Divya, page 4
As ill luck would have it, Divya’s grandfather and both her parents succumbed to a fatal disease and met with untimely deaths. The girl was left to the tender affection and caring of her great-grandfather and thus became the apple of his eyes.
The stately palace of the Chief Justice, surrounded by ramparts and gardens and looked after by a large retinue of servants and maidservants, was a centre of learning and culture. In its meeting halls, votaries of the caste system, Greek philosophers and Buddhist monks freely discussed and argued on matters of all kinds, both to quell their doubts and for the sheer joy of debating.
Here, the love of knowledge and discussion was far greater than addiction to wine or women. The guests, lost in argument, would be oblivious to the dark and tawny-complexioned slave-girls who stood before them, holding on silver trays, crystal cups brimming with the famous kapisha wine. Even the parrots and the mynahs of the household, in their silver or copper cages hung from the arched doorways in different chambers of the palace, would in that atmosphere of learning mimic the speakers by uttering maxims, aphorisms, precepts and the like. Sometimes, to shake off their drowsiness, one of them would cry out a sutra from the Vedas, or some such religious or philosophical saying.
In the house of the Chief Justice all subjects were discussed: religious rituals, text of the scriptures, jurisprudence, logic, law, the Vedic concept of ‘the one without a second’. There was room here for investigating the absolute truth beyond the world of appearances, as enunciated by the Greek philosopher Plato, and the cycle of birth after birth, as preached by the Buddha. The doors of the house were open even to the atheist Marish, who held in contempt the Vedantic concept of salvation and of Nirvana. Marish had been censured and denounced both by the Brahmins and the votaries of the Buddhist faith for his views. He believed that there was no world beyond the visible one, regarded the palpable world as the true one and dismissed the belief that reward for one’s deeds awaited one in the next life. Even though twice punished by the Chief Justice under the law of the state, Marish continued to be welcome in the palace.
After his return from Taxila, where he had gone to study sculpture, Marish was given the assignment of engraving scenes from the life of the Buddha on the façade of the main gate of the Milinda monastery. One day, however, he suddenly declared that there were no grounds to believe in the previous incarnations of the Buddha, and refused to engrave the scenes any further, thereby breaking the agreement entered into with the head of the monastery. Next he was asked to engrave scenes demonstrating the dictum that sensual attachments were false and illusory. Marish did not agree to do that either. Thereupon, the head of the monastery lodged a complaint against him, accusing him of having broken his contract. The Chief Justice punished Marish with a fine. The same evening, however, he invited Marish to his house and seated him next to himself.
The Chief Justice was a man with a reflective bent of mind, hence Marish was not treated with disrespect in his house. The eminent scholar was not overzealous in regarding any system of thought as completely true, nor did he declare any world view to be totally false. He held the liberal view, which is expressed in a precept of the Vedas: ‘The wise ones say the same thing in many different ways.’
Having been brought up in such an atmosphere, Divya was imbued with the spirit of learning, art and culture, much as a lotus contains moisture within itself, even though it may not be steeped in water. Her main interest lay in music and dancing; her knowledge more in the form of feeling than of words. However, living in close proximity with her aged great-grandfather, she was not ignorant of intellectual issues.
Divya had been delayed for some time at the Festival of Spring on the previous night, so she emerged from her bedroom a little later the next morning. She went about her work in an unhurried manner, in delightful lassitude. By midday, the consciousness grew that a large number of guests would come in the evening to congratulate her. The very thought of the approaching evening thrilled her.
Divya recalled that on the previous night, the Acharya’s son, Rudradhir, had drawn his sword for the honour of being one of the bearers of her palanquin. Rudradhir had often been seen in the reception room of the palace, or at the evening gatherings. He always found the presence of Marish insufferable and would inject his conversation with bitterness. Her great-grandfather shut his eyes to this. Her grand-uncle, Vishnu Sharma, disgusted with Marish’s impertinence, would remain silent, and a smile of amusement would begin to play on the face of her uncle, Prabuddha Sharma. In his arrogant indifference, Marish would just laugh. Divya was both annoyed and curious at the antagonism between Rudradhir and Marish.
Rudradhir had been married two years earlier, but had later developed an infatuation for Divya. Though she held the Acharya’s family in great regard, Divya was not pleased at the prospect of becoming a mere second wife. Absorbed in such reflections, she waited for the evening.
A maidservant approached her and said, ‘Grandsire has asked for you, my lady.’ When Divya went to meet her great-grandfather the old sage fondly put his hand on Divya’s head and said, ‘Shrambak, the doorkeeper, informs me that someone has come to meet me in a chariot, and is presently waiting at the gate. I am somewhat tired after the strain of working late into the night. Can you go and receive this visitor and enquire from him the purpose of his visit?’
Divya proceeded directly to the reception room, followed by a maidservant carrying the welcome offerings and tambool1 on a silver platter. A tall, well-built Kshatriya youth, fair-complexioned like a Greek noble, but with eyes dark like those of a Brahmin, entered through the main gate, looking solemn and serious. He was dressed rather carelessly in expensive silken clothes. Divya did not take long to recognize him. He was none other than Prithusen, the champion swordsman of the previous night’s contest.
Divya greeted the youth by holding her palms together and touching her forehead. ‘Pray, come in,’ she said, and taking the platter from the maidservant’s hand, offered it to the visitor, ‘Please, Arya, partake of these.’
The visitor, looking distraught, acknowledged the greeting and before accepting the offering, said, ‘Gentle lady, I am Prithusen, son of Prestha, the merchant. I have come to beg for justice at the hands of the Chief Justice.’
From a cage hanging in the entrance of the reception room, a mynah cried out, ‘Men of firm resolve never stray from the path of justice!’
The hospitable smile on Divya’s face broadened into laughter at the words of the garrulous bird. ‘Pray, do partake of the offering,’ she said reassuringly to the visitor. ‘You will not have to return disappointed from the House of Justice. Even the unlettered mynah bears testimony to this.’
‘I have complete faith in the assurance given by you,’ said Prithusen in a voice tinged with humility. Sitting down on a seat indicated by Divya, he took the betel nut from the platter.
‘I hope you will not mind, but my great-grandfather’s health does not permit him to see you at present,’ Divya said, taking a seat near him.
Prithusen expressed concern for the health of the aged Chief Justice and got up in confusion. He again expressed his satisfaction at the assurance given by the Chief Justice’s great-granddaughter—that justice would not be denied to him. Asking for permission to visit again, he took his leave. As he was about to go, Divya’s grand-uncle, Pandit Vishnu Sharma, and her uncle Prabuddha Sharma entered the reception room. Both looked grave and were deep in conversation.
Prabuddha Sharma greeted the visitor, saying, ‘Prabuddha Sharma offers his salutations.’
Vishnu Sharma, on the other hand, threw a sidelong glance at Prabuddha Sharma, and gave the minimum salutation. ‘Greetings to the visitor,’ he said, and turned away.
Prithusen had already paid his respects. Seeing that the elderly gentlemen looked preoccupied, and not wishing to intrude, he simply acknowledged their greetings and left.
‘You honoured the son of a slave-charioteer with an offering?’ Vishnu Sharma said, addressing Divya. ‘You do not deserve to be a Brahmin but a disciple of the Buddha like your uncle Prabuddha Sharma.’
Divya was crestfallen at the reproachful remark of her grand-uncle, but Prabuddha Sharma retorted to the sarcasm. ‘Father, Prithusen’s father was at one time a slave. Today he is the owner of many slaves. Besides, he is the biggest merchant of Sagal and chief adviser to the President of the Republic. Who is there that can ignore him in Sagal? And Father, Prithusen carries with him not a fan, as slaves do, but a sword! What do you say, Divya? I think he fully deserved to be honoured, dear.’
Vishnu Sharma was agitated. ‘He deserves to be honoured, does he? Simply because he has accumulated wealth? It is because you move in the company of Buddhist monks and the Greeks, because of this pride in wealth,’ Vishnu Sharma’s voice grew sharp, ‘that this son of a slave had the audacity, last night, to compete with the sons of the twice-born Brahmin nobles and to put his shoulder to the palanquin of the Daughter of Saraswati. When Rudradhir tried to prevent him, he pulled out his sword ready to fight. To think that a slave can have the effrontery to draw his sword against a Brahmin! It is such wickedness that reduces the caste system and our dynastic rule to dust.’
‘But, Father,’ replied Prabuddha Sharma, smiling, ‘change comes in the life of man as well as in the status of his dynasty. Even the imperial Mauryas were at one time a family of barbers. Later, the whole of India bowed to them, and the most eminent Brahmin, Chanakya, served as their minister.’
‘The earth has been cleansed of that wickedness,’ said Vishnu Sharma. ‘It was to raise his own worthless position and to degrade the caste system that Ashoka joined the ranks of the tonsured Buddhists. If the deity is more powerful than man, and Brahmins who bear the sacred fire are a part of the deity, then they cannot be on the same footing as Sudras. In the yore when the fire-bearing Brahmin pronounced his curse, sinners were destroyed and the earth was rid of sin. Yesterday, while daring to compete with the sons of the nobility, this son of a slave pulled out his sword. If he had not withdrawn, he would have paid with his blood for his arrogance. This problem has arisen because of lack of understanding on the part of the President of the Republic. This kingdom belongs to the caste dynasty of Madra, not to the Buddhist dharma-chakra1 of that Greek, Milinda. How dare the low-caste wretches say: “It is by his actions that a man becomes a Brahmin.” Only the Creator, who has conferred the divine nature on him, can deprive a Brahmin of participation in His divinity. No mortal can do that. Will these close-shaven Buddhists dislodge Indra, the God of Rain, too from his place, if ever the rains are delayed? Will they say: “It is by one’s actions that one attains godhood?” Such heresy will not be tolerated in Sagal any more. We shall pull out the tongue of the sinner. Very likely, Prithusen came to seek justice at the hands of grandsire, didn’t he …?’
‘But, Father,’ said Prabuddha Sharma, speaking in a tone of mild amusement, well hidden out of regard for the old man, ‘Just as proof of the deity’s existence is not absolute, the conception of the deity is also a matter of faith and inference.’
‘That is the absurd reasoning of the close-shaven Buddhists,’ replied Vishnu Sharma agitatedly. ‘What is proof? The utterance of a sage is proof enough. The word of one who knows is proof for one who does not know. The proof of a Brahmin’s authority lies in his power.’ Then, pointing to the diamond-studded bracelet on Prabuddha Sharma’s arm, he said excitedly, ‘Why wear these ornaments?’ He pointed to the uttariya covering Prabuddha’s shoulder and said, ‘Why these costly clothes, when even slaves and Sudras go about wearing such, nay, even costlier clothes and ornaments? Do these serve today as an indication of caste, family or authority? If rubies can be had for the asking, then why wear them on your forehead? If the Sudra and the slave can also acquire the same rights and privileges as the twice-born Brahmin, then wherein does greatness of Brahminism lie? Is the power of the Brahmin’s mantra and of the Kshatriya’s sword meant only to serve the Sudra?’ Face flushed with anger, he strode off towards his own chambers.
Embarrassed at the anger of her grand-uncle, Divya stood gazing at the floral pattern drawn on the floor, twisting a corner of her dress between her fingers.
‘You need not feel depressed, my dear,’ said Prabuddha Sharma reassuringly. ‘A guest must be treated with due honour. Your grand-uncle did not want to greet the son of a slave, but he too acknowledged his greetings. How could he be indifferent to the prevalent customs of Madra?’
Touched by her uncle’s sympathy, Divya became even more agitated. She covered her face with her stole, so as to hide her tears, and stood there with her head bowed.
‘Silly girl,’ said Prabuddha Sharma, affectionately stroking her back. ‘Why should you feel hurt that your grand-uncle holds such views? Have you ever seen intellectuals agreeing on anything in the gatherings arranged by your great-grandfather? And are they all fools? Will you call Acharya Pravardhan a fool, or Pandit Ikrid or the venerable Buddhist, Dharma Rakshit, or Cheebuk or Marish?’
Divya wiped her eyes and said in a faltering voice, ‘Yesterday evening, it was the Council that gave Arya Prithusen the title of the best swordsman. How am I to blame for that?’
‘Of course, you are not to blame,’ agreed Prabuddha Sharma playfully. ‘That young man, to have the chance of demonstrating his regard for you, was ready to shed the blood of Rudradhir, the Acharya’s son. Why shouldn’t you respect him? The people of Madra do not have ungrateful blood in their veins.’
Taking Prabuddha Sharma’s sinewy hand tenderly into hers, Divya said, ‘Uncle, was it Prithusen, then? Is my grand-uncle annoyed with him because of that? The palanquin was high up and there was a crowd of people, so I couldn’t make out.’
‘Yes, yes. Let’s go in,’ he said and putting his arm tenderly round Divya, moved towards the door, which led to the interior of the house. ‘No wonder. Those who ride in palanquins are never able to see the bearers. Dear girl, tell the maidservant to prepare my bath. I perspired greatly on the way and am covered with dust.’
Divya could not directly go and convey the news to her great-grandfather about the purpose of Prithusen’s visit. Night came, but the Chief Justice, preoccupied with numerous matters, was still surrounded by visitors. The subject kept working in her mind the entire evening. She would begin to ponder on it for a number of reasons, among them the attitude of her grand-uncle Vishnu Sharma, and her own involvement in the incident. She knew that the news of Prithusen’s untowardly behaviour must have already reached her great-grandfather, surrounded as he was by numerous guests. More than telling him about Prithusen’s visit, she wanted to know his views on the matter.
Divya’s anxiety caused her to vacillate. Had she conveyed the news to her grandsire before brooding over it, there would have been no difficulty. But now she felt a certain reticence in broaching the subject; it was not proper to keep quiet about it either. She had assured Prithusen of justice, had given him her word. How could she remain indifferent? She had never paid much attention to the discussions on the subject of justice that went on around her great-grandfather. But now there was no excuse for passivity.
Divya went to her great-grandfather only next day at noon, when she found him alone, resting in his room. The elderly sage was reclining against a pillow on his bed. Stroking his snow-white hair, Divya gave him news of Prithusen’s visit, and also casually mentioned the attitude of her grand-uncle, Vishnu Sharma.
With his hand to his forehead, the old man listened to all that she had to say. When Divya fell silent, he looked up, and seeing that she was waiting for a reply, said, ‘My child, I believe Devi Mallika has recovered from her grief and is once again devoting herself to her art.’
‘Yes, Grandfather,’ answered Divya, her eyes resting on his hair. ‘Now there is regular training in her palace. She has also taken on a few new pupils.’
‘There is nothing more paralysing than grief at the death of one’s own child,’ said the old man, heaving a deep sigh. ‘Which of her pupils does Mallika propose to appoint as her successor? Does any one of them have the same talent as Ruchira? Mallika used to say that you and Ruchira were to her like her own two eyes.’
‘I think she will select Madulika … but she is not fully satisfied with her yet. Madulika lacks the ease and grace of movement that Devi Mallika has.’
‘Yes, you are right, I think. It is asking a great deal of Mallika’s successor to have the same talents as she has. Nature does not always manifest itself in the same way. In her time, Mallika even excelled her teacher, Indira. People completely forgot Indira …’
Divya was feeling restless. Her great-grandfather had not paid any attention to the question that she had, with difficulty, put before him. ‘Grandfather, isn’t it true that all citizens are equal in the eyes of the law?’
Removing his hand from his forehead and placing it on Divya’s head, he said in an amused tone, ‘Child, why must you bother about these complicated things when you have your garland-weaving, painting and music to occupy you?’ But then his voice changed, ‘Divya, there was one kind of justice during the reign of King Paurav and a different kind in the days of the victorious King Milinda, and now we have yet another one in the kingdom of the caste dynasty.’ After a slight pause he continued, ‘Justice is not an independent and self-existent entity. It is a manifestation of the aspirations of a society and the system prevailing in that society. Having administered justice for such a long time, I have come to the conclusion that justice is subservient to the ruler. During the days of my father, may his memory be revered, the verdicts of the Paurav dynasty and of its nobility, and the system that protected their rights and privileges, represented justice. In the days of the victorious King Milinda, justice meant divesting the Pauravas of all their power and protecting the rights of King Milinda and his nobles. At that time, in the kingdom of Madra, the Buddhist tenets constituted justice and animal sacrifice became a crime. Under the present rule of the caste dynasty of Madra, the power of the noble families forms the basis of legislation. The caste system once again is being given the place of honour.’
