Ashoka the Great

by Keuning, Wytze

  ‘On my journeys, noble Maharajah, I have always been looking out for the right rock formations for your lipis. On the Kabul-road, near Kapurdigiria, where stands a tower high upon a hill, is a rock that is twelve paces in length, five in height and five paces wide, which can be seen from the far-off valley and which looks down at Shabazgarhi. This rock will serve the purpose and suit your Gracious Majesty.’

  ‘Good, Amita. And you, Kesala, construct there at the same time a vihara and a rest-house for travellers so that the monks can read, translate and explain the lipis for them, at any hour. I wish that especially there, the people hear about my view. The following lipi3 shall be carved in the rock:

  ‘Eight years after the consecration of His Sacred and Gracious Majesty4, the Kalingas were conquered. One hundred and fifty thousand men were taken captive and deported; a hundred thousand were slain and many times as many died as result of the war.

  After the Kalingas were conquered H.M.’s observance of the Dharma, his love for the Dharma and his propagation of the Dharma became stronger. The Emperor felt remorse for having conquered Kalinga. Where an independent country is subjected by force there will be as a result killing, death, and deportation of people, what is now looked upon by H.M. as very painful and deplorable. And H.M. considers this as even more grievous because there live Brahminand sraman ascetics and followers of other sects and vanaprasthas, who are well established in obeisance to superiors, to parents and teachers, good conduct and firm devotion to friends, acquaintances, companions, relatives, servants and slaves. They in particular are hit by the humiliation, killing, and the taking away of their beloveds.

  If disaster hits their friends, companions, helpers and relatives, for whom they feel undiminished love, this suffering becomes theirs too, although they themselves are saved from the disaster. So, these disasters strike all people alike, but are felt most painfully by H.M. There is no place in any country where people have no faith in one or another religious creed.

  Therefore, if even a hundredth or a thousandth part of all who were wounded, killed or deported in Kalinga would suffer, this would today be considered as very regrettable by H.M.

  Nay, even if anyone does mischief, what can be forgiven by H.M. it will be forgiven by H.M. Even those forest peoples, who have been brought under the rule of H.M., he tries to win for his path and way of thinking. But it should be known that, in spite of his regret, H.M. has the power to punish, so that they may have remorse of their crimes and may hope not to be killed. H.M. wishes for all living beings that they will be free of distress and will live with self-control, impartiality and gentleness.’5

  Well, noble ministers, give me your appraisal.’

  Khallataka begins. ‘Our holy friend Sayana would be touched deeply by this lipi, Lord, because of its noble feelings which are so clearly expressed by your Gracious Majesty. For me, however, it remains a question of whether royal supremacy will not suffer through a proclamation of regret about your deeds. The peoples of India look upon you as the Sacred, Almighty Emperor. Is it not better, for the sanctity of your might, that people see you as infallible, that the Kalinga war was the result of your own wise decision? Would it not harm the urge towards obedience to the imperial power, when people see in you a mortal being who takes decisions about which he later feels remorse? I know you have, and always have had, very lofty thoughts about your great task, and that people had thrust you into the Kalinga-war, but let all other peoples fear your might! They could see your remorse as weakness.’

  ‘It is precisely the Kalinga-war, revered Khallataka, which has taught me that I am just as little infallible as anyone else. The Buddha was no god but a human being with the most sacred of principles. Has he ever kept silent—out of fear that he would be less respected—that he regretted the life of his youth? Like him I will not yield one step away from truth, because I want to impart to my peoples truthfulness as something noble and beautiful. If I have remorse, everyone may know that it has brought me on the right path, so that they, too—out of regret about wrong deeds—will choose a different path, a right one. I flatter myself with the hope that if the Maharajah of India regards compassion as the most beautiful flourishing of the human mind, his subjects will endorse and themselves practise compassion with all beings, and inculcate this in their children. Were I infallible then their endeavour would miss the power of the potential. I want to be their example!’

  That very moment a prativedaka6 is announced. He has come back to Pataliputra from the North-west. Prativedakas always have an immediate admittance to Ashoka even if the Emperor is partaking of a meal, or is in the anthapura, in the farms, camps, parks or even in the vinita.7 Even the parishad is interrupted so that the Maharajah can be instantly told of the messages from his countries.

  ‘Sire, I have just arrived from Taxila.’

  ‘Kusha, when did you leave the city of the insurrection?’

  ‘One month ago, noble Maharajah.’ Ashoka nods his approval. ‘Then it was half a month ago that I had left Bactria as a sarthavaha. There I learned that King Diodotos was annoyed by the failure of Orecles’ mission. Straightaway he gave the orders to march on and subdue Sogdania, and to take over the rich oasis of Margiana. Orecles had to use all his persuasive skills to convince him to leave Arya as it was, because the territory is under the sovereignty of the Maharajah of India.’

  ‘Did Diodotos not fear our army?’

  ‘After your refusal he called it ‘a troop of compassionate Buddhists’.’

  ‘And the people of Bactria?’

  ‘I have come across much friendliness and openness; I was generous with the many medicines and medicinal herbs for the sick amongst men and animals. On your order I had taken along several camel loads from the imperial gardens of Mathura and Taxila. We talked much about the Teachings of the Buddha, praised it, but with a smile they stated that the Buddha evidently was a sage but that Zoroaster was a great and divine prophet.’

  ‘Take a rest, Kusha, and take your messages to the mahamatrya.’

  ‘You see, noble ministers, strict measures are needed in Taxila and only a strong army will impress the king of Bactria.’

  ‘Do you want war, Lord?’ Kesala asks, surprised.

  ‘No, I am convinced that Bactria will be on its guard not to take up arms against us. And I do not wish to embark on a war out of ambition. The only victory that I seek is the one of Dharma. Listen.’ And the Emperor reads the concluding portion of the edict wherein he praises the victory of the Dharma, the moral victory as the only proper one for his successors as well.

  All remain silent, impressed by Ashoka’s idealism, which comes across to them like a voice from the beyond. They know too well that there always has been disunity in India and not only according to the tales of the Mahabharata but Chandragupta and also Bindusara—the conqueror of enemies!—waged war after war. The Kalinga war is still fresh in their memories. Now they are hearing again about the great wars of the Selucides in Iran with Ptolomeus of Egypt. Parthya and Bactria are fighting for their freedom and wish to expand their territory. Turanians and Scyths threaten Bactria … As if men are beasts of prey! And the Emperor of India maintains peace which he wishes to spread all over the world. He forbids rudeness, offences, the killing of men and animals, so as to urge mankind to a life on a higher plane. They could feel the emotion of their great Emperor. Is it possible that the faith, the will, the power of their Sacred Majesty will extend that far? Kesala and other Dharma-mahamatras believe in the inexhaustible will and ability of the Emperor. That belief sustains them in their tasks, as they travel from place to place, to teach and to persuade the subjects of the doctrine of Dharma of the Buddha, provide alms for all those for whom the struggle for life is too hard, soften harsh legal proceedings, set right injustice with a firm hand, so will it Ashoka! India turns to the Emperor, to his tolerance and lenience, but what about other countries? Such a beautiful fantasy, peace on earth. Radhagupta does not feel at ease, though.

  ‘But wh
en the influence of the Buddha has prepared the way to the heart of Antiochos, it will prove to be fatal to him. His empire will be pounced upon from three sides and be torn asunder. India is a huge country but our army has lost a considerable number of warriors who chose the path of the Buddha. And the more the warriors take their refuge in the Buddha, the more the army will weaken. What do we know about the Turanians, the Scyths8 and the Chinese? And what if there rises a new Alexander?’

  ‘Our army will remain strong and vigilant as long as we have ministers like you, my Radhagupta, and sages like my great friend Khallataka. I wish to enhance the primacy of Buddha’s doctrine with all the strength that is given to me, with all the revenues that have been placed in my hands, with all the goodwill and compassion that I feel for the suffering mankind and the suffering animal-world. A powerful army will soon bolster the West as sentinels of our peace and of the higher values we have acquired. Prince Kunala will lead and control it.’

  When Ashoka and Kunala stay behind alone, the young Raja kneels down and kisses the hem of Ashoka’s cloak. ‘My Father, I hope you may rule our great empire for a long time yet. Your mighty and lenient hand, is like the one of a magician’s, who, with a touch of one wand, made all flourish and laugh in the world, and with another one made all weep and suffer. But the last one he buried deep down into the earth and covered it with heavy rocks.’

  ‘When this is your conviction then you are ready to take over my work. How big will be the army to Taxila?’

  Ashoka is reminded how, many years ago, he had pleaded to be allowed to take with him as few troops as possible to Taxila. Now he himself is trying to make the army of Kunala strong, to provide support for his son.

  ‘Resolve not to wage a war but to avert it through courteous agreement. We want peace.’

  ‘I act in your spirit, my Father, because I too hate war, but more than you I fear that our endeavours are being seen as weakness.’

  ‘It is weakness to pick up arms if war can be prevented through wisdom. It is war itself that is a weakness, a poverty of the spirit, and a coarseness of the mind, which casts the human being back into the arms of brutish nature. You are strong when you impel the enemy into your own attitude of benevolence. Bitter experiences force me to safeguard mankind from the madness of a war. My lipis are the fruit of much remorse and of a conviction for which I paid a high price!’

  ‘I feel weak, my Father, when I think of what you expect from me.’

  ‘Obedience in one’s youth, eager surrender to a lofty goal when one ripens into manhood, acting with wisdom when one has become a man …’ He put his arm around Kunala’s shoulders.

  ‘May the gods help me to obey you, my Father.’

  ‘The gods help those who have a will of their own. My will helped me to overcome the doubts of my own father, the murderous machination of my enemies, the innumerable objections of my friends. Blind obedience excludes the manas that determine the human will. Never forget that. I do not command you. I am merely curious about what you decide.’

  Kunala’s army crossed the Ganga. In the early morning he and Kanchanamala bid farewell to the anthapura and to their little son, whom they had to leave behind. This is very hard especially for Kanchanamala. The Maharajah deems it necessary that Kunala’s son be educated under his watchful eyes, the Maharajahs are responsible for the well-being and woe of their people. With loving eyes he looks at both his children, who, earnestly and deeply moved, go from one to the other and exchange friendly words. Even Asandhimitra allows herself to be brought to the great hall in a palanquin.

  ‘Well, Yuvaraja,’ she says, looking at the Prince with favour, ‘you are going to the country that your great father conquered with his heart. I will be happy to hear that, one day, they will let you go with tears of regret. Your father expects of you that you will grow over there from a young sapling into a beautiful bodhi-tree which will be venerated because of the serenity and the peace it is pouring into the hearts of those who settle themselves trustingly under its lovely, shady branches.’

  ‘My Father is my Guru, mother Asandhimitra. His lessons have wound themselves around my manas like the light of Surya around the earth. I can only be like the earth, receiving the gift of heaven and bringing it to life.’

  ‘Modesty is a great virtue, my son,’ she laughs. ‘It depends on the human being himself whether he becomes a blissful deva or a follower of Mara. And you, Kancha, have left the Bhagavati, ‘the bliss-bringing one’, like I did once upon a time the Sarayu. The Bhagavati cools the hard rocks in its stream. We women are like guards at the gate of the holy city, we take care that no ungodly spirits enter.’ The two young people kneel and kiss the hem of her cloth: ‘Be blessed with your tasks, my children!’ Then, tired, she lies down.

  Overcome with emotion, Padmavati embraces her son and daughter, and blesses them without saying a word.

  ‘We will be with you in thought,’ says Karuvaki. ‘I will console your mother when you have gone.’

  ‘Thank you, mother Karuvaki.’

  Kunala looks around. ‘Is mother Tishya Rakshita not here?’

  ‘Tishya sends her greetings and bids you a good journey. She suffers from a severe headache,’ Asandhi hastens to say.

  ‘She is everywhere where she should not be and appears not where she ought to be,’ Karuvaki whispers to Padmavati. Kunala and Kancha overhear her remarks. Does Karuvaki know what took place in the stone-wing? Kancha is happy; Tishya arouses fear and aversion in her.

  ‘May she soon become well again, mother Asandhimitra. May the gods protect you and bring you happiness,’ Kunala wishes her. Asandhi watches them pensively.

  The city, true to custom, sends off their revered Yuvaraja and his Rani. Blossoms of jasmine, kovidari and bandhujiva rustle, softly whispering, through the air, as if they wish to express the silent utterances of the hearts of the subjects. A wealth of flowers rains down from windows and rooftops upon the howda and its occupants. The imperial elephant strides stately towards the Ganga.

  With wistful eyes Kanchanamala looks over the crowds on either side of the road. She starts, two eyes are fixed on her. A young priest is silently standing, alone, behind the other onlookers, who are still overcome with shuddering reverence for the holy Brahmins. He looks intently at her as though he wants to compel her eyes towards him. The blood drains from her cheeks and then suffuses into a deep blush over her face.

  ‘Katcha!’ she whispers urgently. The Prince looks Katcha straight in the eyes.

  ‘How nice of him to see us off,’ he smiles at her. Then he directs his gaze to the elephants which swerves from the Ganga-gate towards the river.

  On the other side of the Ganga the troops are waiting for the Kumara who will lead them on the long journey to Taxila. Along with Karuvaki, Ashoka accompanies the couple for a few yojanas and will later return. The Emperor’s concern makes him silent. He could have sent one of his brothers as a commander but that would have been viewed generally as imprudent. Who can bear to touch success and yet keep his hands off from grasping the supreme power and not eliminate the one who bars his way! Even sons … Ajatashatru … Kunala? Ashoka smiles at the mere thought that his son would seize power in the West.

  Karuvaki has been closely watching him for a while. ‘My Lord feels it as a great grief that he has to hand over his beloved son to the West,’ she says earnestly.

  ‘Yes, that it certainly does, my Karuvaku. May he be a good Kumara! I do trust him but I fear danger. My love concerns his affability and his inner views to life.’

  ‘Do you not place all your chances on one throw of the dice, Lord?’

  Ashoka smiles. ‘He has a son! Moreover, Charumati has given birth to a son. Yet, I reluctantly hand over Kunala to the caprices of fate, which to me always showed its favour.’

  ‘The Sangha does attract many of your best subjects. But those who are not joining the Sangha often determine the measures taken in your lands.’

  ‘I have no complaints against my employees.�
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  ‘Amongst those, who are not chosen, are many who wait for a ruler who selects less astutely than you, Lord.’

  ‘Do you not think this number is decreasing steadily? The doctrine does have its influence on other sects as well.’

  ‘There are people who are not open to what is good. A demon never becomes a deva. Not every Raja is an Ashoka, or every Rani an Asandhi.’ In the eyes of Karuvaki appears a glow that Ashoka immediately understands.

  ‘You fail to appreciate the youngest Rani, my Karuvaki.’

  Karuvaki starts. ‘The incarnation of Shiva’, they called him once upon a time. His truthfulness compels him to look unpleasant things straight in the face and never to turn away from it. She knows that.

  ‘Why was she not present at the farewell? Why does she always leave the anthapura when the Yuvaraja enters? Why is Padmavati happy that her son is leaving? Why is it that Kancha wants to have nothing to do with her? I am not even talking about myself, Lord!’

  ‘Asandhimitra loves her dearly. Nothing justifies the judgement of you or your friends. So, I know only one explanation. Jealousy against Tishya Rakshita because of Asandhi’s love and trust.’

  ‘Nobody is jealous of Kancha who is regarded highly by Asandhimitra.’

  ‘Tishya has been a servant but I wish that other Ranis consider her as an equal because of her birthright, her love for Asandhi, and my choice,’ Ashoka remarks, somewhat sharply and tense.

  Karuvaki fails to understand why the Maharajah is so blind with regard to the youngest Rani.

  ‘Lord, do you believe in demons that hide their anger and their hatred behind captivating charm?’

  ‘But Karuvaki! This way you can make the sweetest person a suspect! It is your hatred!’ replies Ashoka, annoyed.

  ‘I hide my feelings for no one, neither do I pretend friendliness. So, my hate is not demonic! My father lost the battle against you but was struck by your magnanimity; now he is one of your most loyal subjects, Lord. Tishya Rakshita comes from a line that always strives for power and will not disdain any means to seize it.’