Ashoka – The Great
Proudly fluttered the Mauryan flags,
Their war cries, the
skies did fill.
The nobles knelt, and bowed their heads,
As the emperor rode
up the hill.
Horse hooves clattered, drumbeats rolled,
And the cries of
pain from afar.
Mixed with the victorious bugle strain,
In a brutal song of
war!
From atop the hill, the emperor watched.
Now that the battle
was won.
The blood drenched Daya. The price she paid,
For the defiance of
her son.
Littered with the dead, flood plains ravaged,
Carrion birds
circling the air.
There on those killing fields he saw that
day,
The broken back of
their dare.
The Mauryas secure. The rebels crushed.
Ashoka,
Prepared to leave
with a sigh.
When a mourner beside a fallen warrior,
Suddenly did catch
his eye!
With steel in his eyes, he held his gaze,
A mere boy he was
then.
And sword in hand, for his father’s cause,
He stood to battle
again!
He cowered not in fear and grieved not in
pain.
For vengeance, he
did not rage.
Though the Kalinga body lay bloodied and
battered,
Their spirit he
could not cage!
To what end then, this war that was fought?
He flung his sword
away!
Futile this might, that could not secure,
A victory, even for
a day!
A million sins was the price he paid,
For the truth that
upon him came!
No sword would he need to win the heart,
Only that victory
would remain.
Chinmoy Bhattacharjee
26th Oct 2019, Guwahati
“Dedicated
to my friends from TCS Bhubaneshwar, who led me on an impromptu trip of
discovery across Orissa. I will be forever indebted to them for bringing the
magic of Emperor Ashoka’s legacy alive.”
Inspiration comes upon us stealthily,
suddenly. One cannot plan for it – it happens. Standing beside the 2500 years
old rock inscriptions at Dhauligiri, containing the edicts of Emperor Ashoka,
one afternoon a few weeks ago – I was hit by an urge. A strong desire to write
about his conquest, his greatness and what brought about the change in a
ruthless conqueror. What was the moment, the thought, which transformed him from
‘Chandashok’ (The Killer Ashoka) to ‘Dharmashok’ (The Righteous Ashoka)? Ashoka
had fought many a battle before the Kalinga war. One of the greatest warriors
in the history of humankind would not have seen death and destruction for the
first time in Kalinga. While history has paid rich tributes to this mighty king, who
renounced battle at the zenith of power and became an apostle of peace, little
is known of what he saw and felt, as he stood watching the blood soaked Daya
river flowing past the killing fields of Dhauli. It was a story worth retelling.
As I stood on the hill, where a Buddhist
monument to peace (Shanti Stupa) stands today – I found myself thinking about
what Ashoka would have seen that day after his marauding forces had conquered
the Kalingas. For as far as the eye could see, he would have seen death and
destruction – the fields of Dhauli riddled with the corpses of the Kalinga
braves, the waters of the Daya river reddened with the shed blood. He would
have seen their resistance crushed. He would have seen their defiance trampled
under the Mauryan boot. He would have been pleased – for the last vestige of
challenge to his empire would have been smashed to smithereens. An example would have been set – the price of challenge would have been marked. Never would the Mauryas have
been more secure.
Then as he was about to leave, something
caught his eye. It was a boy, standing beside his fallen father. With a sword
in hand, he stood straight and proud, looking directly at the King. He was not
distressed. He did not grieve for the dead. He was not angered beyond reason –
seeking vengeance. He did not make a manic charge. He merely stood ready and
waiting – challenging the Mauryans to battle him. The emperor could not believe
his eyes. It was as if the war was about to begin! It did not matter that a
million men had already perished. What mattered was the cause for which he
stood defending his land.
At that moment Ashoka realized, his victory
would forever remain hollow. Not until every Kalinga was put to the sword,
would his victory be complete, The defiance against which he waged war, would
live on in every soul, would draw inspiration in every breath, would find
utterance in every action. To what purpose was then this war? So much misery
and grief that he had caused had come to nothing – his victory would not be
complete even for a day. He would need a new weapon – the weapon of love. The
sword was useless. For only with the weapon of love, the weapon of humanity, would he win hearts, would he be able to truly end defiance.
Many before me have speculated as to what
could have led Ashoka to renunciation. This speculation is mine. This is the
thought that stealthily crept unto me as I stood at the monument of peace that
day. Ashoka is today known as “Ashoka – The Great”, not for his
battles and victories, but for his humanity. His royal symbols still adorn those
of modern India. The Mauryan lions identify us as a nation, even 2500 years
after his death. May more Ashoka’s walk the earth in the days to come.
