Bheeshma gave Drona a mansion to live in. It was no less than the home of any nobleman in Hasti- napura 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 pur- poses. 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.
