Ashoka the Great

by Keuning, Wytze

  ‘How do I cure the Maharajah, Katcha? The physicians have given up hope. They have inferred all sorts of symptoms but do not know the illness.’

  ‘Let him die, flee with me and save your soul!’

  Tishya laughs. ‘The priest in you awakens? How do I heal the Maharajah!’

  Katcha thinks hard, but after all the excitement, sleep finally overcomes him. Tishya struggles to find an answer; she considers all possibilities, yet none of them offers a solution. She can not sleep, and her mind is active with evil.

  ‘Listen, Katcha, would there not be others who are suffering from the same illness as the Maharajah?’

  Katcha starts, ‘What did you say, Tishya?’ Patiently, the Rani repeats her question.

  ‘Of course, there are, have one of them come and examine him.’ Katcha falls asleep once again but Tishya dwells further on the idea.

  The next morning Tishya hurries to Vakkula.

  ‘Listen, Vakkula. Look for someone who has the same ailment as the Maharajah.’

  ‘The physicians cannot recall a case such as this.’

  ‘The welfare of the world depends on it! Go quickly and find another with the same affliction!’

  Eventually, they find an Ablura1 who is showing similar symptoms. Upon her orders the man is brought to the hospital at Pataliputra.

  ‘Well, Vakkula. Now open up the body of this Ablura!’

  Vakkula is shocked. ‘He will die, O, Agramahisi!’

  ‘What is more important, that the Maharajah recovers or that the life of the Ablura is extended? The whole country is waiting, Vakkula.’

  ‘The Maharajah would absolutely forbid it, gracious Maharani.’

  ‘I decide on everything regarding the Maharajah and I order you to carry out the operation. These procedures are done in Taxila so why not here? If you cannot do it, then we will try to find someone who has studied in Taxila.’

  ‘I have done so myself, high Agramahisi.’

  ‘Well then, then you must risk it!’

  ‘He will die! And the Buddha forbids the taking of life!’

  ‘Either the Maharajah or the Ablura! But you must save the Maharajah!’

  Vakkula refuses.

  ‘You refuse?’ she shouts furiously. ‘You regard the life of the Ablura as more valuable than the welfare of India! Do you want to be the reason we lose our ruler, a ruler who has brought such peace and prosperity to our land? You will hesitate no longer! All responsibility rests with me! This is my will!’

  The physicians do not dare resist any longer. They open up the Ablura’s body and examine it. Soon, they the discover the cause of the man’s illness. They have the answer to their question, though the Ablura could no longer be saved.

  With the newly derived knowledge, the treatment of the Maharajah becomes simpler, and the recovery process soon begins. Hope is renewed in the palace and in Pataliputra. A glow of joy spreads over the city and a cry of cheer rings through all of Magadha. When the Maharajah resumes work after many months, joy bursts into a frenzy of festivities that for several days sweeps through the population in an unstoppable tide. And to excesses, as well.

  The Maharajah is especially grateful to Tishya Rakshita, whom he pampers with kindness. To priests of all sects, he showers his benevolence with a forbearing hand, as well as to the old and the poor, to anyone who needs help. But he feels called upon to purify the popular festivals! He knows, and is once again seeing, how easily man is tempted to slip into ever increasing, unrestrained pleasures. Then the old samaja2 rituals appear again—in which the King used to offer meat and drink—with the bloody animal fights and in its wake the drunkenness and other debauchery. These traditional fights he wants to expel from his empire! Moggalana told the people how he once rose to heaven and witnessed purity and happiness there. But he also narrated how he witnessed his descent to hell and the hellish pains that came with it. He sought the origin of suffering. Through his compelling way of narrating he brought thousands to the Buddha. Ashoka wants all this to be staged before people, in spectacles with beautiful dance and music. He calls upon the artists and craftsmen of Pataliputra, to work together on the festival that he wishes to offer his people. For weeks and months, thousands of people work tirelessly for the realisation of Ashoka’s plan, uplifting the folk festival. Cart-makers, weavers, painters, sculptors, builders, smiths, jewellers, all devote their best efforts to share in the great work. It will be a joy for all and it will not, as the samaja did, harm the partaker’s karma but improve it.

  23

  THE LIPI

  n Taxila, peace returns, and life in the busy trading city resumes its daily routine. Barely a thought is being given to the rebellion as the people once again feel accustomed to the Maurya’s stable and firm hand.

  Kunala is not in the right state of mind for the festivities that have been proposed. Although he governs the West with a steady hand, he is not for one moment free of the oppressive thought of his father’s disapproval of his deeds. He has received no word of encouragement at all, no approbation for what he believes is his successful work. While the ministers, and the population, laud his decrees despite the heavy pressures of the occupation—and although they acknowledge the righteousness of his laws and decisions—there has been nothing but silence from Pataliputra. He continues to hold on to Kancha’s opinion that there is no need for worry, and that his father merely wishes him to carry out his actions, unfettered. Eventually, however, even this thought stops giving him any solace, as his life—which in Pataliputra was so much entwined with his father’s—now appears lonely and meaningless to him. He continues to execute governmental tasks with the precision befitting a Maurya, but not with the joy it would have brought him had his father given him the support that he desperately craves. Without Kancha’s love and care he would not have had the heart to carry on.

  ‘But you are no longer the mere executor of your father’s orders, my beloved husband! You are the Viceroy, the Kumara of the far West! You yourself have to govern! You cannot expect the Maharajah to continually approve of all of the measures taken by all of his distant kumaras, rajukas, and purushas, can you?’

  ‘I am destined to be Maharajah, Kancha, but father still has to decide if I am worthy of succeeding him. One day, I have to take over the power, derived from the highest Power that rules the universe. How do I know what that unknown, unseen Power will ask of me! There my father has to show me the right way. I still do not have a definite will. How do I achieve that sanctity of will, Kancha, which will empower me to decide about the worldly and spiritual welfare of India? I do not know if I should have had Philon killed or not, or if war had to be waged against Diodotos. As long as I do not feel sure I am not suitable to be the Maharajah. I still have doubts about everything because my own conviction is wavering. What will promote the welfare of the peoples, and what takes them to the abyss? That is why my father must help me, Kancha. And he refuses. Even if he wishes me to be an independent governor he has to tell that to me on my entreaty.’

  ‘There is no one who determined his decisions with such pure humanity as you, my Kunala. I am not talking about justice alone, but justice tempered with humanity! Does not even the mightiest man have to wrest himself away from the prevailing laws? Just because they are of man’s making? Why should your decisions be of less merit than those of your father’s? Your father, too, has had to struggle with his unreasoning inclinations. Think of the lipi of Shahbazgarhi. And did he not have his struggle with Bindusara? Do you think you can take decisions that are free of all faults? Is it wrong to fail, or is it wrong not to revise one’s decisions once it has become apparent that they were wrong? Your father, who is a great Maharajah, does not expect you to be without faults, but he does expect you to correct those mistakes and gain insight from them. Why should he be the one to point them out or continually praise your good decisions?’

  Kunala thinks awhile. ‘What distresses me, Kancha, is that Father used to always confer with me but now withholds all co
mments, though I know that he had great worries about my journey to Taxila. I know of only one reason: his dissatisfaction with my work, or with me. This paralyses me.’

  ‘He does not think it wise to interfere, or has no time to do so.’

  Kunala looks at her with his large, dark eyes, and reflects.

  ‘You always give me courage again, Kancha. And yet, only my father can put to right the imbalance in my mind. I have strong misgivings that something outside of him is the cause of his strange attitude. Could it be mother Tishya Rakshita? Illness? No … then he would surely have let me know!’

  ‘Wait with patience. One day the answer to this puzzle will come. You are doing your duty in such a way that the holy Maharajah can only praise!’

  Then the lipi from Pataliputra arrives for the government of Taxila. The senior-most minister accepts the message. He is startled. It bears the secret seal of the Maharajah! An order for him but not for the Kumara’s eyes? He calls one of the other ministers and together they open the lipi. They look at each other and neither speaks a word. They read it again, and then again, and both fall down on a seat stricken with horror. They examine the writing and the seal very carefully, understanding nothing of this secret order that has to be carried out immediately! All the ministers are hastily called together, and the order is read to the council, where it provokes the same horror!

  In the lipi, the sacred Maharajah expresses his great dissatisfaction with the Kumara’s handling of affairs. Instead of mercilessly punishing the rebels, he has granted mercy to the Yavanas, not only freeing them who had deserved death by torture but also appointing them to government posts. That is collaboration with the Maharajah’s worst enemy. Instead of threatening Diodotos with his great army, he has struck up a friendship with a rebel against the Maharajah’s best ally, Antiochos Soter. That is a threat to the state and the sacred Maharajah. The lipi then lays down Ashoka’s order: Kumara Kunala’s eyes are to be torn out. It is to be carried out immediately.

  In brief, emotional words, the ministers express their frantic reactions. They knew Kunala to be a righteous and sympathetic monarch with only one goal, and that is the welfare of his territory. And then this lipi is set forth?

  ‘This order is based on a terrible misunderstanding!’

  ‘The Maharajah has been misled!’

  ‘Unfathomable, this punishment for his most beloved son!’

  ‘We cannot carry out this order without further consulting the Maharajah!’

  ‘But that will cost us our own lives,’ the oldest minister says.

  ‘Then we shall step down immediately. We will not be guilty of this most barbarous punishment for one as noble as the Kumara.’

  ‘We know Ashoka to be a stern, lord!’

  ‘But he never proved to be unreasonable.’

  ‘If he wishes to punish his son in such a barbaric way he can have him come to Pataliputra!’

  ‘The secret seal, high ministers!’ warns Sudinna.

  All comments lead to nowhere but the one insurmountable fact: the secret seal. One of the ministers proposes that they vacate the governmental house at once but Sudinna advises against it in the interest of the Kumara.

  ‘Let the Kumara read the lipi and judge for himself!’

  ‘So, tell him the lipi has come?’ asks Sudinna.

  ‘Otherwise we will have to take him prisoner and rob him of his eyes!’

  After a long pause they decide to respectfully ask the Kumara to attend the minister’s council as soon as possible.

  Soon the Kumara appears, and at once he notices the sombre mood.

  ‘Well, Sudinna, do you have a serious announcement to make?’

  Sudinna is so moved that he can not utter a word. Carefully Sandhimati informs Kunala of the lipi that has arrived.

  ‘Show me my father’s lipi, Sandhimati,’ says the Kumara calmly. They look at him in surprise as he reads the lipi, apparently unmoved. No one had expected such restraint. Only a Maurya could receive such a cruel judgement in this manner! Kunala once again reads the document, sent off in the last week of Karttika1, and meticulously examines the familiar seal.

  ‘The seal is genuine, high ministers. You have to obey.’

  The ministers stand as one.

  ‘We refuse, high Kumara. We wish to have nothing to do with this!’

  ‘I will grant you no dismissal and expect unconditional obedience to my father, the sacred Maharajah!’

  ‘Then you wish to undergo this judgement?’

  ‘Of course! I follow but one steady guideline in my life: absolute obedience to my father.’

  They look at the Kumara, struck dumb. Finally Sandhimati cries: ‘Flee, high Kumara, you still have time!’

  ‘Where shall I flee?’

  ‘To Bactria!’

  ‘To my father’s enemy?’

  ‘Then to the King of Syria, Antiochos Soter!’

  ‘To my father’s ally?’

  ‘You will not be detected in our forests, Lord!’

  ‘I will not disappear. My father is the sacred Maharajah!’

  ‘Lord… Rani Kanchanamala!’ The Kumara is startled. ‘She will oppose this order furiously!’

  Moved, the Kumara lowers his eyes for a while. For a brief moment the thought of her makes him waver. Then he regains his calm.

  ‘You are right, she will oppose furiously. But one does not oppose the order of the sacred Maharajah. No one may tell her before I have met my fate!’

  ‘Lord, Maharajah Ashoka cannot wish this!’ bursts out Sudinna.

  ‘The secret seal, honourable minister!’

  ‘Can no one have misused the secret seal?’

  Kunala thinks for a moment. Tishya Rakshita? Foolishness! His father would never let her make use of the seal! She may be able to snare him with her tempting smile and the Maharajah may believe the evil whispers of a demon, maybe even turn his love into hate, like Tishya herself, but never would he entrust the secret seal to the Agramahisi.

  ‘No, that is impossible!’

  ‘Lord, you have a large army at your disposal!’

  ‘What you propose is rebellion against my father. I have been sent here to quell a revolt, not to set loose one myself. And I will not betray my father’s trust. If he wishes for my eyes then I will give them to him, just as I would offer my life if he were to demand that.’

  Distraught, they fall silent. Sudinna regains his composure and speaks again: ‘However urgent the command of the holy Maharajah may be, O, Kumara, everyone has a right to ask for mercy. I ask you to send a delegation to the capital for that purpose. If it is rejected, then we will obey. Send me and two other ministers to the Emperor. We will complete the journey as soon as possible.’

  Kunala smiles. ‘Mercy is never granted after an order has been given under the secret seal. So, make your preparations. I want the sentence to be carried out before sunset on the judicial fields of the Hathial.’

  Tulya, who as always has followed the Kumara into the council room, suddenly disappears. He rushes to the army camp to inform Batha, the commander of the troops of the case. He shows his imperial mandate and requests for a top division of the army to be made immediately available. With a heavily armed group of horsemen he rushes to the Hathial to prevent any harm from being inflicted on his lord.

  Sudinna has the most famous surgeon of Taxila come and tells him of the order that was received from the capital. He wants the execution to be as painless as possible.

  ‘I refuse to do executioner’s work, Sudinna,’ the surgeon says, outraged.

  ‘And if I order you to?’

  ‘Even so!’

  With great difficulty Sudinna finally finds someone to carry out the horrific deed. Upon arrival at the Hathial, Kunala sees to his amazement a great military force lined up on the field. Tulya moves up towards him.

  ‘Lord, I forbid the execution of this preposterous order! Before we left Pataliputra the Maharajah ordered me to protect the Yuvaraja always, under all circumstances, f
rom every danger. Here is my mandate, Lord!’

  Kunala reads it calmly. The lipi touches him but fails to convince him.

  ‘The mandate does not apply in this case, Tulya.’

  ‘Lord, I have to ward off all dangers that threaten you!’

  ‘But you have no orders that protect me from the Maharajah.’

  Tulya starts. He had not thought of that. Quickly he recovers. ‘Lord, I cannot allow it! The holy Maharajah would have revoked his commission to me if this horrific judgement was indeed issued by him! I must and will protect you! The Maharajah is my highest Lord!’ He turns to the front row of horsemen.

  ‘Raise your bows!’ Then to those present: ‘Any one who touches the high Kumara is a dead man!’

  Kunala heatedly flares up at him: ‘You are my servant! Obey!’

  ‘No, Lord, I am now the servant of the sacred Maharajah himself!’

  ‘It is my army you have at your disposal!’

  ‘At the order of the sacred Maharajah! Here, Lord, the proof!’

  Kunala, however, is convinced that the fateful lipi is genuine. He will tolerate no opposition and thus takes a few steps ahead, commanding: ‘Lower your bows!’