In Bheeshma's chambers, Drona was served food and drink with the dignity accorded to any visiting king. When he had eaten his fill, Bheeshma said, "I read a sorrow in your face. Tell me what saddens you; what you say will not pass beyond these walls."
Drona sighed. He seemed to relax his guard, which, Bheeshma realized only now, had been raised all the while: as if he expected to be insulted at any moment.
Drona began, "As you may know, O Bheeshma, the Rishi Bharadvaja was my father and my mother was a river-shell. And for my exceptional birth, I am called Drona.1"
Bheeshma knew all this. But he listened with interest, never interrupting, as the unusual brahmana unfolded his life's story.
"Bharadvaja learnt the secrets of the astras from his guru Agnivesha, who was the son of Agni Deva himself, the Fire-God. Agnivesha taught my father the mantra for the agneyastra of a thousand flames, those for the varunastra and the vaishnavastra, the aindra, the brahma and the siva and a hun- dred great weapons more. When I was a boy, as old as your grandsons are today, my father taught me about the devastras and the mantras that summon them.
At about that time, a kshatriya prince came to our asrama in the forest to have my father's instruc- tion. He was the son of king Prihasta of the northern Panchalas. The boy's name was Drupada and we became inseparable friends. We did everything together: studied the Vedas and archery and played at children's games. I thought we were like brothers and Drupada always swore that we were.
Once he said to me, 'Drona, our friendship mustn't end here. When I am a king, you must come and live with me in my palace. My kingdom will be yours as much as it is mine. Only, we must be friends forever.'
I thought I would never want for anything with a friend like Drupada. I embraced him, swearing it would be as he wanted.
The years passed and Prihasta died. Drupada returned to his kingdom and was crowned. Around this time, also, my own father Bharadvaja left this world. It was then, if you remember, O Bheeshma, I first came to Hastinapura as a young scholar of the Vedas and married Kripi. Yes you must remem- ber, though much has happened in both our lives since then."
Bheeshma nodded to say that he did indeed remember the marriage of Drona and Kripi. His father Shantanu had been alive then and was pleased to give Kripi away to as accomplished a young man as Drona.
"Kripi and I lived in the forest for some years and our son was born in the wilds. At his birth he neighed in joy like a little horse, a small Ucchaisravas. And an asariri said to us, 'Let this child be called Aswatthama!'
So we gave him that name. It was at this time I heard that Jamadagni's son, Parasurama Bhargava, was giving away all his possessions. I went to the Mahendra Mountain, where the Bhargava lived. It was my ambition to become the finest archer of our times and I knew Parasurama was the one who could help me realize my dream.
Over vast plains I journeyed and through dark forests, asking my way of hunters and hermits. At last, I stood at the foot of the Mahendra. I worshipped the mountain and after climbing a week, arrived in a green glade near its summit. There I saw a fine luster that began under a tall tree and reached for the sky. At its heart, seated serene, his eyes shut and his face blissful, I saw Bhargava. His presence was so awesome I trembled even to look at him.
When I was quite near, without daring to make a sound I prostrated myself at his feet. For many hours, neither he nor I stirred. Then, I heard him speak to me. He did not speak in the truculent voice I had expected, but quietly and with affection, 'Who are you, my son? Why have you come to me?'
Rising and my own voice unsteady, I said, 'Lord, I am Bharadvaja's son Drona. I am a brahmana, though I was not born of a woman but in a river-shell.'
'What do you want from me, my child?' 'I have come for your wealth.'
He threw back his great head and laughed. 'Wealth! I have no wealth, my poor boy, but only this body and my weapons. You have come too late. I have already given away all my gold to Kashyapa, which is why I am sitting here alone and in peace. What wealth can I give you, who am as poor as you see me?'
'My lord,' said I, 'I have come to seek the wealth that is still yours to give.'
He stared at me with his deep eyes. 'I have only this body and my astras to give you. You can have one of them. Which do you choose?'
'Your astras and mastery over them, my lord.'
He laughed like spring thunder. I heaved a sigh of relief: obviously, he was pleased with me. I was already a master of conventional archery, as well as of the astras my father had taught me. But the weapons of Parasurama were far beyond anything I possessed. Yet, it did not take more than a month and he taught me all he knew. Bheeshma, you are Bhargava's sishya yourself. You know the astras are given by teaching their mantras to one whose spirit is strong enough to receive them.
I came down from the mountain with my master's priceless wealth. Aswatthama was still very young. We lived on the hem of a village and we were poor indeed. I had always believed that the poorer the life is materially, the richer it is in spirit. But all that changed one day.
Aswatthama was out playing with his friends. Some of them were the children of rich parents, at least compared with us. I was passing by where they were playing their little games and I paused out of sight behind a tree, curious to hear what they said to one another.
One boy cried to my son, 'Do you like milk, Aswatthama?'
Innocently, he answered in his lisping voice, 'What is milk? I've never even heard of it.'
A silence fell on his playmates. Some of them sniggered cruelly among themselves and began whis-
pering to one another. Then one of them said to my boy, 'Aswatthama, milk is the most delicious drink there is in the world. Next to the amrita of the Devas, there is nothing to compare with milk. Come, we will give you some milk if your parents are too poor to afford it.'
I waited to watch what happened next. I saw two of the older boys mix white flour with some water in a bowl and bring it to my son. My sweet child drained that sly cup in a gulp. He began a lit- tle dance in the street, singing, 'I've tasted milk today! The drink of the Devas!'
My heart breaking, I slunk away from there. On the way I thought I heard someone say, 'There goes Drona, who says he is one of the greatest archers on earth. But his child drinks flour mixed in water and dances for joy because he thinks it is milk.'
'Drona says he wants no wealth, but it is his son who suffers for his father's sloth.'
'Drona does not know how hard it is to make a decent living. Only the blessed have wealth.'
I might have imagined this conversation, as I walked home in a daze, but it did not matter if I had.
When I reached our house, Aswatthama was already there. He was lying in his mother's lap and sob- bing loudly and Kripi's eyes were full of tears.
'What happened?' I cried.
'Aswatthama wants milk. He said his friends gave him some to taste and it was wonderful. But where am I to go for milk, when we have no money to buy any?'
I cried, 'Enough of this wretched poverty! We are going to my friend Drupada's court and you will see how rich we shall be. Don't delay a moment, we leave now.'
I picked Aswatthama up and we set out for the Panchala kingdom. We arrived some weeks later and we were tired after the long journey during which we had little enough to eat. I went directly to the palace. Saying that I was his boyhood friend and his guru's son, I asked for an audience with Dru- pada. I was told to wait outside. In a while, the guard came back and said I could see the king only after two days.
I thought he wanted to give me untold wealth, perhaps even a palace, as soon as I saw him; that is why he had made me wait, while he made the arrangements. After all, Drupada once swore he would share his kingdom with me.
Somewhere inside my head, a small voice insisted this was not the reason for my being kept wait- ing; but I was in no mood to listen to its cynical whispering. We spent two nights under a tree beside the road. I was full of nostalgic stories about our boyhood together, Drupada's and mine and Kripi listened to them all patiently.
Finally, the two days were over and I went to the palace for my audience with the king. My heart light with excitement, I was shown into Drupada's presence. There he was at last, seated high above me on his throne, wearing silken robes and a golden crown. I opened my arms wide and cried, 'Dru- pada, my friend!'
But he did not rise from his throne, nor did he seem pleased to see me. He said, 'Destitute Brah- mana, do you presume to call me "Friend"? Wouldn't "My Lord" or "Your Majesty" be more appro- priate?'
At first, I could not believe what I was hearing. But he went on remorselessly, "Perhaps you are dull-witted now, Brahmana? Though I do not remember you as being a fool; but that was so long ago, Drona. That is your name, isn't it? See my memory is excellent. Yes, that was long ago, in another life. I was a student then, your father's pupil and maybe even your friend. But now, fellow, you are a beggar here and I am the king.'
His face was flushed with pique. 'And you have the temerity to walk into my sabha and cry "Friend" to me! It seems you are an idiot, Brahmana. A king like me has a thousand friends like you, all wanting to live off him if they only could.'
I was shaking and my eyes saw nothing but a crimson mist. Hearing Drupada's voice so arrogant and mocking, I thought I would lose my reason. His words were like knives in my flesh and I turned and walked out of his court. I picked up Aswatthama and Kripi, who is wiser than I am, guessed from my face what had happened: it was even as she had feared. We left the Panchala kingdom and came here to my brother-in-law.
I have lived for some weeks in Kripa's house as a welcome guest; but also, in truth, as a beggar. He told me as soon as I came that you were looking for a guru for your princes. But I asked him to say nothing of my arrival. I watched your grandsons to see if they were ready to learn what I have to teach them.
This is my story, O Bheeshma. The truth is, I have as much need for pupils, to feed my family and myself, as you do for a master for your young ones. But you must understand that what I thirst after is to have revenge on Drupada one day."
His eyes shone with a hatred that verged on madness. Bheeshma saw how deeply the Panchala king had wounded this extraordinary brahmana.
The Kuru patriarch said kindly, "You have come to the right place, Drona. For being my grand- sons' master in the House of Kuru, you will have all the wealth you want. More than wealth, you will have the honor you deserve. Wipe that foolish Drupada's memory from your heart for the present; it isn't worthy of being stored there. And when the time comes, I swear the Kurus will stand with you against him, be it even in war.
Acharya Drona, I hand my wards, the princes of this kingdom, over to you. From this day, they are your charge. I have waited a long time for you, though I did not know you would be the one who came. Come, let me show you to your new home and you can begin your lessons tomorrow."
Bheeshma rose and embraced Drona to solemnize their pact. Drona knew he had come to the city that would be his home.
