‘Lord, noble Maharajah, please stop! In thoughtless moments, I am always in the spell of the great house atop the mountain, where there was no distress, as Asandhi would say. Lord, please remain the Maharajah, spread your blessings over the great empire; do not withdraw from the place where no one can replace you yet! One who lives happily like me, so often forgets the fortune she enjoys. Only when it disappears that one feels what is lost. Asandhi was like you and she always knew how to make me aware of all you wrought for the beautiful and the good. Forgive me, Lord, that I forgot this for a moment. Please, remain the blessed, sacred Maharajah of India, Lord!’
The fear that she might have antagonised Ashoka brings an expression of dismay and horror to her face. A new insight gained?
‘The sacred pipala-tree, my Rani,’ he says once more.
On the night of the second day they arrive in Gaya. After the preparations for the night, the Maharajah leaves Tishya and proceeds to the sacred tree where the Buddha attained enlightenment. Soldiers guard the entrances. It is a serene night; nobody is allowed to disturb him in his contemplation. It is in this place that he wants to come to himself, overcome the loss of Asandhi, determine his future path, find the courage to decide; to strengthen himself after Asandhi’s death from the source that nourished the life of the Buddha and which spread its blissful powers over India. And while the silent night glides away into eternity, the moon measures time by the dark-blue dome of stars, and the trees—as though in veneration—stand motionless around the lonely human being who tries to bring to sereneness and harmony the waves on which tosses his heavily shaken soul, life in the darkness goes on. Yet, no rustling, no screeching or soft wing-beats can disturb the one who, with sharp manas, penetrates within his being, into his convictions, into what he will and can, into his wavering and irresistible strivings …
By the time the Ashvins race ahead of Rohita along the heavenly dome and Ushas opens up the gate for their light-giving Lord, and Surya with his first rays regally rises up behind the jungle, Ashoka leaves quietly the sacred place, calm and invigorated by strength-ripened thoughts. He bows low in deep submission to the glorious power:
‘O, Sun Goddess,
Queen of heaven and earth…
You who give light,
You who give strength,
Holy, holy art thou!’
He strides quietly along to the house of the Pradesika of Gaya. Tishya has awakened long before. Restlessness over what the Maharajah would decide about her, made her wake up early. On the lovely banks of the Nairanyana, in the beautiful surroundings of Uravela, she tries to recover her calm. She understands that only one way of behaviour can save her: Demonstrating friendliness, using her charming smiles, and to praise unconditionally whatever the Maharajah decides upon. She repeats this to herself many times so that it will be engraved in her mind like a lipi on the rocks. The Maharajah looks for her, approaches and greets her.
‘Lord, you did not sleep,’ she says, sounding worried.
‘I did not come here to sleep.’
‘But the journey will cause you too much fatigue.’
Ashoka smiles. ‘I have endured heavier journeys with less sleep, my Tishya. I am sorry I have to leave you in the care of Para. I will depart for Vidisha in a short while and you will return to Pataliputra.’
Tishya looks at him startled, at first speechless. Then fury overcomes her. A sharp answer hovers at the tip of her tongue. She wants to tell him that he leaves his young Rani to her own devices. She controls herself. She does not want to lose all influence on the Maharajah!
‘You are going to see Devi, Lord.’
‘Yes, I hope to take her along.’ He is keenly watching her.
‘So, your choice is made,’ she says, calmly, though her whole being is revolting.
‘Does it please you?’
Tishya laughs at him while regret sticks to her throat.
‘Devi is the best of the three.’
‘But not of the four.’
‘No … Asandhi gave me her favours. That I do not expect from others.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have been a servant in the anthapura.’
‘Everyone knows that you are a free Kshatriya.’
‘I thank you, Lord,’ a happy smile shines towards him.
Ashoka is struck by her controlled and dignified demeanour. He knows from Asandhi that Tishya has an irascible short-tempered character: the mahavana! But also that she is able to control it when one supports her with wisdom.
After a refreshing bath and a good meal, Ashoka starts preparing for the long journey to Vidisha. The departure seems to sadden Tishya. Yet, she smiles happily at the Maharajah; this is her great charm and it will accompany the mighty Lord on his journey. It strikes him that she is able to keep herself so brave.
He has never allowed important decisions to be delayed in their execution. Now he thinks it is necessary to put to test the controversial character of his youngest, and by far the most beautiful Rani, in all ways. Then, along with his horse-troopers, he speeds to the road on which he has once, with all his exertion, rushed along to the capital.
Tishya Rakshita, along with Sinhi and Rita, wander around for a while in the surroundings of Uravela. She does not trust Sinhi, although she is attentive and ever ready to help her with a friendly smile. Rita is her confidante. They near the sacred Bo-tree, one like a thousand in her native land. She laughs: That the Maharajah undertakes such a long journey to meditate under that tree! If she would take his place there will her mind be able to think out stronger ways to get what she wants? What is the magic power of this tree? Is it because the Buddha once sat here? What has the old Maharajah invented this night? That it is Kunala’s time to succeed? That Devi—a diligent Buddhist, people say—is the most suitable Agramahisi? Must one therefore reflect for a whole night under a sacred tree? If that tree was not there would the Maharajah then continue to rule and choose her? He asked for her opinion. And yet, he goes to that Bo-tree! As if that tree is superior in manas than she! And he listens to what that tree prompts him to do. Slowly, a fierce rage wells up inside her. It has to die, that tree that stands in her way! So that it cannot bring disasters upon her. She walks towards it, kicks against the trunk. The tree does not stir, as little as all the other ones, except the Ashoka-tree, it is said.
‘How does a tree die, Sinhi?’
‘I do not know, high Rani. Chop it or saw in two?’
‘Who dares to chop or saw in two a sacred tree! Can one kill a tree, like a human being?’
‘Would you like to kill this tree, high Rani?’ Sinhi asks, upset.
‘Not I! But someone else might.’
‘Why? This is a beautiful and sacred tree, high Rani.’
‘It stands in my way,’ she whispers to Rita. ‘I want it to die or burn so that it cannot entice anyone into unwanted thoughts! Why does the Maharajah go to this tree for counsel? In the past, he went to the Agramahisi!’
‘Ask a magician or a wise woman about life and death.’
‘You go and enquire in Gaya where a wise woman lives, Rita,’ she whispers to her confidante.
Rita does as instructed. She finds a woman who looks suitable, amongst the many to be found in Gaya who live on the superstition of the people. When Tishya enters the place, alone, she shivers for a moment because of the uncanny atmosphere of the dirty cavern.
‘What do you wish?’ she asks Tishya. Rita waits outside close to the entrance but Sinhi interrupts her with her chatter.
‘I want to know whether you can kill a tree.’
‘Kill a tree? Look for a woodcutter!’
‘But it has to happen unnoticed so that nobody will understand.’
‘Which tree?’
‘A pipala not far from here.’
‘You do not mean the sacred tree of the Buddha?’
‘Yes. That tree aggravates me; it has to go.’
The woman looks up, surprised. Then she says, with hatred in her eyes: ‘Me, too!
The monks detest us wise women. They call us cheats. They worship a sacred tree, because it brought wisdom upon the Buddha! Every day many of them visit it, touch it, kiss it even! They venerate a tree while they make us, who probe with our manas the secrets of life and death, suspect. Why has that tree to go? Only because it aggravates you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It will be difficult.’
‘For a rich reward?’
‘How rich?’
Tishya takes out a costly piece of jewelry. Greedily the woman grabs it.
‘When you kill the tree, it is yours.’
‘And then, when you are safe with your necklace in Pataliputra, I may look for you like the Brahmins do for the elixir of life … Upon my death! Find someone else for this dangerous job. The holy Maharajah protects the tree, ask him!’ she laughs mockingly.
‘Would you be able to perform the job?’ Tishya whispers.
‘I guess so. One can strangle a human being, why not a tree with life, like us! Give me that gold!’ she stretches out her skinny, greedy hands. Tishya gives her the necklace she once received from Asandhimitra.
‘When you succeed, I will give you another one.’ The woman walks to the light and with wide open eyes catches the glittering of the precious stones. Then she throws it into a hole in the back of the cavern.
‘See if it is of real gold and gemstone, Pandola!’ A snake lazily slithers forward and moves its head and tongue over the cool metal. ‘Pandola is an incarnation of my husband who died a few years ago,’ she whispers. ‘He was very good to me. He said he would be reborn in the first being that would come to this cavern. That was Pandola!’
Tishya draws back a few steps, frightened.
‘It is good,’ continues the woman, after having observed the snake for a while. ‘Pandola says they are real. Before the moon will be new again the tree will have died, high Rani. Then I expect the second half of my payment.’
Tishya does not ask how she knew that she is a Rani. The uncanny place and her own sin are enough to frighten her. She hastens out of the cavern and gives out an order for them to return to the capital. Sinhi is worried: the Rani has done something that the Maharajah will not approve of.
A few days later Tishya calls Rita. Rita is a vain girl and proud of the trust of the Rani.
‘Rita, you have to help me.’
‘If need be, I would go to the empire of the nagas4 for you.’
‘I do not ask that. It is in Pataliputra. It will remain a deep secret between you and me. Be especially aware of Sinhi whose tongue is like a pipala-leaf5.’
‘I promise you, high Rani.’
‘Go tomorrow to Tarata, the perfumer, and buy a jar of rose-oil from Baghdad.’ Rita is surprised: a full jar?
‘Tarata is a rich Vaishya, keen on gold!’
‘I am not bothered about the price. Buy at the same time the most expensive sandal-powder of the kind they call ‘oxen-head’. I also want a package of fine incense from Arabia.’
‘All that costs a lot of gold, high Rani.’
‘It has to be so; Tarata sells much to temples and priests. Not one of his customers is as rich as I am. Do not bargain, because I need his help.’
Early the next morning, Rita goes to Tarata and buys what her mistress has ordered. She returns indignant. ‘He wants two measures of gold for those perfumes, high Rani!’
Tishya hands over the gold to Rita.
‘As if I were a Princess so respectfully did Tarata speak to me. I have told him that my rich mistress will buy from him more often if he gives her the best of his merchandise. ‘Your mistress gets oils and herbs more refined than does the Shiva-temple at the King’s Road. I am fully at her service,’ said the man, bowing like a palm-leaf in the wind.’
‘Go tomorrow for a small jar of bandhujiva oil, and ask whether he knows a young priest, Katchayana. He serves in one of the temples.’
Tarata is full of zeal for his rich customer. For a week he leaves early each morning. His face turns even darker. In temple after temple, he offers the most delightful incense and in the end his question always is: Do you know a young priest Katchayana? No one ever answers. They know that Katchayana is under strict observation and they wish to protect him. When Tarata meets at last an old loose-lipped priest, this one says: ‘What do you want of him? You take much trouble to find him.’
‘A lady of very high rank wants to speak to him. Why, I do not know. Can you help me, noble Brahmin? Look here, a jar with the best of oxen-head sandal balm, healthy and a joy for the nose.’
The priest greedily inhales the beloved aroma and calculates.
‘If I warn Katchayana that he has to go to your house for … sandal-balm?’
‘Holy Father, I thank you! Take this jar that Indra himself would not scorn!’
‘Tomorrow I will let you know when he comes.’
Tarata walks home as fast as his legs can carry him. He immediately alerts Rita that he has received a new kind of precious perfume. A little later, a message from Katcha comes in.
Rita learns that Katcha will be there at sunset.
Because of this Tishya Rakshita is driven into a tight spot. To visit a temple she could maybe do unnoticed. But a perfumer! At last, towards the evening, she leaves the anthapura, simply dressed, goes to the park and disappears by the great gate. Rita follows her. First, they take the King’s Road, but soon turn in a side street. Then they walk swiftly to the street of the perfumers and enter quickly the shop of Tarata. Sinhi follows them stealthily.
Katcha is already waiting. Tarata has offered a room for the two ‘lovers’, so he thinks. The two young people look at each other searchingly. Tishya laughs and Katcha, never averse to female beauty, is more than charmed by it.
‘Who wishes to speak to me?’ he asks, a little aloof.
‘Are you Katcha or Katchayana from Tirha?’
‘I was a brahmacharin there,’ he says, flushing.
‘And do you know Kanchanamala?’
Katcha is alarmed. ‘Yes …’ What is it that this woman wants?
‘Do you hate Prince Kunala?’ she asks the man outright.
‘Why do you ask that, beautiful lady?’ The conversation disquiets him.
‘Because I hate him as well!’
‘Who are you?’
‘I am the youngest Rani of the Maharajah.’
‘You are very careless, high Rani,’ says Katcha, increasingly surprised. ‘Why do you hate Prince Kunala?’
‘Because he has once insulted me deeply. Then I threw my hatred in his face. And ever since I have feared him. When Maharajah Ashoka abdicates the throne I will be at the mercy of his successor.’
‘Will the Maharajah abdicate soon?’
‘Since the Agramahisi has died he has been thinking about it. I want the Maharajah to continue his reign!’
‘That is something I cannot help you with.’
‘But I do not want Kunala to succeed!’
Katcha smiles. ‘So I understand but I cannot prevent it.’ He is disappointed.
‘Together with someone filled with the same hatred one can achieve much!’
‘How do you want to arrange that?’ he asks while observing her beautiful figure.
‘That I do not know. It is precisely for that I called on you for help.’
‘So, you want to use my hatred for your personal end,’ laughs the young priest.
‘But you can use my hatred as well to take your vengeance! In that respect, we are equal.’
Katcha reflects for a long time. At last, he says seriously: ‘I am under strict observation by Ashoka’s secret service. I cannot leave Pataliputra. A small offence will bring me to the mines at the Gandaki. How can I help you then? You are on a dangerous path, high Rani. It is better if you were to try to reconcile with Prince Kunala. What can a woman do—even when she is a Rani of the Maharajah—against the tremendous power of Ashoka!’
‘And when I become the Agramahisi?’
‘Are you going to be that?’ h
e calls out, interested.
‘I want to become that.’
‘You play a dangerous game, high Rani! Forget your hatred!’
‘I want to put myself at stake. Not have others play with me! I know the history of the elephants in Tirha!’
‘I fear the mines at the Gandaki, high Rani!’
‘So even a man, a mighty Brahmin, recoils in fear at his own hatred!’ She laughs amicably, when she says it. ‘Am I, a woman, more courageous than you?’
‘I do not see a way. Women are more cunning and know no limits!’
‘Kanchanamala!’ She laughs. ‘Maybe, one of us will find a way. Say that you want to help me. Many people are united in love. Why should not you and I be united in hatred?’
‘What you ask of me is dangerous. I am not even sure you will not bring ruin upon me, high Rani! If the Maharajah learns of this meeting!’
Tishya looks at him, startled. Then she says in all seriousness: ‘You are right. Listen. I am not a follower of the Buddha. Here, take my hand. We go seven steps together.’
Katcha immediately understands her and together they walk seven steps6 through the room. ‘Now, we are friends and friends do not betray each other. Do you still love Kanchanamala?’
Katcha blushes. ‘No, I hate her as much as Kunala. I lived under the illusion that she loved me and not Kunala. In the streets of Pataliputra she turned her face away from me. The beautiful eyes of Kunala made her forget her love for me, a Brahmin, together with the glitter of a royal court, I would think!’ For a short moment, an ominous darkness moves in his eyes and Tishya looks at him full of admiration.
‘For that loss, you have now won a friend,’ she says with some warmth in her voice. She knows that her charm has great influence. Katcha cannot keep his eyes off the beautiful figure and Tishya senses perfectly what touches him. For a brief moment she puts an arm around his shoulders and looks into his eyes with a smile.
‘Let Tarata warn me if you wish to speak to me. Leave a little later after I do. Little goes unnoticed with the spies of the Maharajah. See you later, my friend!’ Again, that charming laugh that burns into his young, sensitive soul. Katcha watches her off, not without fear, but yet touched by the friendship of the young Rani.
Ashoka the Great Page 97