For Sinhi it remains hidden that her mistress spoke with Katcha.
19
THE DRIVING FORCE
n her palace at Vidisha, Devi receives the master of the ivory-carvers, Patani. All her thoughts are directed towards Sanchi. There arose the stupa of Ashoka, the young Ashoka, who was Viceroy of Avanti. Her love had been growing into a way of worship. His embracing of Buddhism was inevitable in line with their lofty love, which is, she believes, the driving force behind his great work and has its influence even there, where others take their place beside the Imperial Throne. Like an eagle that flies ever wider and higher, expanding the realm of his function, so does Ashoka’s gaze sweep over his mighty empire. He has accepted other women in his anthapura. Kullika says they were practical considerations that prompted him to do so. He was impressed by Asandhi’s beauty, but it was her wisdom that he needed for his ever-growing ideas. Kansa’s daughter and Padmavati meant a consolidation and assurance of his power and were accepted as such. Tishya Rakshita, he had allowed because it was Asandhi’s wish. But she, Devi, had been his all-overruling love. She did not lay claims, she was dedicated to him alone, and not to his imperial power or the pomp. Was it not she, who feared the grandeur of the court in Pataliputra? Kullika is her purohita and friend because, like her, he adores the Prince and Viceroy. She has set herself aside for Ashoka and her children and from afar she has watched him grow in power and glory, sharing the joy. But the love that had come to them once as a sublime inspiration, kept encompassing her like the sun, as a warming glow. Her veneration of the Buddha drew its luster from his light. When he took refuge in the Buddha her happiness was complete. It could be said to be a fragile and wistful happiness, because he is so far away from her. But his work is good and accounts for a large part of her love. The way the caitya of Mahindra connects her with her son, the vihara of Sudeva with the Buddha, so is the stupa in Sanchi the inner bond with him, and that bond she strengthens with all her loving power. The stupa of Sanchi is the embodiment of her love for him, the highest disciple of the Buddha.
‘Well, I like it that you will place this beautiful symbol of the peacock at either end of the mid-beam of the northern torana. It is better this way rather than my Lord and I being portrayed as figures that bear little resemblance to ourselves. The house of the peacock, the Maurya. Try to carve it with the best of hard-wood, Patani. And this medallion of the Raja, the Maharajah … such striking resemblance! Do you know the Maharajah so well?’
‘One cannot forget him, when one thinks in forms, high Rani.’
‘But now the jataka of Vessantara!’
‘It connects itself as a matter of course, with the beloved Prince, his wife and his children.’
Devi smiles. ‘Or else, Patani takes care to make it so that the Prince of the jataka and the Maharajah become one. Do you believe that the Maharajah is a benefactor, like Vessantara?’
‘I do not believe that, gracious Maharani, I know that. When the Prince lived here, the Deccan experienced it. The subjects pay their tribute; the Maharajah returns it to India. For this jataka, I wish to use the full beam of the eastern torana.’
‘Very well, Patani. You will certainly portray the jataka beautifully.’
‘An artist can create a masterpiece, when the subject touches him, high Rani. Everyone praises the beautiful carved features of Sri, the goddess of beauty and good fortune.’
Devi blushes. ‘You have given the features of a living human being, of a woman, to the statue of the goddess,’ she says timidly.
‘If you will forgive me, high Rani, that beautiful woman is for Avanti the goddess of good fortune, like her master Vessantara is for India.’
‘I will soon have a look at it. Have you finished the friezes of Mahindra’s caitya?’
‘Certainly. The caitya will be one of the most beautiful in India.’
Devi smiles happily. When Patani left, she goes to the terrace where Kullika is at work on the drawing of a new relief for the south-gate of the stupa. Kullika’s tall, somewhat bent figure, his healthy colour and the tranquil expression on his delicate features are witness to inner strength. The success of his great pupil has enriched his life.
‘Are you successful with your work?’ She bends over the inscribed palm-leaves.
‘When the subject is the sacred Maharajah, I always succeed. The Achemenids in Iran glorify in their lipis their own glorious deeds; Ashoka proclaims universal humanity which is of the Atman. His word is ‘the’ word and his deed ‘the’ deed of the highest God. His own name he simply conceals1.’
‘Should I have gone with him to Pataliputra, Kullika?’
‘No, but you would have if your love had encompassed not only Ashoka but also his world-reforming work, like Asandhi. Your love for him here will serve him better.’
‘Poor Asandhi! Will he mourn her death?’
‘Certainly. It is difficult for him to say farewell to his friends, even more difficult when they are noble friends and the most difficult when they work with him and feel so closely engaged with his high goal.’
‘And the youngest Rani?’
‘She is little loved; she was Asandhi’s favourite.’
‘As long as she loves Ashoka!’
‘They whisper she is pretending so.’
‘Does Ashoka say that, too?’
‘I think it is impossible that he would not know if it is true. Asandhimita wanted her at her side, and …’
‘Is she beautiful?’
‘She is young, svelte, beautiful, a stately and regal figure.’
Devi remains in thought for a long time. Why did he leave this lovely Avanti? No! He is a tremendous blessing for the millions of people of India. Whether he himself is happy too, she does not know. Patani has carved her as Sri for the stupa in Sanchi. She, goddess of good fortune, of happiness. And she herself does not even know what gives the human being happiness! Did Ashoka choose his hard life because it brought happiness to himself? The happiness of others! If he had sought his own happiness would he then have gone to Pataliputra? When Avanti became too small for his great power, he went to the capital, to the ‘hell’, said Revata. From those days onwards her happiness changed into a different kind of happiness: love for Ashoka, far away from Ashoka.
From afar she hears the sombre sound of conches. Warriors of the Maharajah! She has heard them so often yet every time it still awakens memories. The faithful Revata had to pay with his life for his friendship. Now Asandhi has died. Poor Ashoka! The conches sound near. A servant rushes into the room.
‘The holy Maharajah, noble Maharani!’
‘The holy Maharajah? Ashoka?’
The message moves her so much that she cannot keep herself upright. Kullika, overjoyed, walks towards the Maharajah. She waits. Ashoka approaches her, calmer than in the past, calmer in his movements. Then he takes her passionately in his arms. ‘Devi!’
She does not reply. Her countenance reflects joy, surprise, alarm, but above all, love for the Prince. He has changed: he is older, more serious and more self-assured than in his younger days when restlessness always drove him on. He looks at her for a while and he sees how her countenance changes. In her cheeks a soft colour shines through like the timorous pink of dawn; her eyes radiate as she notices that he has for her the same tender glance. And she thanks the gods who saved his soul from the dark side of the might.
‘So, my Devi, those are the eyes of Sanchi and Ujjain. How well you have kept your beauty! Thanks to inner joy and peace.’
‘My Ashoka! That peace and that joy are shoots of a deeper emotion. I have been living on my beautiful memories. I do not know whether your thoughts reached out to Avanti in turbulent times but in my mind I always was with you, and that gave me great inner happiness.’
‘These years were filled with such an overwhelming amount of work that I only could think in flashes of awareness of the two of us, my Devi. Pataliputra called me! Soon, I felt glad that you and the children had not accompanied me into that ca
vern of death and yet I missed you the most, you who always gave me strength.’
‘Here I could strengthen you; there I would have died.’
‘Yes, yes, I remember! Now, however, everything has changed. I have been striving towards a goal to which I got closer and closer. Assandhi was my support. She has died and now I feel your absence again, which is exceeded only by my work.’
‘Revata called Pataliputra a hell. Sanchi is my sacred home. It fills my life like the scent of flowers fill a room.’
‘Pataliputra is the starting point of Buddha’s teachings. From there its blessings must go forth over the world. I want to lead my peoples to a better, more sacred way of thought. Therefore I need you.’
‘Do go to Sanchi with me tomorrow … like we did before. You will find there the fulfilment of my work. Its limitation makes me happy. At the top of the hill lies the great thought of the Buddha as though folded together in a lotus bud. That gives me joy, because everyone around me encounters it with love and joy. Your vast thoughts are for me like the Ganga in the rainy season. I cannot endure animosity like you. One single wrathful person can spoil my happiness. Here, I have only good people around me. Tell me the truth: do you think that I can live there?’
‘The truth! What is the truth, my Devi? I think it is truth which impels me into action. When I wake up it thrusts itself upon me, while in the night it drives away my sleep. Then it fades, loses its luster, a higher truth strives upwards, climbs over the first one, nudges that one aside, leaves it behind, and a new compulsion takes hold of me till … yes, till! The truth is, I want you to accompany me to Pataliputra.’
‘Then I will go with you, you have more right to me than I do myself.’
‘Tomorrow we go to Sanchi.’
That night they sit together as they did in the past: Devi, Kullika, and the Maharajah. The following morning the elephants are ready.
‘Oh, Sala! Just like then!’
‘Careful!’ Devi takes his arm.
‘Sala and I have become friends years ago. An elephant never forgets.’ Ashoka approaches the animal. The trunk swings up and a loud trumpeting cry of victory echoes through the place. A tit-bit is its reward for such fidelity.
‘Flowers and flowers, as if it were Vesanta, just like then in Sanchi,’ laughs Devi, and her laugh still has its old charm. ‘Ponds full of lotus-flowers! Look how they open with Surya’s magic rays; kovidara and bakula spread their scent to seduce the bees as does the white jasmine. How beautiful the agile climbers weave themselves through the tops of the forest! And see, over there, the swans and flamingoes in the brook … How gloriously nature unfolds itself; now that the holy Maharajah has returned, everything welcomes him.’
‘It has sprung from the heart of the goddess of beauty and happiness, my Devi,’ he laughs at her.
‘Do you know that Patani carved Sri in the torana with my features?’
‘Otherwise your sweet blush would have betrayed it to me. Our youthful love in Sanchi has been the driving force behind my never ceasing quest. Sanchi always has my concern.’
‘That I have felt!’
For both it is like a pilgrimage along the holy places of their young love, the engagement, the two Brahmins, the sarei, the Ashoka-tree.
‘Here, I always feel happy again.’
‘So, you live in the past.’
‘For me the past and the here and now are one. Pataliputra would have broken it.’
Ashoka reflects whether it is right that he should persuade her to come to the capital. To disturb for his own wish the happiness of the one who is so firmly bound to him by that very Sanchi! They approach the hamlet hidden at the foot of the sacred hill. From between the ever-green khirni-trees, they could see the sanctuaries shimmering in the sun, gently rising up to the deep-blue heaven.
Like a gust of wind the rumour blows through the quiet hamlet through which the Rani and the Maharajah ride up to the sacred hill. Women who were pounding rice husks or winnowing in the wind, and those preparing food, leave their work. Goats, sheep and buffaloes, quietly lying on the road, obstructing the procession, are swiftly chased away. Ashoka looks on, touched by the sight of women hurrying to the creek—bearing earthen pots on their heads—to fetch water for the tired animals of the Rani. Men come out from the paddy and cane fields to see the holy Maharajah. And all kneel down as soon as Sala walks with calm ponderous tread through the village and up the road to the sacred hill. At the top they are welcomed by the old Sudeva and other monks of the sangha. But Devi wants to take the Maharajah around by herself. He looks at everything with great interest, the sacred stupa surrounded by a finely carved wooden vedika with its four toranas. The top of the stupa, the harmika and parasol are also made of wood like the other bas-relief images of Buddha’s life, along with jatakas, carefully framed with floral-motifs and the four main symbols: the elephant, the Bo-tree, the wheel, and the stupa. On the southern side rises the splendidly polished pillar with the Lions-capital from Chuny, sent here by Ashoka. Devi’s attention is diverted more to other things, a peacock pair, the legends of the Buddha, the medallions, and other relief work.
‘Did you read the lipis on the pillar, my Devi?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not of much interest to you,’ he laughs, though a little disappointed.
A deep blush turns up on Devi’s cheeks as she sees the Emperor’s disappointment. Remorseful, she says: ‘I did my best to make the stupa, the viharas and the caitya of Mahindra appealing to the pilgrims.’
‘Very sweet of you, goddess of beauty and happiness, but wood lasts for only three generations of men.’
‘How else?’ she asks, upset.
‘Stone! Only stone endures for centuries.’
‘Stone? But who can chisel these finely carved images out of stone?’
‘And what about the lions on my pillar? He who chisels such beautiful images in wood must be capable of expressing his art in stone as well in a way that touches the soul.’
‘Ivory-carvers and wood-cutters?’
‘He who is knowledgeable about one craft will also know the other. I will send you one of my sculptors who can teach them to make these images out of lasting material. Look here, the hill contains a wealth of stone that is easy to carve.’
‘Will the people appreciate it? Deodar-wood is sacred.’
‘So, too, are the grounds of India and the stone of Sanchi.’
‘Vedika, toranas, harmika and umbrella … all of stone so that it is eternal. The idea is beautiful, my Ashoka!’
They walk to the eastern side of the hill where the rim descends more steeply towards the plain. They halt for some time as they did in their youth. The countryside waves its endearing beauty to the faroff distance. And Ashoka has to think of the confining enclosure of the anthapura. Devi looks up at him and then again at her beautiful country.
‘In Vesanta the dhak2 flowers here,’ she says, ‘and everywhere in the fields the red strings of blossoms are glowing and the hill lights up in the lovely sunshine. It looks as though a heart-warming glow rises up from the earth to this hilltop. Every year, I believe, it is you who kindles the red light atop the hill where the Buddha lives in Sanchi.’
Her face acquires a youthful glow, her charming figure straightens up as if infused by an inner strength. It gives Ashoka joy and sorrow at the same time. She is one with this sacred landscape. She and Tishya Rakshita? They simply do not fit together!
Together they walk up the steps through the southern torana to the pradakshina patha3 at the bottom of the anda4. They walk three times around the stupa in honour of the Tathagata. Devi shows him the many legends carved in wood. Proudly she shows her Lord the Caitya of Mahindra, worked on with much love and finesse, where he lived during the period he stayed in Sanchi.
‘Here, our son has dwelt and meditated upon the sacred doctrine as a preparation for his great task. Day after day he visited me, and I him. He will convert the whole of Lanka to the Buddha, and now he reflects and works on
the sacred books which will be for eternity.’
Ashoka notices with how much love the Caitya has been furnished and maintained, how a solitary flower in a vase has been placed here and there which shows Devi’s love for this son, who indeed became no ruler but an accomplished human being and an example for all eternity. This is Devi’s home. It is here she lives her love to its fulfilment.
The Emperor remains for some more time in Vidisha; the longer he stayed the more his conviction is strengthened that her love for him sublimates itself into love for Sanchi. Her loyalty is the loyalty to their stupa, her love for the caitya of Mahindra, is the love for her children, her veneration for the vihara of Sudeva, the veneration for the Buddha. Is it right to snatch her away from all that which is hers, verily her loving heart? Because he needs her? Devi in the anthapura! A golden oriole in a cage! Amazing how everything here is entwined with Ashoka as the Viceroy of Avanti! She is overjoyed, not because the Maharajah came to her, but because her Wild Prince has returned to Sanchi. Not once does she ask about his life in Pataliputra; she is oblivious to it. She accompanies him on a journey to Ujjain, which gives her unutterable joy, because even there he comes to life for her again. But as soon as he talks about Pataliputra, it is as though her heart is confined by unyielding bonds that do not give way. When this becomes obvious to Ashoka, he knew that he has to return to the capital alone, as he had done in the past. One of his messengers informs him that the Bo-tree is wilting. That hastens his departure.
‘Do you not wish me to join you?’ she sobs. Her grief that she is going to lose him once more is hard to bear but the thought to have to go to the capital, is harder still.
‘When I come here again, I would miss you too much!’
His sad smile hurts her and yet she is so grateful.
‘That return will be a great celebration for me. Be often with me in your thoughts.’
He takes fond leave of her, jumps into the saddle and the horse brigade disappears into the dust-cloud that swirls up from the Ashoka Road. For Devi it is as if his figure is shimmering for a long time yet in the wispy haze of dust between the trees.
Ashoka the Great Page 98