Kaling Vijay

As the moon rose high in the sky and the beautiful twilight faded away, the emperor heard terrible cries emerging from the battlefield. He heard faint screaming of women and weeping children shaking the delicate heart of the night. Rushing out his tent, he walked toward the battlefield which he had just triumphed. The last battle of the rebellion against him. The last battle to make Magadh the greatest empire in the world. And he had proudly won. He had won the glorious title of the universal emperor that no king had ever won and probably no one would ever win. The furious lion of Maurya Dynasty had roared for the last time and it would echo in all directions. Let the Greeks and Syrians hear who had been fancying to invade this empire that what he had achieved today. Or even they would bow down to his feet. While all the thoughts of his glorious victory were consoling his mind, he constantly heard those disturbing cries and screams. Now even his own body started to burn.

As he gazed in the horizon at the battlefield, the misery of fate struck him like the Vajra of Indra. He saw thousands of pyres burning and thousands of corpses laying on the ground, severely wounded and rotting on the beautiful face of the earth. He saw thousands of widows crying over their dead husbands and even more orphans screaming for their father. He saw the poor mothers begging the great lord to return them their sons. And when the god didn’t listen, they cursed the one who unleashed this dreadful act upon their children. They cursed him for lifetime of misery. They cursed him in the most hideous words that ever existed. They cursed him for the darkest future a man could get. They cursed him for the agony beyond the hell.

The wind of misery blew so quietly as if every particle of the world was mourning for the dead and cursing the emperor for his dreadful acts upon the children of nature. He saw the flag of Magadh hoisting gloriously in the middle of the battlefield, just beside the pile of corpses that lay savagely wounded on the ground. And there he saw his magnificent sword buried in someone’s heart. Its spectacular blade glimmered as the moonlight reflected upon its surface. But the glimmer died where the blood had stained the blade. The emperor stood there, frozen, mortified, cursed. He felt his knees shaking above his feet and his whole body burning with the fire of those countless pyres. He felt his heart sinking into darkness of misery that was unleashed upon him by his own fate. He felt his heart burning in utterly infinite agony, unleashing the curses of all those poor mothers, widows and orphans. And amidst the smoke of misery, his heart flowed the purest tears from his eyes. The tears of grief.

“What have I done?” cried the emperor in agony. “I wanted to create an enormous unconquerable empire. And I… I killed the people whom I wanted to be a part of it. Those people whom I wanted to call mine, I killed them along with a last hope of eternal glory. If this is a triumph, then what is losing? If this is the victory, then what is destruction? These poor mothers are cursing the man who took away the lives of their beloved sons. These widows are crying because of the man who took away the lives of their holder. I unleashed the most dreadful disaster upon these innocent children by snatching away their fathers from their lives. I, who wanted to become father of all, couldn’t even understand the heart of a child. I have become the greatest emperor on the earth, and yet I failed everything that I had. I failed my dynasty. I failed my grandfather. I failed my mother. I failed Devi and my children. I failed Magadh. What have I become? A bloodthirsty monster who wants everyone that don’t bow down to him dead. And today, I’ve become their darkest nightmare. A monster who kills young men to feed his arrogance. Even though I had won the three world, what would I do if I have no one to share it with? O God! What have I done?”

And thus, shaken by the grief of the destruction that was unleashed by him, he cried the purest tears. An arrow of righteousness struck his heart, piercing the armour of fury and rage. As soon as his heart knew the peace, grief of all his mischiefs came rushing toward him, striking his inner self down. The emperor fell upon his knees, struck by the sudden flow of emotions and shattered on the dusty battlefield.

The beautiful night and the glorious moon witnessed the conqueror of the world shattering like plant in storm. They witnessed his grief. They saw him suffering in the agony of all those who had died because of him. That was the process of transformation. That grief indeed wiped off all the rage from his heart and gave it peace. The world had never seen such a conqueror, and nor had it seen him falling apart.

However, the real glory was yet to come; for him to become the emperor of the emperors. The one who would rise beyond the glory of three worlds. The one whose silent roar would echo through the eternity while only one heart would beat in this whole empire. The one who would become beloved of gods, before whom the entire world would bow in respect, not in fear. The one who would rule the millions of hearts with his righteousness and peace. The emperor that was laying amidst the dust, grieving on his deeds, was not really the conqueror of the world. But the one who would rise after the nightfall, would bring a new era to the mankind. His journey would begin now. Dharmashoka would rise while Chandashoka had burnt in grief.

And then, as the new day began, the emperor rose with a new heart in his body, the purest one. And the rising sun witnessed the white light of righteousness spreading across the horizon as the conqueror of three worlds rose upon his feet.