same time a cutting from the Bodhi-tree of Bodh Gaya will also be sent. Once again Arishta is assigned to the mission. In the first half of Asveena6, he begins the journey to Pataliputra again and Ashoka fulfils the request of his son and his friend. With utmost care and many ceremonies, a cutting of the Bodhi-tree is planted in a golden pot. Seven days later, in Karttika7, the sapling grows and the first sprouts appear. Ashoka, along with Sanghamitra, eleven bhikkhunis and a small retinue, embark on a beautifully decorated ship. After a successful trip of seven days on the calm waters of the Ganga along the forested foothills of the Vindhyas, the ship arrives at Tamralipti where a sea-going vessel is waiting to bring Sanghamitra and the sapling of the Bodhi tree to Lanka. The Maharajah himself carries the sapling on board and commends it to the care of Arishta, uttering his blessings for the success of the journey and for the development of the Buddha’s doctrine in Lanka.
Sanghi bids the Maharajah farewell: ‘My Father, I will for ever keep you in thought as the tireless worker for the happiness of the other, as the venerator of the Tathagata. I wish to worship the Buddha, love the Buddha and admire the Buddha when I am in Lanka.’
It is hard for the Maharajah for he knows it is a farewell for life. She is herself full of fervour for her holy task in Lanka.
‘I bless you and Mahindra, my child. You both have chosen what your soul longed for and what the Buddha wanted. Attain heaven on your sacred path towards Nirvana.’
For a long time he stares at the departing ship. Once more Sanghi holds up the young Bodhi tree8 and the Maharajah blesses the eagerly sprouting sapling from afar. Two of his children have left the kingdom, captivated by the doctrine of the world-conquering and world-renouncing Shakhya Prince. And it is as if some part of him is dying with the loss of both those disciples. But the flight of the doctrine will spread wider, in the direction of his striving, the way he had desired. Devi: Had she not, with her great love, laid in these two disciples the foundation of the Buddha? He, Ashoka, has surged forward on his way of the Maharajah. Are these two in pursuit of that eternal power that will tear away mankind from trishna, nature’s Will? Will everything come as it comes or as it is willed? Buddha’s doctrine will spread over Lanka. And there, too, will the Wheel of Faith roll forward. Why then should it not roll towards the North the West and the East and capture any new Alexander in its rush!
The ship disappeared in the vastness of the ocean carrying the Bodhi-branch to Lanka and Sanghi to the country where Mahindra works. All in Tamralipti kneel down along the road when Ashoka returns to Pataliputra, where he will again take over Kunala’s task.
Kunala gets up early in the morning and diligently fulfils the duties of the uparaja. After exchanging friendly words with the monks who greet him, he goes to the audience hall. The armoured female palace-guards are all standing in place. Without saying a word the Prince strides along the rows, followed by Tulya who always keeps the distance of a few steps behind him, searching like a Himalayan hunter, for any threat of danger for the Prince. The holy Maharajah has told him to take special care and the grateful hunter feels himself responsible for the life of the uparaja.
In the audience hall, surrounded by some female guards, are several subjects who have come to have their cases heard. Like his father, Kunala is capable of swiftly dealing with these cases. Having been briefed before by the different departments, he can swiftly respond to everything placed before him and he gives his orders, which are instantly put into writing by the lipikaras. At last, there is only one woman left, a Shudra, poorly dressed but one can see that her clothes, a dhoti9 and a brown shawl, are washed well and dyed freshly for the occasion. Her frizzy black hair is bound together by a ribbon, and her dark eyes look meekly up at the beautifully dressed uparaja on his great seat.
‘Come closer, Ahalya, you come from the far away Ramagar at the Dharmodaya.’
The Shudra woman kneels down and bows her head. ‘Ten days of travel, Sir.’
‘Get up, Ahalya. Have you walked?’
‘Yes, Sir. There is no room for a Shudra in the ox-carts.’
‘Is such a journey not dangerous for a woman?’
‘I have not thought of that, Sir. The people shun a Shudra and the animals are friendly or I keep them away with the amulets a magician gave me.’
‘You have come for your son.’
‘Yes Sir, my son works for a young Vaishya whose father once was deprived of his land by a neighbour who had become friends with the pradesika and that man sent some men of the law. In the fight that ensued my husband was killed but my son who is tall and strong, fiercely defended himself and killed two of the men. When he was wounded, they bound him and led him away to prison. I went to the pradesika and asked him to give back my son to me as he is the only one who can protect me, Sir.’
‘He should not have opposed the men of law, Ahalya, but should have come to the Maharajah.’
‘Sir, a Shudra has to serve and obey his master.’
‘But unlawful acts he need not and is not allowed to perform.’
‘Sir, the land was stolen and he believed in the rights of the farmer.’
‘And did the pradesika free your son?’
‘No Sir. They have told me that my son will be sentenced to death, strangled for his crime. In Ramagar they say that the Maharajah protects Shudras, too. I left the same day, Sir.’
‘Did you speak to the pradesika himself?’
‘No Sir. A Shudra will not be admitted. And the holy Maharajah never refuses to listen to a Shudra.’
‘We will investigate the case, Ahalya. Today soldiers will be sent to Ramagar. If everything has happened as you say you will get back your son. We will have an ox-cart sent along for you. In the afternoon, when the sun is at its highest, wait at the Gaya gate. Ask the guards for food.’
Some soldiers depart for Ramagar towards the afternoon. They will free Ahalya’s son and take the pradesika back to Pataliputra to give account of himself to the uparaja. Furthermore, the Dharmamahamatra Kesina is ordered to investigate the situation in the district of Ramagar to improve the administration and appoint a trustworthy rajuka to administer justice. The Maharajah desires a just and speedy handling of affairs.
Only then does Kunala proceed to the palace to the Rani and their child.
‘Will he be Maharajah too one day, Kancha, our son?’
‘I will ask the magician of Ahalya,’ she laughs.
He takes leave of them and after having sent Tulya to his wife and child who are waiting for him in their house, which is close to that of Satyavat and Rohini, he turns towards the stone-wing of the palace where he keeps his veena. He tunes the instrument, dreamily plucks some melodies that will carry his thoughts to regions far away, from where all these subjects come before the Maharajah, full of trust, to seek justice from the Father of his peoples. Again, his fingers pluck the strings and with the Ganga murmuring in the distance, he sings in a fine resonant voice:
‘In Jyeshtha10 the cricket hops lazily and the creek slumbers, Wearily the snake draws his coils, the predator gasps for air. The monkeys sit huddled together on a branch, the peacock is in a dream-state.
The wild boar digs deep down into his bath of mud, and mankind sighs.
But in Vasanth the kokila shouts with joy, the frog croaks, The tiny-cricket leaps high onto the top of the bushes, the mocking bird laughs,
The antelope springs in wide bounds, all life awakens…
In the blushing blossoms of mango trees and kimsuka, the lovable girl awaits.’
Kunala smiles; the mahavana with Kancha still fills his whole being. Why is all beauty, again and again, burdened by suffering? Does one think of the cricket, of the eager bird that snatches it, of the bird frozen by the snake’s gaze; of the boars and deer hunted by hunters eager for their meat? Of the sweet fawn on which the panther jumps? What sense does all this suffering make? Who will remove the suffering of the world! Kunala hears a soft, almost furtive step in the silent building. Mother Tishya Rakshita! She approaches him, her slender form shimmering in the finest woven muslin, a string of jasmine her only adornment. Her lithe step is like the gait of a young dancer. Her full, perfect arms make beguiling movements while her beautifully formed fingers grasp her fine cloth. Her hips, which curve from her slender waist into graceful lines within her gossamer dress, seemed carved from, the most precious ivory. She laughs at him as though the loveliest of thoughts have woven themselves within her heart. Such laughter adds to the sensual charm of her unrivalled beauty, which she knows to be a temptation and with which she, with seeming naïveté, ensnares him. Kunala looks up with admiration at the youngest Rani.
‘How serious you look, my Kunala, as if the burden of ruling already depresses you,’ she says, and with her most bewitching smile she adds: ‘Cannot the veena bring out a light-hearted melody, a touch of joy from its soul?’
‘Oh, certainly, mother Tishya. A good veena possesses all the beauty of music in all its delightful shades and tones of every melody. But not everyone is able or knows the art of drawing them out from the instrument, so many directions of beauty it can encompass.’
‘You play much; does not your soul encompass also love and hate, sorrow and gaiety, the lightness of the human heart beside the serious reverence and do you not wish to give voice to them! Why that ever-present solemnity here at the court!’ Her lips curl in a golden laugh that softens the sharpness of her words.
‘My father works from dawn till dusk for the millions of his subjects; for him that is a serious matter and he never takes his work and decisions lightly. So, it is my endeavour to mature towards this lofty task when once he will lose his strength,’ the Uparaja says brightly.
‘But you are not as old as he is, your seriousness may come too early to make you well aware of the lighter side of human nature. Who does know true seriousness, who does not yet know joy … or deep reverence, who has not yet tasted the lightness first … who with burning love does not know hatred and can let go his tensions now and then!’
Kunala looks at her with his reflective eyes, notices how a deeper glow comes over her beautiful features. Is there wisdom in her words or is it the demon that is active and thrashing inside her, as Kancha thinks!
‘But to hatred and joy and lightness of spirit one is inclined too easily, mother Tishya. The Buddha says: ‘keep your thoughts pure, master your senses’. He who has looked at life in the mahavana in its inner-most drive, sees there is only a drive for lust and fight to give expression to life. But the Buddha has shown a loftier endeavour for the human being: compassion. That will end the suffering of all life. And that will be the joy in bitter gravity.’
‘Tut, tut, tut, my Kunala. If you wish to see suffering in the world you will see suffering everywhere; do you want to see joy and cheer or lust you can find that everywhere, too. Look, Kunala, the water of the lake over there is black if someone stares into its dark floor with a heavy heart, but clear and sparkling if one darts about on its waves, so that its splashing drops gleam in Surya’s rays. Is it not more appealing to watch it sparkling with light than staring at the darkness of its untraceable depths?’ Many of the thoughts that Tishya Rakshita expresses were often spoken to her by Asandhimitra when the beautiful young Rani enveloped herself once more in her woeful musings. But the truth within touched the young Prince as though it came from the heart.
‘Hatred’s sharp sting is blunted, mother Tishya, when love keeps prevailing over it and grief is less painful when inner happiness conquers it and seriousness loses its rigidity if lightness brightens it like Surya’s golden rays do to the dark thunder-clouds. It is the harmony that balances everything again, gives colour to life’s darkness, and softens the all-too bright lightness. Listen, mother Tishya.’ He takes up his veena.
‘Now life creeps slowly along; then its powers grow,
Now springs the bud, then ripens the fruit.
But always nature unfolds its power,
According to unwritten law, in an eternal flight …
It’s all maya, which looks clear and real to us,
And truth, which seemed illusory:
An ever evolving life that always disappears again,
And only gives us bliss by our diligent endeavour!’
Tishya listens in delight to his beautiful voice. The only thing she does not like is the serious atmosphe
re. She absorbs the tones from his mouth and the look of his eyes into her soul but that ever pining for the salvation of the world, for the suffering of mankind! Purity and salvation! Is life as life not good enough? And beauty and love! Are they not part of his limited way of thinking? Kanchanamala! Temper flares up in her. Is she his Asandhi? What does life mean to a man like Kunala when it does not crave for expression, the quenching of the irrepressible flames of the soul! Agramahisi! Uttering words of wisdom, commenting about the prosperity, well-being and salvation of those who sinned, and the peoples! Do not the peoples have to work for their lord, the Raja, the Maharajah and the glory of his court, for the greatness of their capital, for the lustre of the palace-residents? Is it not outrageous to equate the Shudra and even the Chandala, with the Kshatriya in a Sangha? What kind of a world is a Sangha, a desert of all-equal grains of sand where each one has the same value and beauty as the other? What is mankind when all are of equal varna, of equal prestige? What desolation! She knows she is beautiful, irresistible to a man, if she wishes to be. Did not the mightiest one, the Maharajah, take her into the harem? She knows the irresistible attraction of her laugh, of her movements, of her look. And here she does not need to force herself; her feelings and her enticements are one, though she is aware of both of them!
‘What a beautiful voice, my Kunala; you touch me within the depths of my soul. You enchant me with your veena and your songs!’ Besides the glowing of her eyes, she consciously and unabashedly bares to him all the beauty of her body.
It is as though the enchantment of her laugh not only expresses itself in her features but nestles in the movement of her arms, in the breathing of her chest, in the pose of her willowy legs. Because of the subtleness of his feelings it is as if the love of this woman assails him and, catching him off-guard, smothers him. Startled he rises, putting his instrument aside.
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