22
THE ASSIGNATION
rumour spreads through the streets of Pataliputra: ‘The holy Maharajah!’ The people do not dare to further speak out aloud the frightening thought; it is written on all their faces. They hurry along the King’s road, their fright, palpable in their movements. In the streets of the potters, smiths, ivory-carvers, goldsmiths, leather workers, cart-makers and the traders, the workers, stop their steady work as someone approaches from the city’s centre. The interested public gathers in front of the park gate and their eyes follow those who move towards the palace. They anxiously wait for those who return. No one is loud nor do they ask directly but the question is in their eyes. All hubbub fades from the streets … the holy Maharajah! They are afraid of compounding their guilt, of falling short in their reverence. The gods should not have any reason for punishment or reprisal! They tremble at the thought of retribution befalling the holy Maharajah! No more sinning! Sleep is now a welcome reprieve! It is as though the entire population is bearing the life of the holy Maharajah. They will do anything that will pacify the gods. Despite the years of Buddhism this is how they still feel. Nonetheless, they also bring flowers and wreaths to the Ashokarama. They give more alms to the monks, so that they will pray more devoutly and purify their lives of sin. The more purified the people, the more pleased the gods; and the more their pleasure, the more will they grant boons. Purity, goodness and reverence are like prayers for the Maharajah! Life in the city has become like one great offering that spreads throughout the land.
In the palace, meanwhile, tension grows. For weeks the Maharajah has suffered his illness without complaining until the disturbing fact becomes too apparent. They urge him to take medical treatment but Ashoka refuses, trusting as always his own natural capacity for recovery.
There is one who feels, though, that the Maharajah’s impending death is a powerful threat: the Agramahisi. It will strike like a thunderstorm, an earthquake or the flooding of the Ganga, over a whole population, but it will destroy her, because it will push her back to the obscurity of the forgotten Rani! Just when her deepest desire has been fulfilled! For weeks she has watched in fear how the Maharajah’s health waned, how his power and energy ebbed, until everyone around her understood that a danger threatened India. That Ashoka is a constant source of happiness for his subjects leaves her cold. She feels nothing for these peoples, all are strangers to her, kneeling down as she, the Agramahisi, together with her spouse, ride on the high back of the royal elephant. But Ashoka’s life is her life, his death her death, because she then will be at the mercy of that coward of Taxila and the self-confident Brahmin woman from the hermitage in the woods. That woman will become the Agramahisi and she, Tishiya Rakshita, will no longer be the Maharajah’s Rani, no longer queen-mother. She will become nothing but a despised woman. Such is definitely not what she wants. The old Maharajah must stay alive for her, because she will not yield! Even Ashoka himself becomes worried. He is aware that his condition causes her worry, and that thought moves him.
‘My Lord, you have weakened, and you walk as though each step is heavy: They say you hardly eat anymore! Lord, allow the physicians to come!’ Out of fear she falls to her knees and raises her hands to her forehead.
‘Why are you so worried, Tishya? My body is still strong. I wish not to be locked away by physicians in my sleeping chambers!’
‘Lord, it is much worse than you think! You yourself have had great gardens planted all over the empire, full of medicinal herbs to cure man and beast. And you yourself are not using them!’ Tishya’s whole being expresses her uncontrollable fear. Seeing this brings the Maharajah joy, and he smiles.
‘Do not worry, Tishya.’
‘Not worry?’ She bursts out in tears. ‘I am desperate with worry! I have lost Asandhi! I do not wish to lose you as well, Lord, or I will have to join you in death!’
Ashoka raises her up and seats himself beside her, exhausted.
‘Listen, Tishya. I am getting older. My death will no longer be a tragedy …’
‘No tragedy? Lord, if you die, I wish to die with you! What will become of me when I will no longer have you and Asandhi!’
The Agramahisi is so agitated that Ashoka, deeply moved, puts his arms around her shoulders to calm her down. Her concern lifts his spirit; since Kunala left he has been feeling abandoned and lonely.
‘Alright, Tishya, if I am not better tomorrow, I will allow the court’s chief physician to come.’
‘Oh, that makes me happy, Lord! The physicians will save you!’
The next morning she is with him early. Ashoka is more ill than ever.
‘You see!’ Tears well up in her beautiful eyes. ‘So, now you rest, Lord, until the doctors decide otherwise. I, the Agramahisi, will stay awake and by your side, so that you will do nothing unwise!’ She helps the Maharajah to a comfortable position; she then hurries out of the door to send for the court’s chief physician. Her bustling to ease his suffering does the Emperor good. She takes care of him, reads his face for signs of thirst or discomfort or of worries about work. She understands what hurts him and gives advice.
The physician, Vakkula, carefully examines the Maharajah but cannot get to the cause of the illness. The Maharajah is told to take a rest, as his fever is very high. The physician gives him some calming medicines. When Ashoka tries to get up, it is apparent that he is barely able. Tishya is alarmed. She urges him to consult the other physicians as well. Ashoka agrees but sends, too, for his Prime Minister. When Radhagupta enters, Tishya makes a move to leave the room.
‘Stay, Tishya,’ the patient weakly gestures. He gives a brief order that Radhagupta is to take over all pending government matters. ‘Send word to Kunala that I approve of all of his measures in the West. He strongly urges me to give my opinion of his governing … He must act independently, according to his own insight. My illness has restricted me in my work so that I repeatedly postponed my answer to him. Tell him now.’
Tishya approaches the bed. ‘Forgive me, Lord, but postpone for now the message to the Yuvaraja. Why worry him! Wait until you are well again.’
Ashoka thinks for a moment. ‘Maybe you are right, Tishya. Should my illness worsen, then he will have to return to Pataliputra anyway.’
Slowly the days pass by. Radhagupta keeps the Maharajah informed about the most important of issues in the empire. But Tishya, driven by her fear, is always present, trying to keep discussions to their briefest. At night she is left tormented by disturbing dreams that awaken her. Then she hastens to her lord’s sleeping chamber, where physicians are constantly present. Satyavat stands watch in an adjoining room. The Maharajah has ordered him to follow the exact instructions of the Maharani.
‘How is he?’ Tishya asks the court’s first physician, who whispers that the Maharajah is drifting into sleep.
‘Do not worry, my Rani,’ whispers Ashoka weakly. ‘The gods will support me now in my work. Kunala is still too inexperienced.’
Simply hearing the name makes her recoil but the Rani controls her emotion. The Maharajah should not suspect how much she hates the Yuvaraja. She kneels down next to Ashoka, takes his hand and presses it against her cheek.
‘No!’ she says vehemently. She then softens her voice. ‘The gods may not take you from me! You shall not pass on, be torn away from your work. All of India will pray and make offerings for you!’
‘Go to sleep now, you tire yourself too much. Difficulties are overcome best when there is peace in the heart.’
Tishya leaves the sleeping quarters, sobbing. The Maharajah feels happy. He had often thought that Ashandhi had not gauged her well, that it was vanity and greed that drove the young Rani. Now, he is convinced that goodness resides in her core. Asandhi, of course, had known this. Her devotion makes him glad, for herself, and for the rightness of Asandhi’s loving friendship for her. It gives him peace and tranquil sleep. Yet, the fever rages and weakens him even more. Tishya’s care never wavers, and to him she is like a ray of sunlight
in Hemanta, awakening new life. But it appears that nothing can save the Maharajah anymore. With the greatest conscientiousness the physicians follow the illness. Tishya would often enter the chambers while they confer wearing a grave expression on their faces.
‘When, wise men, will his recovery begin?’ she asks bitterly. They all feel sorry for the Maharani. Vakkula tries to console her but they honestly do not know the cause of the illness. And the Maharajah refuses to allow a magician to come, someone who could possibly uncover the secret to his ill-health. Tishya remains glued to the sickbed, driven by her own restlessness. She takes Ashoka’s hand in hers as the Maharajah lies still.
‘Thank you, Tishya. You ease my suffering and I am happier than I can say, that you are so devoted.’
‘I only want the gods to heal my sole friend and protector, Lord!’ She is overcome by emotion and pleads: ‘Oh Lord, do not leave me!’
‘We are not asked if we wish to stay, my Tishya, only if we have faithfully fulfilled our duties. I have yet so much to do. Kunala must return!’
‘He is there yet such a short time! He is still needed there!’
‘But he has done much there already. Go to my working chamber, Tishya. On the left side of the table there is a stack of lipis, messages from the West.’
Tishya gets up eagerly, hurries to the study, and comes back to her Lord with the lipis.
‘Read them, Tishya.’
‘Lord … I read very poorly. You read them! Or, let Radhagupta come!’
‘Have him called.’ Ashoka stifles his disappointment. Radhagupta, who remains all the time in the palace, is soon at his side. Tishya listens as Kunala’s messages are read, first announcing his measures and then continually asking for Ashoka’s approbation, and how he ultimately doubted his father’s approval of his deeds. The Maharajah is once again touched by the content of the messages. Tishya listens to the complaints of the young Raja with joy: because he awaits all the time his father’s reply, and even more, because he despairs for his father’s favour. Let that doubt thrive! He should not return and no message of his father’s illness should be sent to Taxila! That, she wants to avert! How, she does not yet know. Perhaps, the old Maharajah might want to abdicate because of his weakness. Radhagupta then tells a long story about a pradesika, who has had two Vaishyas put to death because they had stolen land by moving some border stones, which according to the old laws is land theft. The Maharajah is ill, is he not, and could not judge himself; that is why the pradesika passed the judgement.
Enraged, Ashoka tries to heave himself up but sinks back weakly. ‘No death penalty without my approval! Have him come immediately.’
‘That will require an order with the secret seal, gracious Maharajah.’
‘Precisely. Write out the lipi. We will seal it here.’
When Radhagupta has gone, Tishya asks, ‘What is the secret seal?’
‘The seal used only in cases of emergency and it means unconditional and immediate compliance to the Emperor. It prevents misuse of my name by high government officials.’
When Radhagupta returns later in the afternoon with the lipi, Ashoka approves it. He orders him to collect the secret ivory seal, along with its accessories, and asks Tishya to accompany the minister after he has told them exactly where the objects are hidden.
After he seals the lipi, Radhagupta returns everything to their proper place.
It is a dream come true for Tishya. She is now privy to the secrets of the Maharajah! She would have laughed if she were not so fearful of the danger that loomed from Taxila. How can she avert it! What if the Maharajah orders Kunala to come? Intercept the messengers? Send a counter-order? Still, this is not the most important thing. She is afraid the Maharajah will die. All will be lost then! There is but one way: the Maharajah has to recuperate!
The next day the Maharajah still does not feel better. The order that Tishya had feared is then spoken: ‘I want Kunala to return.’
‘Just wait a little longer, Lord!’
‘Not one day! I will not recover. My work is done, and Kunala must take over.’
‘Just one more day! Maybe, the sickness has reached its peak.’
‘One day then because you ask for it,’ comes the weary answer.
Tishya tells Vakkula that the Maharajah doubts his own recovery.
‘I doubt it just as much, O, Agramahisi!
‘At the very least, encourage him!’
‘The Maharajah believes, and rightly so, that recovery is no longer possible.’
‘And … how long can he hold on?’
‘Perhaps a few weeks. His heart weakens. It could be over very suddenly.’
The Agramahisi goes to her room, and falls desperately onto a seat. So, her glory is coming to an end. Has she not experienced enough misery in her life? And now that she is at the height of her power! She calls Rita. She wants to speak to Katcha!
‘Rita, go to Tarata. I must speak to my friend as soon as possible. This afternoon, when the sun is at its highest.’
First, she visits the patient. She wants to try to keep the Yuvaraja far away from him! Katcha must help her!
Katcha arrives and takes her in his arms like a lover whose desire has been bottled up inside him for days. She allows it.
‘Listen, Katcha, the Maharajah is sick,’ she says desperately.
‘I know,’ he smiles.
‘You do not know everything. He will probably die within a very short time.’
‘Then you will be my bride!’ the priest cries out gleefully.
‘But Kunala will return to rule, and that will ruin my life!’
‘What can you do about that, Tishya Rakshita? Nothing! You will follow me!’
‘Sit down and tell me how I can prevent this!’
‘Have him killed by assassins,’ mocks Katcha.
‘You are not being serious. He is closely guarded!’
‘Poison, snakes, illness. There are many ways.’
‘Foolish ways! He has a wife who guards him as a tigress does her young, a guard who protects him with his life, loving subjects!’
‘Send a message from the Maharajah that he has fallen from grace. After all the Maharajah is deathly ill, is he not?’
Tishya is suddenly quiet and pensive.
‘So,’ Katcha goes on. ‘That is good advice! Now the reward!’
‘First, you help me in my desperate situation!’
‘What more do you want? Send a message to Taxila that they will put an end to his life over there because the Maharajah knows that he wants to seize the throne!’
‘You mock me, Katcha, but I must tell you something.’ And she tells him in detail about the secret seal. Katcha’s eyes gleam.
‘And you are still timid, beautiful Rani? You hold everything in your hand! King ‘Beautiful-Eyes’ is lost!’
Tishya looks at him in alarm. Beautiful-Eyes! The thought ruffles her so much that she jumps up and moves to leave for the palace. Katcha wraps his arms around her.
‘No, Rani-Morning-Sun! I am here also for myself!’
The Rani yields. She understands that she needs him and gives him the love he asks for. She smiles at him, giving him joy that is beyond all measure.
‘Come to the palace tonight. I cannot write,’ she says with her most beguiling smile.
‘The persecuted Brahmin comes to the head of the Sangha!’ he mocks.
‘I will make sure nothing happens to you, Katcha. You write the Maharajah’s lipi and together we will use the secret stamp to seal it. Disguise yourself so no one recognises you. Say you are a physician who has come at the Agramahisi’s orders.’
That evening, the unknown physician is admitted to the Agramahisi. She receives him in Ashoka’s working chambers. Satyavat is alarmed and speaks to the Maharajah about his concerns. The Maharajah, fatigued and weary, replies: ‘What the Agramahisi does, is done well, my Satyavat.’
‘No one knows the stranger, noble Maharajah!’
‘Except the Agramahisi, appar
ently,’ says Ashoka, in a tired voice.
Satyavat bows deeply before his Lord and withdraws.
‘I hardly recognised you, Katcha,’ the Rani whispers.
‘So it has to be. This is a daring enterprise! Do you fully realise what you are doing, my Rani?’ he asks earnestly. ‘What will you gain by it? If the Maharajah dies you cannot remain Agramahisi.’
Tishya looks at him angrily. ‘Nothing can stop me from carrying out my plan! I will not yield to someone I hate, Katcha! And you? He robbed you of what was most precious to you!’
Katcha flushes. ‘I have a much more beautiful woman instead who has shown herself to be worthy of my love.’
‘Come,’ she whispers. ‘Our hate for the Prince with the beautiful eyes waits.’
Together they compose the lipi. Katcha seals it with the secret stamp and prepares it for dispatching. Then they go to Tishya’s quarters.
As a reward, Katcha sleeps that night in the arms of the most beautiful woman of India. With demonic and cunning shrewdness they decide what to do next.
‘If the Maharajah should stay alive and will hear about the lipi?’
‘He is dying but even so I would rejoice if he did not die. I cannot expect anything good from anyone except him. My smile and my care for him have crumbled his distrust.’
‘And if you are accused?’
‘Foolishness! I would swear and rightly so that I had neither written nor sealed the lipi! And no one will think of you, my Katcha!’
Katcha looks at her with doubtful eyes. Even he is surprised at this woman’s hatred. For a short moment the thought comes to him that India will be robbed of a capable successor to the throne but Tishya strides forward, unperturbed on her path of hate. She notices that he does not respond to her words. Could Katcha be feeling remorse? Nothing could hurt him because there is only one who can betray him and he can be sure of that one. She ensnares him with the magical power gifted to her by nature. And a man like Katcha is unable to resist her. All his senses are centred on her love. He is like a mouse in the claws of a playful cub, and resisting would only mean hurting himself. Katcha is well aware that for his hate and all-intoxicating sensual love, he is selling his soul and bringing upon himself a dreadful karma, for which even a Brahmin must pay a terrible price. Like an enticing apsara from heaven, Tishya crosses his path again and again, pulling him with her smile and her love deeper into the abyss of a dark future. His soul will not be redeemed by convincing himself that Kunala is to blame, that Kancha was stolen from him! Ashoka is the Maharajah, anointed by Brahmins and idolised throughout his empire! And he, Katcha, is hurtling down the path of evil, holding hands with a demonic woman. Santanu’s teachings try to slow him down; but he remains the slave of a beautiful Rani, perfectly aware of the power she has over him.
Ashoka the Great Page 103