Philon and Zetes look at the beautiful frieze with interest for some time, with its images of the departure from Kapilavastu of the Shakyason on Kanthaka, the horse, under the protection of the gods; Yakshas support the horse’s hooves so that no one will hear their stamping in the night.
At last Philon says:
‘Well done, Eumenes, apart from those foolish little images under the hooves of the horse that goes against all reality. This is the work of a Hellene.’
‘But in their spirit! Foolish little images you say! How would you express in a more profound manner, the love of the devas for the endeavour of the Bodhisattva? They assist, so that the retreating Bodhisattva will not be heard in the silent streets of the town at night. India will keep striving resolutely, and will become as capable as us! Their religion encompasses eternity; our gods die when our people do. They perceive us, too, as the unfolding of the Brahman. How much greater is their vision than yours, Philon. Maharajah Ashoka wished that works of art be immortalised in stone, Zetes. Therefore, he does not hesitate from inviting artisans from far-away countries to instruct and train his workers, thus elevating himself over and above your narrow tribal pride. Under his mighty hand their art will bud, flower, and bear fruit … when Greek art will have perished long since and only its remains are left. Do not disparage these people! Did your forefathers have physicians such as the ones from Taxila, astronomers such as in Ujjain, scholars of language like Panini2? Through your petty frame of mind you view an Indian as a barbarian, similar to a Turanian or a Scyth or a Gaul, only because he is not a Greek.’
Eumenes resumes his work. They look on, and the hammering interrupts further talk. When he steps back a moment later to look at the result, he says thoughtfully: ‘When are you leaving Taxila?’
‘When we are forced to!’ Zetes snaps.
‘Why are you interfering in a revolt of another country?’
‘Alexander conquered Taxila, it belongs to the Greeks!’
‘Oh, so …’ Eumenes laughs. ‘When it does not belong to Seleucus who lost it, then it is for Diodotos to take over.’
‘And right he is!’ Philon calls out with lightning eyes. A common worker approaches the Hellenes and waits at a respectful distance.
‘Which right?’ Eumenes asks seriously.
‘Can those weak kings or holy Maharajahs protect their country? The glorious days of our people’s were the days of the Trojan, Persian and the Peleponesian wars! Those emanated power! What are the Greek people without their wars and warriors!’
‘So, let us be happy that Ashoka wants peace. Otherwise, he would wipe off the face of the earth your beloved Bactria, together with Sogdania and Margiane.’ Eumenes turns to the workman. ‘Sand down this piece of work, Tana, and put the colours to it.’ He himself takes up his chisel and hammer again, while Tana keeps working in the vicinity of the three Hellenes.
‘When does the son of that king of peace appear?’ Philon asks.
‘The sooner the better! The strife that you and the other Yavanas have been sowing here, we have already tolerated too long. The Taxilans do not like at all your instigating; only the ones who are not natives here do, the traitors of the land and its people! Taxila reveres Ashoka!’
‘Especially his honey-sweet peace!’ laughs Philon.
‘And let him enjoy the pleasures of his hermetically closed-off anthapura!’ mocks Zetes.
‘Return to the land of Zoroaster, who wishes to teach the ‘servants-of-the-lie’ with the sword! The ‘honey-sweet’ peace of the Maharajah does not mean that he will joyfully embrace the insurrectionary Hellenes. The young Kumara is a true son of his great Father. Since the death of Raja Kala, who with the fatherly indulgence of the Maharajah enforced obedience on the Hellenes who were taking the law into their own hands, you have been shouting at the marketplaces about injustice in the West; you mocked the construction of the great stupa, ridiculed the mendicant monks, praised the insurgent Diodotos, who was expanding his kingdom with Hellenic force; you falsely convinced the Taxilans that Punjab is actually the territory of the Bactrian King. And you have incited those who were not Buddhists against Kala’s ministers, urged them not to pay taxes, because they would only go to monasteries. Soon, you will be able to reap the harvest of your work: prison, stake, the arrow! Go back to Bactria!’
‘If the Mauryas continue as they do now it will soon be all over for their empire!’ Zetes mocks. ‘Missions instead of armies, monasteries instead of army camps, timid monks lowering their eyes instead of warriors, who open their proud eyes wide to life! Is Raja Kunala different from his compassionate father?’
‘Wait and see, Zetes. Who knows whether he will save your head!’
Kunala’s army proceeds to Indraprastha, taking the more northern trade-route through the Punjab. It nears the promontory area of the Himalayas and follows the road to Ravalpindi, where in a friendly river-valley a fortified camp is set up for Kancha. Kunala himself, with the main army, takes the last part of the road to Taxila. No delegation from the city is there to meet him. Neither does he demand entry, his army crossing swiftly the Tamra Nala and descending to the hilly land east of Taxila. He immediately orders the closure of all entrances to the city and then proceeds to the palace in the new part of the town, north of the Hathial, a group of hills north of Taxila. The city was expecting a strong attack by Kunala’s mighty army. Yet, everything is quiet. Maybe, he will send a delegation? Nobody appears. From their high and wide walls the Taxilans look on. The unrest is growing: caravans no longer come in nor go out. The water-carriers no longer risk coming down the steep banks of the Tamra Nala. Does the Kumara want to starve them or let them thirst for water? The population gathers anxiously in the square in front of the old government building. The ministers failed to welcome the new Kumara and closed the gates. Kala’s ministers had to abdicate their place for them, those who resisted were killed. They are insurgents! Kunala’s unfamiliar approach worries them. They do know, however, that when their time comes, the Mauryas will strike. Ashoka! Killing Virata with one throw of the chakra!
The murmuring of the people increases by the minute: it rises from the gathered crowd, first softly, hardly audible, then louder: ‘Hail to the Kumara!’ The ministers from behind the thick walls curse the perfidious populace. They will have to flee but the Kumara has blocked all the roads; or they have to surrender, and then their death is equally certain. They consult. The Kumara is a Buddhist, and maybe, his compassion is greater than his feeling of revenge. The storm at the palace square fills the air: ‘Hail to the Kumara! Hail to the Kumara!’ It thunders through the town, they had not lost their trust in the Maharajah. The soldiers keep watch on the walls and from the towers.
‘Chase them away from the square!’
‘Then the Maurya will turn against the gates!’
‘Hail to the Kumara!’ Outside, it sounds ever more urgent.
‘Reassure the people or we are finished!’ Philon calls out. Along with Zetes, Philon has sneaked into the building.
‘How? Who has kindled the rebellion here! Who jeered the former ministers! Tell us how you wish to put out the fire which you yourself kindled!’
‘Tell them you will decide tomorrow. Tonight we will try to escape.’
So, it is decided. The senior-most minister appears at the steps and raises his hand. All keep silent.
‘Citizens of Taxila! Tomorrow the council will decide what we have to do. Return to your homes and wait calmly!’
‘Decide now!’ ‘We do not wait any longer!’ ‘All hail to the Kumara!’ ‘No tarrying!’
Again, there rises a thundering protest against the council of the insurgents. No gesture of the minister can avert it. The people know: A conquering army knows no mercy!
‘Away with the Yavanas, the Hellenes!’ ‘All hail to the Kumara!!’
The minister withdraws and the council confers once more, even as the cries of the anxious people are coming across to them. Taxila has been overcome by fear. A delegati
on will go tomorrow morning to see the Kumara. Thus it is announced to them again, but by then it is too late.
‘Now!’ ‘Open the gates!’
‘Do you then want to go to the Kumara with empty hands?’
‘Yes!’ ‘Open the gates!’
Finally, they decide to send a delegation over the Hathial. The people calm down only when a group of ministers leaves the gateway with a flag of peace, and trudge with a strong guard from Kunala’s army, to the new palace.
Kunala receives them coldly. ‘What do you want?’
‘Lord, we open the gates when you want to take over Taxila in peace.’
‘I do not ask for opening the gates of my father’s city. It is the people of Taxila who ask you to do so,’ Kunala remarks calmly.
The ministers look embarrassed. How does he know what is happening inside the city?
‘What conditions do you place upon us, O, Kumara?’
‘I wait for the conditions that the Taxilans will place upon the Yavanas and their henchmen. Report that to me before I enter the city!’
The delegation realises that further negotiations are of no use. When they return to the city empty-handed, the unrest amongst the citizens grows manifold. On command, groups of soldiers infiltrate the crowd but they fail to enforce the command of the government to maintain order: Soon the Maurya will come! The people may receive mercy but not the insurgents and their soldiers! More and more the fury mounts against the government. The crowd pushes forward to the palace: ‘All hail to the Kumara!’ It sounds more threatening. Again, a few ministers appear on the steps.
‘The Raja does not want to state conditions. You have to surrender with or without promises of mercy! Do you want to be trampled by the elephants? Take up your arms yourself! Maybe, the surrounding countries will come to our help. It is better to fight to death than to be haplessly killed by the barbarians!’
‘What did the Kumara say?’ someone cries through the unhappy silence of the crowd.
‘Nothing. Surrender!’
‘Open the gates!’ The calls thunder again over the square. ‘Grab the insurgents!’ The jostling towards the government building becomes unstoppable. They force themselves into the halls, take hold of a few ministers and hand them over to the infuriated crowd, who finishes them off. Then the Yavanas are taken prisoners and locked up in the subterranean dungeons. The Kumara himself will judge them! They go to the gate, driving the scapegoat-deputies before them. When they approach the palace over the Hathial, they all cry: ‘Hail to Kumara!’
Kunala appears again in front of the palace. So, these are the citizens of Taxila! A few venture forward, falling on their knees and bowing down to the ground. Then the most senior of the former ministers takes the floor and says that the citizens regret having allowed themselves to be misled by the Yavanas. Once again, they wish to pledge their loyalty to the sacred Maharajah and the Kumara. And thus they hope peace will be restored in the city. The worst of the rabble-rousers are taken captive and the foreigners imprisoned in the government building. They beg the Raja to enter the old city and take possession of it again.
‘Citizens of Taxila, we are pleased that you come to better insight. Go back to your work quietly. My measures I will announce in the city. The insurgents have to be handed over to my soldiers. We will decide who is guilty and who is not in the court. After I have brought the Rani from Ravalpindi, I will enter your government house. Return and obey my orders!’
A loud cheer resounds over the place: ‘All hail to the Kumara!’ Then all return to the old city over the Tamra Nala, relieved and happy. Kunala’s warriors have already entered and rouse the admiration of the Taxilans because of their equipage; looting seems far from their minds. Philon, Zetes and the traitors are imprisoned.
Kunala returns to Ravalpindi to fetch Kancha.
‘Taxila surrendered without a fight and the insurgents are killed or imprisoned!’ When he tells her how he has ‘conquered’ the old city, she laughs at him:
‘My spouse has the wisdom of his father,’ she says.
‘But what about the Yavanas and the Taxilan insurgents?’
‘Insurrection against the Emperor is treason and demands the death penalty!’ She says sternly.
‘My father might not approve of that. Mercy before Justice! But no government can maintain itself when it does not firmly suppress a revolt, Kancha, as a measure against further uprisings.’
‘No. Power demands hard measures against the demons!’
Both think immediately of Tishya Rakshita, and Kancha could not free herself from the memory of that other enemy who stared with compelling eyes at the road in Pataliputra and at the gate in Mathura. Pondering, she looks on Vida’s high back over the hills, which rise yonder into mountains and even further to the mighty snowy peaks of the Meru. The clear dry air of the Punjab in Hemanta expands the vision to far away infinity. Then her gaze wanders across the fields, along the Tamra Nala, over the twisting brooks and canals which by the grace of the concern of the Mauryas make the land fertile and coaxes rice, bosmorem3 and sugar cane into double harvests. The woods stretch out high up the hills into the apparently steep mountainside. On top of one of the hills stands an immaculate white monastery that looks down over the rich fields with solemn sensitive eyes, as though compelling it to peace and compassion.
‘Why cannot peace rule over humanity eternally, but must conquerors, one after the other, have to distress this beautiful country!’ the young Rani sighs. ‘You come here to subdue the revolt … like your predecessors!’
‘It looks like strife is in the blood of people, Kancha. Maybe, the Buddha will succeed in creating in mankind a longing for peace. But behind the Indus and the Hindukush there is always raging a war. That is what my father forgets.’
‘Your father brought here, with only a small army and by his mere personality, peace and prosperity. And it makes me happy that the first step of my Kunala did not lead to bloodshed.’
‘Blessed are you, my beloved Kancha. Are the Taxilans only now becoming aware that my father has a mighty army at his disposal? Will these easily inflamed people ever discover in themselves the power, to determine their actions with their manas instead of with their easily swayed feelings? Will there not always be people who can only be coerced with a heavy hand to what the peace-loving wish? Is the Buddha’s word and spirit enough? My father has never given a thought—perhaps rightly—to what the sara of all evil is in this world! And maybe, that is what drove him to fatherhood over all his peoples. The evil which provokes the good. Perhaps, I have to ask for the blood of some Yavanas and traitors.’
‘The vast majority of these people chose, in their innate wisdom, my husband over the pugnacious Macedonians. Certainly, they must have realised that behind his compassion is a huge army, but they also surmise that the spirit of the son is kindred to that of his father.’ Her gaze wanders towards the city that from afar is rising up on one of the hills in the verdant land. The walls and towers are sharply etched in the serene air against the deep-blue vault of heaven.
‘Taxila!’ she calls out happily. ‘Look there. What is it that is moving yonder on the road to the city?’
Kunala looks keenly. ‘That is not hard to guess! The population in festive attire streams out to welcome with colourful banners and splendid presents the new Kumara and his Rani, to propitiate them because of their guilty hearts, and to avoid being looted.’ He smiles. ‘If they had truly placed their trust in me then they would have kept their valuable presents … for a new uprising!’
Now Kancha laughs, too: ‘Maybe, it is Sampadi’s turn then!’ A deep longing for her child is stirring her heart.
Once again a great procession of Taxilans comes out to meet a Maurya. Once again the senior-most ministers come up in front to seek to excuse themselves, and long rows of young girls—the most distinguished of the town—dressed in brightly coloured muslin are carrying baskets of fresh flowers. Again, the disarmed soldiers march along in the procession, while
young men carry beautifully carved vases of gold and silver, or bowls chiselled from amethyst or sarde, full of gemstones, pearls and artistically wrought jewellry to the young Raja. On all their faces one can read anxiety; the city is guilty because of its betrayal of the holy Maharajah. Yet, now too, there is hope that this Maurya will grant mercy to the city. Everywhere along the road citizens are lining up, curious as to how the surrender will end. Fortunately, the entry is less dramatic than was Ashoka’s, many years ago. When Kunala heard the old minister Sudinna with the complaint that the Yavanas have usurped the government and either chased away or killed the former ministers, he speaks kindly to them. He hopes that the Taxilans will re-establish peace and will again be loyal subjects of the holy Maharajah.
There is joy among the rows that spread along the roads. Cheers buffet like a gale towards the old city: ‘All hail to the Kumara!’ Vida’s howda is buried under the fragrant weight of colourful flowers. When the young people present the gifts, Kancha has a friendly smile for all. They then return in one great procession, the royal couple on Vida in front, surrounded by Ashoka’s archers. Amidst a cheering crowd they approach the city. Kunala is Lord of the West. Everyone is full of admiration for the young, beautiful Mauryas, who, from then on, will live in the new palace over the Hathial. But Kunala is concerned: he is the Lord Supreme Justice of the Punjab, he will have to judge the Yavanas and the disloyal Taxilans. His father waits for what he will decide. Will the insurgents have to pay with their blood for their guilt? And he is the judge who has to demand!
Energetic like all the Mauryas, he is forming a court the following morning. His army chief Bhatta and his purohita Vagisa will take part in the decisions. He could have pronounced the sentence right away and have it carried out but he knows that this is not in accordance with his father’s principles of justice! Yet, he deals swiftly with the traitors, the Taxilans who have escaped the people’s tribunal the night before. The establishment of treachery is enough to instantly pronounce the death penalty. The large numbers of people which fill the great court hall listen to the judgment in deathly silence.
Ashoka the Great Page 100