‘Mother Tishya Rakshita!’
Tishya laughs at him, her fingers releasing her muslin cloth and her arms stretching out towards him. Convinced of her irresistible powers, she tempts him with each movement of her lithe body. Kunala’s eyes stare at her. She has no idea of what is happening inside him, closed-off as he is like his old father when they do not want to betray their thoughts. What stops him from taking what is being offered to him! Fear of his father? But has he not gone to Tamralipti with a sapling of that silly Bodhi-tree! Kanchanamala? Her eyes flash, her beautiful mouth puckered to the sweetest, most ensnaring laugh of victory, like the flower gleams for the eager butterfly. She draws closer, the scent of jasmine from her heaving breast is strong.
‘Come, my Kunala, come!’ And she wants to embrace him, tries to force her sylph-like body, shimmering through the thin cloth, on him. ‘Your gaze, your eyes, beguile me!’ she whispers to him. ‘It is as if my body is aflame now I embrace you! Give me … your youthful love! Come! What stops you from taking me in your arms, all …’
She sees how Kunala shuts off both his ears. Still she keeps him entwined …
‘Mother Tishya Rakshita! Do not speak such sinful words to me, the son. You are for me the mother, the Rani of my respected Father! This sin is like blood-shame and would plunge you to the deepest of hells. Even if I would forget my great love for Kanchanamala I would not place the burden of such guilt on myself!’ He wants to gently free himself from her arms but the Rani has still not lost faith in her potent charms. Her gaze pierces his and in hers a wild surrender is gleaming, forgetting all for the mighty passion of her entire being. But his eyes reject her, clearly and earnestly. Then her arms slowly let go of him and she withdraws a few steps. Now she sees that her strongest, most audacious temptation, is rejected by his moral strength, that her seduction does not mean anything to the son of her mighty man, a sudden rage takes possession of her. Kunala sees how the friendly, attractive laugh wilts away, how a demonic energy flares in her eyes and the loveliness of her countenance changes into an ominous grimace of scorn, behind which she tries to hide her disappointment and rage. The shame of her failed scheme that she would not have felt if he had taken her, changes to a hurt pride which assumes in her inflamed mind frightening proportions, and then finds expression in an excessive rage.
‘You spurn me, Kunala, at a moment when my love for you takes possession of me … when I had, in highest ecstasy, only one longing, for you! You repulse me, when I desire to offer you the highest and mightiest a woman has. Kama, who awakened in me a love of such tremendous power, will not tolerate this. Yama will blow you away from this earth!’ she hisses in her anger.
‘I would rather die than forget my duty and loyalty towards my noble father and my wife. I have, mother Tishya, nothing to do with a life that for the followers of the Tathagata is considered a shame and would make of me a despised and cursed human being! When you have calmed down, mother Tishya Rakshita, you will perceive it as I do.’
Tishya turns her back to him, walks through the gallery with angry steps and disappeared behind the sculptured marble walls of the hall, whose quiet beauty fails to bring her even the slightest peace of mind. She did not anticipate his rejection and now feels the full weight of the danger of the Maharajah coming to know what has happened here at the pond. She shakes her shoulders in impotent rage. What has she to fear? Will that cowardly bigot make life impossible for her here? The old Maharajah! Is it so strange that she wishes to take a bath in the new pond and that the uparaja waylaid her, the most beautiful woman of the anthapura? A demonic laugh rasps through her contorted face. She could kill the coward because for the rest of her life he will threaten her with his morality. Let him hate her! Her hatred is ten times, a hundred times more! She wanted to give him love and he branded her love as a disgrace and insolence. Follower of the compassionate Buddha? Cowardly slave of his mighty father, that is what he is! How could she be infatuated by such an effeminate man! Cowardice of the … Shudra opposing a Kshatriya! A notemasculated eunuch! A sweet worshipper of monks with his deer’s-eyes, languishing for heaven! Bah! One day she will take revenge. She has to think how! Like a panther she will wait long for her prey that, roaming around unaware, at last will fall into her clutches as he keeps silent. She would love to see those monk-eyes break in his last hour. To laugh when his suffering is complete. He wants to have nothing to do with the life she offered him? He would rather die? Then die! Like the Shudra who refuses to offer his service has to die! Let his troubled mind calm down with the wise Brahmin girl, find peace in her lap, like the newly born Prince. Kanchanamala …
Suddenly Tishya stops. His sweetheart from the mahavana! Striking at her through him! Have her spit out her hate, her anger into his sanctimonious face, indirectly! The next Agramahisi! When she, Tishya Rakshita, is the forgotten Rani of the deceased Maharajah! Perhaps, he will understand himself that it is wiser to keep silent. No look on her face will betray how she hates him but in her heart she will nurture her vengeance into an ever-growing threat, she will pursue it till his death. She is still a Rani, above Kanchanamala! And she will be the waylaid innocence. For one moment, fear that the Maharajah will believe Kunala takes hold of her. But then triumph reappears on her beautiful features.
A week later, the Maharajah returns from Tamralipti. Karuvaki welcomes him joyfully. Charumati has sent word from Nepal that a son had been born to her: Dasaratha.
15
KUNALA KEEPS SILENT
atcha has fled from Tirha. He does not dare to go back to his parental home; he is going West. His father has dreamed of Taxila where he would be able to develop himself further after the pupillage at Santanu’s into a priest of great proficiency and erudition. The last time he had not been thinking of it anymore; Kanchanamala would be his wife and then Taxila was out of the question. When he understood that the Shudra, by his power and status, was driven into the arms of Kancha and he by his evil deed had spoiled his future forever, the thought of the holy city came back to his mind again: to reconcile with father by continuing his studies. He does not know how to get there, however. Far, endlessly far to the West! But what does it matter whether he arrives there in a month a year or only after years! Two strong feelings dominates him: revenge on Prince Kunala and irresistible love for Kancha. Away from Tirha, the farther the better! The lesser the chance would be that they will know about him and treat him with scorn. He is certain about the scorn of the gods, although he might purify himself by pilgrimages, by offerings, by dedicating himself to the sacred service of the gods and the Vedas.
He speeds as fast as he can along the road leading to Vaishali, begging for food at the houses of Aryans and no one dares to refuse the brahmacharin a scoop of rice and ghee or a piece of bread. He has learned to find fruits and roots in the mahavana, and there is water in abundance in the sacred streams and brooks along the way.
After a month of roaming around, he comes across a trade-caravan in Ayodhya that is heading for the West, a couple of camels loaded with silk and fine muslin from Kashi that will be shipped to Egypt for wrapping the dead. Some ox-carts are filled with swords and other iron-ware, cinnamon oil, precious stones, and dyes. They think they will be more secure when a Brahmin journeys along with the caravan and so they do not refuse him a place in one of the carts. They hardly disturb him since he keeps silent, in prayer or meditation most of the time. In his proud heart Katcha is convinced that the blessed one is not he but the caravan, which is only gaining in safety, advantage, and good luck in taking him along.
After some months they arrive in Taxila and it is not difficult for him to take up his study again. In the whirl of old thoughts of the East and the new of the West, Brahmanism is still untouched and a pupil of that school can easily find the support he needs. So, Katcha finds a home with an elderly, sympathetic Brahmin. For a long time Katcha serves him diligently, maintains the fire faithfully and studies seriously the science of the stars and its mystic laws, the healing arts and t
he Arthavaveda with her magic spells and secret powers. He fulfils all the rites meticulously and yet, it is not those acts that keep his mind busy continuously. Often he climbs the hills, west of Taxila, to search for wood for the holy fires. There, for a long time, he stares at the old and the new town and over the wide hills on the other side of the Tamra Nala, that propels the water from the countless brooks, springs and irrigation-canals beyond Taxila to the Indus, and over the roads where caravans are slowly proceeding from and towards the trading city. He doubts whether he will ever be able to avenge the hated Buddhist, whether he can force Kancha one day to his feet. Every plan fades again from his consciousness. And yet his love rouses him to think of new threats which weave themselves through the prayers meant to purify him of sins. But the desire to meet Kancha again always urges him on because he believes that it was not her love but the prestige of the Prince and the will of Santanu that drove her towards the Prince. It is him she loves! He is a Brahmin, after all! He studies now for a few years in Taxila, with the thought that one day he wants to return to the East to the holy land where Kancha lives.
Vesanta’s first flowering has gone, Caitra1 has gone by, and Vaisakha2 has, with the hotter burning of the sun, warned of the approaching summer. Katcha, gathering wood, takes rest on a fallen tree trunk, and wipes the sweat off his head and neck. While looking around the beautiful countryside his gaze is caught by a camel-caravan that is on the road from Pushkalivati and Kabul proceeding to Taxila. It captivates him. All is gleaming in Surya’s bright light. Maybe, it is a royal delegation on the way to the Kumara3. The animals walk evidently under capable guidance. Everything gives the impression of riches and wealth. Katcha picks up his bundle of wood for the holy fire and rapidly descends the hill. For a short while he loses sight of the caravan but he knows that he will make it to the junction before them. There he sits down and waits. When they come closer, he stands up. With great interest he looks at the well-tended animals, the magnificent equipment, the precious carpets and cloths. Katcha’s dignified bearing seems to impress. The sarthavaha stops and asks in pure Maghadi whether Taxila is still far.
‘If you ride around the corner the city is in front of you, sir.’
‘How far is the gate?’
‘Not yet half a yojana. Is Taxila the final destination of your journey?’
‘No, sir, I guide a delegation from Bactria to Pataliputra.’
‘A long and dangerous road.’
‘They say that the roads in the country of Ashoka are safe.’
The caravan moves on. The young Brahmin remains standing by the side of the road for a while, watching them off sadly. What richness of colour and splendour of gems! The skin of the travellers is light like that of the higher varnas, their bearing distinguished; but they are Mlecchas, most likely Macedonians who took Bactria away from Iran.
To Ashoka’s capital! He sighs and his imagination soars, flying with wide-spread wings. To the Maharajah, to the palace where Kancha is Yuvarani! And he, here in the far West, as a brahmacharin, a sinner! Wild thoughts stirs anew his hatred in mounting waves. What is he doing here, far from Kancha? As a guilty one he has run away from his Guru, far off to the holy city in the cursed land on the other side of the Sarasvati. Long enough has he been away from his holy ground because a Shudra chased him into sin! That sin is now paid for, and more: He will be a Brahmin, exalted above all, enemy of the Bauddhis4 who level the barriers of the varnas, enemy of the Maharajah but even more so of the Yuvaraja who stole Kancha’s love away from him. Each doubt against his returning is swept away by his hatred and by his love for Kancha. She is a Brahmin, and he, as well. Compared to them any Shudra, even the noblest one, is insignificant.
He enters through the North Gate. On the Main Street the caravan is waiting. The delegation is conducted with respect to the Kumara by the foreigners department. Just as Katcha passes by, the sarthavaha is leaving the palace-gate to take the camels to the stables. In recognition he greets Katcha.
‘You said: a dangerous journey. Why, high Brahmin?’
‘The desert-sand, the robbers, and the wild animals in the Doab.’
‘How can I avoid all these?’
‘A swift departure, the safest roads, a Brahmin in your company.’
‘You do not make easy conditions, sir.’
‘You do not undertake an easy journey. I know the way.’
‘Are you from Magadha?’
Katcha nods.
‘When are you returning?’
‘When there is a good opportunity,’ snaps Katcha.
‘Travel along with us, sir. What is your name?’
Katcha’s eyes glitters. All objections are swept away. A return to the East!
‘My name is Katchayana. When will you leave Taxila?’
‘Do help us in our decision to choose the right time for departure.’
‘Take care that you have left the dangerous dust-clouds of the desert behind you before Jyeshtha …’
During the long journey through the Punjab and the desert, Katcha enjoys excellent care. Prince Kala, the Viceroy of Taxila, has provided the Bactrians with strong guides, the head of which is Tshunda, who speaks many languages and always helps the Bactrians with great friendliness. Katcha is less reserved with the open Kshatriya than with the foreigners whom he is only able to understand with the sartavaha as interpreter. They have crossed the Sarasvati and towards nightfall, when the scarlet-red sun sinks down behind the hills in the West, they make camp. The night brings coolness as they sit in front of their tents. Stars twinkle in the sky, spreading a greyish light over the desert. The air is hushed. The animals are freed of their burdens. The drivers retrieve the food sacks and give the camels handfuls of grains, mixed with beans. The animals, tired as they are, walk around for a while and graze on some hard, sharp grass or else jerk leaves and thorns from the scanty bushes. Soon, they decide to lie down and stretch out their necks and heads, until they calmly fall asleep. The guides from Taxila guard the camp against surprise attacks or wild animals. For Katcha, as usual, is set up a separate tent. He wants to study the starry sky and meanwhile his reveries of Kancha and Kunala play their games with his mind. He feels powerless against the mighty Mauryas. He wants to see Kancha although he knows it will increase his restlessness. His hatred is ridiculous, much like that of a mongoose against an elephant. The sarthavaha approaches him.
‘Orecles, the envoy of Bactria, wishes to speak to you, sir.’
‘Tell Orecles that I will receive him here.’
‘But Orecles … a brother of the Bactrian king is the owner of the caravan.’
‘I am a Brahmin in the holy country at this side of the Sarasvati.’
Hesitantly, the sarthavaha passes the message across.
‘Well, Tshunda, what do you think of such a barbarian?’
‘Relic of a varna that is sliding down the high mountain only to land in the swamps at its foot.’
Orecles and his nephew, Aristes, approach Katcha’s tent. The sarthavaha is their interpreter, and Tshunda, the silent listener.
‘So, young man, the caravan-camp is my house and does one violate here the first duty of the guest which is to adhere to the rules of the house?’
‘In Aryavarta, the Brahmin is master over all the other people and creation. He eats his own food, wears his own clothes. Other mortals have to be thankful for all that they are and have, even their lives, to the benevolence and generosity of the Brahmins.5 So everyone is indebted to my varna. The Brahmin not towards the other.’
Orecles looks mockingly into the arrogant eyes of the proud priest.
‘Your words give evidence of youthful impetuosity or of unbridled pride. Even in Bactria we know that all of the land of India belongs to the Emperor and that he has made that clearly known to your varna.’
‘Maharajah Ashoka has seized power wrongfully.’
‘You are going to Pataliputra and we will see whether you will dare repeat your words before the Emperor.’
&nb
sp; Katcha is shaken. ‘I have nothing to do with the Buddhist Emperor.’
‘What does Buddhist mean?’
‘That he is a follower of the Shakyamuni who does not acknowledge the sovereignty of the Brahmins and accepts impure varnas into his sect.’
‘Impure because of their way of life?’
‘No, impure because of their birth!’
Both the Greeks start laughing. ‘Do you, Brahmins, come into the world as different beings? Do you bear signs? Do you take a testimony of the gods along at your birth? Maybe others might not believe it. Is your existence, your death, different from that of all other human beings?’
‘A Shudra is only an animal in human form.’
‘Fortunate the Shudra, who understands the foolishness of your delusion.’
‘He is despised and only has to serve the Aryas. The Maharajah and his son are Shudras.’
‘Fortunately, there is a Shudra who has the power to make such a great land happy in spite of your self-conceit.’
Katcha keeps silent. Aristes feels the irritation of Orecles. But, from the Brahmin, they wish to know who the Emperor is.
‘Is there a relationship between the fact that he is a Shudra and that he became a Buddhist?’
‘He cannot become a Brahmin, at least,’ mocks Katcha.
‘Maybe, for that he is too humane and too broad-minded! The Mauryas come from the western Himalayas and receive envoys like Megasthenes at their court.’
‘What comes from the other side of the Sarasvati is cursed.’
‘Thank you. Why then do you study there and run away from your sacred country?’
Katcha flushes. ‘Taxila is one of our holy cities.’
‘Why then do you, still young, return so fast?’ mocks Aristes.
Katcha keeps silent.
‘The Emperor has a mighty army, does he not?’
‘He does not use it.’
‘Because every country fears it.’
Ashoka the Great Page 89