The rainy season was giving way to autumn as a procession of elephants, horses, and carriages moved through the Vindhya forestlands at a careful pace. It had been a week since their last stop at Airikina Nagar, and the forestland was thickening. They had to be careful; the soldiers strode on with their spears raised, senses alert. The rain had delayed them too long. Horses often slipped on the flooded, muddy roads, and the delay was making the newly appointed Viceroy of Avanti Nagar impatient. The forestland of Sal, Tendu and Saja trees was slowly beginning to turn yellow as the crispy leaves rustled in the breeze. He would have hunted leopards and tigers on the way had it been a pleasure trip. Bears were often spotted near water bodies where they stopped to quench their thirst and rest for the night. Antelopes were hunted by soldiers for meat, and rations were refilled on the way at Kakrehta. The grey clouds were occasionally hovering over the autumn blue sky, offering showers of relief to the entourage in the scorching heat, and once the clouds cleared above the cliff, in the distance, their destination, Vidisha Nagari, was visible.
The young prince and his entourage had arrived at Vidisha Nagari after thirty days of travelling from the capital. His destination was Ujjaini, where unrest was reported by the Nagarpal to the emperor in Pataliputra. From the fortified city of the capital, bidding adieu to his mother and brother, the young prince was on a mission to subjugate an internal rebellion. The king had instructed him to hear the grievances, analyse the cause of the rebellion, and make sure it was solved. But just in case that did not work, the prince of Magadha had other plans. Vidisha Nagar had no palace for him to rest at. Instead, owing to his status as a lesser prince in the royal family, this young man was instructed to reach the house of an eminent Vaishya man, an influential figure nevertheless in Vidisha. The horse of the prince galloped down the main street, crowded with onlookers, catching a glimpse of the ill-tempered young son of the emperor, who looked intimidating. The tan on his skin and the scars on his body were evident signs of a life he had been offered, outside the palace walls, as governor across the land. The horses turned from the town square, where shops had been closed for his arrival and entered a private lane that housed the mansions of the noblemen. The intricately carved wooden door, panelled with iron casting, was thrown open, and flowers and perfumes showered from the first-floor windows by servants upon his arrival. The prince was pleased when the man of the house walked out, bowing to welcome him into his humble abode. As he entered the outer courtyard that was decorated with fresh flowers and soft cushions laid on the mats waiting for him to rest, he could smell the aroma from the kitchen somewhere on the upper floor. The soak well was filled with fresh water and petals of flowers to help him rejuvenate before an array of juices, freshly cut fruit and a sumptuous lunch arrived. The nobleman and his sons waved the fan for the prince themselves, reminding him how guests were gods. It was important for this merchant of Vidisha Nagar to win the approval of the royals. He had been one of the most influential people of his community, and the royal prince accepting the invitation of a Buddhist family to stay at their place was going to help his image. After eating his fill, the prince was taken to the upper-floor chamber, with a soft bed, a private terrace and a washroom, to rest his tired body. The soldiers and servants were given the ground-floor quarters that consisted of smaller rooms, large ventilators and no windows. They did not care much for the size of their rooms, as they wanted to rest for the two days they could spare before another week-long journey to the city of Mahakal.
The prince, however, was restless. He had been thinking about this opportunity to please his father for too long, and he could not mess it up. He twisted and turned in the soft bed despite the cool breeze, the feast he had gorged on and the aroma of freshly placed flowers in his chamber. He sat up, hearing the birds sing outside his window in the terrace garden as he walked out, drawing his Uttoriyo over his bare chest. The terrace looked over the orchard of the merchant’s house, and on the other side, guarded by a wall of separation, was the private terrace of the home. The sound of someone watering the plant, humming something, alarmed him as he placed his hand on the dagger on his waistband almost in a reflex. But it sounded like a girl who was chanting unmindfully between her chores. He tried to sneak a glance, out of sheer curiosity, but could see nobody. It was then that her mother perhaps called her, asking her to help her sibling out, and he could sense the hurried footsteps going down the staircase on the other side.
“Devi.” He murmured, repeating the mother’s words under his breath. He wondered what his mother was doing that dusk, after she had oiled and braided her hair and placed fresh flowers on them. He wondered if Vitashok was still frolicking with his friends, refusing to come home. The sooner he could write back home with the news of success, the sooner he could hear from them again.
He heard footsteps again, this time of his guards as they bowed and said the Nagarpal of Vidisha had arrived to see him. He remembered his promise to meet the eminent noblemen of every city he visited. So bracing himself for some politics and a lot of politeness, he agreed to go down to the courtyard. The Nagarpal perhaps did not expect the prince to be so young. The look of shock reflected on his face for a moment as he bowed.
“Kumar Ashok, we are privileged to have you here among us,” he acknowledged the man’s words, although he knew in his heart what all of them were thinking. How he, an inexperienced young prince who had never been to Ujjain, could go on such an important mission. His stepbrothers wanted him to fail, perhaps his father too. The citizens doubted him. He was going to prove everyone wrong.
“Come, let’s catch a glimpse of him.” Devi sat on the porch, drawing out tiny pebbles from the pulses she was given to cook by her mother, as her younger sister insisted. Devi ignored her words and continued with her chore as her sister frowned slightly.
“It is not every day that a prince comes by. Aren’t you curious how he is?” She nagged. Devi looked up briefly from her pail of pulses. Her doe eyes were drawn with Kajal, and her dusky skin complemented the yellow cloth that was wrapped around her bare shoulders. She shook her head, her gold earrings waving a little with her shake of head, as she bit her lower lip and concentrated back on the pulses. Once she was done, she walked back through the inner corridor to the kitchen, where the maid took over the pulses, and her mother looked pleased with her task. As she turned to leave, she heard her sisters-in-law gossip in the inner chambers.
“Is he really a prince if his mother was the royal barber?” One of them whispered.
“Maybe he is of lowly birth, and that makes him unlike other royals; have you not heard about his ill temper and cruelty?”
“Those are just rumours,” one of them disagreed. “My father was in Pataliputra when his mother was married to the king. They said she belonged to a Brahmin family from Champa and was prophesied by an Ajivika saint to birth a prince.”
“How do you know those aren’t stories to make up for the fact that the prince is of lowly birth?” Another countered. “And how do you know he is?” The debate seemed to go on for long. Devi did not stop by for it, nor did she care to. She had her chores, her lessons and meditation one after another. She remembered her lesson as a Buddhist, not to judge one by birth but by their actions as human beings. If the rumours of his atrocities were indeed true, he was not fit to be the governor. She wondered to herself. Truth be said, she had an eagerness to catch a glimpse of the prince like her sister wanted to, but there was a part of her that thought it was unnecessary.
At dawn, when Devi collected flowers to make garlands in the garden, she met her friends. They were daughters of other merchants, neighbours she had grown up with.
“What are you doing here so early in the morning?” She enquired as they giggled. “Have you forgotten? Our families have come for the feast today. Our mothers are helping yours; our fathers and brothers are already in their best attire in the outer courtyard waiting for the prince. We came by because…” they eyed each other unsurely, “We wanted to make garlands that we hoped could… umm…be gifted to the prince.” Devi’s hand stopped as she eyed them suspiciously and broke into laughter.
“You want to gift a prince of Magadha your wildflower garlands? Have you not heard how arrogant he is?” She dismissed their ideas as they frowned. “But it is tradition to offer the prince gifts.”
“Hence your families are giving him clothes, jewellery and whatnot.” Devi shrugged. “Now you must excuse me.”
“Where are you off to, Sakhi?” They asked, startled. “Will you not be present for the feast?”
“ I have promised the monastery to volunteer for the sick.” Devi reminded them, “If my work is done, I will perhaps return by lunch.” She did not promise.
“She talks of arrogance…” one of them wondered aloud, watching her go. “What will people say to her actions?”
“She is very dedicated to the cause of the monastery.” Another defended, “Perhaps her work for god comes before she serves the country.”
The Prince of Magadh was lost in thought. He had made his way quietly through the orchards to the bank of the Betwa. The water shone in the autumn sun, clouds still floating across the sky, accumulating for a shower at a distance. He watched the serene leaves rustle, the birds singing, and did not wish to be reminded by his bodyguards, who followed him quietly, that it was time to join the noblemen again for lunch. He had spent his entire morning meeting influential people of Vidisha and receiving gifts from their families. The young daughters of these noblemen, dressed in their finest clothes, came to offer him garlands they had made. The guards who received them on his behalf were told to discard the withering garlands and keep the clothes and offerings for later. But he needed a break from the constant public appearance. When was the last time he could pause? He had been running since he could remember. From Gurukul, to learning warfare, to trying to compete with his brothers and impress his father, then from place to place, administration to administration. Even returning home to visit his mother had been received with scrutiny. He had not stopped and reflected for a long time. He excused himself before lunch, for a while to be on his own. The sound of a pitcher being filled alarmed him. Could it be some animal? Or perhaps a maid? Was it someone spying on him? He peeked behind the bush that separated the source of the sound from him, out of curiosity and watched a girl bend over the bank, a pitcher in her hand, filling it. Her hair was made into a large bun secured with studs, and she wore armlets, anklets and gold earrings that made it abundantly clear that she was not a maid. He tried to remember the women he had seen in the morning. None of them wore the shade of indigo that she was wearing. He cleared his throat, making the girl stop filling her pitcher, alarmed as she stood up and turned to him. At first glance, Devi was unsure who this stranger was in their orchard. But seeing the guards quickly made her realise that she was standing before the prince of Magadh. She had the pitcher on her lap; bowing with it could disbalance her and break it. She had assumed she would quietly fill the pitcher and take it back to the sick woman she was attending to. She did not expect anyone in the orchard. Ashoka watched her dilemma as she bowed, nodding at him helplessly as he nodded back, making her stop.
“I thought you were an intruder.” He narrowed his brows, observing. “Are you?”
Devi looked up at his words, brows arched, her thin lips pressed slightly as she shook her head.
“I am Shakyakumari Devi… I…” The name sounded familiar as he nodded.
“Devi? The daughter of the house?” He spoke before she could. She smiled faintly, wondering how he knew her by name.
“What are you doing here?” Devi did not like the interrogation in her own home. He was the one who was the guest. But he was also the prince.
“I came by to fetch water for someone I am caring for…” She asserted. “At the monastery.” She cleared her throat. “I apologise; I did not know that you…” He smiled faintly and shook his head.
“You serve the monastery?” He was eager to know, for he had never heard of noble families serving ailing citizens at the monasteries.
“We all do.” She said almost defensively. “It is how we serve god and the greater good, as Lord Buddha once said.” Her invoking of the name reminded him that the house lacked a shrine or a temple, because they were Buddhist.
“Where is the monastery?” He asked, unsure of what more to say. Devi pointed north. “Beyond the boundary of the city.”
“Does it not scare you?” He asked, surprised. “Travelling so long, alone, away from the city?” She shook her head. “I’m protected by my good deeds.” Her words were of unwavering faith. The prince of Magadha realised that for the first time, a girl his age had not tried to impress him, ogle at him or try to look presentable. He stared at her dusky skin radiating in the sunlight, her unmanaged locks swaying over her eyes drawn with Kajal and her fluttering lashes.
“Devi?” He repeated her name as if to remember it. “I will not keep you from your work.” He turned to leave, as the guards followed him, and Devi heaved a sigh, wondering if he would complain to her father about her absence.
The family had arranged for a feast for the prince on the rooftop, on the last night before his departure. His entourage made merry in the outer courtyard while noblemen and merchants of Vidisha joined him on the roof. On one wing of the square roof, the womenfolk gathered- noblewomen, their daughters-in-law and daughters and on the opposite wing, the men made merry. The moon shone bright over them, as the lamps burnt on the mats laid with the feast for the evening. Musicians entertained the guests. The prince of Magadha stared up at the clear sky with a veil of stars and almost involuntarily noticed someone familiar on the other side. He looked up to see Devi, in a white drape, her hair braided and falling to her hip, talking to a child on the parapet of the roof on the other side. He wondered what wisdom she was imparting to the child. There was something in her demeanour, her face and her being that made her look wiser than the women around her. He could not quite place what it was. But it was not long before Devi looked up, colour fading slightly from her face as she noticed him. She turned her back to him, almost in a reflex, as he continued to observe her and she disappeared into the crowd of women, away from his view.
“Do you not sleep?” Devi stopped humming the tune of the musician as she held her breath and turned to face the prince of Magadha. This time, she bowed, as he nodded in acknowledgement. He then looked amused, a smile forming in his thick, chapped lips as he asked, “Do you not sleep?” Devi could not tell him how she shared a room with her nieces and nephews whose wet nurses had to put them to sleep before she slipped into the comfort of her bed. Instead, she stood there, unsure of what to tell him.
“I am leaving tomorrow.” He said quite abruptly. “For Ujjain.” She knew that, and nodded in silence.
“There is a rebellion that needs to be dealt with.” His words were spoken staring into the distant darkness of the orchard behind her as she looked up at him.
“It is difficult, I heard.” She did not know what else to say. He smiled again. “It is; hence they sent me, not any other of my brothers.” The hint of pride in his voice was unmissed. Or perhaps it was vanity. Ego. Devi suddenly remembered how people spoke of this man’s violence. How perhaps Ujjain would face his wrath soon.
“Will you kill them?” She sounded almost scared. “The rebels?” Something in her voice said she did not approve of the idea.
“Should I not?” He asked, humouring himself with her question as she looked away.
“I am a follower of Shakya Muni; we do not believe in violence.” She said softly. “We believe everything can be resolved with meaningful communication.”
“One can’t run an administration without violence. It is a necessary evil.” he shrugged.
“Perhaps for the king. For us commoners, if we are executed for our grievances against the monarchy, then we will lose our voice and Magadh its ability to improve.” Devi looked a little wide-eyed as her throat felt dry. “I didn’t mean…” Ashoka gazed into her soul as she trembled a little, perhaps from the autumnal breeze. “I know what you mean.” He turned his back to her. “I will never forget my stay at Vidisha.” He spoke, and it rang like a warning in her ears, and he walked away. Devi watched him disappear into the night.
She had watched the entourage leave, making its way to Ujjain. She hoped she had not upset the prince and invited his wrath upon her family. But through her chores, her lessons and even her meditation, she could not keep him out of her thoughts. At last, she appeared at the threshold of her mother’s chamber, in the evening, and dared to ask, “Is it true what they say about Kumar Ashoka?” Her mother looked up from her scripture at her words, narrowing her brows.
“What do they say, Devi?”
“That he is of lowly birth and his mother was a barber.”
“I do not know much of his mother, but she was indeed the king’s barber. The other queens did not quite approve of his marriage to her.” She nodded. “He is also not considered equal in stature to his brothers; otherwise, why would he stay here and not at the Nagarpal’s mansion?” Her words made Devi reflect on her thoughts.
It had been months, and Devi was visiting the monastery regularly to volunteer. The monks knew her; the workers respected her. It was during one such visit that she overheard two patients speak of Ujjain.
"The men from Ujjaini were saying that Kumara Ashoka had stopped the rebellion there without a fight. He wisely dealt with the situation. Everyone was happy with him… He would make his way back to the capital soon." Devi wondered if he would stop by again. If he did, she meant to apologise for her bashfulness and perhaps ask him how he curbed the rebellion without bloodshed. She waited every day for her father to come home bearing news from the Nagarpal. Even the Nagarpal’s daughter was not sure the prince was coming their way. Devi did not know why she felt the longing to clear the misunderstanding she had with the prince she would perhaps never meet again.
A week later, as she made her way to the monastery, a monk took her aside and asked if she was willing to travel away from the family for a few days and help him heal an ailing patient not far from the city. Devi wasted no time agreeing; perhaps the change of place and focus on a patient was just what she needed to forget the mishap that was her own doing. She accompanied the monk to the caves just outside the premises in the forestland. On the way, the monk told her how he had found the man, stabbed and bleeding, perhaps attacked by looters. He would have died had the monks not been passing by. Devi was worried as she held the lamp up and followed the monk to the cave dwellings with her bundle. “He had lost too much blood for us to shift him to the monastery and…” The monk shrugged. “He is unconscious, so we cannot identify him yet.” Devi nodded as she stepped forward to check on the unconscious man, wrapped in the enbalments. A gasp escaped her lips. It was the prince of Magadha. Despite the scars on his body, the frailty of his stature and the sickness on his face, she was sure that before her lay the prince of Magadha. What happened to him?
It took another three days for the prince to open his eyes. He was immediately alarmed at the unfamiliar surroundings, the monks around him and the memory of being attacked by hired assassins. He was making his way back to Pataliputra, posting the entourage of soldiers who had travelled with him at Ujjain. He had written to the king and his mother about his success. The state of Magadha was bustling with praises of his achievement. He had managed to curb a rebellion without taking his sword out of the scabbard. Upon his arrival with the troops, watching him travel through the main streets, the citizens of Ujjain had surrendered, telling him they were forced to rebel by the Nagarpal. The Nagarpal was captured for treason to be executed as per the king’s order, and the desire to get approved by his father made the prince want to visit the capital soon. He missed his mother, to whom he wrote in great detail about the travels across the land and the people he encountered. He also wrote about Devi, the Buddhist girl who showed him another side of rebellion. He wanted to stop by Vidisha on the way back home. As he travelled through the forestland with his personal guards, they were attacked. He did not know what happened to his men, but he was sure that it was not some random looters. They would not dare to harm the prince of Magadha and not recognise his royal flag. It had to be hired assassins. It had to be one of his jealous, insecure half-brothers. Was it Sushima? He groaned in pain, as if thinking too much hurt him. The monks told him to stay put as they pushed some medicine down his throat. It was difficult to swallow, but he did. The stone-cold slab and walls made him ponder how he ended up there, but he had no strength to ask anyone.
At dawn, Devi walked into the cave with freshly made balms for his injuries. They needed to be dressed. The clothes on his injuries would be soaked with blood by now. She had heard from the monks that he had regained consciousness only for a short time. They were scared he had lost memory of his identity as he stared blankly at the ceiling of the cave. Devi walked up cautiously to the sleeping figure. Placing her bundle of roots and medicinal leaves she had collected in the morning beside his sleeping figure, she felt his forehead. It was burning with fever. Her cold touch made him stir a little as she drew her hand away and began to make the pastes. He moaned a little, asking for water perhaps, in a slurry, hoarse voice as she pushed the pail to his lips. He fluttered his eyes open to watch her bend over him, pouring water between his lips, looking pensive as he choked on the water. Devi panicked as she drew the pail away and tried to soothe his bare chest with her cold hand. His hand travelled to hold hers, making her stop.
“Devi?” Her name escaped his lips almost like a prayer as she nodded, relieved that he could recognise her and hence, perhaps, himself. He thought he was imagining her. It was some kind of side effect of his medicine until she spoke.
“Yes, it is me.” She nodded. He shut his eyes and groaned in pain again. His hand tightened over hers. She slipped her hand away from his and picked up the medicine. She poured it onto his lips. He drank it. She sat by his bedside, watching his measured breath as he slipped in and out of consciousness. In a few days, he was allowed to sit up. He insisted he was bored, watching the dark, damp cave all day, so Devi brought him scriptures to read aloud to him as he listened to the stories of Gautama Buddha and his teachings. She spoke of her childhood and her siblings as he listened, but barely spoke. He was beginning to walk again, taking careful steps with her help as she urged him to try again.
“You should write back home.” She insisted one day, as she finished writing a letter to her mother. He eyed her rolling up the scroll with a scrutinising glance, half leaning against the wall for support as he asked, “Have you told them that you found me?” She shook her head at his question. The rumour around Magadha was that Kumara Ashoka was missing and perhaps dead. His bodyguards had been found in the forest near Ujjain, assassinated. This could be the task of the rebels.
“But they should know you are alive…” She said, offering him an empty scroll. “Kumara..”
“It was not looters.” His monotonous voice made Devi narrow her brows.
“What?” She asked, as he nodded. “They were assassins. People hired to target…” he coughed a little as Devi raised the pail of water to his lips and glanced over her shoulder at the entrance of the cave.
“Do you fear they will know where you are and…” she almost gasped as he nodded.
“I cannot let my mother know of my whereabouts until I am fit to defend myself again.” Devi appeared to be lost in thought as he smiled faintly.
“Now you know, it is risky to be around me. Perhaps… you should leave.” his words made her shake her head. “I have vowed to nurse you back to health, and I will do as I promised to the monks.”
“They do not know who I am and the danger that can befall them if whoever attacked me knows about this place.” he tried to get up and winced a little. “I cannot put the people who saved my life in jeopardy.”
“Where will you go?” She asked, almost shocked at his words. “You cannot even walk properly.”
“If you lend me a few coins, I will hire a cart to take me to the forest. I will find another shelter for a few days to heal before I make my way back to Ujjain.” He seemed to have thought it out.
“So, you have decided?” Devi asked as he nodded. “Fine.” She stood up. “I will come by tomorrow after I arrange for a cart.” Ashoka looked up at her grim face.
“Have I upset you?” He asked as she smiled faintly.
“I have no right to be upset with the prince of Magadha. But as a Sevika, I can say that my patient is not ready to deal with the injuries alone.” She turned to leave. “How will you get food for yourself? How will you defend yourself from animals?”
“There is plenty of forestland where the tribes stay without fear of animals. I can live on fruits I find on the forest floor. I cannot risk staying near the monastery.” He shrugged. Devi walked away in silence.
At dawn, he stumbled towards the entrance to find a bullock cart, and Devi getting down from it. She had a bundle in her hand as she walked up to him and said she had arranged for some clothes, medicines and balms for his journey and some food for the way. He nodded, taking the bundle from her, thanking her for her services and reminding her she would be rewarded once he reached Ujjain. Devi smiled faintly as he turned to leave. She followed him to the bullock cart, where he turned and asked, “Could you spare me a few coins?”
“What do you need those for?” she asked.
“If I have to pay for…” his words died in his mouth as she mounted the cart before him, and he noticed a second bundle in the cart.
“Wh…where are you going?” He asked, furrowing his brows.
“I am bound by my vows to care for you.” She said, determined. “Besides, if they see you with a woman, it will help avoid suspicion.” He narrowed his brows slightly. “And what about… your home?”
“They know I am serving a patient. It does not matter where. When you are healed, I will leave. I promise.” He did not protest. In contradiction, he was grateful she was offering help. “But what if it puts you in danger?” He asked, worriedly. Devi smiled a little as she whispered, “I will be protected by Kumara Ashoka himself, should I be scared?”
He slid his bundle beside her, on the cart in silence, and got on to it, facing her. The cart started moving towards the forestland.
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