CHAPTER 34: Boy's shattered dream and departure of Kauravas

In the heart of the dense forest, where the sounds of nature's orchestra played endlessly, Dronacharya continued his rigorous training of the young princes—both the Pandavas and the Kauravas. Under his watchful eye, they honed their martial skills, preparing for a future they could not yet comprehend.

Among the Kauravas, there existed an unspoken understanding that their guru, Drona, held a special affinity for the eldest Pandava, Arjuna. While this sentiment occasionally sparked flickers of jealousy and rivalry, the Kauravas were driven to train even harder, their determination to excel propelling them forward.

One day, as the sun cast dappled shadows through the thick foliage, a stranger entered their training ground. He was a young tribal boy, his skin kissed by the sun, and his eyes held the spark of curiosity and innocence. The training ground fell silent as all eyes turned toward this unexpected visitor.

Arjuna, in particular, was intrigued by the newcomer. His attention shifted from the bow he was stringing to the tribal boy who now stood confidently at the edge of their practice area. The tribal boy's presence was like a gust of wind in the still forest, a new element disrupting the familiar routine.

Arjuna approached him, his curiosity overcoming any initial trepidation. "Who are you?" Arjuna inquired, genuine interest in his voice. "And who is your guru?"

The tribal boy, his posture one of unwavering confidence, introduced himself, "I am Ekalavya, son of Hiranyadhanus, a member of the Nishada tribe. And my guru," he continued, "is none other than Dronacharya himself."

Arjuna's eyes widened with surprise. Dronacharya had many students, but this was the first time Arjuna had encountered someone who claimed to be a pupil of their revered guru. He exchanged a curious glance with his brothers, their collective interest piqued.

Dronacharya, who had been observing the interaction from a distance, approached the two young archers. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and realization as he met Ekalavya's gaze.

"Ekalavya," Arjuna inquired, "how is it that you are a student of Guru Dronacharya, and we were unaware of your presence?"

Ekalavya's voice remained respectful but firm. "My lord, Guru Dronacharya may not know me by name, but I have faithfully followed his teachings and learned archery under his guidance. I set up this statue as a representation of my guru."

With that, Ekalavya led them to a secluded cave. Inside, they beheld a finely carved wooden statue—a lifelike depiction of Dronacharya. It was surrounded by meticulously arranged offerings, evidence of Ekalavya's deep reverence.

Dronacharya gazed at the statue, his heart heavy with understanding. Ekalavya had forged a connection with him, albeit from a distance. He could see the dedication and respect in Ekalavya's eyes, and his heart softened.

"Ekalavya," Dronacharya began, "your devotion is commendable, and your skills are evident. But I must clarify something. While you have learned archery in my name, it was never my intent to have you as my formal disciple."

Ekalavya's eyes held no trace of disappointment or resentment. "My lord, I do not seek formal recognition or acceptance as your disciple. All I desired was to learn and grow in the art of archery. Your image and teachings have guided me through countless hours of practice, and for that, I am grateful."

In the tranquil setting of Dronacharya's ashram, where the rustling leaves whispered secrets to the wind, Ekalavya stood before his guru with unwavering reverence. The spark of innocence still glinted in his eyes, unaware of the heartache that would soon follow.

As Ekalavya, with utmost respect, sought his guru's guidance, Dronacharya was torn between his admiration for the boy's dedication and the weight of his responsibilities as the royal teacher of Hastinapur. He understood that Ekalavya had learned the art of archery through sheer determination and self-discipline, but Drona's heart remained heavy with a sense of duty toward the Kuru princes, especially Arjuna.

With a voice that carried the weight of an impending decision, Dronacharya asked, "Ekalavya, you have proven your dedication to the art of archery, and for that, you have my respect. But now, it is time for you to offer guru dakshina, the token of appreciation to your teacher."

Ekalavya's eyes shimmered with anticipation, eager to fulfill this request and strengthen his bond with his guru. "Guruji, I am ready and willing to offer whatever you desire as my guru dakshina. Please, tell me what you wish for."

Dronacharya's words came with a solemn gravity. "Ekalavya, what I seek from you is your right thumb—the very thumb that draws the bowstring and guides your arrows. With your thumb removed, you will never be able to wield a bow again."

The words hung in the air like an arrow poised for release, and Ekalavya's heart sank into a cavern of despair. He had dedicated his life to archery, and his thumb was the conduit through which his passion flowed. Yet, he had also taken an oath as a disciple, bound to obey his guru's command.

Tears welled up in Ekalavya's eyes, but he did not resist. Instead, he bowed his head and, with trembling hands, took a knife and severed his right thumb. Pain shot through his body, but it was nothing compared to the anguish that pierced his heart.

Dronacharya accepted the gruesome offering, his face an inscrutable mask of duty and determination. The severed thumb, once a symbol of Ekalavya's unparalleled skill, now lay before him, a testament to the heavy price he had paid for his devotion.

With a sense of finality, Dronacharya spoke, "Ekalavya, your sacrifice will forever be remembered as an example of unwavering dedication to one's guru. You are free to go now, and may you find a different path to walk in life."

As Ekalavya left the ashram, the world outside seemed different, as if the colors had faded and the songs of the forest had lost their melody. He could no longer draw his bow with the same precision and power, and the forest that had once been his sanctuary now felt unfamiliar and cold.

Word of Ekalavya's sacrifice spread like wildfire, a tale of devotion and heartbreak that echoed through the corridors of history. His severed thumb became a symbol of his unwavering commitment to his guru, even at the cost of his own dreams.

Arjuna, who had silently observed the entire ordeal, felt a profound sense of sorrow and guilt. He approached Dronacharya with a heavy heart, seeking understanding. "Guruji, why did you ask such a price from Ekalavya? Was there no other way?"

Dronacharya met Arjuna's gaze, his eyes reflecting the weight of his decision. "Arjuna, I asked for Ekalavya's thumb not because I doubted his skills, but because I foresaw the consequences. Had I taught him, he would have surpassed even you in archery. But in doing so, I would have made an enemy of Hastinapur. My duty is to protect the kingdom, and this was the only way to prevent that conflict."

Arjuna, torn between admiration for Ekalavya's dedication and loyalty to his guru, made a solemn vow. "Guruji, I promise you that I will become the best archer in the world. I will uphold the honor and dignity of Hastinapur with my skills. Ekalavya's sacrifice will not be in vain."

As Arjuna embarked on his journey to master the art of archery, Ekalavya receded into the shadows of history, his innocence forever lost to the forest that had once been his sanctuary. Dronacharya, too, carried the weight of his decision, a burden that would shape the destiny of the Kuru clan and the fates of its warriors.

The news of Dronacharya's unjust treatment of Ekalavya echoed through the corridors of the ashram and beyond, resonating with a sense of betrayal and disillusionment. The world of sages and gurus, renowned for their wisdom and fairness, could not fathom such discrimination and cruelty from a revered teacher.

As the word spread, other sages and gurus from various corners of the land were quick to condemn Dronacharya's actions. The art of imparting knowledge and skills, they argued, should be devoid of prejudice, open to all who sought to learn. To withhold knowledge or deliberately obstruct a student's growth, as Dronacharya had done with Ekalavya, was considered a grave transgression against the sacred duty of a guru.

Meanwhile, in Dronacharya's ashram, the Kauravas, led by Duryodhana, made a unanimous decision. They would no longer remain under the tutelage of a guru who practiced such blatant discrimination. Duryodhana, never one to shy away from asserting his beliefs, declared, "A guru is meant to guide, uplift, and empower all his students equally. We cannot accept such partiality."

Dronacharya, though shocked and saddened by his students' departure, did not attempt to restrain them. His own son, Ashwatthama, chose to stand with the Kauravas in this moment of moral reckoning. The bond between a guru and his disciples had been strained to the breaking point.

As the Kauravas and Ashwatthama left the ashram, a heavy silence settled over the once-thriving grounds. Dronacharya, torn between his duty as a teacher and the choices he had made, found himself in a state of profound introspection. He questioned the path he had chosen and whether he could redeem himself for the actions that had driven his most promising students away.

The Pandavas, who had also learned of their guru's actions, rushed to the ashram to prevent their cousins' departure. Yudhishthira, ever the peacemaker, implored the Kauravas to reconsider, reminding them of the bonds forged in their shared education. Bhima, the powerhouse of the Pandavas, offered to stand up against their guru for his injustice.

But Duryodhana, unyielding in his resolve, replied, "Our decision is final. We seek a guru who imparts knowledge without discrimination, one who upholds the true values of a teacher. We hold no ill will, but we must follow our principles."

Dronacharya, who had once been revered as one of the greatest gurus, watched as his prized students walked away, their footsteps echoing his failure to fulfill the sacred duty of a teacher.

The departure of the Kauravas and Ashwatthama marked a significant turning point in their lives and in the grand narrative of the Mahabharata. It was a stark reminder that principles and ethics could not be compromised, even in the pursuit of knowledge and power. The world watched with bated breath as these young princes ventured forth on a new journey, seeking a guru whose teachings would be unmarred by discrimination and injustice.

To be continued.....