TWENTY-NINE
Bheeshma gave Drona a mansion to live in. It was no less than the home of any nobleman in Hastinapura and the granary in its yard was always full. He gave the brahmana and his son fine clothes; silks for his wife and ornaments fit for a queen. Bheeshma said, "From now you are not only the guardian of my grandsons but of this kingdom."
Drona bowed and accepted the charge, though he knew it would be a heavy one. The Kuru princes were summoned. When they prostrated themselves at his feet, one after the other, Drona blessed them. That first day of their tutelage, he said to them, "I have a mission that is close to my heart. Swear you will help me accomplish my mission and I will make great kshatriyas of you."
There was a moment's silence and no one spoke. They feared what impossible task he might ask them to perform. Then Arjuna stepped forward and said quietly, "I will do whatever you ask. I want to be a great kshatriya."
"Don't you want to know what I want from you?"
Arjuna shook his head. Drona knew his instinct had not betrayed him about this youth. He embraced the third Pandava and from that day he was his master's favorite pupil. From that day, also, Arjuna was Drona's most brilliant sishya and the most dedicated one; and his guru tried him harder than he did any other student.
The first years of the princes' education passed swiftly. Drona taught them not only the use of ordinary weapons, but initiated them into the secrets of the supernatural astras, each one ruled by a Deva. Not his brothers, the Acharya's own son, Aswatthama and certainly none of the others had the single-minded obsession for archery that Arjuna did.
Not a word or nuance of the guru's did that prince miss. He hung on his master's every flicker of instruction. During the bright fortnight of the month, Arjuna would be out all night, practising by moonlight. Drona watched him with satisfaction and even more than Aswatthama he thought of this Pandava as being his spiritual son.
It was customary for the princes to rise before the sun and set out together for the river to fill their water-pots. They had to walk between the river and their Acharya's house five times, before each one had filled the large urn kept for him in Drona's yard. Gone were their lazy, luxurious mornings for Duryodhana and his brothers. Drona's severe discipline and his intolerance of weakness soon began to make men of the spoilt Kauravas also. Yet, that master who otherwise made no difference between his own son and any of the others, made it a point to give Aswatthama a bigger water-pot than the ones the Kuru princes had.
The reason for this was subtle. Drona would never teach Aswatthama at home when the others were not present: all his students must have perfectly equal opportunity. But even the master was only human. If Aswatthama filled his urn before the rest and came into Drona's morning class before them, there was no reason why he could not impart some little archer's secret to his son before the others arrived. Aswatthama would, indeed, arrive at the lesson before the Kuru princes; while they must make the trip to the river five times, he, with his bigger pot, had filled his urn in just four. As he had told all his students he would, Drona began his lesson as soon as his first pupil arrived.
This went on for a month and Arjuna chafed at it. He ran back and forth from the river and arrived considerably ahead of his brothers and cousins. But he could never arrive until well after Aswatthama. Of course, he could not dream of accusing his master of being partial to his son.
At the end of that month, one day, Arjuna came for the morning lesson before Aswatthama did. Drona showed no surprise. Neither did he reveal if he regretted Arjuna's being early, or whether it was delight he felt; nor did he ask the Pandava how he had managed to come early today. The master merely began his lesson the moment his first pupil appeared before him. Soon, Arjuna not only caught up with Aswatthama he outstripped him.
Drona knew his prize sishya had understood one of the cornerstones of his teaching: the astras were not meant only for war; once one made friends of them, they could be used for everyday purposes. Drona knew how Arjuna had managed to come earlier than Aswatthama. He had not been to the river at all; he had used the varunastra, of the lord of oceans, to fill his urn.
Months passed and Arjuna's brilliance and his devotion to archery were unrivalled. Yet it always seemed that his Acharya was out to set all the obstacles he could in just this disciple's path. And as surely as a river will sweep past a tree that falls across its course, Arjuna overcame these. He grew sharper and more tenacious, because he had to fight his way to every morsel of knowledge his master had for him. That was how his guru chose to teach him.
One day, Drona called the palace cook. He said, "You will never serve Arjuna in the dark, without at least a lamp burning beside him."
So sternly did he say this the cook obeyed him implicitly. Early one night of a new moon, Arjuna sat eating alone. He had been out practising his archery all evening, until there was no light left to shoot by. He sat next to a window in the dining room, with his food and a lamp burning before him. A gust of wind blew out the flame and he was left in perfect darkness. Still he ate on, his hand travelling instinctively to his plate and then to his mouth with the food he had picked up, though he could not see it. A smile spread on his face. The lesson had not escaped that boy of genius.
He finished his meal quickly, leaving half his food uneaten on his plate. He picked up his bow and quiver and ran out into the moonless night. The targets of the day still hung on tree-branches. Arjuna took up his position as usual, some fifty yards from them. His eyes shut, he fitted arrow after arrow to his bow and shot at those invisible targets, first with his left hand and then the right: he was perfectly ambidextrous.
When he had emptied his quiver, he went to see how he had fared. His accuracy had been significantly greater in the dark. He had brought every target down. With a cry of joy, he hung them up again. Now there was no time of the month when he could not practise his archery. From the pitched night behind him, someone applauded softly. Arjuna whirled around. The tall figure of his master stepped out into the starlight and embraced him.
"Every amavasya night, for a year, I have waited for you. At last you have come. Arjuna, I have never seen an archer like you. I swear I will make you the greatest bowman in the world. Yes, even greater than your guru, devoted child."
From that night on, Dronacharya held nothing back from Arjuna. Soon his students had mastered the basic skills of archery and fighting with the javelin, the sword, the spear, the dagger and the little dart. Next, they learnt to fight from horseback and to shoot, hew and thrust at moving targets. They went on to hand-to-hand combat, fighting each other with every conceivable weapon, except the astras.
Each student was blessed with different gifts. There was no one to touch Arjuna at archery. Being his father's son, Aswatthama was unmatched in the lore and the mantras of the devastras. Yudhishtira quickly proved himself a master charioteer; no one could come near him at either speed or maneuvering. Bheema and Duryodhana's bitter rivalry found legitimate expression in the mace pit. Both of them were magnificently built and their strength far exceeded their brothers' and cousins'. They were so evenly matched at the mace there was nothing to choose between the two red-eyed princes when they fought.
Sahadeva and Nakula were better swordsmen than all the others: when the twins faced each other, it was hard to tell who was faring better, especially when they wore identical clothes and armor.
But there was no complete kshatriya among them like Arjuna. He was a close second to the best in every other discipline and he was far, far ahead of the others at archery. As for his foresight, his presence of mind and his devotion to his master, he was without equal by a long way. Young Arjuna's fame as a total warrior spread through the land. Soon Drona had more pupils than he cared to, many of them from the most far-flung kingdoms in Bharatavarsha.
The tale is told of a small competition Drona once held to test his pupils' skills at archery. He had the palace carpenter carve a green bird in wood, so it looked exactly like a little barbet. Drona called a young gardener who was the best tree-climber in the palace. He told him to secure the bird in a branch of a tall jamun tree growing in the Acharya's own garden.
When this was done, the master summoned his disciples. He had a test for them, he said. He made the boys stand side by side, their bows armed with arrows and the strings drawn back. Ready to shoot at his word, the princes stood tensely, in a row, facing the jamun tree from a hundred yards away.
Drona said to his wards, "Relax perfectly and concentrate; this will not be easy. You must bring the bird down from the tree with a single arrow."
After another moment, he called, "Yudhishtira, come forward."
The eldest prince stepped smartly forward beside his guru. He raised his bow and drew back the bowstring. Drona pointed at the lofty branch of the jamun, where, to the untrained eye, nothing except some blurry leaves were visible.
"Do you see the bird in the branch?"
"I do."
"What else do you see?"
"I see the branch, the tree. I see you Acharya and my brothers here."
Drona knit his heavy brows. "You may step back, Yudhishtira. You won't strike the bird with one arrow. Duryodhana, come forward."
Duryodhana stepped forward. Here was a chance to beat the Pandavas, since Yudhishtira at least had failed the Acharya's test.
"Do you see the bird in the tree?"
"I do."
"What else do you see?"
"I see the tree and you Acharya."
Drona said, "Step back, Duryodhana, you will not hit the bird."
One by one, he called up all his pupils. All of them saw the bird in the tree and besides they saw the tree and their master; and many saw their brothers and cousins as well. Drona made all of them step back, without letting them shoot at the bird. To each one he said, "You will not find the target with one arrow."
Just four princes were left who had not been called up: Nakula and Sahadeva, Aswatthama and Arjuna.
"Nakula, step forward."
"Do you see the green bird in the tree?"
"I do."
"What else to you see?"
"I see the tree, Acharya."
"What else?"
"Nothing else. I see nothing else."
"Step back. You won't bring the bird down with one arrow."
It was Sahadeva's turn. He saw the bird, the branch on which it was perched and nothing else. Drona said to Sahadeva, "Can you describe the bird to me?"
Slowly, the youngest Pandava said, "It is green. Its beak is red and its claws are blue, I think."
"Does it have feathers?"
"I can't see the feathers."
"Is it a real bird?"
"I couldn't be sure, but it hardly moves."
"Sahadeva, step back."
Just Aswatthama and Arjuna remained.
"Aswatthama, step forward."
"Do you see the bird?"
"I do."
"What else do you see?"
"Nothing, I see only the bird." There was a murmur from the others. They were silenced at once by a look from Drona.
"Can you describe the bird?"
"It is green and made of wood, with a red beak and feathers painted on. It is motionless."
"And its eyes, are they open or shut?"
"I can't be sure. Shall I bring it down?"
"You will miss the bird, Aswatthama. Don't waste your arrow, step back."
Only Arjuna was left. He remained motionless in the archer's stance, alidha, with not a muscle moving.
"Arjuna, step forward."
A lithe step, such a fluid movement and Arjuna had come forward a pace, wihtout lowering his bow. Drona smiled. Already, this pupil was different from the rest even in the way he moved. Arjuna's gaze was fixed on the branch. He seemed perfectly relaxed, as if he could stand as he was for a week.
"Do you see the bird on the branch, Arjuna?"
"I do."
"What else do you see?"
"Nothing else."
"Can you describe the bird to me?"
"Its eye is open, staring."
"What else?"
"Its head is round."
"What about its wings, its feet?" asked Drona, in mounting excitement.
"I don't see the bird's body, only its head."
"Bring it down, Arjuna."
Arjuna's arrow took the bird through its eye and it fell out of the tree. There was silence among the princes as Arjuna lowered his bow. Drona embraced him and said, "When the time comes, you will vanquish my father's sishya for me."
The master turned to his other pupils. "How could you bring the bird down unless you saw it properly first? That is what you must learn: to see the target and nothing else. Archery is no less than dhyana. Only he who treats it as such, only he who is reposed in his archery and gives himself to it utterly, can be a master. Aswatthama, you may or may not have brought the bird down. But what if the bird was an enemy and an archer himself? If you did not kill him with your first arrow, you would be a dead man. As for the rest of you, you were all dead men against a real archer. Never think of yourselves as shooting at targets that do not shoot back. That isn't the way of the warrior."
In his heart, Drona thought, 'Drupada, my Arjuna will make you humble again.'